#been trying to do at LEAST two older drafts a day on top of whatever newer threads I reply to/asks I answer

[byanyan]

we're down to 9 drafts left that're from before february, plus 5 which are from the last week. progress has slowed over the last couple days (for various reasons) but hoo boy, we're still working our way toward being caught up and only!! getting!!! closer!!!!!

[frosted-night]

Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one.  This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

[no-pucks-given]

TYSON JOST | LIGHT MY WAY HOME

A/N: More than 12.000 words later, more than a month after the initial request from Taylor popped up in my notifications. What a freaking ride. My longest fic I've ever written, and maybe even my favourite one. Thank you, to everyone who hyped me up, send me inspo and send me sweet asks. I couldn't have done this without all of you. Special thanks to @dumb-and-dunner, @chicagoblackhawkslover96, @heybarzy and Chrissy (who doesn't have Tumblr unfortunately).

Warnings: Angst, ‘can I strangle him yet?’ Tyson, swearwords, some major character development and (how could I not?!) a happy ending.

Also: Gabe and Melissa Landeskog play a big part in this fic, so if you aren't comfortable with them, you might want to skip this one.

Word Count: 12.1K

Requested: Yes.

The NHL lifestyle, or the ‘popular’ lifestyle was attractive to all young, hormonal boys. You’d known that for a long time. You stood by Tyson’s side when he got drafted into the wicked world of the NHL. Parties, drinking, sex, training until you can barely move, fights, games, wins and losses. It all had it’s charms, but it also had its dangers. Just like any other guy Tyson wanted to experience it all, the whole package,

You assumed you fell under that ��whole package’, you were his girlfriend for a reason, right? And you did, for a while. You partied together, came home together, did everything together. But the moment Tyson became older and ‘known’ outside the regular hockey fans, that title didn’t mean much anymore. He became more and more the type of guy you didn’t fall in love with, the type to take you for granted, the type to enjoy the attention of other people, other women in particular. You weren’t the jealous type, you didn’t want to claw out the eyes of every woman that looked at him, but you were at a breaking point. Maybe you were jealous, you weren’t jealous of those other women, you were jealous of the attention Tyson gave them. Attention he should’ve been giving to you, his freaking girlfriend.

You were however the loyal type, the type to come home after a long night. And that’s exactly where things went wrong with Tyson. While you were waiting for him at home with a meal, a warm bed or just simply anything else, he was out. You had no idea where he was exactly, he was simply ‘out’, whatever that might mean. You tried to talk to him, you tried to make him see that this wouldn’t end well for either of you, but he simply waved off your concerns, shrugged his shoulders and moved on.

How do you talk to someone who rediscovered himself? How do you talk to someone who thinks he’s on top of the world? How do you save someone from the downfall of success when they don’t want to be saved? You knew one day he’ll come down from this high, one day he’ll realize that he screwed up. One day he’ll come to the conclusion he let something special slip through his fingers, and for what? Fame? Drinks? A rush of adrenaline? One day. But you knew that it wouldn’t be today.

However today is the day that you’re done. Absolutely fed up with all the bullshit excuses Tyson has been feeding you, all the coming home late or not even coming home at all. You have no idea what he’s been up to these last months, he’s barely home. Even when he’s home it’s like he isn’t really there. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you slept together or the last time you actually went to bed at the same time. Breakfast together? A lifetime ago. A lazy day together? Can’t remember. Date night? Months, months ago. Even thinking about it pisses you off to no end, the pain and hurt slowly making place for a new emotion: anger.

It’s frustrating to say the least. You love and take care of him like he means the world to you, and he does. Tyson on the other hand seems to take you for granted, or forgets you’re here at all. It seems like you’re talking to a brick wall instead of your boyfriend. No matter how hard you try, your words have no impact, your tears don’t make him feel anything. It’s like he’s a totally different person. You barely recognize him anymore these days, he feels like a stranger inside the body of the man you love. It feels like you’re both living your life, besides each other instead of with each other. It hurts, that’s for sure.

Like any other day you’ve prepared dinner, put it on the table and sat down on one of the chairs. All you can do now is wait, wait and pray he’ll show up this time. You even texted him, begged him to come home and simply eat dinner with you for a change. Of course you didn’t get a response, of course it’s complete radio silence from his side. God, you were desperate at this point, you don’t even try to deny it.

With every passing minute your hope disappears little by little. You stare at the food on the table until it’s completely dark outside, no sign of Tyson. Hours passed and you barely noticed it, it isn’t until you try to stand up and your muscles ache from sitting in the same position for a long time that you realize how much time actually has passed. “Fuck this, why am I even trying anymore?” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head. This isn’t worth it, it hasn’t been for a long time. Maybe, just maybe you’re finally ready to admit it to yourself.

Deciding to choose yourself over Tyson is a major decision, one you probably should’ve made sooner. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that you’re choosing you now. You make the split second decision to just grab your stuff, just the necessary stuff. You remember Gabe’s offer, at the time you waved it off with a smile, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it might look to the outside world, but now? You want nothing more than to take him up on his offer. So what’s stopping you?

Even though you were excruciating calm this whole time, the moment you step into your bedroom, or Tyson’s bedroom, you break. This is real, this is really happening. You grab your bags, filling them with some of your stuff. Some clothes, some toiletries, your makeup, everything you might need. It’s a tough job, it’s even harder when you almost can’t see past the tears. At some point you lose track of things you did and didn’t grab, just shoving random items into your bag.

You let out a frustrated sigh, your body sinking down on the floor. In your hands the box containing all your high school love letters, all the small gifts you made each other. Tyson was quite handy, who would’ve thought that? You smile at the memories, sorting through the box. You frown at the feeling surging through your body, is this how heartbreak feels? Looking down at the contents of the box you sigh, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. Why couldn’t life be as simple as it used to be? It shouldn’t be this hard, right? You grab your prom picture between your fingers, smiling sadly at the two people in the picture, both smiling like they just won the lottery, both utterly in love with the other. How time can change..

You throw the box on the bed, maybe it will remind Tyson what the two of you had was special, maybe he’ll realize what he’s about to lose. If it doesn’t, well, it’s his loss. Hauling your bags downstairs is a full workout, you intended to bring ‘just the essentials’ but you have way more important stuff than you originally thought. You aren’t planning on returning to this house any time soon.

Shutting the car door after you loaded in your stuff gives you some form of relief. You let out the breath you’ve been holding in. You made your decision, it’s time to follow through now. You make your way back inside, and into the kitchen. Cleaning up all leftovers from dinner, which obviously is a lot more than you expected. Although.. did you really think he would show up? You shake your head again, putting the leftovers into the fridge. After you finish the dishes you retreat back to the living room, falling down on the couch with a loud sigh. All you can do now is wait.

You could’ve just left and never look back, but that isn’t your style. If you’re going to leave, you’ll do it the right way. You won’t leave without giving him a piece of mind, letting him know he fucked this up for good. You try to focus on the movie playing on the screen, but your heart keeps beating harder and harder, at this point you wish you would’ve just left instead of waiting for Tyson to show up. God, why did you have to do it the right way? Because you know, deep down, you would’ve wanted him to do it the same way. It’s the humane thing to do, it’s only right after spending such a long time together.

The front door opening brings you out of your thoughts. Honestly you don’t even know what time it is, but frankly you don’t care. All you want right now is to get this off your chest and leave. Tyson’s eyes widen when he comes face-to-face with you, surprisingly he doesn’t seem that intoxicated. You suspected he went out, but at this point he could’ve been anywhere.

“You’re still up,” Tyson says, walking past you and flopping down on the couch.

“Yep, and you missed dinner,” you counter, crossing your arms. Tyson simply shrugs his shoulder, clearly not caring enough to explain his absence. “I texted you to make sure you would be here,” you say, even though you know it doesn’t make a difference.

“Yeah, I was busy,” Tyson answers, looking down at his phone.

You almost feel the need to chuckle, to start laughing at his stupid behavior, but this is anything but funny to you, it fucking hurts. “I’m done, Tyson. I’m fucking done,” you say, shaking your head, trying so hard to keep the tears away.

Tyson looks at you with dull eyes, no emotion visible on his face. “Then go to fucking bed, I really can’t deal with your problems right now,” he sighs, turning his head back to the phone in his hand.

Right now, at this moment you know you made the right decision. This isn’t behavior of someone who’s in love, this isn’t even behavior of someone who loves. “You don’t have to deal with me anymore, because I’m leaving. I’m done, we’re done,” you tell him, emphasizing the last part. Tyson’s eyes shoot to yours, the panic clearly written all over his face now.

“No, we’re not. You can’t break up with me, y/n!” he almost shouts at you, standing up from the couch.

“Yes, I can and I will. You don’t get to act like you care all of the sudden, Tyson. You haven’t acted like a boyfriend in months. You haven’t given me any reason to stay, so I won’t. I’m done with whatever this is,” you say, waving between the two of you. Tyson grabs your wrist, tears starting to pool in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off. “No. No. You don’t get to do this. It’s over. You put on quite a show, but I can’t say it was very entertaining. This curtain fucking closes right now, show is over. You can act like you care, but I know by now that you don’t,” you tell him, ripping your arm out of his grip.

You walk over to the front door, keeping your head high. Now is not the time to break down, your time will come. You hear Tyson behind you, muttering how sorry he is, excuse after excuse leave his mouth. You open the door, turning around one last time to look at Tyson. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, ‘cause you’re not,” you say while shaking your head. You close the door behind you, not looking back at what you’ve left behind, only looking forward to what’s yet to come.

It’s when you’re in your car mindlessly driving around when you realize you have nowhere to go. You forgot to call Gabe, and it’s probably way too late now. You quickly check the time, 2am, shit that’s late. You doubt he’s still awake, you feel bad for even thinking about waking him up. Two young children, both of them under the age of 2, and being a professional hockey player probably cost him enough energy already, you don’t need to add to that. “He did say I could always call him when I made my decision,” you say out loud, more to convince yourself that it’s okay than anything else.

You easily find Gabe’s contact, immediately pressing the dial button before you change your mind again. The line only rings twice before Gabe picks up. “I’m guessing you either finally broke up with him or there’s a fire somewhere,” Gabe says from the other side of the line. You chuckle, shaking your head. “And since you’re calling me and not the fire department, my guess is on the first one,” Gabe continues, trying to make you smile some more.

“I did it, I broke up with him, couldn’t stand to be there any second longer,” you sigh, brushing your fingers through your hair.

You hear Gabe’s sigh of relief. “I’m proud of you, y/n. I know this isn’t what you had in mind, but it’s better like this, I promise.”

Gabe turned into one of your best friends over time, Melissa is the older sister you never had and you love their children like they’re your own. Gabe and Melissa welcomed you into their family immediately after meeting you. You hadn’t expected to make friends and you definitely didn’t expect to make friends with the captain and his wife, but you’re so grateful you did. The support you receive from them is overwhelming, you couldn’t wish for better friends. So when Gabe first made you this offer, you were thankful he did, although you were still convinced at that point that Tyson would change.

“Uhm, you know.. that offer you made me? Is that still on the table?” you ask, praying he’ll say ‘yes’, praying you don’t have to sleep in some random hotel tonight.

“Of course, the guestroom is already prepared. Melissa expects you to be here as soon as possible, apparently she ‘really needs to cuddle her little sister’,” Gabe chuckles, you can almost hear him rolling his eyes at his wife.

“Thank you, Gabe. I owe you,” you say softly.

“You don’t. You’re family, y/n,” Gabe says, and you know he means every word he just said. Family. “Now get your ass over here, before Melissa starts a search party,” Gabe chuckles, making you laugh some more, because you know she would. You quickly say your goodbyes, promising you’ll be there in a few minutes. It’s just a short drive from your apartment, or Tyson’s apartment now, to Gabe and Mel’s place.

You kept up your appearance, keeping the tears at bay, but the moment you step out of your car and into Gabe’s arms you’re done. “Come here, I’m so sorry,” Gabe says softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You stand there for a few minutes, simply crying on your best friend’s shoulder, until Melissa squeezes herself between the two of you. “Hush, I need some sister time. Why don’t you grab her stuff?” she says, smiling sweetly at her husband.

Gabe sighs dramatically, sending a wink your way. “Whatever you say, wife.”

Melissa pulls you close to her, an arm around your waist, her head resting on your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” she softly says, leading you into the house. You’ve been here so many times already, but never like this. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, you’re not sure how to handle this. “I can hear the wheels turning in your head. It will be okay,” Melissa says, rubbing your arm soothingly. You sigh, shrugging your shoulders, not sure what to say.

Melissa leads you to your room, pushing you down on the bed, while she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I know you’re probably exhausted, but do you want to talk?” Melissa asks softly, her face showing nothing but compassion.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all that has happened. “I don’t even know what to say, Mel. I don’t even know how I feel right now. I’m just so...” you trail off, not knowing the right words to describe everything that you feel and think right now.

“Confused, relieved, mad?”

You sit back up, looking back at Melissa. “All of the above, I guess? It hurts, but I’m glad I did it. But I also regret it, because I love him, you know? I’m mad he didn’t try harder for me, for us,” you say, trying hard to keep the rush of tears away.

Melissa wraps her arms around you, pulling you close to her. “I know, sweetheart. It will take time, but you’re going to be okay.”

You sigh, knowing she’s right, even though it probably will take more time than just ‘some time’. You did just end a long relationship, it will take a lot of patience and time to work through that. “Thank you, Mel. For letting me stay here,” you mumble against Melissa’s shoulder.

“No need for that. You’re my sister, remember?” Melissa smiles at you.

Gabe softly knocks on the door before opening the door. “Brought your bags, thought you might need them before you go to sleep,” he says, smiling at the sight before him. Your friendship might be unconventional, but he couldn’t care less what other people think about it. Gabe absolutely adores the sister bond you and Mel share, he hoped the two of you would get along, so this? Picture perfect.

“Thanks, Gabe,” you smile at him.

“Do you mind if I steal my wife from you?” Gabe asks, making you and Melissa laugh out loud.

“Nope, she’s all yours,” you chuckle, waving at their retreating backs when they walk out of the room.

You strip out of your clothes, pulling on a sweater. You sigh, realizing you packed some of Tyson’s sweaters out of habit. His smell infiltrates your senses, making it damn hard to keep your emotions under control. It’s right this moment you know exactly how you feel. Heartbroken. The realization that your relationship with Tyson is really over doesn’t give you the satisfaction you hoped for, it doesn’t give you peace, it just fucking hurts. You simply feel hollow, even though deep down you know this was the right choice, this was what needed to happen. You know damn well why you feel so empty, you gave your heart to Tyson a long, long time ago, never expecting to be in a situation you might get it back. You don’t want it back, but you might need it back.

You realize it’s morning when the light softly shines into your room. You sigh, knowing damn well you’re lucky if you slept more than an hour this night. Rolling over you look at the clock on the wall, 9 am, perfect. Deciding it won’t do you any good if you stay in bed any longer, you force yourself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water warms your cold skin, soothing your sore muscles. All the twisting and turning you did all night surely didn’t help the way you feel right now. Why couldn’t life be a bit easier by simply letting the shower wash away all of your hurt, all of your pain? A fresh start, a clean slate.

You slip on some skinny jeans and a soft sweater, not in the mood to even think about doing your makeup. You dry your hair, before making a quick ponytail out of it. You walk down stairs, the chatter and laughter greeting you as soon as you walk into the kitchen. “Morning, guys,” you say, smiling at all the happy faces before you. A round of greetings sound throughout the room.

“How’d you sleep?” Gabe asks you as soon as you sit down next to him with a bowl of cereal.

“Can’t even tell you, suddenly it was 9 am,” you chuckle, shrugging your shoulders at Gabe’s raised eyebrow. “Do you have any idea where my phone is?” you ask Gabe, knowing he grabbed all your stuff out of your car.

“Uhh, I do, but I don’t know if you really want to look at it,” Gabe says, scratching the back of his head before pointing towards the kitchen counter. It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, walking over to where Gabe’s pointing at.

You unlock your phone, quickly checking your notifications. “Oh damn,” you mutter, looking at the absurd amount of missed calls and messages left by none other than Tyson himself.

You sit back down next to Gabe, dropping your head on your arms. “What do I do now, Gabe?” you groan. “Why does he care all of the sudden?”

Gabe rubs his hand over your back before answering your question. “Because he lost you, y/n. He never thought he would.” You turn your head towards Gabe letting his words sink in.

Gabe gets ready to leave for practice shortly after you settle on the couch with Lucas in your arms. The little man has a fascination with your hair, maybe it’s all babies who have that, but you like to think that you’re special. “Don’t pull out all y/n’s hair, baby boy,” Gabe chuckles, giving his boy a soft kiss on his head. He gives you a kiss on your cheek, softly squeezing your shoulder. You open your mouth to say something, but Gabe cuts you off. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry about it, I’m his captain, but I’m your friend, okay? Just relax, make sure Lucas doesn’t puke on you and go do whatever it is that you women do all day,” Gabe chuckles, knowing you better than you know yourself. You mouth a quick ‘thank you’ to him, wishing him good luck with practice before he runs through the house trying to find his girls to kiss them goodbye.

“Your daddy is a good guy, you know that, Lucas?” you smile at the baby on your lap. Lucas coos, his hands grabbing onto the strands of your hair. “Your daddy and mommy make me feel so loved, even though their children like to see me in pain,” you joke, trying to free your hair from Lucas’s small hands. “Buddy, you’re way stronger than you look,” you mumble, when Lucas pulls on your hair again.

Melissa laughs out loud the moment she walks into the living room. “How many times did I tell you that you need to keep your hair away from him and his grabby hands?” she says, expertly freeing your hair from her son’s fists.

“Apparently not enough times,” you chuckle at her. Melissa joins you on the couch, while Linnea Rae plays on the ground with some of her toys, happily showing you what she got every now and then. It’s times like this that you’re extra grateful for Melissa and Gabe, the way they welcomed you into their family has been nothing but perfect.

“So, what’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Melissa asks, while scrolling through series to watch on Netflix.

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know, I’m kind of worried about practice, I think? I don’t want to put Gabe in this position,” you say, keeping your eyes on Lucas.

“You know Gabe would do anything for you, huh? You don’t know how many times he came home utterly frustrated by the way Tyson treated you. He never said anything, because you were still with him, I can’t promise you he will stay quiet this time,” Melissa says, squeezing your shoulder. “He’ll be fine, this isn’t Gabe’s first rodeo.”

You look at Melissa, who simply gives you a wink. “I know, I know. I just don’t want him to get in trouble or anything,” you say, smiling back at her. You trust and know Gabe, so hopefully there won’t be a lot of trouble today.

“If he does though, he probably deserves it.”

Gabe surprises you all with some takeaway when he gets home from practice. It’s been nice eating with other people for change, it’s been way too long. The amount of lonely dinners has been through the roof lately. Gabe nudges you with his elbow, causing you to look up at him. “No frowning at the table.”

Melissa rolls her eyes at her husband while you just stick out your tongue at him. “Sure, dad,” you say, causing Melissa to almost choke on her bite of food before she lets out a loud laugh.

“Yeah, dad. Leave us alone,” Melissa laughs, winking at her husband. Gabe shakes his head at you and Melissa, a grin plastered on his face.

It’s during dessert you find the courage to ask about Tyson. You weren’t sure if you needed to ask Gabe, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to know anything, but now you know you do. “So, did anything happen during practice?” you ask him, playing around with your spoon.

Gabe shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Not much, just some chirping. Told him I’m his captain and he needs to fucking focus on practice. That seemed to do the trick,” Gabe says, shrugging his shoulders, continuing to eat his dessert.

You look across the table at Melissa who has the same expression on her face as you. Not convincing at all. ‘Sure,’ Melissa mouths at you from across the table. You shake your head at her, furrowing your eyebrows at Gabe’s statement. ‘Nope,’ you mouth back at her, finishing your dessert. You decide to let it go, you don’t even know why you care so much. You shouldn’t, right? You broke things off with Tyson, so why do you care so much what he does and thinks? The answer to that question is pretty simple the longer you think about it. Because you still love him, that’s why.

You thank everyone for dinner and dessert, promising to cook something from them later this week. Right now all you can think about is your bed and a decent night of sleep. God, that sounds like a true dream right now. You strip out of your clothes, crawling into the soft and cozy bed. It doesn’t take long before you fall asleep, showing just how exhausted you truly are.

The weeks that follow are filled with all kinds of activities, the 5 of you falling back into a comfortable rhythm, surprising you considering the situation you’re in. It isn’t every day you take in the ex-girlfriend of one of your teammates, or your best friend, whatever way you want to see things. When you aren’t working you spend a lot of time with the kids, trying to make things easier for Melissa and Gabe whenever they are busy or simply need some time for the two of them. You happily take on some of their care, even if it’s as simple as making sure they get their food in time. Honestly they are two of the sweetest children you’ve ever come across, they always find ways to make you laugh, even though most of the time it isn’t on purpose.

It’s been quiet around the house tonight, Melissa went out with a few of her friends, while she left Gabe and the kids with you. Apparently she needed some ‘alone time’ which didn’t include kids, and definitely didn’t include Gabe after he mentioned he wanted some ‘alone time’ with her as well. You love their friendly bickering, the love they have for each other visible in everything they do. So when Melissa gave her husband a dirty look and flipped him the bird the only logical thing to do was to start laughing at their exchange. “Have fun with them, sweetheart!” Melissa had yelled at you when she walked through the door, leaving the four of you behind.

Together you decide to just have a movie night. It’s late enough for both children to be asleep already, yet early enough to squeeze in a full size movie marathon. “Gladiatorrrrr!” Gabe exclaims excitedly while scrolling through the movie selection on Netflix, pausing on his all-time favorite movie.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please no, have mercy, Gabe,” you laugh, knowing damn well you’re going to sit through this movie again. How many times has it been already? 12? You wouldn’t even be surprised. This dude really loves his movie. You look at Gabe from between your fingers, seeing the look on his face which makes you groan even more. “Fineeee, one more time, Gabe. One more time,” you whine at him, secretly enjoying his taste in movies, something you don’t plan on telling him ever.

It’s a little after 10pm when the doorbell rings. You look at Gabe, who looks just as surprised as you are. “It’s a bit early for Mel, don’t you think?” Gabe asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Definitely, unless she drank the whole bottle of champagne again,” you chuckle, thinking back at one of the craziest parties you’ve ever been to with Mel and Gabe.

“Oh God, please don’t remind me of that,” Gabe shudders at the memory of that night, standing up to see who’s on the other side of the door.

Gabe hates to say that he isn’t surprised to see Tyson’s face as soon as he opens the door. Honestly he had expected him at his door days, maybe even weeks ago. The moment Tyson found out you were staying with Gabe he broke, Gabe expected him to fight, to yell, to scream, he expected him to do anything except cry. Which is exactly what Tyson did, breaking down in the middle of practice. For a moment the whole place went quiet, only Tyson’s cries echoing throughout the building. No one knew how to act, no one knew what to do, until Gabe realized he’s the captain for a reason. On and off the ice. It was a weird experience, one Gabe still feels extremely conflicted about. He comforted his teammate, his friend, while his other friend was at his home, utterly heartbroken, trying to get over the guy who was bawling his eyes out on the ice.

After Tyson got over the initial shock the anger took over, just as Gabe expected. It made him almost drop the gloves, something he tried to avoid, not wanting to hurt Tyson. He let him say his things, things that absolutely didn’t make any sense, until he got everything out of his system. “Now can we continue this fucking practice, Jost?” Gabe told him after everything calmed down. Gabe tried to avoid the Tyson/y/n topic as much as possible after that, not wanting to get in the middle of things more than he already was. Until tonight apparently.

Gabe raises an eyebrow at the boy before him. “Why are you here, Tyson?” Gabe sighs, already knowing the answer to that question.

Tyson looks around, eyes flickering from left to right, clearly uncomfortable being here. “I, uh, can I talk to y/n? I know she’s here,” Tyson asks, scratching the back of his head before putting them back in his pockets.

Gabe shakes his head at him. “You can’t, if she wants to talk to you she will find a way to contact you. As long as you don’t get your shit together and prove to me, but most of all to her, that you’ve changed, I won’t let you anywhere near her,” Gabe declares, starting to get annoyed with the way Tyson acts. There’s no way he lets him close to you until you feel like you’re ready to see him again, no way.

Tyson opens his mouth, but Gabe gives him a look that immediately shuts him up again. “I’m saying this as your captain, and definitely not as your friend right now. Go home and leave her the fuck alone. You had your chance, you fucked up and now you have to deal with the consequences. How you deal with those said consequences is up to you, but I suggest you leave now and think about everything you did and didn’t do, okay?” Tyson nods his head, turning around to walk back to his car.

When he’s a few steps away from his car he turns around, smiling sadly at Gabe. “She’s my home, Gabe. Home doesn’t feel the same without her. You out of all people should understand that.”

Gabe chuckles low, shaking his head at his clueless teammate. “I do. I do know what home feels like, but I never, never choose anyone or anything over my ‘home’. Never. You sure as hell did, time after time,” Gabe says frustratedly, before shutting the door, leaving behind an even more frustrated Tyson.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you caught the sound of Tyson’s voice when you walked to the kitchen, grabbing some more popcorn. You didn’t mean to listen to their conversation, but it felt like you were glued to your place, unable to take another step, unable to do anything but listen.

Gabe walks back into the room, the look on your face immediately letting him know you know. “How much did you hear?” he asks softly, approaching you slowly.

“Enough,” you whisper, before breaking down, no longer able to keep the tears locked away, no longer able to keep your emotions to yourself.

With two steps Gabe is in front of you, grabbing the bowl of popcorn you held onto between your trembling fingers. He guides you back to the couch, urging you to sit down, which is a true challenge for someone who can barely feel the ground they walk on. Gabe wraps his arms around you the moment you sit down, allowing you to cry onto his shoulder as much as you want and need. He whispers sweet nothings while softly brushing your hair out of your face, making sure you have room to breath. Time after time Gabe proves what kind of friend he is, always making sure to be there for you when he’s needed, always doing things with the best intentions. Even if it’s just holding you until you calm down, even if it’s just speaking the truth against Tyson, even if it’s just simply being there for one another.

“Sooner or later he would’ve realized what he lost, what he gave up for an evening of clubbing or God knows what. Apparently it’s sooner rather than later, however make sure you make him work for it, if you ever decide you want to give the two of you another chance,” Gabe softly advises you, when you finally calmed down a bit.

“I will, you know I love him, Gabe. But I don’t know if I should?” you mumble, not sure if it’s a question Gabe has the answer to.

“Sometimes the heart wants what it wants. If he’s serious about you, he will work his ass off to earn back your love and trust, I promise you,” Gabe comforts you, after knowing Tyson for so long he’s positive he knows that Tyson goes above and beyond to get what he wants in life.

Maybe it’s Gabe’s comforting words, maybe it’s knowing deep down Tyson still cares, maybe it’s your own strength, but for the first time in a while you feel a tiny flicker of hope, a little bit of light at the end of the dark tunnel. Maybe, just maybe this was all worth it, maybe this is what needed to happen to get better and move forward. Maybe this is how it was supposed to go.

It’s a weird feeling, knowing your ex still cares about you, but also knowing you aren’t ready to let him back into your life like that. You don’t feel like you’re capable of seeing him yet, let alone talk to him. The need to know how he’s doing, how he’s holding up grows, but also confuses you. It’s simply a weird and confusing situation to be in. Choosing between two, maybe even more ways to handle this, while also waiting for Tyson to make a move, which he obviously can’t since you don’t want to see him or speak to him, is a hard task. A task that will require a lot of thinking. You just need a bit more time to gather your thoughts, give all of your confusing feelings a place, while making sure you put yourself first, you need to put yourself first this time.

So when Gabe invites you to one of his home games a few weeks later you say ‘yes’ right away. It seems like the perfect time and place to see Tyson from a distance again, without putting too much stress on yourself, you can just watch and enjoy the game, you don’t have to force anything. Of course your seats turned out to be way closer to the ice than you expected them to be, although... what did you exactly expect with Gabe? You know he’s been talking to both of you, kind of acting like some sort of messenger. He tried to keep it casual, just slipping in some information during a conversation, but you noticed what he was trying to do. Frankly you’re thankful for his meddling.

Steadily your heart starts to beat faster and faster the more players appear on the ice to warm up. When Gabe appears you aren’t surprised to see Tyson close to him, knowing Gabe they probably had a little chat before they went on the ice. Tyson’s eyes shoot to yours the moment he’s close by, completely forgetting the ability to skate. You gasp when he lands on his ass on the ice, earning himself a round of laughter from the people around him, including Melissa and you. Gabe skates over to him, extending his hand and helping him upright again, but not before clearly telling him he’s ‘a dumbass’. Now that’s something you can agree on.

You know Tyson has something up his sleeve when he skates off to the bench, clearly busying himself with something you can’t see. After a few more stolen glances at each other Tyson skates closer and closer to you, until he’s right in front of the glass. His left hand catches your attention, until he gives you a small and almost shy smile. “Look at him, he’s blushing!” Melissa whispers next to you. You shoot her a quick ‘shut up’ look, before you focus your attention back on Tyson.

Tyson shows you the puck in his gloved hand, mouthing to you to catch it. It takes him two tries before the puck lands on the other side of the glass, safely in your hands. Tyson gives you one last quick smile before he skates off to get ready for the game. Melissa nudges you softly, bringing you back from your thoughts. “So, what’s on there?” she asks, knowing damn well you haven’t even checked.

“I don’t know if I want to look, Mel,” you tell her honestly. Melissa gives you a sad smile, throwing her arm around your shoulders.

“Let’s look together?” she suggests. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, how much can you actually write on a puck? He seemed happy to see you, so there’s no need to be nervous that it’s a bad thing. You look at the puck, turning it around in your hands so you can read the whole thing. ‘Talk after the game?’ is written on the puck, you immediately recognize Tyson’s handwriting and his little smiley face, or.. something that should resemble a smiley face.

“That wasn’t that bad, right?” Melissa asks softly, squeezing your shoulder.

“What if I’m not ready?” you ask her, a question that has been on your mind a lot lately.

“Then you take a step back, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, you don’t have any obligations. But he’s trying, y/n. You’ve heard all of Gabe’s stories, you’ve seen it yourself just now. It can’t hurt to at least talk to him.” You think about Melissa’s words, she does have a point there. Talking is something you should’ve done ages ago, or at least Tyson should’ve done that. So this is progress, he’s at least trying this time, that’s more than he used to do.

It’s hard to keep the smile off your face, you can’t even pinpoint why exactly you’re smiling. Whatever the reason is, it’s a good feeling to smile again. The game sure as hell plays a big part in it, the guys are on fire, scoring goal after goal, never giving the puck away for long. There’s barely any time for you to give Tyson a thumbs up, indicating you’re up for a talk after the game. Whenever you look at Tyson when he’s off the ice he’s smiling, whether it is to himself or to one of his teammates, that smile won’t leave his face.

You follow Melissa down to the locker room after the game is over. You’ve done this so many times, but this time it couldn’t be more different. You greet all the girls who are patiently waiting on their man, getting enough comforting words from them to last you a lifetime. When the door to the locker room opens you come face-to-face with Mikko, someone you haven’t seen in a while. Mikko’s face lights up when he spots you outside the locker room. “y/n! I haven’t seen you in so long,” he says, while hugging you tightly.

“I missed you too, goof. It’s great to see you,” you smile at him, wiggling out of his iron grip. Dude’s definitely stronger than he looks.

“Between you and me, Tyson’s a good kid, he just needed to grow up a bit,” Mikko whispers against your ear, before leaving you alone again.

You raise your eyebrow at Melissa, who just shrugs her shoulders. Weird. After a few more minutes Gabe and Tyson appear in front of you, both of them joking around. Tyson nervously looks around, not sure if he should come any closer. Gabe hugs you swiftly before throwing his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Make sure you bring her home safely, Jost,” Gabe warns him, before quickly saying goodbye to both of you.

You watch them leave, your mouth agape by the way they just left you here. Rude. “Did they just really do that?” you ask no one in particular, still shocked by their actions.

You turn around, looking back at Tyson, who still appears to be nervous. Is he nervous to talk to you? Why would he be nervous? It’s just you. “Hi there,” you smile, looking up at the man in front of you.

“Hi beautiful, it was nice seeing you tonight,” Tyson softly says, giving you a small smile.

Your insides flutter with his use of words, it’s nice hearing them even though you’re not completely sure if he means them the way you hope he does. “It was. You played great, I had a lot of fun,” you say, smiling at the proud look that crosses Tyson’s face for a moment.

Tyson leads you back to the rink, which is now completely deserted, thinking it would be a nice place to chat. For a while the two of you fall back into small talk, ‘how’s life?’, ‘how’s work?’, all that bullshit. You know Tyson and you are avoiding the actual topic that needs to be discussed, or topics? Whatever it is, there’s a lot to talk about. “I missed it here, I forgot how much I loved being here,” you tell Tyson, looking at the lights that lighten up the place, thinking back at the memories full of fun and happiness you both created here.

“I missed you, baby,” Tyson blurts out, completely catching you off guard.

Your eyes shoot back to his, you feel the panic rising inside your body. “Tyson...,” you start, warning him he’s walking on thin ice here.

Tyson’s face falls a bit, seeing the anxious look on your face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Tyson groans, rubbing his face harshly, utterly frustrated with himself and the situation.

It’s quiet for a minute, both of you completely lost in thoughts. “Why is this so hard? We used to be able to talk about anything and everything. What changed, y/n?” Tyson wonders out loud.

You feel a painful pang in your heart, because you know damn well what changed. “You did, Tyson. You changed,” you almost whisper, the truth behind those words more clear than ever before.

You watch as Tyson’s whole composure changes in the blink of an eye, in just a split second he goes from the ‘happy’ guy to the guy who’s just as heartbroken as you are. “I did, didn’t I?” Tyson whispers, the tears pooling in his eyes. “I fucked this up, how could I be so stupid?” he mumbles, burying in face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I regret this more than I could ever admit to you. I’m so sorry, baby,” Tyson cries, trying to keep his eyes focused on you. It’s hard to keep your own tears at bay when the guy you love so much has a breakdown in front of you, so you don’t. You just let them fall.

You don’t make a move to comfort him, you do give him room to let it all out, give him time to gather his composure again. “I looked through the box, the one you left on our bed?” Tyson says, his voice still broken, still thick with emotion. You nod your head, it was something you hoped he would do. “I had no idea you kept all of that throughout the years,” Tyson smiles weakly at you. “It made me realize what a moron I have been these past few months, maybe even longer,” he continues, shaking his head in disappointment. You listen intently at him, this, this is what you hoped for all this time: realization.

“I’m not telling you that you weren’t a moron, because you absolutely were. But I’m glad you came to the same conclusion.”

Tyson chuckles at your statement, giving you half a smile. “I know, I’m a dumbass. I’m a dumbass for acting this way and a dumbass for letting you go. Any guy would be on top of the world with you by his side, and I just let you slip through my fingers,” Tyson tells you, finally showing he knows he’s been a fool all this time, he knows he let something special go.

“Is it too late for us? Can you give us another chance?” Tysons asks you, his eyes flickering between you and the ground.

You sigh softly, knowing this question would come. It’s something you gave a lot of thought, something that crossed your mind daily. “I don’t know, Tyson. I really don’t know. You really fucking hurt me, you know? I can’t just look past that, I need to heal from that,” you tell him. Tyson nods his head, a guilty expression on his face. “You made me feel worthless every single day. You didn’t even give me a second of your time day after day. All you cared about was being away. Being away from me?”

It’s right that moment Tyson interrupts you by grabbing your hands. “No. No. That’s not true, you need to believe me,” he tells you as fast as he can.

“But how can I believe you when you never gave me a reason to? Your actions showed me exactly that, Tyson. I need answers, I need to know why,” you exclaim, starting to panic again, your anxiety taking over.

“Easy, baby. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, everything you want, but right now I need you to breath. Breathe, baby,” Tyson says softly, trying to calm your shallow breathing back down to normal. “Listen to my breathing, try to follow the way I breathe.” You do as he says, following the rise and fall of his chest, gaining back control of your own breathing.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, while Tyson just shakes his head at you, letting you know it’s okay. “Can you take me home, Ty? We can talk later, okay?” you ask him, suddenly feeling the need to crawl underneath the covers of your bed and just simply sleep for a while.

“Anything you want, y/n,” Tyson says, leading you out of the room and back to his car. You’re pretty sure he mumbled something under his breath, something very closely resembling ‘your home isn’t there, it’s with me’.

The drive to Gabe takes longer than expected, giving you more time to think about Tyson’s earlier question. You still need and want to know how he spent his nights, where he spent his nights, and why he acted like you didn’t exist. That conversation might need to wait until another day, you aren’t up for any more information, any more realizations, you still need to process everything you heard, saw and felt today.

Tyson stops the car in front of Gabe’s house, looking back at you with hopeful eyes. You know he still hopes he gets an answer to his earlier question, and you want to give him at least that. “You need to show me you changed, Tyson. Show me you changed for real and I’ll try to get past everything that happened. I can’t promise you anything,” you tell him softly, meaning everything you just said.

Tyson nods his head, a smile of relief on his lips. “I will, I promise you I will show you I changed and that you’re everything to me. I promise, baby.”

So that’s exactly what Tyson does the next few weeks, every free moment he tries to show you just how much you mean to him, without smothering you. Whether it’s taking you out for dinner, although you’re still waiting for Tyson to actually make you dinner by himself one day, to small coffee dates and fresh flowers at work. It’s been a lot to process, a lot of adjusting to this ‘new’ Tyson, or rather seeing the ‘old’ Tyson again. And you missed him, God you missed him so much.

Tyson seems happier, more at peace with himself these days, it’s a pleasant change. Often you wondered what was really going on inside his head, but you stopped trying after he waved it off again, and again, and again. The late night phone calls, or facetiming during road trips have become a habit again, something you didn’t think you would ever experience again with him. You still take things slow with Tyson, deciding to rather allow yourself to slowly start trusting him again than diving head first into a relationship again. Maybe it will never come that far again, you don’t know how the future will look like for the two of you, but for now it’s enough.

You come face-to-face with a smirking Melissa when you get home from yet another ‘iced coffee and donut’ date, even though you’re pretty sure Tyson isn’t allowed to eat any donuts. “Oh no,” you groan at Melissa’s expression.

“It’s time we have a little sister-sister conversation, don’t you think?” she asks you, ushering you into the living room.

“Do we?” you groan again, not in the mood to handle whatever Melissa wants to talk about now, because you already know it’s either about you, Tyson or you and Tyson.

Melissa flops down on the couch, patting the place next to her, indicating for you to sit your ass down. “Did you already talk to him about it?” she asks, straight to point in pure Melissa-style.

You let your head fall back against the cushions, sighing loudly. “I didn’t. We’re doing great, we’re having fun. I’m going to ruin it if I start asking questions again.”

Melissa stays quiet for a minute, trying to figure out the right way to approach this sensitive topic. “You know you deserve the truth, right? You can’t rebuild a relationship when not everything’s on the table, sweetheart,” Melissa says softly, knowing you’re struggling with this.

“I promise I’ll talk to him after the road trip, I don’t want to create any unnecessary negative energy before,” you promise Melissa, although she gives you a ‘who are you trying to fool here’ look before switching topics.

A few days later you find yourself back at Tyson’s place. It’s weird being here, knowing you don’t live here anymore. Nothing changed, absolutely nothing, Tyson kept everything the way you did, whether it’s out of laziness or out of hope you’ll come back on day. Either way it’s weird coming back to a place that’s no longer your home. You came here to talk, nothing more nothing less. You promised Mel you would, and if you’re being honest with yourself it’s time to know the truth, time to reopen old wounds and finally get some answers. You’ve grown closer and closer to Tyson, without knowing everything, without knowing you’d be able to forgive him if he ever made a misstep. It’s time.

Tyson has been a nervous wreck ever since you called him last night after he returned from the road trip to St. Louis. He knew this was coming, but he prayed you would simply forget, even though he knows that’s not fair at all. He can’t excuse his behavior, and he won’t, not anymore. You deserve nothing but the truth, the full truth. He’s not proud of it, but you leaving him opened his eyes, showed him he really needed to change. Tyson feels like that’s something he truly did, he changed for the better, he can only hope you’ll feel the same way. He can only hope you’re still on the same path after tonight.

“You did great these last games, Ty,” you smile at him. You’re proud of the way he’s been performing these last couple of games, he really stepped up his game.

“I know you didn’t come here to talk about my performances on the ice, so can we please skip the pleasantries?” Tyson sighs, catching you completely off guard with his rather harsh approach. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, I’ve just been so fucking nervous since you called me,” Tyson curses, frustratedly brushing his fingers through his curls.

“You’re right though, I did come to talk. I think it’s time we lay all our cards on the table,” you tell him, nodding at your own answer.

You nervously bite on your lip, playing with the cup of water in your hand. It isn’t every day you ask your ex these questions. Questions you want the answers to, question you maybe don’t even want to hear the answers of. “I need to know if you cheated on me, Ty,” you blurt out, keeping your eyes on the ground, not wanting to see the look on Tyson’s face.

“Look at me, baby,” Tyson says, urging you to look up at him. “I never cheated on you, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

You shake your head at him, not knowing what to do with these emotions surging through your body. “It doesn’t make sense, Ty. Where were you all those nights? Where were you every time I lay in bed alone waiting for my boyfriend to come home? Waiting if he actually comes home this time or stays out all night again? Where were you?” At this point you’re past the civil conversations, past the friendly banter, you need answers, you need to know why he did what he did. The reason doesn’t even matter at this point, you need to know why. Why did he leave you alone so many nights, worrying about his well being, worrying about if he would come home at some point?

“Fuck, y/n! I know I fucked up, I know I did. But I swear on everything, I swear on my career, I swear on you that I never, never, touched another woman. I never kissed another woman, I never even danced with another woman, I did not cheat on you,” Tyson exclaims, hoping, praying you hear what he’s saying, that you’ll believe him. He didn’t do anything with another person, it was always you, it still is only you and he’ll do everything in his power to prove that to you every damn day.

“Then where were you, Ty? If you weren’t with another woman, then where the fuck were you every night you didn’t came home? Please enlighten me, because I’m so lost, so fucking lost,” you say, feeling utterly frustrated with yourself, with Tyson, with this shitty situation.

Tyson takes a deep breath, placing his cup back on the table. “Shitfaced drunk to the point I couldn’t even remember my own name, or so stoned I saw freaking elephants running all around town. Spending my money on unnecessary shit at clubs and bars, all to forget, trying to forget the fact that I had a perfect girlfriend waiting for me at home, while I did stupid shit. Fuck, this sounds even worse out loud than in my head,” Tyson groans, burying his face in his hands.

“But...,” you start, before Tyson cuts you off.

“I felt ashamed and guilty, y/n. Ashamed I let it get that far every time, guilty I didn’t tell you, guilty I didn’t come home again. One of the guys would just take me back to their place out of sympathy, letting me crash on their couch, trying to sleep off my haze.”

You try to come up with words to say, with anything but nothing comes out, you just feel.. empty? “I don’t understand, Tyson,” you say, at this point not even sure what you don’t understand.

“I tried, y/n. I tried to just come clean, but I couldn’t when you were so nice all the time, I couldn’t when I knew you would hate it, hate me. You know I’m a fucking lightweight, that makes it even worse. But those are no excuses, there aren’t any. I fucked up,” Tyson sighs, giving you a sad smile, “I couldn’t face you, I didn’t know how to show you my vulnerable side without letting it change the way you saw me. I didn’t want you to see me any different, but I didn’t notice I changed until you packed your bags and left me standing in the doorway.”

You’re absolutely speechless, there are so many things you want to say but you can’t form any sentences, any words. You just stare at him, your mind racing with an unlimited amount of thoughts. “Are you okay, baby?” Tyson asks softly, reaching out to put his hand on your arm.

You shake your head from side to side, wiping away the tears that spilled out. “I’m not okay, I’m definitely not okay,” you tell him. “I feel terrible knowing you didn’t feel like you could come to me, like you couldn’t talk to me. I’ve always been your biggest supporter, nothing would’ve changed that, Ty.”

Tyson gently wipes the tears away from underneath your eyes, scooting closer to where you’re seated. “Come here, baby,” he softly says, opening his arms for you. You hesitate for a second, not knowing if this is the right thing to do. Fuck the right thing, you definitely need a hug right now, and judging by Tyson’s facial expression he needs one as well. You lean forward, putting your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his body. How long has it been since you hugged each other? You can’t even remember, way too long. Tyson closes his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible to his own body.

“I missed this, Ty. I missed you,” you confess, the feeling of his arms around you, the feeling of Tyson, bringing back so many memories, so many happier times.

“I know we still have a long way to go, but I hope we’ll do this together. I can’t even tell you how great it feels to have my arms around you again, even if it’s just for a moment,” Tyson says, after you both let go of each other.

“We do, but I’m in if you’re in, Ty,” you agree, wanting nothing more than to work through the issues you still have. It’s time to forgive, time to let go, time to change and time to move on.

“I’m all in.”

The talk you had with Tyson that Wednesday evening did wonders for the both of you. You still had a long way to go before you were even remotely close to where you used to be with Tyson, but the most important thing was that you were working on things. Slowly, but steadily the two of you worked on trusting each other again, telling each other important things again, just simply working on being in a healthy relationship again. Although the word never came up, you were nowhere near ready for that commitment, so you settled on something less intimidating. Friends.

It was supposed to be a regular, normal Friday evening with just Melissa and the kids. Gabe and Tyson were playing one of their most important games this season, both of them begged you to come, but it was too late to find a babysitter. Not wanting to be by yourself there and leaving Mel alone, you decided to sit this one out as well, promising to cheer them on in front of the tv. It’s the least you could do. So there you are, seated on the couch wearing your Jost jersey for the very first time again, just as you promised. Weird, like nothing ever changed, even though the exact opposite is true.

You’re bouncing a giggling Linnea Rae on your knee, looking down at her adorable mini jersey. “Look it’s your daddy!” you exclaim excitedly, pointing at the closeup shot of Gabe.

“Daddy!” Linnea Rae giggles just as excited.

You catch Mel softly smiling at your little interaction with her daughter, enjoying the love you share for each other. It’s been a blessing to have you around here, the way you care for her children, but also for her and her husband has been phenomenal. Mel couldn’t wish for a better friend, for a better sister than you.

“Oh no,” you whisper when Tyson gets slammed hard into the glass. Melissa grabs your hand, squeezing softly.

“He’s going to be fine, he’s a tough guy,” she says, trying her best to comfort you. And he is, like the tough guy Tyson is, he gets up again, shaking off the hard hit. The game continues and you’re glad Tyson is fine, skating like he didn’t just get squeezed between a glass wall and a 200 pound hockey player.

All goes well until Gabe decides the best place to smack his stick is directly against Tyson’s face, again. “Not his face, Gabe! Not his fucking face again!” you yell at the screen, thanking Mel for already putting the kids to sleep.

“Shit, that looks bad,” Melissa almost whispers, squeezing your hand again.

You don’t know many things for sure in life, but you sure as hell know Tyson will be spotting a black eye for weeks. But like the tough guy he already proved to be, he just goes on with the game, trying his absolute best to work as hard as he can, giving himself completely to the game, anything to get his team the victory.

“That’s the second time you gave my man a black eye, Gabe. Why do you keep hurting him?” you whine the second Gabe walks into the living room. For a moment the room stays awfully quiet, until you realize what you just said. “I really said that, huh?” you ask, fighting to keep the smile off your face.

“You sure did. But I’m sorry, it was an accident. Again,” Gabe chuckles, shrugging his shoulders.

“Uhu, again,” you say, rolling your eyes at your best friend.

Gabe grins at you, flopping down on the couch next to Mel. “I’ll try not to hurt his pretty face again, okay?” Gabe laughs, shaking his head at you in a playful way.

“Is it weird if I, you know.. went over to check up on him?” you ask your friends, suddenly insecure about the thought of just showing up at his door.

Gabe gives you a soft smile. “I’m absolutely convinced he’d love that, y/n,” Gabe says, pulling Melissa closer to him.

“I know he would, sis,” Melissa agrees with her husband.

“Fine, okay. I’ll be back in a few. Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” you tell the two lovebirds before finding your stuff and almost running out of the front door.

You’re giddy the entire drive to Tyson’s apartment. This could go two ways, either it goes extremely well or this backfires completely. You’re hoping for the first one. Seeing Tyson get hurt gave you some realizations. One of them is that you absolutely hate to see him hurt, and you want nothing more than to be there for him, care for him, to tell him everything will be alright. Which brings you to your second discovery of the evening: you still love him, you’re still completely and utterly in love with Tyson. You can’t, really can’t imagine your life without Tyson in it. It’s your turn to tell him you need him, tell him you don’t want to do anything without him, tell him you still see a future together.

You pick up his favorite comfort food on the way over, cake. You know his nutritionist will hate you for this, but he deserves a treat after taking a stick to the face. You chuckle to yourself when you think of the small cake you bought, it’s stupid and childish, but you love it. The fun you already had makes it absolutely worth it. You park in front of the building, hopping out of the car and quickly making your way over to the floor Tyson occupies.

You rummage around in your coat pocket for the lighter you bought alongside the cake. Quickly placing the cover back into the bag, and lighting up the ‘2’ shaped candle. You snicker to yourself, enjoying this way too much. You knock on the door and patiently wait for Tyson to open up. You hear Tyson approaching, making it harder and harder to keep your composure.

The moment he opens the door his face shifts from slight annoyance, to confused, to happy, and back to confused again. “y/n?” he asks softly, looking between you and the cake, confusion clearly written all over his face.

“Happy second black eye!” you yell, before bursting out in laughter.

Tyson can’t help but join you in your laughter, if there’s one thing he loves about you, it’s your wicked sense of humor. “You really are something special, aren’t you?” Tyson chuckles, shaking his head softly at you, a smile playing on his lips.

“You tell me, Jost,” you say, giving him a wink before walking past him and inside his apartment.

“So you bought me a cake?” Tyson asks you, looking over your shoulder to the cake on his kitchen counter.

“I sure did, thought you’d deserved a treat after what Gabe did to you, again,” you laugh.

“He sure likes to hit me in the face with things. But thank you, this really means a lot to me, baby,” Tyson softly says, squeezing your hip with one of his hands, before grabbing two plates. While Tyson cuts the cake you look for something to drink, deciding water will do for the night.

You flop down on the couch next to Tyson, immediately bringing the fork with a piece of cake to your mouth. “Oh God, that’s so good,” you moan out, you picked some killer cake.

“Don’t make those noises, please,” Tyson groans, stuffing his face with cake.

“I’m sorry I picked such a good freaking cake, mister,” you laugh, nudging him with your foot. Tyson rolls his eyes playfully at you, grabbing your foot with his free hand before you can nudge him again and again.

“Movie?” Tyson asks after you both finished your plates, although Tyson finished the last few bites of your piece. Like he said he’s a needy and hungry man.

“Sure, but just something light and funny, Ty. Nothing dark,” you tell him, knowing he’d love to scare you throughout some horror movie.

While Tyson scrolls through the movies, you make yourself more comfortable on the couch, laying back against the cushions with your feet against Tyson. He looks at you, scanning your body, clearly thinking about something since his eyebrows keep furrowing and relaxing.

“Come here, Tyson,” you softly say when he finally picks a movie to watch, opening your arms for him. His eyes shoot to yours, like he can’t actually believe you just told him that. He gives you a quick smile, before moving towards you, laying down beside you.

He rests his head against your chest, just like he used to do so long ago, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Is this okay?” he asks you, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, even though you’re the one who suggested this.

“It’s perfect, Ty,” you reassure him.

Halfway through the movie you can’t resist the temptation to run your fingers through his curls any longer. Tyson groans softly when your nails rake over his scalp, sending chill through your body. “That’s so good, please never stop doing that,” he groans out, pulling you tighter against him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Ty,” you tell him, smiling at the way his eyes shoot to yours.

“You aren’t? Are you serious?” he asks you quietly, eyes still locked on yours.

“I am, love. I came to the conclusion that you’re worth all the risks in life. You’re my light, my guiding light in darkness, my light at the end of the tunnel,” you say, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead. You try to express your emotions towards Tyson, trying to make him feel what you felt when you came to the sudden realization he’s worth taking a risk.

“What does that mean, baby?” Tyson asks you softly, an uncertain smile on his lips.

“It means I’m willing to give us another shot, another go. I want to try again, Ty.”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips when you look at Tyson’s face, the realization setting in, the happiness and the gratefulness spreading all over his face, the relief flooding through his body.

“How does that work?” Tyson asks again, clearly trying to rid himself of any insecurities, any questions he has. You gladly take those insecurities away from him.

“A clean slate, completely starting over again to give us both a fresh start. How does that sound?” you ask him.

Tyson nods at you, the happiness radiation off him. “A fresh start, I like the sound of that,” Tyson muses. The changes on his face fascinates you, it seems like he goes through a whole range of emotions in just a few minutes. Until he reaches one you know all too well, mischief. He looks at you, the familiar glimmer in his eyes tells you he’s definitely up to something. He sends you a soft and sweet smile, that almost melts you into a puddle right there and then. “Hi, I’m Tyson,” he says, extending his hand to you. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, this is exactly how Tyson is. Funny, charming, an absolute dream.

“You’re a goof, you know that?” you tell him, softly shaking your head at him, but the big grin on your face tells him you loved that. Tyson intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing softly. When he doesn’t make any other moves you take matters into your own hand, slowly leaning in and softly pressing your lips on his. The familiarity, the rush of emotion flooding through your body hits you like a ton of bricks. The feeling of his lips against yours light something deep inside of you, and just like that you finally feel complete again.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up. 

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years.   But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning. 

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course. 

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously. 

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the  surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.” 

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said. 

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.  

Unknown (9:32am)  Hi Y/N,  It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.  Regards, Seokjin 

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed. 

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him. 

You (9:43am)  Of course, send the details. I trust your taste! 

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself.   Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly… 

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you. 

Seokjin (9:50am)  The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.  Seokjin 

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother). 

You (9:52am)  I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later! 

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it. 

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely.  He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back. 

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to. 

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again. 

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious. 

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form. 

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea… 

.

.

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing. 

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man. 

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately. 

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly. 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment. 

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“ 

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that." 

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway. 

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.” 

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous. 

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[tloujm]

Part XXVI: Giving Grief

Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter I’ve posted in months (literally since April). I don’t know if this is a full comeback. I have a few chapters in the drafts that need to be edited and formatted for posting but after that, I still plan on continuing the series bc my plan was always have a long fic. With no new content after part II of the game was released, my interest in the fandom waned but was always there. Now with HBO creating a show based off the game, as well as me being apart of the Pedro Pascal fandom, I think I will soon become more consistent in posting as new content gets released. I will say that at least half of what appeals to me for Joel is Troy Baker’s voice and while I love Pedro’s voice too, I know it won’t be the same. I still think Pedro will do the voice justice bc he can do a damn fine country accent as seen in the movie Prospect on Netflix. If you’re a fan of his and have Netflix, please go watch it!

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Summary: You and Joel reconcile and bond over Ellie and Sarah. 

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Joel waited for you to come home. He paced back and forth in the kitchen switching from holding the card and setting it down on the counter. He was eager to talk to you about this new revelation partly because he was nervous to have the other conversation with you. After a while of calming his nerves down, you still hadn’t come home. The sun had set an hour ago and Joel was ready to throw on his boots and go looking for you. 

Just as he laced them up, the front door opened. You walked in and immediately stopped because his body blocked you from walking in the house further. 

“Going somewhere?” You asked as you slid past him. He was a grown man and could do what he wanted, but the thought of him leaving to go do other things before the issue between you was resolved upset you. 

He reached back down to unlace his boots. “Not anymore. I was ‘bout to head out and find you.”

“Why?” You asked dryly.

“I’d been waiting on you to come home for a couple of hours. We gotta talk.”

“You’re right, we do. I was helping Wendy walk the kids home from the daycare; that’s what held me up. I’m here now, though.” You leaned against the back of the couch and crossed your arms. The stance you took reminded you of what Joel would do.

He walked into the kitchen and came back. “Kiddo made this for us.”

You took it in your hands. “When did she have time to make this?” He shrugged. Your fingers brushed across the drawing of the hat before finally opening it. “Oh my God.” She looked at you for a split second before looking back down at her signature. “Her name has been ‘Ellie’ the whole time.”

“I know.” He commented. 

“She never said anything. All of us have asked her.”

“Technically, she still hasn’t spoken her name, but I guess she wasn’t ready for that.”

“She wasn’t ready to let anybody in.” You said. He nodded in agreement.

“Until now.” He walked up to you and pointed to her name on the card. “She’s doing so good, this Ellie. I can only try to imagine the horrors that she’s seen out in the world before she came to Jackson, but whatever happened out there, it led her to us. I’m...It’s just nice to see her opening up to this place.”

You understood what he was trying to say. “Yeah, I’m proud of her too.” You walked past him and into the kitchen to hang the card on the refrigerator. Joel followed. This time, his arms were crossed.

“(Y/N), I meant it when I said I was sorry back there. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it.” You rebutted.

“I was upset with you because I expected you to react the same as me when Ellie climbed up that T-Rex, but I don’t want a carbon copy of myself. I love you and want to have a family with you because you are wise beyond your years, confident even if you don’t always think so, responsible even for things that aren’t your responsibility and most importantly, you’re level headedness. Where I have a tendency to lose my cool in certain situations, you are guided by this calm...patient sense of will that I envy.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, giving you the opportunity to say something. Seeing that you were still soaking in his words, he continued. “You’ll be a great mother. I saw it in the gentle way you juggled all those kids at the daycare. I saw it in the way you took care of Ellie the first day she came here. You’ll see though, if it’s meant for us to have a baby, how difficult it is to stop worrying. It didn’t stop when Sarah....even when I tried to push those feelings away. It doesn’t stop. I know she’s not her, but it’s hard for me to just stand by and watch her do something that could hurt her.”

“I wasn’t standing by, or at least that wasn’t my intention. I wanted to give her space. She’s so delicate, or maybe that’s my problem. I shouldn’t treat her like she’s some glass figurine. I just wanted her to grow comfortable with us by trusting her. Believe me, it wasn’t easy for me to do when there was nothing personally for me to go off of, but then I thought, she’s lived out there for God knows how long by herself. She’s not only seen things but has been able to survive things. It’s hard to see how clever someone is when they won’t let you in, but I knew she had to be to have made it this far. I get it though. I’ve never been a parent. I can only sympathize with your worries. I can not empathize with you until I’ve been where you have. I’m sorry too. I could have found a way to give her space without allowing her to be in such a dangerous spot. You must be disappointed in me.”

He moved up to you and placed his hands on your shoulder. “I’m not. Look at me. I’m not disappointed in you. She was both of our responsibilities earlier.” He brought you into a tight hug. “You’re right, she is smart. She felt comfortable enough to show a side of herself that no one else has seen. You know why? ‘Cause she felt safe around us. Despite the grief she put me through, it was nice to see her so happy.”

“I know it was, wasn’t it? I can’t believe she jumped though! I didn’t think she’d go that far.”

“At the end of the day, kids will be kids. It’s not an excuse to slack off on raising ‘em, but there's just a certain wild and carefree nature that every kid has. It’s instilled in their DNA or somethin’ and then it fades away as they get older, about the time their back starts to ache.” Joel chuckled as he explained. He kissed the top of your head before pulling away to get a good look at you. He made a face as if to ask if you were ok. You nodded. He took your hand and pulled you into the living room. You sat down next to him. “She reminds me of Sarah sometimes. Ellie’s about the same age as her. She ran me through the ringer, raising that one.” He chuckled at the memories. “I wouldn’t trade it in for the world, being her dad, but you shoulda seen the amount of grief she put me through. Especially being a single parent.” He wiped his hand across his face, letting it linger along the length of his neck. “One time, she snuck off to some skate park when I told her no. She was in this skateboarding phase. I bought her a customized skateboard for her birthday and she would practice using it up and down the driveway. She had barely learned that little flippy trick when she asked me to take her to the skate park. I told her no because it looked like it was for experienced skaters. I wanted her to practice more first. To say the least, she was mad at me. She told me she was staying after school for the science club, but she really went to the skate park with some friends. By the time I figured out where she was, I found her lying in the grass, holding her arm in pain. Turned out she had a hairline fracture in her...radius?” He pointed to the bone on his arm. You nodded that it was in fact called radius. “I grounded her for lying to me, but sometimes I wonder if I should have taken her to the park. I mean I’m no expert on skateboarding, but at least I could have been there to supervise; make sure she wasn’t on one of those tough looking ramps.”

“Did you ever take her skateboarding after she healed up?”

“After the cast came off, she switched interests to soccer. I installed a shelf on one of her walls to hang the skateboard on. Better that than being stuffed under her bed. Soccer was her life though. She made new friends from the team, won titles, learned tricks with the ball. Me and Tommy were regulars at her games. I was...am proud of her.”

You smiled as you envisioned his memories. “Did she give you grief with that as well?”

He nodded in an exaggerated way. “Oh yeah, but I’m sure I used to give her grief too.” You lifted your eyebrows with desire for him to elaborate. “I may or may not have argued with the coach and ref on a few occasions regarding plays.”

“You never dated any of the soccer moms?” You teased.

He scoffed. “Most of them were married and the ones who weren’t, I sent Tommy’s way instead. He wasn’t mad at it.” The two of you chuckled. “I did flirt with a few, married or not, so I could get my hands on some of their homemade baked goods.”

“I was under the assumption that soccer moms made food for everyone.”

“They did, but I still wanted a few more cupcakes for the ride home.” He admitted as you laughed. “Listen, I had a busy life. I didn’t have much time to hone my baking skills, so it was nice to be able to have homemade cakes and cookies for a change.

“Well, if you wanted cookies, that’s all you had to say! I can show you how to bake right now.”

“It’s late.” He reasoned.

“It’s never too late to feed your sweet tooth.” You rebutted as you pulled him back into the kitchen.

[sickonthedancefloor]

77-Minute Consequence...

Prompt: Not everyone left the pool from Run 132 unscathed...

Sickie: Hoseok, Jimin Caretakers: Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi... so far Content: fevers, flu-like illnesses, emeto

Hoseok had fun filming the double-dose of run episodes, their second being a watery debate that ended in non-stop splashing and drenching, but he could feel the chill once they were out of the water. Even if the water was so forceful it really almost hurt, after their long morning of tennis battles, it was still a great day. The pool water was warmed, not quite at the intensity of the hot tub but it certainly wasn’t freezing. But they could feel the draft every moment they stepped from the water, the feeling of the air drafting over their soaked clothing the moment they left the safety of the pool.

“Come on, hyungie, time to get out,” Jimin urged, pushing his foot against Hoseok’s. They were still in the pool trying to soak in the last bit of warmth they could after Jungkook pushed them in while horsing around, hair plastered to their necks and foreheads while they bounced across the shallow end.

Laughing, Hoseok tried to grab Jimin’s foot, only to assist in tripping the younger member as Taehyung hurried in after them.

“Come on, guys, let’s get ready to go.”

Suga, with a new towel wrapped around his shoulders, stood from the sidelines. He already worried about all of them catching something, but he definitely didn’t want to be the first. While the pool was relaxing and the hot tub even better, it was just slightly too cold for them to enjoy it to its fullest. Hoseok, ever the one of reason, let go of his roommate in favor of wading towards the exit—but Jimin was quick to jump on his back to shove him in, cackling as Hoseok barely had time to grab his nose to prevent inhaling water. When he came up, spluttering and wiping away fresh water from his eyes, he leaned back in an attempt to dunk Jimin off.

…just kidding about reason, Suga realized. Laughing, he just turned and hurried off to find where Namjoon had gone.

Hoseok sneezed again, small but powerful; it shook his core, his sinuses burning, his nerve endings tingling uncomfortably from his shoulders to his fingertips from the force. It startled him.

“Uh-oh.” Came a voice behind him in the water.

When Hoseok shook water from his eyes, slightly dazed from the force of the sneeze, he caught Jungkook wading over, hands outstretched. Hoseok barely had time to reach back before Jungkook had latched onto his shoulders, slowly dragging him back.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing?” Hoseok mumbled.

“Taking Hobi-hyung to the steps. Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry!”

“We need to shower first,” Hoseok started. “The chlor—clor--… claahh…” And another sneeze, which had him shaking suddenly in Jungkook’s grasp.

Jimin, who’d been lazily wading behind them, sniffled with a frown. “Hob-ah, that doesn’t sound so good.”

“Aish… I just need a hot shower when we get back. You too, Jiminie, your nose is running.”

“Is d’ot!” Jimin protested, but he had to bring a hand to his face to wipe away what he had originally thought was just water. It felt wet but warm, stringy; definitely snot. And disgusting. He turned his head from Hoseok to hide the move, but Hoseok had already begun ascending the stairs, already trying to peel himself out of his soaked tops. On Jimin’s own way out of the pool, he sneezed—and it was enough to drop him back into the water with a melodramatic air about it. Jungkook lost himself to laughter immediately.

 ~*~

 The next morning, Hoseok woke up with two major complaints. His blanket was part missing, and he was hot. The dorm room had felt frigid the night prior which prompted Hoseok to crawl underneath the comforter and the sheets, but his bed felt so warm he began to regret his choices the moment he stirred awake. It felt almost… stuffy. A little gross. As he blinked open his eyes, ready to push back one blanket, he noticed a familiar lump pressed against him that was holding on to his blanket like a lifeline.

“Jiminie?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Still as ever, Hoseok recognized that messy blonde hair from anywhere. He and Jimin had shared enough beds that he could tell in an instant.

The room still seemed too dark as Hoseok tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he knew something had to have been wrong if Jimin had maneuvered over to his bed that night. Stifling a yawn, he reached a hand over, gingerly pressing his palm against Jimin’s forehead. He could feel heat, but… not too warm? Maybe? Jimin felt clammy to him, which he was sure wasn’t his own sweaty palms. Something still seemed off to Hoseok, but even with his sleep-logged brain he wanted to do something about it. He figured, while he was up, he’d at least check on him, perhaps get him medicine and water to shake whatever he seemed to be coming down with. The older dancer moved carefully, sliding his legs from the covers first so he could slip from the bed without disturbing his younger guest. The floor seemed chilly under his feet, but what startled him awake was how fast the world seemed to sway the moment he stood.

Was he really so tired?

Taking a moment, hand pressed flat against the wall, he just reacquainted himself with his sense of balance before he took another step. He felt… sore, tired from yesterday’s events. Perhaps he just really needed more sleep; Hobi hated not getting enough sleep when he had the chance to. But today’s schedule was light—he could go back to sleep after he took care of Jimin, squeeze in another hour or two. Grumbling, he shook his head; once everything seemed to right itself, he shook the funk from his head and just left the room. That sure was strange. With a soft yawn, he headed over to the bathroom on their side of the hall, as he could hear the shower running in the closer one, moving towards their first aid and medicine stash they had.

Given the seven of them were always prone to falling, overworking, or catching each other’s illnesses, their bathrooms in the dorms were always stocked with various painkillers, bandages and cold medicine or prescriptions for various circumstances. For organizational purposes, Hoseok had placed them all in a plastic container, so different bottles wouldn’t just get knocked over and passed around the bathroom. It still had a crack from the last time Namjoon knocked it over. Pulling over the container closer to him, Hoseok reached in for one of the bottles of painkillers, looking at the specifics on the label. His vision blurred, and he spent a few moments just blinking, trying to will his eyes to focus so he could read the label.

Wow, he must have been really tired…                          

“Hoseok-ah?”

The light turned on suddenly. That would’ve helped, but it had Hoseok grimacing, an odd heavy feeling forming in his head. He didn’t often get headaches from lack of sleep, but he was starting to wonder if an impending one was coming along. He looked into the mirror at the new offender, and was surprised to find Jin standing in the doorway with his toothbrush. The two made eye contact through the reflections.

“Ah… Hyung. Good morning. Using our bathroom?”

“Yeah, Taetae’s hogging the shower in ours.” Jin’s head tilted to the side, a small frown tugging on his lips as he noticed the medicine kit in front of them. “Did something happen? Hoseok-ah, are you okay?”

“Hn? Ah… Jiminie’s sick, I’m pretty sure,” Hoseok explained. “He crawled into my bed last night, but he’s really warm today so I think he’s got a fever.”

“Hm… Well, let hyung help with that.” Jin set his toothbrush down and moved a little closer, brushing his shoulder against Hoseok’s as he slid the container of medications closer to him. “And you?” he asked, head turning to Hoseok directly. “How are you feeling?”

“Ah…” How was he feeling? Hoseok just yawned again. “I think once I check on Jimin, I’m—” but he paused, bringing a hand to his mouth to force out a rough cough. It hurt, an uncomfortable heat overwhelming his chest as he tried to choke out whatever offending phlegm had gripped into his lungs. After a few rough coughs, accompanied with Jin’s hand patting his back, he manages to stop, taking in a harsh breath. He looked up, shaking his head. “Once I check on Jiminie, I’m going back to sleep for another hour.”

Jin’s arm draped around his shoulder to give the younger rapper a hug, but he paused and moved his hand back, pressing it against the back of Hoseok’s neck. At the offending heat, he brought his other hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, pressing the back of his fingers to clammy skin. Hoseok didn’t bother fighting him off, not bothering to entertain his concern, and just continued to rummage through the kit until he could find the thermometer.

“I think you’re also sick… It’d explain why you’re so sweaty. You’re really clammy.”

Hoseok just shook his head. “Jiminie was too hot is all,” he answered. “Jin-hyung, I’m okay--” But his breath hitched. His sinuses suddenly burned, and it’s all the movement he could do to turn his head away before letting out a loud, nasally sneeze onto his own shoulder. His nose felt wet instantly, and he screwed up his face in discomfort, leaning over to grab a tissue.

Jin’s frown grew in intensity, and as Hoseok wiped his nose, the older one turned him to face him, looking closer at his face, catching view of the glassy look in Hoseok’s doe eyes. Despite his determination, Hoseok merely looked too dazed to stay on his feet for long. “Seok-ah… Come on, listen to hyung.”

Hoseok sniffled, blinking almost owlishly at Jin. “I’ll take something later, but I’m fine.”  With a soft laugh, Hoseok shook his head and stepped back, grabbing the painkillers and thermometer on his way back to his room. Jin watched after him, frowning heavily.

“I’m going to get you both some water.”

“I already have water,” Hoseok called after him, but he grimaced at how harsh it felt against his throat. He pointedly ignored Jin’s pressing stare and scurried back into his room, crawling back onto the bed. Leaning over, he gently pressed his weight against Jimin, resting his head against the younger dancer’s. “Jiminie, wake up, wake up,” he said softly in a sing-song voice.

Jimin grimaced, but immediately turned his face towards his pillow to cough roughly as he tried to clear away any phlegm that settled into his chest during his slumber. Hoseok eased off, dropping the pill bottle on the bed to pat Jimin’s back until the fit ended. It took a minute, but by the time the fit ended, Jin was back with a water bottle, Hoseok slowly urging Jimin to sit up while Jin brought the cool water to his lips. Barely awake, Jimin sipped at the water slowly, his small hand reaching up to grab it from the older vocalist. After a few seconds, with Hoseok just rubbing circles against his back, he handed it back, taking a deep breath with it.

“Sorry, hyungs…” Jimin mumbled. He brought a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “I didn’t feel great last night… I was cold.”

“You’re sick, Minnie.” Jin ran a hand through his hair, then pressed a hand against Jimin’s forehead, taking a moment to gauge his fever himself. His eyes widened, which had Hoseok tilting his head in confusion. “Your fever feels really high, too…”

“It didn’t feel that bad when I checked earlier,” countered Hoseok, though the exasperated frown he received in response had him shrinking back. He glanced around, a little surprised to find another water bottle and cough syrup on the side table. Turning his lips inward, he handed the thermometer over when prompted, and Jin removed the cap.

“Under your tongue, please. And no talking until it gets a reading.”

Jimin blinked in surprise, glancing between the two of them. “You guys came prepared… Wasn’t expecting that.” But he did as instructed, letting Jin position the thermometer in his mouth before closing his lips around it. Hoseok turned his face away to let out another sneeze, grimacing as the sensation set his nerves temporarily aflame. Still holding the tissue from earlier, he just wiped his nose again.

“Did—”

“Don’t talk.”

Jimin’s lips closed back over the thermometer, but his eyes turned to Hoseok as they waited. Jin pointedly avoided looking at Hoseok. Once the small device beeped, Jin moved it from Jimin in order to gauge the reading: 38.8°C. Jin read it aloud as he stood from the bed.

“Not dangerously high, thankfully… If we stay on top of it, it should go down. Feeling anything else besides the fever, Minnie?” Jin questioned his dongsaeng.

“This dumb cough… my head hurts a little, but the painkillers will help with that.”

The eldest nodded. “Alright… I grabbed cough syrup too. Take that while I go wash this off.”

As Jin left the room, Hoseok leaned over Jimin to grab the cough syrup, frowning when he noticed the two small dosage cups tucked on top. Jimin seemed to notice them too, looking over at his roommate.

“Did I get you sick, hyungie?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t, Jiminie, so cute of my precious roommate to worry about me!” Hoseok cooed playfully, though the rasp to his voice was evident to the younger man given his little pout. The older dancer worked on finding the proper dosage for the syrup. But as he attempted to read, his brows furrowed; for some reason, they words weren’t focusing as well, but it was probably due to the lower lighting. He brought it closer to his face, but his eyes watered a bit trying to stare too closely.

Jimin’s own clammy hands gently eased the bottle from his grip, a soft look in his eyes. Hoseok could see a look of worry; he didn’t like that at all. “Let’s just wait for Jin-hyung for that one. Where’s the painkillers?”

Oh, those he had. Hoseok picked up that bottle and opened it with slight strain, but paused as he turned his face away with another sneeze. He sniffled, then knocked out two tablets to hand to Jimin. The smaller singer tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with a large swig of the water, then glanced at his roommate again.

“What, Jiminie?”

“Are you just going to pretend you’re okay all day?” Jimin asked softly, pouting once again.

“W-what?”

Jimin didn’t get a chance to answer before Jin was back, sitting down near Jimin’s legs. He leaned over, holding the thermometer to Hoseok. He had his stern face on, something the others hadn’t seen in a long while. Jin was a rather easygoing member, usually more playful than anything, unless there was something truly bothering him or if he was concentrating too hard. “Humor me.”

“Jin-hyung, this is ridic—” Jin cut Hoseok off by pressing the thermometer in his mouth.

“Under your tongue.”

“Ji—”

“And no talking!”

With a frown over the small device, Hoseok pulled the thermometer from his lips and merely climbed from the bed to clean it. What he didn’t expect was to catch Jimin’s hand gripping his own, tugging him back down. It was almost embarrassing how easy Hoseok stumbled back, eyes wildly blinking as his view changed suddenly. He frowned, and the uneasy sensation from earlier returned almost full force. Jin wasted no time pushing the thermometer back in his mouth, but he sat still with a small huff, waiting. Jin busied himself with filling both dosage cups with liquid, handing Jimin one of them. Once the thermometer beeped, Hoseok pulled it from his lips and frowned at the reading: a 39.1°C. Jin quickly snagged it from him before he could erase the reading, which had him sighing.

“Hyung, I’m fine,” Hoseok insisted.

Jin just handed him the second cup. “Drink up.”

With a sigh, Hoseok just nodded, drinking the small cup like a shot. It burned just as badly going down, but far less satisfying, than soju. As Jin collected the cups, he handed Hoseok the second water bottle and left the room again.

Jimin sighed, flopping back on the bed. He definitely looked worse for wear, and Hoseok brought a shaky hand up to run fingers through his hair. Jimin smiled softly. “Hyungie… Since we’re both sick, we should just nap all day. Cuddle me?”

With a grumble, Hoseok just crawled his way back onto the bed next to Jimin, pushing away the covers on his side. With this fever, Jimin felt like a furnace and it was extremely easy to overheat. Hoseok didn’t sip the water, merely held onto the bottle pressed to the side of his chest; although he wouldn’t admit it, the cold temperature in his hands felt nice to just hold onto. Jin didn’t say much else, merely reached over to ruffle both of their heads before standing.

“Go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll stay in today. If you need anything, call hyung.”

Jimin smiled up at him before tucking his face into Hoseok’s neck, yawning loudly. Hoseok merely pulled him close and let his eyes flutter closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

 ~*~

 Waking up was a startling affair. Still half-asleep, Hoseok barely registered the feeling of someone pulling him upright, and he bumped his head immediately against someone’s knee.

“Whoops, sorry, Hob-ah.”

“Yah, Namjoon-ah! Be careful!”

Faint coughing from Jimin, then the immediate sound of retching. Hoseok opened his eyes to see Jimin hunched over the side of the bed, Jin rubbing his back gently while looking at someone over Hoseok’s head. Namjoon, Hoseok guessed, but he couldn’t understand how Namjoon ended up standing over him. And then the overwhelming scent of vomit just attacked his nose, overpowering the scent of sickness that had begun to permeate the room. He felt hot, and sticky, and feeling Namjoon’s large arms holding him up by his armpits didn’t help.

“You awake, Hobi?” Namjoon asked. “We’re gonna have to help you two shower after this.”

Grimacing, Hoseok brought a hand up to rub his eye—only for both Namjoon and Jin to yell at him to stop moving. He paused, hand lifted upward—and it was wet. A warm, sticky wet, and smelled sour… He was quick to realize it was vomit, in its gross and putrid glory. Jimin let out another heavy, loud retch, and Hoseok’s own stomach flipped at the sound of liquid splashing into something plastic. Hoseok didn’t do well with vomit on a decent day, barely being a step above sympathy puking, but the uncomfortable warmth and the heavy odor in the air was more than enough to make him nauseous immediately. He whimpered, mouth already beginning to salivate uncomfortably.

“Yaaaah, Hoseok-ah, let Namjoon get you to the bathroom first! Namjoon--”

“I got it!”

The younger rapper came into view as he stepped to Hoseok’s left side, letting go of the dancer in order to flip the blanket to the side. Hoseok could see the liquid already seeping through, and his shirt was drenched in sweat and speckled in leftover stomach bile. He felt gross… His stomach rolled immediately. Namjoon wasted no time in pulling Hoseok to his feet and off the bed, ignoring the dripping mess from his hand as he ushered him to the bathroom. Hoseok wasted no time dropping to his knees when they made it past the door, not even waiting for Namjoon to turn on the light before he gave in to his body’s demands. The pressure forced bile from him like it had been waiting for hours, the cramp in his stomach twisting to empty the contents. He didn’t eat much, so he was startled when one mouthful became three, which soon were too many to count. Just what did he even have in his stomach to expel so harshly? His shoulders shook with exertion, cleaner hand trembling as it gripped the edge of the commode so tight his knuckles were white. All the while, Namjoon knelt beside him, wiping his messy hand with a wet wipe before just rubbing his back, reassuring him that he was okay, to just let it out and he’d feel better soon. It felt almost never-ending, each few seconds forcing out another painful retch as he tried to cough up whatever he could have eaten in the past week, his esophagus on fire. His back hurt, tense from the strain, and he could barely feel his fingers.

It took a long few minutes before the cramping let up, and Hoseok, extremely winded and drained, rested his head to the side of the bowl. He’d needed a shower anyway; this wasn’t the worst. Namjoon sighed softly, more of relief than anything.

“Nothing else in there?” he asked.

“Nn-nn. Joonie… that felt bad.”

“It looked bad.”

Hoseok could feel Namjoon easing his face away, hearing the sudden roar of the toilet flushing before him. He let him go, and Hoseok’s cheek found the porcelain again while he just let his eyes fall closed and listened to the ruckus happening around him. Namjoon swearing softly as he messed with the cleaning wipes, probably cleaning up whatever mess Hoseok may have made of around the toilet. He could hear the shower running, and Namjoon soon tugging the toilet paper roll—the entire roll, judging by the sudden clanging of metal—from the ring. It didn’t take long for Hoseok to feel toilet paper wiping at his mouth, and he pouted at the feeling.

“Sorry, we should probably rinse your mouth out before you shower, but let me get this extra off your face.”

“Can I shower here?” Hoseok muttered.

With a soft laugh, Namjoon just helped him remove his dirtied clothing. Hoseok leaned back to realize Namjoon also seemed to be shirtless, and opened his eyes to find that his friend had already stripped to his own boxers.

“Wha…?”

Namjoon laughed softly. “You’re really not in any condition to shower by yourself, Hob-ah.”

That earned him a pout. Hoseok wanted to believe he wasn’t so incapacitated that he needed help… but given how the fatigue seemed to stay settled in his bones, he knew his friend was right. Namjoon was at least kind about it as he helped him move into the shower, taking extra effort to massage Hoseok’s scalp as he conditioned his hair just to help him relax. Hoseok didn’t even feel shame as he let the shower’s water splash against his clammy skin. He let Namjoon sponge away grime and sweat from his body, and the gentle scent of the soap already brightened up his mood. Namjoon urged him out before he got too relaxed, helping him dress in fresh pajamas. Upon closer look, Hoseok realized that neither the pants nor the oversized shirt were his, but they felt nice nonetheless.

“Finally got in your pants, Namjoooon,” Hoseok laughed breathlessly.

That got a chuckle out of his friend, who just toweled his hair for a few seconds before walking him down the hall. As they passed his shared bedroom, Hoseok found himself squinting over his shoulder in surprise. “Mm… Joonie?”

“Jin-hyung’s letting your room air out a little more,” Namjoon replied. Instead, he was led right into Namjoon’s own room, and the taller rapper helped ease him into bed. With a soft sigh, Hoseok pressed his face right against the pillow. Feeling considerably cooler, more comfortable, and on one of Namjoon’s feathersoft pillows, he was already doing better. The fellow 94-liner draped a blanket over him and straightened it out, then, to be safe, pushed his desk trash can to the side of the bed. “Rest for a while, okay, Hobi?”

Hoseok didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes closing, he fell asleep easily.

 ~*~

 Hoseok awoke feeling way too warm. With a grimace, he lifted a hand to push the blankets away, only to find that he apparently had been hugging some sort of companion. Confused, he paused, lifting his head up as he squinted forward.

From there, he saw Yoongi, earphone in one ear, phone in a hand with stylus in the other, He seemed to be jotting down notes. Yoongi absently placed the stylus in his mouth and moved his hand to Hoseok’s hair, petting it gently. The notion had Hoseok moving to drop his head against Yoongi’s chest, his arm still draped across his stomach. He hummed softly.

“Hyung?” Hoseok mumbled.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t stop petting his hair. “You’re awake, Seokseok-ah?”

Hoseok gave a slight nod. “It’s hot in here.”

Yoongi looked down, and his hand moved from ruffling his hair to covering his forehead. “Shit… you missed a dose. You need more medicine.”

Shaking his head, Hoseok let out a whine. “I don’t wanna be asleep anymore. Yoongiiii…”

That got a chuckle out of the older boy. “Come on. Meds, a little bit of juk, and maybe we can crash in the living room for a bit—”

Before Yoongi could finish discussing the game plan, the door to Namjoon’s room swung open carefully, and Jin’s head popped in. Hoseok turned to look at him, putting on a smile.

“Hey, you’re up! See, Jimin-ah? He’s okay, he was just resting in here.” His voice remained low and soft, and Hoseok had to smile at how careful their eldest hyung was being. As Jin moved back, Hoseok could see Jimin peering in, eyes tired but delighted to see him.

“Hobi-hyung!” Jimin wasted no time in crossing the room, immediately draping himself over the two on the bed.

Hoseok fought back a grimace and smiled, small hand reaching over to ruffle Jimin’s hair. Jimin’s extra weight pressed against his tender stomach and just made him feel warmer, but he was glad to see his roommate. “Jiminie, feeling better?”

Jimin sighed dramatically. “Only a little bit… I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

At that, Yoongi laughed, hand reaching over to gently shove Jimin’s shoulder. “Better get out before you throw up on this bed too.”

“Hyung, don’t tease me, I’m sick,” whined the small vocalist. He received another shove in response.

But with a laugh, Jin merely headed in to tug Jimin back to his feet, promising they’d visit again later. As they left, Hoseok could hear Jin convincing Jimin to return to bed now that they’d seen Hoseok, and the gesture made Hoseok feel warm inside. It was nice to know that Jimin cared for him even as they were; he just hoped the others were taking as good care of Jimin as they were of himself. He was sure they were, especially if Jin was there. Jin was the best.

“What’s that make me,” Yoongi asked, “Chopped liver?”

Hoseok laughed, not realizing he’d spoken out loud. “You’re my best hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yoongi chuckled at that, bringing a hand back up to stroke Hoseok’s hair. As Hoseok began to relax against him, the older rapper nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, Seokseok-ah… Food and meds. Food and meds, and then you can sleep again.”

With a grumble, Hoseok just pressed his face further into Yoongi’s shoulder and tried to pretend he didn’t have to get up.

[kishillaa]

SSM21 Day 28: Thank You

That girl, with big green eyes, pink hair and that huge red ribbon on top of her head, is so, so annoying. Sasuke thought, staring at her wrapping the bandage around his arm. The wound he accidentally caused when he tried to throw the kunai in his hands the way his brother did, crossing that kunai bearing hands infront of him and throw it skillfully to the target.

He just had to injure himself when a girl walk by. Today of all time.

The said girl shyly beamed at him, "All done!" and his thought shifted to how does a person can smile so widely and still look really good.

He clear his throat a few time. When he finally found his voice, he spoke, "What's your name?"

The oddly pink haired girl blink that big green eyes of hers, her cheeks tainted pink, before she answered, "My name is Sakura Haruno, you can call me Sakura." Her voice was velvety and quiet, not like her shameless smile, she actually appeared to be really shy.

He nodded, drink up the drink Sakura offered earlier as he stares at the wide eyed girl, "Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha." He said, mimicking the way he heard his brother introduced himself once–"Itachi. Itachi Uchiha." He had said.–to a stranger on the street when they walk together.

He almost roll his eyes when the girl–Sakura–send him another big smile of hers, "It's nice to meet you, Sasuke-kun."

He nodded, jump off from the bench and stand on his feet. He turns to look at the girl over his shoulder, seeing how she's fidgeting as she gazes at his back, "Thank you... Sakura."

He put more effort in sending her his gratitude, lowering her voice, make sure his tone is genuine, ernest, and his gaze never waver from hers.

He didn't hear what she had said as he walks away swiftly. Many things he was sure of after that; her big expressive green eyes attracted him more than he allows himself to, her oddly pink locks is strangely suiting–he likes it–and that annoyingly huge smile of hers is actually pretty.

-

When their names were announced in the same genin team, Sasuke sighed harshly. It couldn't be anyone else, could it?

The biggest idiot in their class–how did he passed, anyway?–the good for nothing pink–hair–big–green–eyes–overly–wide–smile fangirl and a supposedly jounin level ninja who couldn't even dodge an eraser on top of his head.

He was proved wrong of course, during that mission in the land of waves. Kakashi was a well known ninja–who would've thought a pervert with a tardiness problem make such popularity–while Naruto actually defeat a guy that even he, Sasuke Uchiha, couldn't–he is however one hundred percent sure he could too, Naruto just had to get in the way making him took those senbon meant for him. Sakura didn't do much, but she did stand infront of their client in an act to save him from the coming threat; it signifies her courage.

He remember vividly how his body moves on its own as he placed himself in between Sakura and that chuunin, and Naruto and the senbon.

It was an instinct somehow, attempting to cut his life short and stand before the blow meaning for someone else. It was strange, to try and safe someone you found so god damn annoying, and someone you couldn't stand not having a bicker with. But he did, anyway. He doesn't even understand why.

When he gained consciousness again, he was thankful for Sakura's cry over him. He feels matter, to her anyway. At least he's not the only one in this, whatever it is. That feeling is so extremely weird that he brushed it off saying how heavy she is, and let her hug him even though the senbon sticking into his skin pain him even more because of her embrace. He wanted to thank her that day, like he did when they were younger, he have no clue to why, but he thought it'd be too out of character for him, so he stayed silent and let her help him up and walk over to Naruto and Kakashi.

It was at that moment that he admitted Sakura meant a lot, she's someone important. Naruto and Kakashi too, as much as he hated it.

-

He hates this, he hates her, he hates how she reminds everything that they went through together, promised thing she shouldn't be. And when she said,

"I–I love you so very, very much, Sasuke-kun. If you would only be with me. I won't let you regret it, no matter what. I will make it fun every day. You will definitely find happiness. I'll do anything for you, Sasuke-kun. I'm begging to you, please stay!"

His eyes enlarged, his heartbeat quicken, so does his pulse. Sakura is offering something he has been missing for years, and he knows she will do it successfully, he had tasted quite a bit of those happiness she promised. It was tempting.

But when she said,

"Or take me with you!"

He calmed himself down, let a stressful but quiet sigh out. This is Sakura, she is everything he wants. He wants everything she's offering, but there's just something he need to do, before gaining those over.

He turns around–he especially hates the tears that cascading non stop down her cheeks, he hates it when she cries; because of him particularly–saying, "You really are annoying." It was his way of saying, I remember, I remember that day, I remember every annoying second during our mission together as team 7. I remember it all.

He turn around then, ready to furthering his journey, but Sakura just had to shout. She just had to run towards him. She just had to insist he stays. He move swiftly, using the new found speed he developed with Kakashi, and went behind her.

She freezes then, he stand there counting until five, before he spoke. It was something significant for him towards Sakura.

"Sakura... Thank you."

He said, voice so soft, so sincere, so genuine. And by the rigidity of her posture, a hard suck of breath, he knew she remembered that day she helped him, and know that he has thanked her for everything, up to this second; her offer, her help, her thoughtfulness towards him, everything. He counted again, until three this time, before he raised his hand, pull out his fingers and hit the spot on her neck where it would cause unconsciousness.

-

When he grew older, and they got married, had a daughter together, he say thank you most times. It meant more than just a sign of gratitude and gratefulness to them; he said it, Sakura knew it, and Sarada understands.

They are a complicated family; very, very complicated indeed–whose else daughter thought of someone else's as her mother–but they share a significant bond that are trully special. Thank you is two words that signify their love to each other, not just a mere appreciation.

A/N: I actually wrote a SasuSaku fanfic titled Thank You awhile back and you can found it in ff.net. It might suit today's prompt, but read on your own risk because it's a first draft and no editing has been made.

[keijifairy]

made with love, only for you 〃

♡ miya osamu

genre. fluff!

author's note. hi!!! sorry i haven't updated in a while, been busy w school but i finally finished my exams n now they're finally giving us a break HAGSJAHA anyway, i found this draft n i wanted to share it bc osamu is the loml (+ atsumu 😁)!!!! ive been thinking of many thoughts to write so im vv excited abt that!!!!

“Here,”

You squint up at the figure towering over you through the sunlight as a container gently plops on the top of your head. Miya Osamu, whose face remains empty, is standing there and his bland eyes seem to be silently challenging you to oppose him. As he lightly presses the item on your head in impatience, no other words are spoken; so you set your book down with a playful roll of your eyes as you lay the container on the grass.

It’s a simple bento box: two fluffy onigiris alongside tsukune, wontons, small pieces of a variation of fruits, and sausages skillfully sliced into the form of an octopus — the daily buddy he never fails to add (and never fails to make you smile a bit brighter).

You giggle softly, looking back up at him.

Osamu shoves his hands in his pockets, casually shifting his gaze to the few students curiously watching your interaction, no doubt that the idea of the two of you being a couple already etched in their minds. “Wouldn’t want ya complaining about starving to death again even after I try givin' you food.” 

You could say your relationship with the boy is a bit...odd — you are much closer with the older twin after a Biology project you were partnered together with. You would hear Osamu frolicking around in the kitchen when you'd come over their house and every time, he would simply place a plate of chopped fruits by your textbook (Atsumu's hand would always be slapped away whenever he tried reaching for one. Osamu claimed they didn't have enough fruits for two people to enjoy), bluntly comment about some 'crappy' details his twin added in your presentation, meet your eyes for just a split second, and then walk away.

It was the first time you've properly met the younger Miya and grew a bond with the other; even as you managed to pass your project and stop dropping by their house every Saturdays, the irritating hair ruffling from Atsumu before classes and the curt nod from Osamu whenever you pass by each other at the hallways blossomed into a friendship you never really thought would be possible, if you were being honest.

You recall Atsumu bragging about his brother's warm bentos once when you told them you didn't really feel like eating after he invited you to sit with them for lunch. Osamu only rolled his eyes at his brother as he swiftly snatched the onigiri from his twin's hand and shoved it to yours (the blond tried taking it back, but to no avail, Osamu was weirdly insistent on getting you to eat. It didn't really seem like Atsumu was upset though, judging by how he wiggled his eyebrows at you behind his brother's back).

After that event, a daily routine had formed that isn’t spoken of any further; where you would spend the majority of lunch hours with a book in your hand under the shade of the tree near the school entrance, and Osamu would approach you quietly with yet another bento box placed on your head with only a few exchange of words. Just leftovers ‘Tsumu didn’t want, he’d say with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, not giving you time to utter your gratitude as he takes his leave. You did attempt to make him at least sit with you, but Osamu would always shake his head, say something along the lines of I'm a bit busy right now, sorry. In the end, you chose to accept, sometimes reluctantly, whatever it is he would give you.

It was a bit puzzling the first three or four times, because you were certain there was no way Atsumu would simply pass off his twin’s heavenly onigiris and diverse side dishes any day. He wasn't of much help anyway — it only seemed like there was something hilarious to hide by the way he laughed aloud with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Don’t tell him this, yeah?” A smirk creeped on his lips, “He obviously makes extra just for ya. My lunch doesn't even look that good.”

It's a heartwarming gesture, truly; the fluttering of your heart certainly does not lie. But you still pursed your lips, handing the empty container over to Atsumu who only sighed dramatically. “There's no need for him to do it.”

“Can't believe you're that naive.”

Osamu’s back is turned to you, shooting you a lazy wave of his hand. He has yet to take another step just as you stand up with your grip tightening along the sides of the bento box — It's made with love, at least that's what Atsumu insisted.

“Why don't you eat with me today, 'Samu?”

[peaches-writes]

full circle

description: even if you’ve only known him for eight years, if you think about it, you’ve actually been with minho for most of his entire life. member: minho / lee know genre: fluff, historical au, vampire au, time traveler au, college au, neighbour au, best friends to lovers au, fem reader, this is a longer and revised version of reliable source word count: 10k warnings: explicit language, mentions of animal murder, war, death, blood, alcohol note: yay a third entry to the seven hundred and one universe! oc from seven hundred and one universe is named shiyeon here while the oc from kart rider is named soojung! + this prolly has a lot of plot holes & is just generally mediocre but whatever it’s fiction lmao + @skzwriternet​

present: February 13, 2020

Even before he saw you on the other side of his apartment door at 9 PM with all of your work materials and equipment, Minho already knew full well that this day was coming. He’s always known most days are coming. He‘s just more excited for this in particular than the rest, given its inevitability that he‘s lived through for almost 600 years of his total 900 years as a vampire. Tonight, as evidenced by the Google Docs displayed on your open laptop, is the night you’d travel to the past for your doctorate thesis and meet his past self for the first time. 

He just didn’t expect this in particular to be on the day right before Valentine’s Day, when he and his two other housemates have decided to make a complete mess out of the kitchen with all of the chocolate they’ve been trying to make.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you at this hour but I was thinking—ew, what’s that smell?” You instinctively and bluntly ask first, sniffing the air escaping his side of the door. Minho could smell it too, strongly at that, and the older vampire could only purse his lips and widen his eyes at you. “Are you guys—please don’t tell me you’re actually cooking humans this ti—“

At that, he immediately shakes his head and breaks out into a nervous laugh, pulling the door closer to his body and effectively hiding Jisung scrambling around for the exhaust (and maybe the fire extinguisher too, for some reason) before you could peer over his shoulder. “No, no! It’s just Jisung and Jeongin—well, it’s mostly Jeongin then he dragged Jisung in on it—they’re making Valentine’s Day chocolates for...some people.”

You could sense the slight bluff in his tone (supported further by the little heart-shaped candy on his cheek) and that at least one of those ‘some people’ he could possibly be referring to is one of your friends, Nari, whom Jeongin has not-so-discreetly been pining over since your second year of college, but you easily let it slide. In the eight years you’ve known the vampires who live and own your apartment complex, after all, you’ve definitely walked in on much wilder things than a couple of questionably burnt chocolates (chocolates aren’t even cooked, as far as you’re concerned!). “Um, okay, sure, I’ll trust you with that.” You squint your eyes at him. “Anyway, can I come in? I need your help with something.” 

Minho exhales a small sigh of relief which he turns into a smile for you before looking over his shoulder once to make sure that the coast is clear then opening the door wide once again. “Yeah, come on in.” He concludes next, picking up your backpack on the floor and your heavy laptop in your hands as you cross the threshold. “But it’s really messy in the common area right now so we’ll have to stay in my room, if that’s okay with you.” 

You’ve never been in his room, not even when you first became friends in your first year of college eight years ago or on game nights when he always asks for help taking out his Play Station sets. All of Jisung and Jeongin’s jokes of his serial killer tendencies when you’re not around could be true for all you know and it’s the only thing going through your head as you wordlessly follow him inside his apartment, pondering on the thought.

In response, Minho bites down a laugh between his teeth next to you as he accidentally reads your thoughts and when you catch him in the act, you make sure to elbow him with your freer arm, careful of your drafts binder. “Ya, stop reading my thoughts without permission, you asshole!” You scold him in a sharp hiss right as you pass Jisung and Jeongin in the open doorway leading to the kitchen. You greet the two courteously and even make a salute to the fallen chocolates, to which Minho laughs even more at and the two boys groan in protest. “Well, shit, it really is...bad.”

“I know, poor people who’ll get that tomorrow.” Minho shrugs.

“You could say Nari, it’s fine, I won’t tell.” You shrug back with a laugh, taking this time to take the candy off of his cheek and walking past him and the other two boys with a parting wave before Jeongin could even process that you caught up to him and his crush so easily.

Minho, meanwhile, clears his throat awkwardly and follows you, in a poor attempt to hide his immediate flustered expression. Some of the chocolates were actually for you but he won’t tell you that too, of course.

Especially not when you arrive in his room not long after, nodding in approval at its cleanliness that clearly contrasts the current state of his kitchen and, by a slight extension, living room. “Glad you to know you don’t murder people in your room, Min. See? We get closer as friends would every day.”

“I’ve been on blood bag and animal diet since we met, you brat. Don’t tease like that.” Minho rolls his eyes, prompting you to laugh.

“So, where do I work, then?” You ask after, turning to Minho on your side and accidentally brushing your shoulders together.

He gestures to his work table in response, naturally placing his other hand on your back and guiding you towards it. He really hopes you’d be oblivious to the way he’s growing more flustered this time. He doesn’t let you in his room for a reason, after all (that being it’s too intimate in his opinion). “You can use my desk.” He instructs you after, following you and pulling an extra chair for himself once you’ve reached his desk. Placing your backpack next to his work bag then your laptop on top of the table, he then asks, “So, are you travelling now or later?”

He already knew you’d do it sometime now, he really just wanted to ask to keep the conversation going. He even has your hanbok ready—bought from Changbin’s wife’s shop last month.

But, to you, he seems to have miscalculated the situation a little bit as a realization dawns on you while you’re taking out the portable time travel machine from your backpack. It’s actually just a watch but your professors insist on keeping them in really fancy boxes. “I can do it now if it’s oka—wait, I haven’t even told you that part yet! How do you know I’m not just going to hoard your wi-fi?” You exclaim mid-thought, your mouth falling agape and forming an ‘o’ shape in surprise. You know he wasn’t reading your mind just now because, usually, Minho would announce his presence obnoxiously loud in your head or make the face he did a while back but he didn’t this time. “So you’re going to agree to my request? Is that it?”

Eyes equally wide in his mistake, Minho falls back in his chair and ends up fumbling around with his words. “Well—no, I mean, you always only need my help when you’re about to time travel so—!” He tries his best to cover up which only elicits a victorious smile from you. “Ugh, fine, you got me!”

“So, you’ll help me? I mean, past you, technically.” You ask again for confirmation, sitting down on your own chair this time as you fully take out the portable machine and place it on your lap. “I have to tell you, though, that I need to travel to three other periods for my thesis this time. Is that okay?” 

Minho props his elbow on the arm rest and nods against his knuckles. “You already know the answer to that, I think.” 

You chuckle at this. If eight years of knowing him has taught you anything, it’s to pay attention to the smallest details. He’s clairvoyant, after all, and you need to up him at his own game every now and then somehow. “Then, I’ll also need the proper attire. Haseul said that she can’t take in commissions at the moment so I couldn’t—“

“In the closet, furthest right.” Minho gestures to the walk-in closet behind him in defeat. “You can use that for all the times you’ll go, too.” 

“Have I told you that you’re my bestest friend in the world today? Even more than Nari, and she’s a witch, might I add!” You dramatically announce with a grin, handing him the machine’s box before standing up and making a beeline to the double doors on the other side of his bed. When you follow his instructions and find a pink and blue hanbok along with a floral hairpin on the very end of his closet, you then take it out and head to the open bathroom across the room. “Oh, wow, you even got my size right! You must’ve been preparing for this for a long time, huh?”

He really has—but, again, Minho is too stubborn to admit it to your face. “Just tell me if it’s uncomfortable or something.” He simply replies to you instead before you could close the door and change. Once he hears you acknowledge him with a hum before clicking the door to a lock, he then quickly prepares the time travel watch for you (by the way he remembers you doing it in front of him countless of times while you were cramming for a school requirement with him) then places it next to your laptop in exchange for his phone to message the rest of his friends.

minho [9:13 PM]: its happening

chan [9:14 PM]: you’re confessing?

hyunjin [9:14 PM]: hey that’s great! good for you hyung!!!

minho [9:16 PM]: no! y/n’s making the travel to 1388!

changbin [9:18 PM]: chan u know not to get ur hopes up w minho alr we all know he’s hopeless

minho [9:21 PM]: just bc ur alr married u brat

Changbin was still typing out a reply in the groupchat when you came out of the bathroom in your hanbok, laughing behind your hand when Minho looks up and momentarily gapes at you. “Why are you looking at me like that, weirdo?” You furrow your brows as you approach, smacking his arm before sitting down on his bed right behind him with a slight struggle. Peering over his shoulder, you smile appreciatively at noticing the time machine already set up. “And I see you’ve set up the machine without breaking anything this time! Progress!”

Minho scoffs, swiveling his wheeled chair to face you properly before gesturing to the hairpin in your hands. “You don’t like the hairpin?”

"I don’t know why you’re making me wear a hairpin that looks like a wedding heirloom.” You frown. Not to mention, from it’s material, you could tell that it’s new as well, meaning it was designed this way on purpose. “Won’t it attract too much attention?” 

Minho doesn’t know why you eventually came to him in the past wearing the hairpin too. He thought his future self was being ridiculous then (and he still does in the moment). “I don’t know, either,” He tells you truthfully this time, standing up from his chair to place it on your tightly-made bun. “But you did come wearing it eventually so just go with the flow, I guess? I don’t know, what do your sci-fi movies say?” 

You scoff at him, puffing out the heat rising up to your cheeks at the proximity. He could read your mind if he wants to but he doesn’t seem to be in the moment, even when his lips are gently fanning air into your ear as he fixes the hairpin with utmost care. “I guess I’ll just have to follow your instincts, then.” You sigh in defeat. “I can’t miss a detail, even if it’s weird.” 

“Right. I was there in the moment before you right now.” He smiles cheekily before sitting back down on his chair, passing you your time travel box after. “Ready to go?” 

You nod, fixing your collar one last time before receiving the machine from his hands. “You haven’t met me in the 1388, right?” 

“The first time you met me in the past was in the 1910s for that graduate thesis of yours and the oldest version of me that you’ve met so far was the one from the the 1740s.” Minho corrects, recalling your fourth year thesis some eight years ago. “But the first time I met you in my history was for this doctorate.” 

Your eyes light up at this. “Really? You’re meeting me for the first time now?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“We’ll have differing first impressions after this!” You point out to which he snickers. “Also, I haven’t met this version of you, you might be a snob in 1388 and think I’m weird or something.” 

Minho personally doesn’t think his first impression of you will ever change, no matter when you’ll meet in time. He’ll always think positively of you. “I was already turned for a long time, then. I haven’t met Chan and the others but I’ve seen and heard of weirder things than a time traveler.” He assures you. “Now, go, so I can help Jisung and Jeongin in the kitchen.” 

Rolling your eyes, you then set the date to January 1388 (you notice Minho’s already set the location while you were in the bathroom) before bidding a temporary goodbye to him, disappearing into thin air with the watch on your wrist right after. “I’ll be back before you know it!” 

In the blink of an eye, you’re already in a flea market somewhere in Seoul (then named Hanseong, you made sure to remember that well out of all of your history and anthropology notes). 

past: January 1388

You easily find 1388 Minho wandering around the flea market, a crowd of court men and women following him religiously as he examines the crops, livestock, and flowers being sold in stalls. The sight makes you scoff in disbelief, even more when you approach and see how he ignores each and every one of them up close. 

You know Minho isn’t the one of royal blood in his current coven of vampires (that’s Hyunjin—you know it well from the amount of times you’ve pestered him in your other time travels while he was sulking over his present day fiancée) but he has mentioned in passing once about being popular in the palace court, a socialite of his time if you will. 

But then, who could blame him? He’s just that handsome and charming.  

“Minho...Lee Minho...” You try calling for him in the crowd but to no avail, the slight embarrassment of following the crowd creeping up to you. It reminds you a bit of when you first saw him in your timeline, your first year of college and his fourth year (because Chan keeps insisting that he goes to university every now and then to pass the time) when all kinds of students would also follow him around at the campus library. It’s annoying, regardless of wherever you are in the world timeline. “Excuse me, Lee Minho!” 

He only turns to you when you raise your voice, an eyebrow momentarily raised until your eyes meet and a look seemingly of recognition crosses his features. 

You became friends with him as an older vampire but why is he more intimidating as a younger one? It’s probably the rest of the crowd’s eyes being on you because of your sudden interruption. Either way, you forcibly gulp down your nervousness and call for him again. “Lee Minho?” 

“Yes?” 

“C-Can I—Can I talk to you for a moment?” You gesture for him to follow you, his piercing gaze making your hands shake a bit. This is probably what Chan meant when he said Minho was a bit scary when he first met him in the 1400s. 

Minho follows you, anyway, which alleviates and heightens your nervousness at the same time. The crowd would’ve followed if not for him glaring at them not to right before you turned to the main entrance of the flea market where a few people were loitering around at. He feels like he knows you from somewhere which, if you knew about, you’d tell him that that’s impossible since, chronologically, you haven’t met him before this. 

Once you’re away from the majority of the market crowd, only then do you turn to properly face him and his expectant eyes. He’s still looks the same as he does in the present, just more curious, seeing as you’re a stranger for now. It’s comforting, somehow, so much so that it relaxes you and eventually makes you laugh as well. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks you without any hint of malice once you uncontrollably burst into giggles, prompting you to lift your hand up to your mouth. Already developing his clairvoyant abilities at this time period, he could easily tell by the unfamiliar terms in your thoughts and the way you hold yourself up that you were different—far more different than everyone around you. “And who are you?” 

You wave your other hand dismissively, taking a step back to recuperate. You end up giggling a few more times before you could manage to take a deep breath and exhale slowly by turning your eyes away from Minho momentarily. “I’m sorry, I’m Y/N and I—sorry! It’s just so...it’s a bit weird!” 

“Definitely.” Though your answer is unsatisfactory, the boy nods anyway. “And how do you know my name?”  

“I know you from the futur—wait, you can tell that it’s a bit weird too?” You raise an eyebrow and fold your arms over your chest. “It’s…sometime in the 1300s—“

“Thirteen eighty-eight.”

“Right.” You nodded at his correction with a dry scoff, piquing his interest further. “It’s only 1388 and you’re already this good of a clairvoyant?”

Minho was instinctively taken aback with you. His present self forgot to tell you that clairvoyance doesn’t have an established name in this time yet. “How did you—? What? Huh, well…the hanbok—the hanbok’s a bit of a giveaway too, I guess. It looks different from what the court women usually wear.” 

You then briefly glanced down at your hanbok, a pout resting on your features when you look back up at Minho again. “Really? But you—I mean, my source told me that this was accurate.” Come to think of it, you didn’t really check the attire thoroughly since you really needed to travel immediately to cram your paper. You’ll have to give 2020 Minho an earful about this later. “Ah, guess it’s my fault for not double-checking. I was in a bit of a rush to come here.” 

Minho from 1388, however, shakes his head at you in disapproval then briefly begins pointing out the different design patterns that looked foreign to him. “And this hairpin,” He pointed your hair accessory last, from what you can remember at present. There’s an unreadable expression in his face, one you’re too flustered to interpret as amusement. “This looks like a wedding heirloom but…a bit futuristic for my time, if that makes sense. I don’t suppose you wanted to come here disguised as someone’s wife, right? That’d attract more attention to you.”

And with that, you almost immediately deflate right in front of him with a defeated sigh and he smirks teasingly in return. To the passersby at the flea market, people could’ve easily mistaken the two of you for a quarreling married couple. “So that’s how it is.” You surrender easily, your arms loosening. “I guess even at this time you’re clairvoyant and smart. How annoying.”

His smirk grows even more triumphantly at this. “So, why did you come here?” He asks next. He figures out halfway through your rambles that it’s probably better to go along with you than to insist on his own questions, at least until you’ve organized your thoughts a little bit better. 

You ponder on the question for a moment, shifting your weight between the balls of your feet to pass the time. When you do answer, you explain, “Well, it’s a little crazy but my source has said that you’ll be okay with it so...believe it or not, I’m from the future and doing my doctorate thesis on a dynasty that’s about to establish itself around this time.” When 1388 Minho doesn’t immediately and visibly freak out as he would on your worst case scenario, you take this as your cue to continue. “You’re still alive in my time but I can’t tell you what our relationship is or it’ll be spoilers! All I can say is that you’ve helped me passed a lot of my major requirements in school and if you’re okay with it, you can help me with this one too!” 

The Minho in front of you thinks that you probably know him very well to know that he’s not easily spooked with anything out of the ordinary, not even by someone who claims to be from the future and is doing an academic paper about the past. You did mention knowing his personal history, as well, which effectively gained you his trust. He just hopes you’re not married or something in the future as the hairpin seems to be trying to imply or else he’d consider this first meeting of yours a bit chaotic for his liking. “Sure. Where do you have to be right now?” 

Really? It’s that easy? Is all you can think about, much to Minho’s curiosity when he reads your thoughts. “O-Oh, well, um...if you can take me to the palace courts, that would be...cool, I mean nice.” 

And so, Minho from 1388 ends up showing you around the palace courts for the next six months that follows (but, really, it’s just merely six minutes in the present time), even introducing you to people whom you ended up entrusting with your data-gathering. You almost mentioned Hyunjin and his fiancé, Shiyeon, on more than one occasion, remembering how the vampire would be with Seungmin already by this time while the immortal witch would be travelling around Korea, but opted not to instead when you also remember that no one from this time period really liked talking about the previous fire that killed most of Hyunjin’s family. 

Besides, you didn’t want to mess up the timeline and have Minho meet Hyunjin before he could meet Chan, even when he would ask you about it right before you left. 

“How am I in the future, by the way? Am I allowed to ask that?” Minho asks you curiously as you hold out your watch in front of him. It was starting to get annoying, having to hide it in your bell sleeves all the time. “And what am I doing by then?” 

“I can’t say anything specific that’s important.” You scrunch up your nose disapprovingly to which Minho only glares at you in response. “Just trust me, you’re sort of happy with where you are in my present day. You don’t have to worry about it now, it’s still 600 years away, anyway.” 

Minho mistakenly interprets that as the two of you being married in the future. He doesn’t have feelings for you in this time period but he takes your word not to worry about it until it’s happened. 

Besides, you seem kind. He’ll see something in you eventually. 

“When will I see you again, then?” 

“Um...around 1418, probably?” You answer with a hint of uncertainty as you faintly recall your thesis’ outline. You needed to see King Sejeong’s court next. “You’ll still be here, right?” 

Minho initially had plans on moving to a nearby province but he nods, anyway, thinking that that could wait for a few more years. “Yeah.” 

And with that, you’re gone again. 

present: February 13, 2020 

When you get back to the present day, it’s only 9:35 PM, almost six minutes since you left, but Minho’s already in the kitchen, helping Jisung and Jeongin clean up their mess. 

“Back already?” Minho asks with a blood bag between his teeth when he catches sight of you by the open doorway as he wipes the kitchen island clean, immediately noticing the grin you wear on your face. “What did you think?” 

“You were much chiller then!” You exclaim, ducking past Jeongin and Jisung to sit down right across Minho on the countertop. “I mean, you were a bit scary at first with the whole glaring thing you got going on but you were very calm and collected, then, like you weren’t even phased about me being from the future!” 

Of course he would be at that time, he was literally there when it happened (and also because he’s always had a feeling even from before that you’d meet but that’s also on his long list of things he won’t tell you). Instead, you see him quirk an eyebrow, throwing the rag towel in his hand to the side to pick up his phone and resume his Kart Rider. “Weirdoes vibe with weirdoes, I guess.” He shrugs, chuckling when you protest at this. “Anyway, you got what you need, right?”

You nod happily with a hum, propping an elbow up on the now clean counter and resting your cheek on your palm. “I have enough to write about later when you’re done cleaning.” 

“Ya, Y/N, if you’re gonna stick around at least help us clean the kitchen!” Jisung complains as he drags a wet mop across the floor behind you. 

“And why would I do that? I didn’t even help you make the chocolates!” 

“Because Minho’s been making cho—” Before Jisung could finish his sentence, however, Minho throws his rag towel towards the younger vampire, aiming it directly to his face. “Ya!” 

You shake your head in disbelief, turning to Minho again after. “Anyway, I have to fix my notes for a bit and you need to tell me where else I went for this paper!” 

Also because you were kinda cute back then, you think to yourself more as an after-thought, not really expecting for Minho to accidentally hear it.   

Now, Minho knows why he made you wear the hairpin. Is it normal to be jealous of one’s past self? 

present: February 16, 2020 

Minho offers you a whole bag of your favorite mini Toblerones the next time that you knock on his door to work on your thesis. The Valentine’s Day homemade chocolates were a fail even when Felix was eventually brought in last-minute (then you just had to disappear for a whole day with Nari and Shiyeon, too), so he rushed to the nearest convenience store to buy you the Toblerones as soon as you told him that you’ll come over again to pester him with his Internet connection and ask him more about your work. 

Maybe this is really it, the one you were talking about in his past. 

“You’re being nice to me with all this chocolate.” You squint your eyes with a piece of the chocolate in between your teeth suspiciously across the dining table as you work, head buried in papers to revise and dusty reference books. Your professor has you on travel limit as everyone else, only allowing you up to four actual visits to the past, hence the mountainous stacks of library books and journals you’ve borrowed from both the campus library and Changbin’s personal collection. “What do you need? Ya, I’m talking to you.” 

Minho, busy in his own academic work on his laptop, only peeks up at you belatedly when he’s reaching out for his blood bag buried underneath all of your papers. “What?” 

“What are the chocolates for?” You ask straightforwardly this time, picking up another mini Toblerone off the yellow bag. “Last time you bought me something from the convenience store was when you ate the squirrel I was feeding in the back garden.” 

Minho only shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, though he can’t help but feel a little flustered as evidenced by the way his eyes briefly widen. The squirrel incident was a long time ago and yet you still won’t let it go. “Can’t I be nice?” He simply asks back in answer to which you scoff at. He laughs along with you, anyway. “Jeongin bought it then gave me the extra, probably to give to you since I can’t really eat it.” 

You wanted to tell him that Nari actually shared the chocolates Jeongin gave her and they were definitely not Toblerones but you let it slide again. For some reason, it’s funny seeing Minho try to cover up something right in front of your face and thinking that he’s doing a good job at it. He’s trained you to see past his bullshit for the past 8 years, he should really know better. “Um...right.” You nod teasingly. “I’m gonna pretend you’re not looking very suspicious right now.” 

Minho could clearly tell that you’re doubting him even without reading you but he does nothing more to it. He’s too deep in his bullshit already and you both know that. 

Truth is, he was just fulfilling something you mentioned in your second visit to him (and probably as a way to give you something on Valentine’s Day even if it’s two days late). 

“Anyway, when are you making the travel again?” 

“Right after I finish summarizing this book.” 

And it happens to come full circle today, too. What luck does your best friend have. 

past: August 1418 

You jump between days in a span of six years this time (which is approximately an hour and twelve minutes back in the present time) with the help of Minho, Chan, and Changbin from 1418 helping you by preparing an entire closet of clothes and coming up with a very detailed background story of how you were a distant relative of Chan’s from the province in the case that someone asked about you. The other two boys were more than happy to welcome you despite how foreign time travel was to them in this time period because, apparently, you’re all Minho’s ever talked about since they met. 

“It’s nice knowing that Minho didn’t fever dreamed you up or something.” Changbin joked to you once towards the end of the six years of your data-gathering, to which he received a full apple shoved in his mouth from Minho. In this time period, his wife, Haseul, was still in that sleeping curse you still don’t understand fully at present, carefully laid in a tomb somewhere in the capital. Fortunately, you managed to avoid telling him that she wakes up seven centuries later (and that they get married) throughout your entire stay and avoided spoilers. “Vampires who’ve lived long like us tend to do that sometimes. Heck, even Chan does that lots of times these days, telling us about this immortal person he’s been looking for a while now. I guess it’s the human brain’s natural response to having a lot of memories.” 

“Minho remembers me just fine in the present, though.” You shrug as you re-write your interview notes, to which Minho mumbles a ‘Really?’ at. When you nod at him, he immediately rolls his eyes up in thought. You want to tell them that the person Chan’s been looking for at this time’s also real (and that he and said person, Eunhye, even live together now), too, but you decide against it later on for spoiler reasons again. “You have really good memory in the present, you even bought me Toblerones today.” 

“What are those?” 

A realization dawns on you right there and then, a small smile forming on your lips to which Minho quirks an eyebrow at and Changbin immediately asks you about. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just know that they’re my favorite.” You simply answer, standing up from the front porch of the inn you’ve been staying at and dusting the dirt off of your new hanbok. You remind yourself to ask Minho and Changbin about where these are at present later on. “Anyway, I’m off! I need to interview a few court people then I’ll be off your hairs again soon!” 

When it’s time for you to leave again, Minho’s still pestering you about what Toblerones are. 

“Come on, tell me!” He protests, going as far as holding your wrist where your watch is before you could escape. “Y/N!” 

You only grin up at him mischievously, gently swatting his hand away. “February 16, 2020! Also, make me ramen and coffee when I get back to the other side, please! I’d really like that!” 

present: February 16, 2020 

A steaming bowl of ramen and a warm cup of miraculously decently-brewed coffee are on the kitchen countertop by the time you come back, just as you asked him six hundred years in the past. What you didn’t expect, however, was the way your notes and references have also been organized neatly on the table while you were away and Minho dozing off on the nearby sofa in the open living room (he really likes genuine sleep lately which you’re yet to ask him as to why). You make sure to check that he really is sleeping by pinching his nose (and getting no response which is his usual indication of actual sleep) before placing the blanket he has reserved for you in his apartment over his hunched over body. 

“You don’t really need it,” You whisper tiredly, tucking the blanket close to his neck. His skin is naturally cold, as any normal vampire’s, but you’ve slowly grown accustomed to it over the years. “but how else am I going to say thank you for remembering my request after six hundred years? You’re going above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met, Lee Minho, you should stop raising the bar too high for men like this.” 

three

past: May 1592

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Minho from 1592 asks you right after you’ve reappeared in his house. Chan is out for work and Changbin is visiting Haseul on this particular day, leaving him to tend to their main house alone. “We’re in the middle of—”

“A Japanese invasion, I know.” You finish his thought for him, casually plopping down on the front porch right next to him and gingerly receiving the cup of tea he offers you. The garden he’s been trying to tend the last time you were around hasn’t made any significant progress even when an entire century has passed. You want to think it’s because the boys have been travelling elsewhere right before you returned but you also know it’s because they haven’t met Seungmin and Hyunjin yet. Those two are still probably travelling with Shiyeon. “That’s exactly why I’m here.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re—” Minho leans away and gazes back incredulously at you. He can already tell, with his own abilities, that you’re not thinking of what he’s thinking but he asks anyway to fully confirm. “I’m not letting you go to the frontlines if that’s what you’re going to ask me this time.” 

You chuckle at his genuinely mortified expression as you sip on your tea, making the boy furrow his brows at you. You really must be crazy. “You already know I’m not thinking of that! Though, I will ask you crazier things in the distant future.” You assure him. “I’ll only be staying for a year, six years again at most since I only need to complete a few interviews and fact-check a few books.” 

“Good.” Minho sighs in relief, taking a long sip of his tea as well. Even in 1592, the only human beverage Minho could stand is tea, you’re quick to notice. “That’s...that’s a relief.” 

“Why would you even be worried about going to the field, you’re immorta—ya, perhaps, do you you care about me?” You tease, grinning widely at the sudden realization. “We have a really messed-up timeline but you already care about me as early as now, that’s cute!”   

Minho from this time period could only roll his eyes at you against his sudden flustered feeling. If he was curious of your relationship with his future self when you first met, he’s curious as to how his future self keeps up with you this time. “Because you might be important to me in the future or something.” He bluffs to which you only chuckle fondly at. “I can’t really tell since you won’t tell me exactly how I know you in the future.” 

“Well, what am I to you now?” 

“A friend.” And he means it truthfully.

You’re momentarily taken aback, Minho sees even when you’re quick to hide it. Present Minho won’t even call you his best friend like you do to him. “Then just—just remember that until then.” You point out, smiling when you gaze over to his side and see his sincere expression. Something leaps in your chest at hearing him say those words without his usual playful tone of voice. It’s not what you’ve always been hoping for but it’s a start. “Won’t it be better if you just find out in the moment when it does happen?” 

Minho wants to tell you that he can’t wait but his teasing nature always gets the best of him first, “Hm, maybe you don’t actually know me at all in the future, that’s why you’re always being vague when I ask you.” 

You scoff, smacking his arm. “Ya!” 

“So, really, what are you to me in the future?” He insists anyway, swiftly dodging your hits until he’s caught your wrist in his hands. “Friend? Best friend?” 

A lover? He wanted to add further but he bites his tongue back just in time.  

“I always call you my best friend but I’ve yet to hear the same thing from you so, honestly, how would I know when you’re so secretive with your true feelings all the time! I’m even surprised you answered my question just now.” You frown, unintentionally coming off as bitter in your tone of voice as you retract your hand back to your side. You place your cup down as well, careful of the remaining tea so it doesn’t accidentally spill on your hanbok. At this moment, you miss the way Minho’s expression turns into confusion. “If it helps, though, I can only tell you that you always let me in your house to hoard the wi-fi—which you don’t have to know about right now!—and you’ve kept me around long enough to know when you’re trying to lie to me or read my thoughts with your clairvoyance thing going on.” 

Minho nods along, humming in thought. “So you’re a parasite?” 

You inhale a deep breath, focusing all of your energy into restraining yourself from hitting him for a second time. “You’ve called me worse.” You sigh with a controlled laugh. “Expired dinner and ex-wife who has nowhere else to go are my personal favorites.” 

Next to you, Minho’s eyes genuinely widen in curiosity. “We got married?” 

“Um, no? No, no, it’s an expression!” You shake your head and snicker despite the contrasting heat on your neck. Minho grows flustered at sensing the blood rushing up to your face. “I don’t even know if you’re capable of romantic love, dude. You’re always kinda everywhere and nowhere.” 

Minho’s not offended, though, especially not when you try to apologize after at realizing that you’re not as close with this version of him as you are with the version you know in your own time. “It’s fine.” He assures you with a shrug, knowing full well that you were just kidding around. “I’m guessing with that that I’m still single five centuries later.” 

“That and a bit of a flirt, too.” You clarify before his words fully process in your head. “Wait, so that means you haven’t dated even before this?” 

Minho shakes his head. “No, no one’s caught my eye yet.” 

You purse your lips in thought of this new revelation. It’s in moments like this, when you’re meeting past selves of your immortal friends that you realize just how little you actually know of them. “Huh, I didn��t peg you as the type.” 

“The type to what?” 

You shrug slowly, hunching over in your seat. “To be the fall in love just once type? I don’t know...”

Chan has mentioned to you once about Minho believing in soulmates but you were quick to dismiss that then. Remembering that now, maybe he is right. 

And, as if he has been reading your thoughts this entire time, Minho agrees with a nod. “Then, now you know. If you’ve lived as long as I have, soulmates are really nice to think about.” 

“But you always tease me about it...you from the future at least.” You pout. “Again, no offense, it’s just that—from the way I know you in my time, you’re very confusing.” 

When you glance over at Minho, you see him sit up straighter and lean closer to you again, your shoulders bumping against his as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Really? How am I confusing? Maybe I can help.” 

You scrunch up your nose. “Ah, but that’s unfair. You’ll take note of this in the future again.” 

“Your time’s five hundred years away, I’m sure I’ll forget this with time.” He assures you to no avail as evidenced by your squinted eyes. 

“You remembered my ramen and coffee request from last time, though.” You argue back, making his eyes light up. 

“I will?” 

You nod, placing a finger on his forehead and pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, so I don’t trust you. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

Minho doesn’t bother you anymore about it for the rest of your one-year stay, which you’re more than grateful for.

present: February 22, 2020 

He does, however, teases you about it again when you’re back to the present. Closing in on you in one of his bone-crushing hugs when you reappear in his room, he asks, “So, how was meeting me in the 1500s this time, best friend?”

“Excuse me, what did you say?” You furrow your brows at him, your arms going limp on your sides while your entire body freezes on the spot. 

“I just called you my best friend.” He repeats casually with a shrug. “Why?” 

Minho purposely omits the fact that he double-checked his old journals to make sure that you just time traveled to that period when you mentioned to him how he’s never called you his best friend. He’s been waiting for this opportunity to set it right with you since he didn’t know much of the context back then. 

You shake your head in response, reluctantly hugging him back once you’ve regained feeling in your arms again. “Nothing, it’s just...” 

“Dude, you’re acting like past me and present me are different people.” He chuckles against your hair, squeezing your frame once before pulling away. “So, we’re good, right? You’re not bitter about the whole best friend thing now?” 

You frown, slapping his elbow to which he only chuckles at. “Who said I was bitter?” 

“You did in 1592!” He teases, his mischievous grin softening into a fond smile after. “But seriously...sorry about that. I just think it’s cheesy to say most of the time but you really are...my best friend now I guess—maybe until you die in 50 years.”

Minho then runs away before you could even protest, prompting you to chase him out of his room and into the hallway. “Ya, Lee Minho! I’m going to kill you first, you brat!”  

But you know that deep in your heart that he’s only joking (and also because Jeongin has gossiped to you once about accidentally reading one of Minho’s journal entries from the 1700s once about meeting someone who shares your name but was already working as a professor in university and may or may not already be a vampire). 

present: February 29, 2020

“Okay, to refresh...” You mumble as you adjust the watch on your wrist and the switchblade Minho insisted on you keeping in your pants’ pockets. Next to you, said vampire’s is sprawled on his bed, a reviewer and highlighter in hand. “In 1895, Hyunjin was following Shiyeon around the world, Seungmin was starting out his photography career, Soojung was taking a beauty nap, Haseul was still sleeping, Changbin was going on a Jack the Killer rampage somewhere in Europe, Jisung was still a newborn, Felix, and Jeongin haven’t joined you yet, and Chan was...learning yoga with Eunhye? Is that right?” 

“And I’ve met all versions of you by this time.” Minho adds in absentmindedly before going back to chanting his notes over and over again. He really doesn’t need to since he really has sharp memory these days but you let him study for whatever it is he’s studying, anyway, so he has something else to do besides Kart Rider and annoying his other friends. “Just tell past me who I’m meeting when you arrive since you know how I kept mixing graduate studies you and college thesis you up all the time.” 

“That’s...you guys have lived lives.” You puff out a tired breath, making Minho glance up to you briefly and chuckle. “Sometimes, it makes me and Nari feel so small.” 

“It’s not much.” The boy shrugs back. “It personally hasn’t felt that long.” 

“And why’s that?” You hum curiously. 

He mumbles something behind his paper but you don’t hear it well. When you ask him about it, he only shakes his head and kicks you with his socket foot, urging you to go already. 

Minho actually said, “It’s because you’ve been with me the entire time.” but he’ll just tell you all about it later when you come back. 

With a scoff, you then swat his foot away and bid him goodbye. “Fine, see you later then.” 

“I’ll organize your notes until then. Bye.” 

past: July 1895

Minho sets your location on your watch to his house, now renovated to what was considered modern then. You’ve been here countless of times, albeit in different time periods of your own past (the last being when you had to ask for his help in the 1860s about your graduate thesis), but you’ve never been here in the 1890s, not when a newborn Jisung had the self-control of a toddler and immediately tried pouncing on you the moment he smelled you on their front lawn.  

Now you know what the switchblade is for (and the one time Jisung kept apologizing to you in the 1910s). 

“Ji, calm down!” Minho growls in annoyance, holding the younger boy by his arms as he drags him back inside the house. He can feel your anxiousness increase just by looking at this unfamiliar side of Jisung, prompting him to send you an apologizing look. “Sorry, um, Y/N, I—” 

“I-It’s...it’s fine.” You assure shakily with a curt nod, taking a step back as well when Jisung tries regaining two steps towards you again. “I think I came in the wrong day.” 

“It depends. What are you here for?” He asks, his voice growing faint as he successfully manages to lock Jisung inside the house. He then quickly jogs back to you, examining your face for any recognizable hints of where you could be from.

“Doctorate thesis.” You answer for him, earning you a look of realization from him. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He smiles in relief. You remember distinctly how these were also the very same words he told you when you first met him in a time travel. “I was thinking you’d never come back.” 

You feign a frown in front of him, making him laugh. “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t finish my studies?” 

“It’s just that the next time you came back, from my point of view, is when you were only in college to ask me about the 1810s.” He clarifies, to which you nod in understanding. So he does remember. “I thought it weird at first that you didn’t come back sooner to finish your doctorate.” 

“Ah, well, you in 2020 has been a big help—well, him and a shit ton of books.” You chuckle awkwardly. “This is my last trip for my doctorate, actually, since I have the smallest amount of resources for Queen Min.” 

“T-This is—this is your last?” 

You smirk at his briefly dejected expression, elbowing him gently. “Why do you look so sad? You already know we’ll meet again in the future. Plus, you’ll still meet younger versions of me later on for my college requirements which is a bit confusing to hear right now but you’ll get it later!” 

Minho opens his mouth to speak, initially to tell you something about being frustrated that he’s only seen glimpses (and different versions) of you throughout his life so far, but he’s suddenly cut off by Jisung banging wildly against the front door, making him and you flinch. 

“Um...what if we deal with Jisung first?” You suggest. “I assure you we’re all going to be great friends in the future but no one really told me that this would happen.” 

Minho nods slowly next to you, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah, we should probably take care of him first before your thesis. You could spare five minutes to sit down, right?” 

“Definitely.” 

And so, you spend the rest of your first day getting Jisung to calm down in your presence. 

present: February 29, 2020 

“Chan, babe, please, please, please promise that you won’t flinch when we use the party poppers later.” Eunhye sighs exasperatedly as she leads everyone into organizing the kitchen and living room. “Felix, good job on the cookies by the way! They turned out really well! Jisung, hurry up with that banner!” 

“Babe, I don’t flinch!” Chan yells across the hallway as he re-checks if everyone will have enough party hats, trumpets, and poppers for later. 

“Yes you do!” 

“What’s so significant about today, anyway?” Nari asks Jeongin as the two enter the apartment with boxes upon boxes of blood bags and alcoholic drinks. “Besides Y/N finishing their thesis, of course.” 

Shiyeon and Hyunjin follow closely behind with take-out boxes of chicken wings. “Because today is Y/N’s last time travel before they become a professor! A lot of good things are going to happen after, trust me.” Shiyeon answers with a wink. 

“How come you know all of that? You were barely with us in the 1800s.” Jisung asks while struggling to put the other end of your congratulations banner across the kitchen. Soojung is on the other end, arm beginning to fall asleep as she holds up the other end of the banner for Jisung. “Even Jeongin and Felix don’t know that.” 

“There’s a thing called correspondence and Hyunjin was a diligent gossiper.” Shiyeon only chuckles, setting down the take-out boxes on the countertop. “Also, hey, I was there in one of Y/N’s visits! It just hasn’t happened in our timeline yet but it will in three years!” 

Minho then emerges from his room, phone in hand counting down the seconds until you’re back again. “Okay, we have two hours to get everything ready.”

“Lee Minho where have you been this entire time!” Eunhye complains, finally taking the boy’s presence to take a seat. “I’ve been organizing everyone for a whole ten minutes!”  

“You mean you have two hours to get ready.” Haseul teases, seated on one of the dining table chairs and helping Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix make proper chocolates this time. “Don’t you have something else important you need to prepare?” 

“No, I can just wing it.” Minho dismisses to which Chan immediately laughs at, catching the younger boy’s panicked expression. 

“Sure you do.” Seungmin dryly responds, to which everyone topples over in laughter. 

past: November 1905

“You’ll see me again in five years, at least from your point of view.” You assure Minho from 1905 right before you leave. Jisung’s apologizing again about the incident last time but you’re quick to hug him and effectively shut him up. ��The one you’ll meet in 1910 is going to be a little different, though, a little younger.” 

“But it’s still you.” 

You smile at this. “Yeah, still me.” 

Minho wants to tell you so badly that he’s met another version of you while you were away, someone older, but he quickly pushes the thought at the back of his head. Is this how you feel holding back spoilers from him? Instead, he ops to tease you. “You know, when people usually meet, it’s not as backwards as us.” When you raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “You keep meeting me from the past and I’ve met you from the future countless of times. Even if culture’s going to be different in the future, I’m pretty sure this is still not how it goes there.” 

Finally, understanding, you let out a laugh, hitting his side playfully. “Definitely not.” You agree sheepishly. “But I think that makes it even more special. It makes you wait until we’re in the same time, right?” 

Minho nods. “What date are you going back to again?” 

“February 29, 2020. Why?” 

He says nothing else on it but bids you goodbye with one last hug instead. “Nothing. I’ll see you again soon...or another version of you.” 

“And I’ll see future you.” You chuckle before disappearing. 

present: February 29, 2020 

You come back to all the lights in Minho’s apartment turned off at the present. You hear whispers and the soft clicking of a lighter as well, prompting you to follow the noise outside. 

“I think it’s better if Changbin doesn’t hold the cake, don’t you think?” You recognize Haseul’s loud voice even from the hallways, fueling your curiosity even further. 

A slight pause then follows before you hear Chan agree, “Yeah. Hyunjin, you hold the other cake.” 

“Lix, you’re stepping on my foot.” That’s Jisung, you know by the way he’s always whiny when he complains. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” 

“Everyone, quiet! Y/N’s on their way!” Nari scolds and the hushes then quickly fall silent once you reach the kitchen, flipping the light switch on the hallway to the sound of party poppers exploding right in front of you. Only then do you see the big ‘CONGRATULATIONS Y/N!’ banner hanging right above everyone standing in a line with cake, hats, and trumpets. 

“Um?” You raise an eyebrow at everyone, breaking out into an uncontrollable grin. “What’s with all this?” 

Minho of your time then walks over to you with a Toblerone cake, carefully protecting two candles from the breeze that enters through the windows. “Chan and Eunhye insisted on a party so...congrats on finishing your thesis!” 

Over his shoulder, said vampire and immortal immediately shake their heads in denial. “It’s his idea!” Eunhye mouths to you with a smirk, making you chuckle.

You then turn to Minho with a smile. “I haven’t even finished writing it yet.” You point out only for your best friend to shrug nonchalantly. “And my graduation’s in a month.”  

“Yeah, we can work on that once everyone’s out of the apartment.” He suggests. “Now, just blow on the candles first, Seungmin’s arms are about to fall off waiting to take a picture.” 

You briefly apologize to Seungmin on the side with a sheepish laugh, blowing on the cake’s candles after to the many snaps of his film camera. “Thank you for all this. I really appreciate it, you guys!” You thank your guests after, approaching them with Minho on your side this time. 

“We can call you Professor now, right?” Hyunjin playfully asks, elbowing you gently on your side. 

“It makes me sound really old.” You pout, making him laugh. “In a few years.” 

“Three years.” Shiyeon coughs to which Minho immediately glares them down for. 

Catching this gesture, you decide on purposely ignoring it for now. You’ll have to ask Shiyeon what they mean with that later. “Anyway, let’s eat. Have you guys been here long?” 

“Not really but I’m already starving!” Soojung exclaims, passing you a plate and utensils. Next to her, Felix and Chan instinctively open up all the take-out boxes of food for everyone to dig in. 

“Alright, let’s eat!” 

present: March 1, 2020 

Minho kicks everyone out after by the strike of midnight, when all the food’s been devoured and the party games have been played at least twice. Surprisingly, even Jisung and Jeongin were directed outside by Minho at this time, which you immediately ask him about once the two boys are out of the door. “Don’t those two live here?” You joke with a dry chuckle. “You don’t have to kick them out so we can work.” 

“They’ll come back later.” Minho gently shuts the door before turning to you as you stand with your arms crossed in front of your chest, a genuinely curious expression on your face. “I just...need a moment with you.” 

You pretend to take a step back with your best dramatic expression of fear. “Oh my God, you’re going to kill me after eight years of friendship, right?” 

“What? No.” Minho furrows his brows at this, making you laugh. “It’s just...fuck, now I’m off-tracked.” 

You giggle this time, loosening your arms in front of you. “What is it, Minho?” 

There have been times, both in the past and present though rare, when Minho has looked nervous in front of you. The last time he was, from what you can remember, was when he was about to tell you that he accidentally killed the squirrel in the apartment’s back garden but even then, he wasn’t as nervous as he is now—fiddling with the hem of his blue sweater for a brief moment before finally taking the courage to step closer to you. “I-I, um—” He stammers out, one hand instinctively going up to his nape. “What I want to say is that...remember when I asked you in 1592 about how I know you?” 

“You just teased me about that last week.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to ease the sudden awkwardness, only to make it even worse for Minho. With this, your expression immediately contorts into worry. “What about it?” 

“Then in 1905, where you just came back from, you told me we’ll meet in the right time eventually...” He continues after a while, smiling back when you do reassuringly. “In between those centuries, of course, y-you—you came in for your college homework and your Masteral’s but there was also...there was also someone else.” 

This unexpected turn drops something heavy on your stomach, your smile unconsciously faltering. Minho wants to snicker but, knowing you, you’ll probably think of him cold if he does so he takes in a deep breath and tries his best to continue with less stutters this time. “Don’t be too sad, it’s still you, just a few months in the future.” He assures with a chuckle, hands instinctively going up to your sides to rub your arms comfortingly. Your eyes widen at this in response and you freeze in his touch. “Anyway, July 2020 Y/N just told me to do something tonight, if that’s okay.” 

It takes you a moment to respond but Minho patiently waits, holding back his laugh by biting his lip down. He’s reading your thoughts as they go into overdrive. Is this how you feel when I hide the future from you before? You internally ask to which he nods at. “U-Um, so...what are you going to do?”

“Just tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Minho finally confesses, sighing in relief once he’s gotten the words out surprisingly well. “And if you’d like to go out for a trip after your graduation—and not the time travel trip, this time so we can be together right.” 

There’s more to it, actually, Minho has a whole paper written and rehearsed for a span of almost three centuries but he figures you’ll find out about it eventually. He could tell you about how he’s been in love with every version of you that he’s met in the past another time or maybe you already know it. 

“So?” He asks after a while when you don’t speak verbally. Your thoughts are still muddled and your heartbeat’s a little too fast for his liking but he holds any impulsive urge he might have in for your sake. “What do you say?” 

You purse your lips once, mustering up a relieved smile at him after. “You already met me from the future this time—which I commend you for, by the way, because you’ve one-upped me again this time!—so I think you already know the answer to that.” 

epilogue

past: July 1799

You know full well that you’re not supposed to travel back in time for personal reasons, especially not for the reason you’re coming into 1799 to see a past Minho for, but you figure that you’re already in your university’s faculty roster. If I get caught, you think to yourself as you easily spot Minho with Chan at an art exhibit in Paris, the professors will probably understand. 

“Minho! Chan!” You call with your hand above your head waving frantically at the two, catching theirs and a few patrons’ attentions. You don’t mind the extra attention as you approach him, though, since they did instinctively made way for you because of it. “Hello there, you two!” 

“Hi, Y/N!” Chan greets you happily, giving you a side hug. “Aren’t you back too soon?” 

But knowing full well that you’re probably not the same one the two met last time, Minho smirks in amusement as he eyes your choice of clothes and asks, “And where did you come from? By the clothes, me from the future probably doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“Yeah, I picked out my own clothes for today. Anyway, I won’t be here long.” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “I’m from July 2020 and I’m not here for any academic work this time! I just wanted to ask you a quick favor.” 

From what you’ve detailed in your own journals, the last time you met from this particular Minho’s point of view was when you were doing a paper on the Baroque movement for one of your college classes. 

“What is it?” He asks you anyway, his body turned away from the painting that he and Chan have been previously admiring as he gives you his full attention. 

Judging from the amount of times you’ve visited him (and the different versions of you he’s meet as well), his future self seems to agree on your requests all the time. 

“I can’t tell you much but please prepare something on February 29, 2020!” You answer, your watch beeping on your side to remind you that it’s almost time to leave. “And make sure to mention me! Remember, Y/N from July 2020!” 

Before he could ask about it, further, however, you were already gone. 

“What do you think that was about, Chan?” Minho asks the older vampire instead. 

But Chan simply shrugs, hands going deeper in his pockets as he thinks. “No idea.” He admits in equal confusion. “Guess we’ll have to see in three hundred years.” 

[facets-and-rainbows]

Blue Exorcist 10th anniversary book Q&A session

The 10th anniversary book has a section where Katoh answers 100 questions submitted by fans on Twitter, so here they are translated/paraphrased! May contain manga spoilers up to the recent flashback arc, so be warned.

(Note that I’m playing it very fast and loose here because there are A HUNDRED OF THEM, so not exact wordings, but it should capture the gist. Lemme know if there are any you want elaborated on)

1. Katoh likes the feel of traditional drawing more than digital but is impressed with how far digital has come

2. Meph THOROUGHLY ABUSES spacetime to watch all his shows and ensure that he gets all the merch he wants

3. Did the girls take all of Yukio’s school uniform buttons in middle school? Yes, they did (apparently it’s like A Thing for girls to ask for a button from their crush at middle school graduation, based on some sad movie from the 60s where a guy who got drafted as a kamikaze pilot gave a girl one of his uniform buttons to remember him by)

4. Rin's tail is about a meter long

5. There are tons of servants working at Mephisto's mansion. Belial is in charge of them

6. Katoh borrows from all sorts of neat real locations when making settings

7. Katoh identifies with pretty much all the characters the most! Except Lucifer.

8. Demon designs she's proud of include the impure king and hachirou, pretty much anything that was the main one in an arc

9. Katoh lists a bunch of her favorite musical artists/music she’s listening to recently: King Gnu, Official Hige Dandism, Kenshi Yonezu, BAD HOP, Sakanaction, Keyakizaka 46, Hypnosis Mic, Aimer, B’Z, Queen Bee.

10. Awww the rabbit manga that characters are often reading isn't just Robo to Usakichi, it's an even older one that she drew as a little kid

11. She likes industrial style interior designs

12. Rin and Yukio alternated who got the top bunk growing up, because they couldn't agree on it lol

13. Katoh cares a whole lot about panel layouts and speech bubble positions, might even be her favorite part of the process (it shows!)

4. Katoh does NOT have a mashou, lol

15. Rin has probably been practicing in secret so he can learn to carry stuff with his tail

16. Izumo probably got into shojo manga around 1st grade, her mom had some around the house

17. Specialty dishes: Rin - lots of stuff but especially nabe Yuri - stuff you can throw together quickly Shiro - stuff he learned from Yuri and/or cookbooks, alongside teaching Rin Yukio - Does. Not. Cook.

18. Can't pick a favorite place she's been on research, but there's no place like Japan

19. Kinzou's band isn't currently meeting because demons, but he's probably still thinking of new songs

20. Hardest characters to draw: anyone with detailed flowing hair. Hardest to write for: Lightning and Gedouin. She had to go read books about serial killers specifically for material for Gedouin, lol 

21. Suguro actually gets a dorm room to himself, though allegedly Yukio is technically assigned as his roommate, lol. Didn't end up that way what with Yukio being a teacher and also Rin’s whole...situation

22. Shiemi makes some of her own hair accessories! Cute

23. Katoh doesn't mind if you include stuff with fan letters but check with the editor first

24. Time for making each chapter: Planning/storyboarding: 1-5 days. Sketching: 3-5 days. Drawing/inking: the rest. Just...the rest of the time

25. Neither Suguro nor Izumo have dated before and neither is currently dating. But that's probably just because things were hectic for them! It could happen

26. Yukio breaks 5 or 6 pairs of glasses a year, someone get this kid a strap or something

27. How many spare glasses does Yukio have? Check the fanbook lol it's in there (dang it Katoh)

28. The demon she wants us to pay the most attention to is Lucifer. Because plot.

29. What's under the Order's big meeting table? It's a BOTTOMLESS PIT and if you fall in it you DIE that's what makes it COOL (laughs)

30. What are the job requirements for the angelic legion? Literally just Arthur liking you and inviting you to join

31. She WANTS to do more character profiles but just hasn't gotten to it

32. Rin's tail feels like a cat tail, texture wise

33. The "red Assiah fire" is literally just actual fire nothing special

34. Rin's current hair color is light blue fading to white at the ends

35. Thoughts on Rin's growth: she likes that he stays positive in awful situations and she also thinks it's very main character of him to face the past instead of avoiding it

36. Mephisto didn't purposely surround Rin with stuffed animals when he woke up after going crispy. Mephisto's bed is just Like That

37. Kurikara was based on a cool sword she found in a sword book, but that one was technically just a ceremonial sword. The symbol on it us a Sanskrit letter kaan (sp?) associated with Fudou Myouou

38. Kuro can communicate with normal cats and hangs out with them often

39. Sometimes Shiemi's skirt is extra fancy around the hem what's up with that? Apparently it's an optional accessory that comes with the skirts help I haven't noticed this and don't know any fashion terms in any language

40. When coloring, Katoh always tries to have an overall theme in mind ("emphasis on blue" etc) so it comes together in the end

41. Yes the twins are genetically related to Shiro because of Goro (she says they're like his nephews but I say GENETICALLY at least they'd be indistinguishable from his children)

42. Strongest mom of all the strong moms around here? Yuri! Did you SEE her give birth??

43. Are you careful about your own health Katoh-sensei? Not particularly! Her mom has had to bring her food at work sometimes! Don't do this at home kids

44. At the dating events Shura goes to, does she drink cocktails in moderation? Yeah, she probably downplays her normal drinking habits at these things. But normally she's down for just about any kind of drink

45. Lucifer just really likes oysters okay

46. How many pages of manga does Katoh draw in a day? If she's being good about self-care: three. Maximum number ever: TEN

47. Mephisto is one of those folks who can eat like a garbage compactor and never gain weight. Possibly because his body resists that sort of change the same way it resists aging etc

48. First food Rin cooked: fish burger type patty. Yukio's favorite things Rin cooks: fish simmered in soy sauce, yellowtail with daikon radish. It's fish all the way down

49: Did Rin ever get more monthly allowance from Mephisto? It doubled! He gets TWO 2000 yen bills now (rip) [T/N: That's uh, that's USD $37.26 a month or 33.10 euro]

50. Why isn't Rin more popular with the girls? He gets nervous talking to them, plus he's too oblivious to notice even if he DID have some fans

51. Why change Suguro's hair? She gets bored with keeping everything the same, and she wanted a visual representation that he was getting serious and going into kind of a training arc

52. Things Katoh pays extra attention to when drawing: trying to capture the feel of whatever she's drawing (like "that looks warm and soft" or "I bet that guy stinks" cough Lightning cough)

53: Does Rin take after Yuri more? (He's got her eyes!) Katoh tried to draw Yuri so she looks like both twins. Personality, too - Yukio has her smarts and Rin has her optimism

54: Do you ever wanna be like Mephisto? Well she'd like to be able to get away with just ANYTHING EVER, but no, let's not be like Mephisto

55. Konekomaru not only carries around a cat toy in case he meets any cats, he MAKES cat toys to carry around based on what he thinks the cats would like

56. How'd you come up with Shima? Go read the fan book!

57. Do the kids have Twitter/Instagram accounts? Rin - probably not. Konekomaru might be on some social media. Paku and Izumo are totally on instagram

58. Is there something Rin makes that you wish you could try? All of it! That's the whole idea! He's good at cooking!

59. Will we ever have a (G-rated) reveal of what ALL of Mamushi and her family's tattoos look like? Maybe! She'll think about it

60. Does Arthur have a repertoire of different hairstyles? Not really, he just puts some of it up on the top. Heck he might even have people to do that for him

61. If you wrote a shojo manga what would it be about? She'd have to do a lot of research before even coming up with a story, since there are so many style differences between the genres aside from just the subject

62. The other two of Mephisto's top 3 favorite foods: Cup ramen and....f-fried bubblegum?? Is that a THING???

63. Where do you start when drawing a character? Usually the outline of their face but if it's a complex pose/composition she'll start with whatever's in the foreground (like hands)

64. If Katoh could have a familiar, what demon would she choose? Mephisto. As the all-powerful author, she might actually be able to command him as a familiar!

66. If you swapped Yukio and Rin's relationship around what would change? not much, you'd pretty much have Rin going to the Illuminati and Yukio going to the past

67. Top 3 foods/souvenirs to try in Kyushu? Well she doesn't know what’s good CURRENTLY but when she was there she always used to like burdock tempura udon, hakata torimon (a kind of manju with white bean paste inside), and Chikae style cod roe. today I learned Katoh went to high school in Kyushu

68. Katoh listens to music a lot while she's storyboarding, then when she and the assistants are all drawing and inking they put various videos/movies and stuff on in the background

69. For all his hitting on girls, is Shima actually popular with the ladies at all? He's got enough girls in his life that he probably COULD find a girlfriend if he really wanted, but the double agent thing tends to get in the way. He still wouldn't be as popular as Yukio though (side thought/translator’s note: Shima would be proud of being number 69.)

70. Katoh has the ending planned out in a big-picture way, but there are still a few details here and there that she's fretting over

71. It's cute when the boys put their ties over their shoulders when they're working on something! Where'd that come from? She just figured a tie might get in the way and that seemed like a realistic way to get it out of the way

72. Looks like Yukio is getting some facial hair! What about Rin? They're both about the age for it, but maybe Rin can't grow a beard yet. Maybe a little peach fuzz here and there

73. Katoh's favorite blue exorcist merch? There were some exorcist licenses a while back, and the exorcist pins. Basically it's really cool that these little accessories she drew ACTUALLY EXIST NOW, LIKE YOU CAN HOLD THEM IN YOUR HANDS

74. Okay realtalk how long do we have left, I don't want the series to end yet? We're solidly in the second half by now but it's not, like, ABOUT to end yet

75. Katoh would be a Knight meister, based on what characters she likes to play in games and such

76. How many people in the whole exorcism cram school? More than you think! She doesn't give a number but apparently licensed exorcists also attend classes for new meisters, etc, so there's a wide age range attending

77. How's Arthur feel about, like, studying Taming on the way to becoming Paladin? He's at least mostly accepted that you have to use demons to fight demons effectively

78. Konekomaru started wearing glasses in his first year of middle school, so like 7th grade (more recent than I thought!) He has one spare pair, in contrast to Yukio lol

79. Katoh's current obsessions? Ghost/scary stories! She's even been going to live readings of them recently

80. Media Katoh consumes for inspiration? A wide range of foreign teen drama, horror/suspense, shojo manga, light novels, anime, etc. Special focus on things where two boys are in conflict or there are brothers involved

81. If they weren't exorcists what jobs would they have? Rin - chef. Yukio - doctor. Shiemi - uh, florist?

82. Inspiration for the design of True Cross Town? Katoh and her assistants gathered up a bunch of references, picked out stuff they felt matched the tone, and mashed them all up together

83. Did you use any references etc for the school/exorcist uniforms? She says she probably should have but she just kind of made them up before publication

84. Favorite part of drawing? For color pages, picking out a color scheme. For black and white, drawing in all the little details (though she doesn't always get time to lately)

85. Once again confirms the demon kings' weird hair is a representation of their horns. ADDS THAT PEOPLE WHO CAN'T SEE DEMONS CAN'T SEE THE WEIRD HAIR

86. Now that Yukio's at the Illuminati, where's he gonna get his Jump SQ and spare glasses? Well he probably never planned to stay for long, but hey it's a big ship and they might have an optometrist and/or newsstand there

87. Do you base the demon characters on any references etc? Not really, she just gets a general idea of popular demon designs and then makes up her own in her own style

88. Merchandise Katoh personally wants to have made: stuff that an adult could just use in their day to day life. Also, it's not gonna happen, but if her favorite figure brand made AoEx figures she could die happy

89. If Beelzebub's host body was a beautiful woman, how would Shima react? Would the womanizing win out over the bug phobia? Katoh replies that Shima would probably just faint from being near a girl that pretty, before the bugs even got involved

90. Will the twins ever get to smile and eat dinner together again?? We'll just have to wait and see!

91. What do you check at a "scenario check"? what's a scenario check man I dunno They check for people being out of character or the setting feeling off. They had a lot of these checks for the anime, but they also do them for the drama CD, games, and all that other stuff where multiple authors are involved

92. Why does Shura use baldy as an insult for people who are clearly not bald? She feels like they have some kind of metaphorical, mental kind of "baldness" and she's calling them out on it. Whatever that means

93. After Blue Exorcist ends, what do you want to draw next? She has SO MANY IDEAS, SO MANY

94. Did Katoh make up the Shinto chants that, for example, Izumo used against Gedouin? They're assembled from bits of actual Shinto prayers according to what feels right in the scene

95. Yukio reads the Jump SQ, right, and, just hear me out here, he likes gag manga, right? Does this mean he reads Salaryman Yukio? It's something he would read, but let's say that in the AoEx universe there's just a very similar manga that he finds oddly relatable

96. What do Yukio and Shima do in their free time on the Dominus Liminus? oh my god you guys this ship has so many amenities.  Yukio probably spends time reading in the library, which they totally have. There's also, like, a gym, and a movie theater, and a THEATER theater, all of which are free. Shima probably hangs out at the pool (!) and goes to the movies, and hits on illuminati girls, lol

97. Easiest character to draw? The ones with boring simple hair, lol. Lightning gets an honorable mention for ALSO not having eyes in most shots, but Rin wins--he was specifically designed to be easy for Katoh to draw because that's what you want in your main character

98. How do demons understand gender? They just possess whatever feels like the best match to how they feel in Gehenna, whether that's a man, or a woman, or a rat, or whatever

99. Where do you start when you're coming up with a story? She starts with character design and how the characters relate to each other. Currently she's just continuing an existing story, so she works on splitting up the overall plot into episodes and fleshing it out with scenes and information about characters

100. When do you feel most happy? She honestly feels like she lives a very happy life overall. Mentions noticing a lot of little things, like how nice her cats' heads smell when she cuddles them or taking a nice cold refreshing drink of water. There's happiness in everything. aww.

[americancowgirl19]

Her Soldier

Summary: Sam gets drafted for the Vietnam war a couple days after he turns 18. Right before he leaves, he meets you.

Warnings: Angst, death, fluff, small age gap (like 2/3 years), 

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Vietnam Soldier Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,565

A/n: Based off the song ‘Travelin’ Soldier’ by Dixie Chicks.. I swear I almost cry every time I hear this song so hopefully I can make others cry

Masterlist

The café you worked at was dead. The only customer in the whole place is the old man at the bar sipping on his coffee rereading the newspaper for the hundredth time. You didn’t mind the old man lingering around. He’s sweet and just wants to be around people instead of his empty house. So, when he asks for a refill for the dozenth time you give it to him with a small smile and begin a short conversation with him.

When he returns to looking at his newspaper you begin wiping tables down. Nobody’s sat at them since the last time you wiped them down but it gave you something to do. 

As you reached the last table, the doorbell rang signaling someone coming in. You turned around to great them but the words die in your throat. The customer that had entered is a tall broad man dressed in an army uniform. He shed his hat and sets his bag down.

His eyes scan the place before falling on you. You’re taken back by the color in his eyes. They’re captivating along with the smile that spreads across his lips.

“Can I uh... Just sit anywhere?” He asks, fiddling with his cap in his hands. His question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” You nod quickly, a light blush coming to your cheeks. “Wherever you like,” You tell him. He nods to you before taking his bag and choosing a booth by the window. 

You take a deep breath, thankful his back is to you. You take a moment to calm yourself knowing it’s useless. The moment you regain his attention you’ll be a stuttering mess. 

You work in an old rundown café, not many attractive men come in. When they do come strolling in another waitress always snatches them before you do. Although, you don’t put up a fight seeing that you’re anxiety usually keeps you from actively approaching them. However, today you’re the only waitress.

“What, uh.. What can I get you?” You ask, thankful you didn’t stutter too much. He flashes you a smile, although you notice a been of nervousness in his posture. He shifts in his seats and gives you his order.

You bring him is water and leave him be. You wait by the bar for his food to finish cooking. You try not to stare but your gaze keeps falling on him. You watch his leg bounce under the table and how he shifts every few seconds. His head turns from looking outside to down at the table.

You felt bad for him. You knew what was going on in the world and you knew that where he was going is dangerous. You older brother had been drafted to the army. Plus, at night, you heard your parents talking to each other about all the bad stuff going on over seas.

“Order up!” The cook snaps, breaking you from your thoughts. You grab the plate and carry it to the handsome man.

“Here ya go,” You say, feeling even worse when he jumps. You give him a small smile setting the plate in front of him. “Enjoy,”

“Hey,” He says, quickly when you turn to walk away. You look at him, smiling a bit when he struggles to find his words. “Do you mind sitting with me?” He asks, shyly. “I could use someone to talk to,” He tells you, pressing his lips together. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to him.

“I’m off in an hour,” You tell him. “If you have time, I know a place where we can go,”

“Perfect,” He nods, quickly.

The next hour dragged on. You refilled the old man’s coffee, you wiped the tables down, and you exchanged a couple of words with the guy in the booth. When you finally clocked out, you slipped your jacket on and walked outside with the handsome stranger.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” You introduce yourself as you lead him down the sidewalk.

“Sam,” He introduces himself, holding his hand out. You shake it, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “So, where are you taking me?”

“The pier,” You tell him. “It’s where I like to go when I need to get my head straight or if I’m feeling a little low,” You explain.

When you get to the end of the pier, you both snag your favorite bench. He sets his bag beside him and looks out into the water.

“I turned 18 a couple days ago,” He mutters, looking down at his fidgeting fingers. “Day later and I get a draft notice,”

“My brother got drafted too,” You whisper. He glances at you, a small smile on his face.

“So, did mine,” Sam says. “He got drafted about 7 months ago... We knew I would be next but when it came it just... it felt surreal,” Sam looks back at the water. “I feel like I’m living a nightmare and I won’t ever wake up,” He whispers. 

You bite your lip when you hear the shakiness in his voice. Unable to help yourself, you reach over and grab his hand. He clings to it tightly. You shuffle closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you have to go, Sam,” You whisper.

“Maybe I’ll see my brother,” He hopes optimistically. “We’re all each other has. My mom died when I was a baby and my dad was never around... It’s always just been me and him,”

“Well, when you come back, find me,” Sam turns his head to you. You lift your head off his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll still be working at that café, I’ll be real easy to find,”

“If I come back,” Sam whispers.

“When,” You correct him. “When you and your brother come back, come to the café,” You order him. “I’ll make sure you both have a free meal,” Sam smiles, relaxing on the bench.

“When I come back,” Sam whispers, releasing a slow sigh. “As soon as I got that notice... I never thought of the possibility of coming back,”

“Well, now you have to,” You tell him. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna make me real upset,” Sam smiles, laughing a bit. “We’re friends now, Sam. You’re stuck with me and that’s just how it’s going to be,”

“Is that so?” He asks, looking at you with a half grin.

“Exactly so,” You nod. The two of you didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually, you got tired of the silence and filled it with stories about your life. You told him about the school you went too only to find out that he had gone to your rival school. You talked about your parents and how they supported everything you and your brother did even when it was something beyond stupid. 

You learned that the two of you were nerds but different kinds. He loves to read and had wanted to go to college to become a lawyer while you were passionate about music and were currently in your high schools marching band. You told him how you weren’t sure if you wanted to become a professional musician or a teacher, perhaps you would try to become both.

The conversation flowed easily between the two of you. When you ran out of things to say he talked. He told you about all the trouble he and his brother, Dean, used to get into together. His stories mad you laugh and cry.

The both of you sat on the pier for what seemed like hours. You had sat down together as strangers yet at this point you couldn’t imagine not being his friend. You hated that he had to go into the army because now you couldn’t spend more time with him.

Sitting next to him, hearing him laugh and talk, you knew if he were to stick around you would fall hopelessly in love with him. He’s beyond attractive but on top of that he’s sassy and so very smart and kind. You loved listening to him and you couldn’t help but wish you could take all his pain away. You wished you could take his fear away and protect him from the world but you just couldn’t. You felt useless but at least you were able to get him to relax before the army bus comes to pick up the recruits.

As the day passed on you noticed more army men coming to the area. You both knew that it meant the bus would be arriving soon. You both knew Sam would have to leave and you didn’t want him too.

“I should go wait with the others,” Sam mutters, looking at the group of soldiers gathering together. You frown but release his hand. He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. He bites his lip obviously wanting to say something but looks hesitant.

“What is it, Sam?” You ask. You’re barely able to finish your question before he’s spitting out whatever he wants to say. 

“Look, I know you probably have a boyfriend, but I don’t care,” Sam shakes his head, turning toward you. “I’ve got no one to send letters to, would you mind if I sent some back here to you?”

“I was hoping you would,” You smile at him. You push yourself off of the bench and pull him into a tight hug. “I expect letters as often as you can,” Sam smiles, tightening his arms around you.

“I’m gonna need your address,” He mutters. You grin pulling away from him. Your eyes glance behind him and you instantly smile.

“I’ve got an idea, come on,” You grab his hand and yank him down the pier. He laughs, following you willingly.

“Really?” Sam asks, noticing where you’re pulling him.

“Oh, come on!” You beg him. “It’ll be fun,” You turn to him and wink. He rolls his eyes but nods. You pull him into the photo booth. He sits on the seat and steers you onto his lap when you go to sit down. He grins as you blush. “Smile,” You whisper, turning to the camera.

There’s a flash as the picture is taken. Only problem is that in the corner of your eye you notice Sam still looking at you. You turn your head to him, your arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“You’re supposed to look at the camera,” You whisper.

“I’d rather look at you,” He whispers back. You nibble at your lip, a blush painting your cheeks as another flash brightens the booth. “You’re beautiful,” He mutters.

“You just had to walk into my café when you’re about to leave didn’t you?” You pout. His hand comes up to caress your cheek just as the flash comes again.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never been good at timing,” Sam whispers.

“I don’t have one,” You whisper to him. He frowns his eyebrows and tilts his head. Gathering up your courage, you press your forehead against his. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Sam smiles a bit.

“I’m gonna have to take you out when I get back,” He whispers. You smile at his word choice. You close your eyes, resting your other hand on his chest as the final flash comes.

“Come back, Sam,” You whisper, your eyes opening to look into his. Sam closes his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Please come back, Sam,” You whisper to him.

“I’ll try,” He whispers back. You want to demand that he promises to return but you don’t. Your head moves to his shoulder as you hug him tightly. When the two of you finally slide out of the booth, you pick up the photos. You reach into your pocket and pull our a pen.

“My address,” You said writing it on a couple of them. You slip the first picture into your pocket and let him keep the other three.

“I have to go,” He whispers, seeing the bus coming to pick up the soldiers. You sigh slowly and pull him into another hug. “Thank you,” He murmurs. “For staying with me,”

“It was my pleasure,” You smile up at him. The two of you pull away. You stay still, watching him walk away. He only gets about five steps away before he stop and turns back to you. You smile widely when he come strutting back. He extends his arm and cups your cheek.

“Can I...?” He whispers and you just nod. He grins, lowering his head to yours. You lean into him as your lips press against each other lightly. 

“I really wish you would have found me sooner,” You whisper. He smiles hugging you tighter than before.

“I’ll come back and I’ll take you on a date and we’ll do this the proper way,” He promises, pulling from you.

“I don’t care how we do this as long as you come back to figure it out with me,” You tell him. He clicks his heels together and gives you a salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” He winks at you. You blush smiling at him. “I’ll be back before you know it,” He promises before forcing himself to go to the back to the bus. You force yourself to smile and wave as the bus drives away with him and a dozen other soldiers on it.

His first letter came about a week later. He talked about his training and the other guys he’s bunking with. He talks about what they plan to do with his group in the future. Then he asks about you and your day. Your favorite part is when he mentions about how much he wants to come back home and go back to that pier with you.

The instant your done reading the letter, you pull out paper to write one to him. You talk about mundane things. Things that will hopefully distract him from the world he was forced into, even if it’s just for the few minutes he reads the letter.

Towards the end of your letter you tell him that you miss him. You talk about the possible dates the two of you could go on. You tell him that you look forward to him coming home.

For the next few months, the letters between you two are frequent. You learn more about each other. Every day you find yourself racing for the mailbox hoping that he had sent a letter.

“Who have you been sending letters too?” Your mom asks you one afternoon. You were going to lie and say your brother but she would know it would be a lie. While you and your brother are close you don’t get as excited for his letters as you do Sam’s. 

“I met someone a couple of months ago,” You tell her. She arches an eyebrow. “He came by work before getting on the army bus.. I talked to him for a while before he had to leave. He asked me if he could send letters, he doesn’t have anyone else to talk to,”

“Oh?” She says. “And how is this man?”

“His names Sam,” A wide, effortless smile comes across your lips. “He was drafted a couple days after he turned 18,”

“He’s 18?” She asks. You slowly nod. “You’re only 16,” She states.

“So?”

“So, isn’t he a little old for you?”

“It’s only two years mom,”

“Yeah and you’re barely a junior in high school and he’s going off to a very ugly war,”

“I don’t think any war is pretty,”

“Y/n,” Your mother states. 

“He has no one else, mom,” You tell her. “I’m just talking to him, giving him someone to come home too -”

“Someone to come home to? Are you two dating or something?”

“No, not yet at least...” You mutter. She sighs, rubbing her face.

“You barely know him,” She tells you.

“We’re learning about each other, what’s the big deal?” You ask. “Nothing bad is going to happen,”

“He’s going to war, Y/n... He might not come back,”

“He will,” You snap. “And when he does, I’m going to be there for him.”

“You’re only 16, Y/n... You’re too young to be waiting for a soldier to come home, you’re too young to be worrying about stuff like that,” She tells you.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m too young, I’m waiting for him and I’m going to worry about him no matter what you say or what you think. Sam, needs someone and I’m gonna be that person,” You state before going up to your room.

While that’s the first argument over Sam, it’s not the last. Neither of your parents liked the fact that you were mailing and receiving letters. You were too young. You didn’t understand the world. You need to focus on your future. You heard all that and more. 

Word spread and your entire family soon knew about Sam. None of them were on your side but you didn’t care. You still looked forward to hearing him from him and you didn’t let anyone stop you from replying.

The closer time got to him being shipped over seas, the darker the letters became. Sam was scared. He’s terrified and it showed in his letters. He spoke on and on about the fears of war. He talks about how he would pray to be sent back home, back to you instead.

He tells you about how he lays in bed, staring at the photos of you two, and imagine life back home with you. He imagines holding you, kissing you, and falling in love with you.

You reread the letter a hundred times, a shit eating grin on your face. He was practically confessing to you about falling in love and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate the feelings.

When you went to reply to him, you couldn’t find the right words. You wanted to give him something to look forward to. You wanted to give him a little ray of sunlight in the darkness surrounding him.

When you finally started to write, you couldn’t stop. You made sure that he would have no doubt that you felt the same way, if not more, for him. You promised him that you would be waiting for him to come home to you and that when he did, you’d be all his.

You knew your parents thought you were crazy for falling in love with someone you only met once and talked to through letters. Did you care? No. You fell for Sam, you fell hard. 

You found yourself laying in your bed at night, staring at the one picture you have of him. The picture of you staring at the came, a wide smile on your face, while he’s staring at you, a gentle grin on his. You didn’t want to read too into things but you wondered if you believed in love at first sight. Every time you thought about it, you’d smile a little wider.

Eventually another letter from Sam came. It was the last letter he wrote before being shipped over seas. By the time it reaching your house, you knew he was no longer in the U.S. He told you not to worry, he told you he might not be able to write for a while. He told you he loved you and he’d do anything to come back.

You wrote back to him, begging him to be safe. You promised you’d still wait for him. You told him that you’d be here to welcome him back to America. You told him you loved him.

Even though you looked for his letters every day, they came sporadically. He stayed true to his word and wrote whenever he could, it just wasn’t often. He didn’t go into details about the war but you knew it was horrible. Even after being over there for almost a year, he was still scared and wanted to come home. You didn’t blame him, you wanted him home too.

He wrote about how his platoon came across another one. You smile as you read about the fact that he and his brother were reunited. You couldn’t help but feel relief as you read his own words of relief over the fact that his brother’s still alive.

Towards the end he talks about how when it gets rough, he thinks back to the day the two of you sat at the pier. He explains how he closes his eyes and imagines your smile. He yearns for another kiss, another hug. He wishes he could just be with you.

You reply to him and assure him that his wishes are the same as yours. You wish for him to come home safe. You promise that even though it’s been over a year since you last saw him, you still love him and that you’re still waiting for him. You promise to wait forever as long as he returns to you. 

You tell him about how that day at the pier has become your favorite. You promise to recreate that day with him when he returns only you make sure he knows that you won’t let him leave next time.

After you sent the letter, you wait for his reply. A few weeks pass then a month with no word from him. You try not to worry because it’s not the longest he’s gone without sending word. You know how hard it is for him over there. Even though he hasn’t sent you a letter, you continue to send some to him. You pray every night that when you wake up there will be a letter from him.

“Hey, Y/n, are you alright?” Your best friend asks. “You seem a little distracted?”

You were. You were completely distracted. It’s Friday night, you’re in your marching band uniform at the football game. You love football games and you’re usually the most pumped in the bad. Only tonight you’re quiet. It’s been three months since you last hard from Sam.

“I’m fine,” You promise her. “I just haven’t been getting sleep lately,” 

Your friend accepts your answer and doesn’t force you to explain or talk. You’re thankful. You stand with the others and slip out the picture of Sam. You keep the picture close to your chest. You completely ignore yourself and just focus on Sam. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to see that smile in real life. What you wouldn’t give to simply hold his hand, to hear his laugh and be beside him.

When it got closer to kick off, a prayer was said before the band was instructed to play the national anthem. When the last note was ended, a man came over the speakers again. Everyone in the sands practically froze.

“Folks, would you bow your heads,” The man spoke to the crowd. “For a list of local Vietnam dead,”

This isn’t the first time the schools done this. It’s their way to honor the lives lost. Every time they do it, you feel like you’re going to be sick. Your heart races in your chest. You feel like you’re going to pass out as he goes down the list.

“... Benny Lafitte... Sam Winchester... Adam Milligan...” He continues to read off the list but you don’t listen. All the sound around you just dies.

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Before you know it, your pushing through the crowd and hiding under the bleachers. Nobody gives pays any attention to you. You’re ignored but you couldn’t care less.

You collapse to your knees and wrap your arms around yourself. You’re trying so hard to be quiet but a sob escapes your lips. You want to scream, you want to punch at the ground, you want to just lose yourself in your grief.

All you can think about is his dorky smile as he gives you a salute before walking on the bus. All you can think about is how you should have begged him to stay with you.

“I’ll be back before you know it,”

 His words repeat in your head which only causes you to cry even harder. You rock slowly on the grass. You want to disappear, you want to home and cry yourself to sleep.

Slowly, you pull the picture that’s clutched to your chest back. You sniffle, your eyes glued on Sam. You bring the picture to your lips and kiss him softly. You leave the picture against your lips, your eyes shut tightly as tears continue to seep through them.

“Sammy...” You whimper. “Oh, my Sammy,” You cry, curling into yourself again. “I love you so much,”

Bonas

You’re working at the café. You refilling the old mans coffee and preparing to wipe down tables. You force a smile at the old man before walking away from him. The doorbell rings when you grab a rag.

“Go ahead and sit -” Your words die in your throat when you see who’s standing at the door. You’ve never met this man but you know exactly who it is.

“Uh, hi,” He says, slowly walking up to you. “I’m Dean,”

“I know,” You whisper, offering a small smile. You hated it but seeing him brought tears to your eyes. It’s been six months since Sam was read off the fallen soldiers list. You were still struggling with the fact that he’s no longer coming home.

“Sammy talked about you all the time, couldn’t get him to shut up,” Dean laughs a bit. You bite your lip knowing this was hard for him. “You meant a lot to him,”

“He meant a lot to me,” You whisper, a tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring him home to you,” Dean chokes up. “God he wanted to come home to you,” Your feet move before you realize that you’re walking up to him. The two of you instantly bring the other into a tight hug. When you pull away, he reaches into his pocket and gives you a warn and torn letter. “He asked me to give this to you,” You’re breath hitches when you see red smears on the paper.

“Th-thank you,” You whimper.

“Yeah...” He mutters before backing away. His movement snaps you out of your daze.

“Hey, Dean?” He hums, wiping his eyes. “Don’t be a stranger,” You smile at him. “I know you don’t know me but you’re family... If you ever need anything, I’ll be around,” Dean smiles and slowly nods.

“I’ll see you,” He whispers before walking out of the café.

The instant he’s gone, you walk straight to the bathroom. You cry, barely holding in the sobs. A few minutes later, you pull yourself together long enough to look at the letter.

You can barely read the shaky hand writing but his words bring fresh tears to his eyes. You could tell that he had written this the day before he died. He talked about how scared he was, how he didn’t know if he’d be able to come home. He promised he would do everything in his power to be with you but in case he couldn’t he wanted you to know just how much he loved you. He promised that if tomorrow is to be his last day then his final thoughts will be of the two of you sitting at the pier. 

[mycouchpullsoutbutidont]

Need to write all this down because I just stared into space for a solid 30 min just dreaming about this scenario / potential fanart comic that I could draw of Ben x Devi (I’ve been obsessing over them for the past couple of days and it’s probably due to me not having good dick since god knows forever)

(Draft)

So the comic will start off with Devi being sort of upset and horny, reminiscing about her interaction with Paxton - maybe a really hot makeout sesh and they’re about to have sex - except last minute, Devi gets cold feet and it’s sexually frustrating for Paxton. So Devi is hella embarrassed and mad at herself for pulling back. She tries to initiate again, but Paxton is just like, “forget it, you’re not ready,” and Devi is like “no, I want it.” And Paxton pauses, looks at her, and shakes his head like “no, you’re not. It’s okay. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you’re not ready for.” Which Devi feels insulted by and is terribly sorry. Paxton just smiles and kisses her on the forehead and is like, “I think I should drop you off. It’s getting late.”

End daydream. Devi reels in secondhand embarrassment and is mad at herself for stopping. She vows not to do that again and, of course, in typical Devi fashion, she thinks to herself, “well, if we end up having sex the next time we makeout, I better do my due diligence and research into how to properly have sex.”

And what other way to learn about something than to study up on it?

She begins thinking about how she could do her research. She’s studied anatomy before and knows the basics - the testicles, the glans, urethra, sperm, prostate, yadda yadda. And she’s taken health class and sexual education on how to put on condoms (on bananas- nonetheless - San Fernando valley had pretty liberal sex ed).

But she’s never seen what sex looked like. Never heard it. Never smelled it. Never experienced it from afar or visually.

That’s when she thought of it - porn.

She goes to her room, opens up her laptop, and googles “porn.” Search results pop up, and she catches glimpse of some of the keywords.

“Perky oiled brunette shoves two cocks in both holes”

“Slut sucks slobbers on big veiny dick”

“Curvy sexy ebony rides and squirts before getting facial”

The ache in her groin gnawed even more and—did she just twitch down there? With her blood rushing to her cheeks and between her legs with each horny, perverted word that her eyes came across, her fingers tremble and her body - her breasts - feels like it’s tingling, aching and needing to be roughly handled.

Nervous and horny, she clicks on the first one: porn hub.

She enters a site of orange and black - a pop up window asks if she’s 18 or older. She hesitates, feeling dirty and corrupt. She clicks on enter.

Squares of images lined in a grid populate, organized by category. She skims the words - “Anal”, “BBW,”“Cumshot,” “Compilations”—the list went on and on.

One of the categories catches her eye: “Desi.”

It was both laughable and eye-opening to see that category. A category just for Indian women? She was both amazed and flattered, and for just a brief moment, she wondered if her ancestors could see her.

Her father, she thinks.

Oh god, why is she thinking of him all of a sudden.

Ashamed, she shakes her head, exits out of the window, and closes her laptop. A cool chill runs down her spine, calming her excitement, chilling the pulsating heat that had pooled between her legs. She’s embarrassed for thinking of her dead father and for even thinking of looking up porn. She’s ashamed and pushes her laptop away, now doubly frustrated at herself and for still being sexually pent up. She gets up to grab water in the kitchen, hoping the ice cold water will help temper her aching need.

The doorbell rings.

Devi’s ears perk, and she furrows her brows. Who could this be, she thinks, as she ran down the stairs, walking to the door to peep through the hole.

She gasps, “oh crap.”

It’s Ben!

“Shoot, I forgot!”

Ben was supposed to come over to work on a history project with her - and have dinner, she remembers, since she told her mom and her mom insisted.

“Ah, yes Ben! I remember that boy with the massive pimple on his face who cried in my office!” Devi smirks at Nalini’s comment but then remembers, dammit, why did her mom also want him for dinner?

She opens the door, deepens her frown, a blush creeping on her face as she locks her brown eyes with light blue ones.

“Sup, loser,” Ben says, and Devi almost loses her blush except he smirks, a twinkle in his eye, and a slightly lifted brow. Devi’s eyes trail down over his shirt which clings to his pecs and biceps, and she feels the blush coming back.

And then she notices his strong arms and hair and veins—

“Fuck you,” she says, rolling her eyes, quickly turning her back against him so he doesn’t see her blush harder.

Jeez, what’s wrong with her today? Devi thought (as well as Ben). Why was she so god damn horny?

“What’s your problem, David?” Ben asks. He looks around Devi’s living room. “Where’s your mom?”

Devi shrugs. “Probably at work with her coworkers. Mom’s trying to bring more fun and benefits to motivate them, she claims.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Ben is a little relieved since Devi’s mom was a tough one to please. But, he knew that Nalini had a soft spot for him. (Or, at least he had a 95% confidence level in that thought).

“Actually, kanna, I’m just finish up cooking dinner here with Kamala,” Nalini chimed.

Ben and Devi snapped their heads towards the direction of the kitchen where Nalini and Kamala were cleaning up.

“And if you had helped me like you should have done, you’d know that I was busy cooking up aloo gobi dosas before leaving for my work event later tonight.”

Ben sniffed deeply, the aroma of ghee and asafetida and cumin wafting in the air. How did Devi not notice her mom was cooking with the delicious smells dancing in her home?

“S-sorry mom, I forgot. I just have been feeling a bit out of it today,” Devi replies sheepishly. “Kind of feel hot.” Which was true. Something was terribly wrong with her today for some reason. It felt like there was this growing ache down in her groin that needed to be filled, and with each step she took, every friction against her clit would send shivers of pleasure all over her body.

Before Ben could react, Nalini immediately runs to Devi’s side and places the back of her hand on Devi’s forehead.

“Hm,” Nalini scrunches her brows. “I don’t feel a fever, but you do have a slight blush. Devi, if you’re feeling sick, please don’t get us all sick and go to your room. You should’ve told us and Ben earl—“

“I’m not sick!” Devi blurts, shaking her head. Nalini is taken aback.

“I- I guess,” Devi lowers her voice, trying to come up with an excuse for why she was dickstracted—er, distracted.

“I feel burnt out from studying for AP physics and AP calculus this week,” Devi lies.

“Amateur,” Ben scoffs, smirking. He looks at Devi who snaps to look, looking both mad and flustered, her cheeks tinted slightly redder than normal. It was enough to wipe the smirk off his face. Was she okay?

“I’m not letting you show me up, you jerk!”

Yeah, she was okay, he thought.

“Devi!” Nalini’s jaw fell and she looked like she was about to chew Devi’s face off which terrified Ben.

“N-no, sorry Ms Vishwakumar, that was totally my fault and uncalled for,” Ben cuts in. He looks at Devi who still looks mad at him (but less so, maybe a bit of relief).

“Would it be all right if we study first and then eat dinner?” Ben asks, not sure whether to direct the question to Nalini or Devi first.

“Dinner will get cold,” Nalini warns. “But, I must leave now, so you two can do what you will and whatever regarding dinner.” As she runs towards the door and grabs the keys, Nalini whips her head back and stares daggers at Devi.

“Devi, behave please,” she says through gritted teeth before shutting the door.

Devi sighs in relief and turns to Ben.

“So,” she says, heading towards the stairs. “Let’s get moving. We don’t have much time before dinner gets cold and it’s bedtime.”

Ben nods, walking behind under her. He looks up - damn she has a nice ass - curvy and round. He notices she is wearing a pretty short skirt, and—was that…

Ben blinks twice in disbelief, looking away before looking again. It was no doubt what it was—sticky wet lubricant-like liquid. Running down her inner thigh. Or maybe that’s sweat, he told himself.

Ben blushes. Wow, he felt like such a pervert for staring up her skirt. That and they were going up to her room. To study. Yeah.

(But damn her butt, her curves)

As they enter her room, Ben immediately plops down on the floor, opens his bag quickly, pulls out his AP European history book and notebook, and opening them and flipping through pages (nervously?) and quietly.

“Dude, you’ve been eerily silent this entire time,” Devi torts, and she can’t blame him, can’t blame how nerve wracking it was to have your chiseled (wait shut up Devi) arch nemesis in her room - supposedly a safe haven - to study. Come to think of it, why did she let him in her room? She began to regret her decision, especially when she realized that her nervousness was also turning into heated excitement, her breasts were tingling with desire and even her clit—

“You said you wanted to hurry, so here I am, focused, David,” Ben snaps. He ignores the fact that she’s not wearing a bra and that her tank top isn’t enough to hide her hardened nipples.

(Her cleavage looked so inviting, he dare not stare too long at her tits)

“Actually, for once, you didn’t use your brain and suggest we work downstairs and eat dinner simultaneously instead,” Devi retorted. “Let me just grab my laptop and we can go back downstairs to study and eat dinner at the same time.”

“Don’t put the blame on me for your lack of brain usage,” Ben snapped back, rolling his eyes.

Devi throws a stuffed animal at his head, and he barely dodges it.

“Asshole,” she mutters as she gets on her knees and reaches over her mattress and duvet, grabbing her Macbook.

That’s when Ben saw her soaking wet panties.

Heat rushed from his head to his other head, his cock jumping.

Holy fuck, he thought, is she doing this on purpose? Why did she have to put her ass up like that? Was this intentional? This was a little too cliche, he thought, and porn-like. Girl wearing no bra and apparently soaking wet invites horny boy over to her room and puts her ass in the air while in bed?

“Uh, yeah, yep, sure, that’s probably a better idea,” Ben stammers, trying to ignore his growing boner and grabbing his books. “Lemme just stuff—“

(Those boobs)

“—these boo….ooks. Books. In my bag.” He pushes the last book in his backpack and zips it up.

Oh dear god, did she notice his almost Freudian slip?

He glances over at her, and she’s got a raised brow. “Uh, okay, weirdo, did you just almost say boobs?” Devi says.

“What, no?” Ben says. “You weird pervert.”

“Don’t lie! I saw you staring at my boobs! You’re the pervert!”

“What kind of crap are you projecting onto me for? I’m innocent!”

“You’re like the least innocent person I know!”

“That’s definitely not true,” Ben scoffs. “And even if it was, it’s better than being an Unfuckable Nerd.”

That did it. That was the straw on the camel’s back. Devi was enraged, insulted, and sexually frustrated. Ben had dug into a deep insecurity of hers, a wound that she desperately wanted to heal and prove herself out of. For all her life, she had never felt desirable, never had a boy flirt with her or ask her out or even given her attention. When Ben first called her an “Unfuckable Nerd,” she didn’t show how painful the sting of his insult was to her lonely heart. She did not want to be the forever nerdy virgin who was seen as sexually undesirable and —god forbid—ugly.

(Was that why Paxton pushed her away, she thought briefly?)

“Shut up!” she yells before chucking her laptop at him. She misses by a meter (thank god her eye hand coordination was god awful), but she’s not sure if she was even intending on hitting him with the laptop. Still, the moment the laptop flew out of her hands and onto her carpeted floor (with a nice thud), Ben knew he had made a huge mistake. And so did Devi (though she dare not be the first one to admit that she was wrong).

Except she was really wrong this time.

“Devi!” Ben exclaimed. “I’m—“

“Oh fuck Ben, I’m—“

“So sorry.”

Both Ben and Devi apologized simultaneously, with heavy regret and a tint of fear in their voices.

“N-no, I crossed the line, Devi,” Ben said. “It’s really…misogynistic and objectifying of me to call you Unfuckable.”

Because you’re quite the opposite, he thought.

Devi acknowledged internally the apology, but it still stung painfully in her heart. She wanted to let him know that it still hurt.

(Especially hearing that term from him).

Still, she knew she was also incredibly at fault for almost injurying Ben.

“I’m also sorry, I really…really should’ve not thrown my laptop at you. I could’ve injured you really badly.” Devi dropped down to her knees, getting down to Ben’s level since he was still on the floor, a bit shaken by her throwing her laptop at him.

“I guess I deserved it,” he said. He looked over at the laptop on the ground.

“But if you did break it, don’t expect me to pay for a new one,” he said with a smirk.

Devi rolled her eyes. “I’m not your sugar baby; I wasn’t expecting you to pay for a new one.” She crawls towards her MacBook (Ben consciously looking away since she’s on her knees again) and opens it, praying to herself that it was still functioning.

She tapped on her keyboard multiple times.

Blank screen.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered. She kept tapping on the keys of the keyboard.

No response.

“Crap!” Devi hissed. “Oh no, no no no!” She was sort of panicking. “I knew this would happen.”

“So why did you throw the laptop then?” Ben slyly asked.

“Not. Helpful. Ben.”

Ben scoots closer to Devi, wraps his arm around her—

Devi is shocked, his graze making her melt into his touch, sending the pent up frustration and heat back to her ache and pussy—

But, Ben was only merely reaching around to press down on her laptop’s button for a couple of seconds before the lock screen shone back on.

Oh, Devi thought, a feeling of defeat and disappointment settling in her chest. He wasn’t hugging her.

But, hey her laptop’s alive.

“Oh thank god,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief before turning to him - wow he’s somehow pretty close to her face and body and oof, his proximity sets a fire across her entire body —

“Consider yourself lucky. Looks like you don’t have to buy me a new laptop,” she says, smirking.

Ben scoffs.

“In your dreams, David.”

Oddly enough, Ben’s arm is still wrapped around her, his presence warm and enveloping. Devi is tempted to lean into it but knows better (especially not now when she has been hot and bothered all day).

She types her password in her Lock Screen, hits enter, and gasps in horror as she realized that she didn’t properly close out her browser full of porn -

(which is now blasting moans of cam girls fucking the selves with sex toys all thanks to livejasmin)

“Oh shit!” Devi immediately slams her screen shut again.

But it was too late.

Ben’s brows shoot up, eyes widening and jaw dropping in guffaw. A laugh of disbelief escapes from his throat.

“Holy crap! And you called ME the pervert?” Ben laughs. “Who’s the pervert now?”

But damn, wow, he’s turned on.

He tightens his arm around Devi in a proper hug now, pressing her closer to him, and leans in, an inch from her ear, whispering —

“You’re a dirty girl”—

Before pressing his lips on hers.

[sleepingcrisis]

Found this in my drafts and I kinda like it!

Umm

Cw: implied child abuse

*****

It starts out at the cook out on top of Dope Sketch. Where Adam has a chance to chat with people he normally wouldn't and gets to see a glance of something.

"Miya! Miya! Watch this!" the read head, Reki, is dragging Miya over and has a dog treat as well as two miniature skateboards set up. They watch in amazement as they soon get the small... dog(?) to ride on them.

"Careful guys," Langa mutters and catches the boards when the dog flicks them back at them and it nearly hits their faces.

Miya tries to hide his excitement by muttering about how it was "lame" but soon they are off to find more dog treats.

It happens again later.

Those three boys are doing these tricks on flat ground that Miya excels at while Reki and Langa could use some work since they are both used to having momentum behind each trick they do. They cheer one another on and laugh at their fails.

"Im surprised you aren't making an attempt at offering advice," Joe mentioned as he fills up Adam’s plate again since he will be damned if he has leftovers.

"I offer sound advice I'll have you know, not that you and Cherry ever listened to it," Adam said defensively.

"I did listen to it!" Joe shot right back.

Cherry didn't have a similar defense. Being far to stubborn back in the day (and now) to listen to advice others had to give.

The third and final thing that tips Adam off is when the boys parents come to pick them up. Well Langa and Reki’s mothers. Turns out Miya's parents probably wouldn't be cool with who their son is hanging out with.

Oka and especially Joe are charismatic enough that their mothers don't seem all that worried about the crowd they hang out with and even stick around to talk for a bit. Those two are... interesting to say the least. Adam never got the chance to meet Kaoru and Kojiro’s parents growing up but he could imagine that their mothers might be a lot like these two.

They are sweet and bubbly and— Joe is flirting with them. It has Cherry rolling his eyes but the two are both naturally quite charming in their own ways.

"Stop being gross," Reki grumbled as he grabbed his things.

Langa hurries after and gives his mother an exhausted look. Adam wouldn't be surprised if the two end up challenging Joe to a beef over this.

"Yeah mom," Langa agreed with Reki.

"I'm not being gross, just getting to know the people you spend your time with—"

"And it is gross," Langa and Reki both confirm before snickering.

"Joe that goes for you too!" Reki shot Joe a look that has him backing off and waving apologetic hands as Cherry smacks them down with his hand fan.

The four leave and soon Joe and Shadow are helping Oka with clean up as Cherry brings Miya home.

Weird.

Adam doesn't see Langa and Reki’s mothers again but he still can't shake the thought. They were sweet. It was the only word to describe the two. Sweet. Adam feels the thoughts plague is mind when he is trying to sleep or when he is working or when he is talking to his aunts... especially when he is talking to his aunts.

One night at S he decides to get some answers.

Of course Tadashi and himself are regulars now, with Tadashi going under the name Snake. The fame Adam holds doesn't last for long and eventually the two are able to spend time at S while only having to deal with fans right when they show up, similar to Joe and Cherry.

Snake is currently in a race against Snow when Adam manages to get a spot next to Joe and Cherry to watch.

"What were your home lives like?" Adam asked rather bluntly.

The two are thrown back a bit and hesitate before sharing a look.

"Let’s talk in a quieter spot," Joe offered before the three leave.

They are at the gate when Adam repeats his question and they both shrug.

"Normal?" Joe suggested.

"Well what is normal Joe?" Adam asked with an eye roll that is hidden by his mask.

"Fair point. Uh..." Joe trailed off. Unsure how to answer that question.

"Traditional. I have no siblings but my parents were strict and pushed for good grades. After highschool they demanded I stay in Japan to master calligraphy even if I wanted to go to school again. They insisted it was a waste of time and that my time would be better spent if I carried on the family legacy. I don't talk to my parents anymore because they weren't happy when they heard I wouldn't be getting married to a woman," Cherry explained rather flatly.

"Well I was a middle child and I have two older sisters and a younger sister, my parents were glad to have a boy though and were happy with whatever I wanted to do. They even helped cover the costs when I went to Europe for school... Adam is everything okay?" Joe asked. He still didn't understand the point of the question.

"Would you say that Reki and Langa have normal families?" Adam asked.

"What— Adam—"

"I just need to know the answer okay?" Adam said. His voice softened as he rubbed his arms and tried not to think. Everything had been normal growing up. Sure things had gotten intense when his father died, but it was still a normal childhood... right?

"Yes. They both seem to have very supportive families that might be a little relaxed given how late they stay out," Cherry offered.

"Okay."

Cherry and Joe recognized the look of Adam thinking and the two began to grow concerned as they pieced things together. Digging back into memories they considered to be happier and realizing that it might not have been happier for Adam.

"Adam?" Cherry breathed.

"Yeah?"

"What was your childhood like?" Joe finished the question.

Adam met their gazes before taking of his mask. He didn't want to be looked at but he also felt like his head was going to explode under the pressure of the mask pressed against his face. The two didn't stare at him though. Understanding that he needed a moment.

"I don't think it was normal."

That was all Adam could manage.

No. It wasn't normal. It wasn't even close.

[cherry-ber]

“You notice how wine makes people wanna feel, like sexy?”

Pairing: idol! Mark Lee x female reader

Plot: Lonesome creeps into everyone's mind, even those who seem to have it all.

Genre: fluff mostly, angst.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, extremely painful for me to write this since I feel lonely idk if that triggers you too.

A.N: inspired by the first draft of too drunk to fuck and my bff's dependence of wine to exist 😳 this took me 10 hours to write but it might still be pretty shit. And yeah Clueless some how

After a long, long week of continuous recordings, dance practices, re-recordings and photo sessions, all he wanted to do, was sleep for twenty hours straight. He knew that he was a very lucky man, he was really living the dream. Not everyone was able to do what they loved, with people they genuinely liked, and still get payed for it, but he was. He had always been grateful, he knew the real value of things in real life, and sometimes he felt like he didn't even deserve it.

An insane amount of people knew his name, knew him, and constantly made sure that he knew how appreciated he was, but he couldn’t understand it at all. Sure, he proved himself over and over again how great he could be, and he was proud too, but why did people really loved him? Sometimes it's easy to lose yourself, but lately he was struggling even more, he felt lost and unworthy, he felt guilty, even, because he shouldn't feel this way.

Mark was home alone, after his friends went out to have dinner and drinks. He excused himself out of the reunion saying that he would call his parents and then heading straight to the bed. He wasn't lying at all, he did have a small call with his family, and then went to his room, expecting that he'd fall asleep soon and forget about what he was feeling, he was done with that for today.

He played a movie in his computer, knowing that whatever it was, he wasn't paying attention anyway. He hated to admit it, but he felt like he was missing something, rather, someone. He felt ridiculous, knowing how much people loved him, how many friends he had, but he couldn’t help it, he would be lying if he didn't say he could use a little company. Mark was busy most of the time, which, although tiring, was an escape from his loneliness, it was moments like this where he'd have enough time to sink in this small puddle of angsty feelings, that just grew until it was as big as an ocean. He couldn't explain why he felt so bad, he had enough friends to count on, and even when he considered he was only in need of a physical affect, it turned out to not be the answer, even when he masturbated, when he was finished, those feelings were still there. As the movie went on without him noticing, he turned his head to the side, and imagined someone next to him, wearing his clothes and stealing his blanket. He giggles, imagining cuddling someone to sleep, their heat making him feel home. He finally closes his tired eyes with a smile, hoping his dreams will be sweet and last long.

He wakes up in a bad mood, and doesn't really want to talk to anyone, his older friends notice, and decide to let him be, they know that if something is really wrong, he'll come to them eventually. After a quick shower, he decided he needed some privacy, some time alone, despite being scared of being stuck with himself, and went out on his own, ignoring the texts on the group chat, where everyone wondered where he was going. He had breakfast in a small Cafe, went to a movie matinee, an art gallery, a theater play, and then to a mall to buy himself expensive clothes. He had an okay day, and he grew a little bit of joy, finding himself alone and still almost enjoying his time, but mostly, ignoring his mind when he saw a couple, and wished he could have that too. He enters a restaurant, intending to order something take out for his friends, as an apology for being moody and worrying them. He waits stand up next to the door, with a cup of coffee they offered him, until he suddenly turns around after hearing his order being ready, and ceashes with someone as he does. He spilled his drink over his and their clothes. He starts apologizing, but all he gets as a response is a soft, sweet giggle. He looks to the stranger's face, and is met with a fond smile.

“It's okay, go get your food, I can fix myself”

He's caught off guard, and all he can do is shake his head yes and do as he is told, coming back to them, apologizing again.

“I'm such an idiot, I'm so sorry” he's totally embarrassed, and he feels a blush running through his face.

“It's alright, it wasn't your fault”

The stranger walks inside to take a table, and he rushes out, walking back home. That giggle makes its way to his mind a couple times as he arrives.

After eating, he goes to bed, feeling somehow full with himself, but he doesn't know if it was after forcing himself to like him, or if he was so desperate for someone that a small interaction like that would get him sleepless thinking this person would be his person.

On that same week, he founds himself running into that same stranger everywhere. When he goes get coffee with his friends, when they go to buy groceries, when he heads to the studio, and he wonders if he should be worrying, but decides not to.

Surprisingly, he founds her again, when he is entering a new coffee shop, and she walks her way out. He opens the door for her, and is met with her fond smile again, that grows larger as she recalls his face. She mumbles a sweet 'thank you' and keeps walking. Some courage grows inside Mark, and blurts out whatever his brain was fast enough to say.

“Thanks for not spilling that coffee back” the young lady finds the sentence, although awkward, funny, and turns back to him to reply.

“Maybe I should pay for your coffee, though, you were enjoying it until I crashed into you” Her melodic voice is enough to put Mark in a trance, and loses control of what he's doing, disconnecting from his awkward self.

“Actually it was my fault” he giggles remembering how sweet she was, even after Mark probably just ruined her day “Did you get a horrible stain?”

She walks closer to him, small steps that make his heart beat faster.

“It wasn't horrible, I wouldn't say that, it was just, slightly bad”

“I don't want to be a weirdo, are you busy right now? I could use some chatting, and I really owe your laundry money”

She was never an outgoing person, but she was flattered by his proposal. She was meeting someone, but she figured it wouldn't be important enough to not cancel.

“I would love that, but you owe me nothing” she giggles and walks beside him into an empty table.

“I'm Mark, by the way”

“I know that” she laughs it off, attempting for things not to be awkward “My name is Y/N”

It was only after several months, that Mark found himself, again, over thinking about how lonely he was, and how desperate he was for it to end. Whenever he had the chance, he'd spend time with his new friend, and for some weeks, thats was enough, until he realized that, all she wanted from him, was a friendship. His friends noticed, too, how after a while, that wasn't enough for him, but he was terrified he'd lose her, but they'd often try to help him out in whatever way other men would think was best, teasing her when she was at the dorms, insinuating how cute of a couple they'd be, and shamelessly asking if by any chance, she'd have feelings for him, never really giving away Mark's crush on her, not explicitly at least.

One afternoon, when they were all watching a movie together, when suddenly, Johnny and Taeyong convinced everyone to go out and have dinner, even after Mark suggested they just called the restaurant, because he was too tired to go out.

“Oh” Taeyong said, grabbing his keys and putting on a hat “then you can stay here with Y/N and order something and we can take our time”

The girl was a little disappointed, she loved spending time with the other guys two, but she agreed, knowing that Mark wouldn't want be convinced to leave the couch.

She sees then leave, and turns around to look at her friend, somehow aware of what his friends were trying to do; leave them alone, after last night they discussed Mark should just accept the reject, and confess. The boy asked, pleaded and begged them not to leave them alone, after he opened up about his feelings, but of course, his friends thought they'd know better.

“Can you order pizza while I take a shower?” his attention called back to where he was, as the sweet woman walked into the living room, with a bottle of wine and two cups. Mark chocked in his spit, when the thought of her showering, and how much he'd love to enter the scene, crossed his mind.

“Yeah, sure” he watched her walking away “Do you want some clothes?”

“Well, if I could steal one of your hodies tonight, I wouldn't mind”

He does as he's asked, calling a pizzeria and taking off his hoodie, hoping that she'd appreciate the smell of his cologne, that he wears only when she's coming around.

When she comes out, wearing her jeans and tank top, he throws the sweater at her, she puts it on and sits in the couch next to him, ready to start eating, reaching out for the bottle to serve them a cup after the first bite.

“I don't want to drink that” he'd never been a fan of alcohol, he knew he could use a boost, but he was still afraid of it.

“Huh? Why is that?”

“I don't drink wine” She recalled how he'd often drink with Johnny and her, whenever Johnny wanted to open a bottle, which happened quite often, but decided not to insist, although she did pour a cup for herself.

Mark, and any other men, really, always wondered what could she be thinking about, she was wild, energetic, but calmed and peaceful, she was always kind, but wouldn't hesitate to start a fight if to defend herself or someone else, she was never scared, but she was sensitive and fragile. He couldn't help the sigh that left his body, remembering why he had feelings for her in the first place. He knew how much she'd hate to be in a relationship, they had already discussed it, after some girl confessed to Mark, and she mentioned how relationships to her were useless, since she got all the love she wanted from her friends, and that way, she made sure that all the love she gave was reciprocal. When he told his manager about his feelings, expecting him to give him helpful advice, he just told him to forget about her. “women like her are too complicated, it's not worth it”. He wondered then, how many other guys would think the same, and refused to be one of those.

They were both full, and cuddling in the couch, she was sipping her second cup, when Mark suddenly poured a cup for himself too, and drank it in one large sip. He felt a rush through his body, his face flustered, and a numb sensation in his limbs. He was trying to keep himself still, but the sudden alcohol in his body made him bubbly and the woman next to him realized. The cheesy romcom that was playing on the back made him giggle in every other scene, and with every minute that went by, he felt looser and looser. He served another cup and drank it just as fast as the first one. Soon, he found himself leaning towards the body that sat next to him. Y/N pat her thigh, inviting Mark to rest his head there, which he did, while fidgeting with his fingers.

“You notice how wine makes people wanna feel, like sexy” he lets out in a serious tone.

Giggly, his friend shakes her head no, and places her cup in the table in front of them. “Do you feel like sexy?”

He sits himself back, eyes wide open, same serious expression in his face.

“I guess so?” he laughs at how dumb he must sound “I feel... Jiggly”

Her sweet, loud laugh fills the room, and Mark is proud of himself for making her so happy.

“Love, you should go to sleep already” he feels his face hotter and hotter, and can only imagine how red he must be “you were already tired, I'll clean up and meet you in your room-”

Mark bursts out of his bubble and speaks

“Don't do that” he says softly, as if he was genuinely hurt by her words “Please, don't do that”

Worried, Y/N walks closer to him, “Do what?”

He looks down to his feet, feeling tears forming in his eyeballs, product of his low alcohol tolerance, and his overall emotional state. “Dont call me love. You don't love me”

She reaches for his hands, attempting to make him look straight at her eyes “Of course I love you Mark”

“Not the way I want you to”

She had never been good with other people's feelings, especially romantic feelings, she had a hard time catching indirects.

“In which way is that?” hesitant, Mark stares at her for a couple seconds, before staring at her lips, too numb to do better, he grabes her chin and pulls her closer to him, a sweet, slow kiss surprising her as much as himself. When he pulls away and expects a response of any kind, all she can do is try to look at him.

“Oh, Mark” she finally manages to say “is this the way you feel?” he nods, still nervous but hopeful that she'll feel the same “You're drunk, go to sleep” she turns around as she cleans as quick as she can, as mark makes his way to his room, or to the first room he sees open.

Before the other men living in the dorms arrive and ask questions that she doesn't want to answer, she leaves, leaving a post it note in the fridge for Mark”

“Drink water and have a painkiller,

I had to go home. Thanks for the wine

-Y/N”

Too many weeks after, Mark calls her phone one more time before he enters the dorms, wondering if he had really done the worst thing in the world, for her to ghost him like that. He let a tired sigh out, grateful that he was home alone again. He goes to his room, ready to sleep for as long as he can, but when he opens the door, the lights are on, and in his bed sits what could be only described as an angel, beautiful as always, smiling and kind Y/N, with a cup of wine in her delicate hands, and another one on his nightstand, that she offers him as he's taking off his shoes and sweater.

With pain and regret in her eyes, as he's taking the first sip, she attempts to break the silence. “You ever notice how wine makes people feel sexy?”

[jackrrabbit]

excerpts/tasting menu of upcoming works

You’re in luck anon because this past week my dumbass brain decided to start like 5 different fics and not finish any of them, so I have plenty of things to preview (specific CWs included with each individual section)

As always, encouragement goes a long way for my motivation, so if you see something you’re interested in, give it a shoutout!

Also, all of these are super rough ;///; please have mercy on my pitiable first-draft skills

[BNHA] Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader

Summary: You’re daddy’s spoiled little princess, but unfortunately daddy’s got debts to the yakuza and Overhaul’s going to make you work them off the hard way.

Warnings: restraints, kidnapping, harassment, drugging

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flip up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Golden eyes rest steadily on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you—the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to shift away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your cuffs, jerking you back and pinning you in place.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh my gosh, was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a beat.

“You may be gangsters, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you flinch back from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

[BNHA] Sweet Tooth /// Bakugou x f!Reader

Summary: Pro hero AU—Your boss Ground Zero is an insufferable prick, but you just can’t get enough of the way he smells.

Warnings: none? arguing?

“Do you hear me? I don’t want you here. I don’t want you as my assistant. You can call yourself my ‘administrative support’ but you and I both know you’re a glorified janitor here to clean up my messes and I. Don’t. Want. You.” There’s a muffled bang and then the air is permeated with the acrid stench of burning. You don’t even have to look down to know that the papers (the report you spent three days of unpaid overtime trying to finish in the hopes that maybe this would convince him that you’re on his side) are going up in smoke.

And okay, you slip a little bit. Who can blame you?

“Well guess what, Katsuki? I don’t want you either.” You step as much closer to him as you can manage without literally touching him and jab your index finger into his chest—see how he likes it when you get up in his personal space. “I got placed here. I didn’t choose this. I don’t want to work for a temperamental brat who doesn’t know how to be appreciative of his staff, so the feeling’s mutual. So how about you shut up and let me do my job before the Commission decides you’re too much of a liability to let you run wild any longer?”

Bakugou sneers. He’s clearly not intimidated in the least, and dear god do you want to wipe that smug look off his face. “If you’re the best tactic the Commission’s got, they know they can’t touch me. I’m the number two hero—“

“—and you’re the number one expense when it comes to damage control and repairs. Seriously, do you think Deku goes around blowing up government buildings every other week? I’d kill to be at his agency instead of yours.”

“It was one stupid post office, and no one was hurt—“ Bakugou stops in the middle of his rebuttal and scarlet eyes narrow at you. “Wait. Deku? You’re saying you’d rather work for shitty Deku?”

He says it like the alias is an insult, and you frown. As a long-time admirer of Deku’s, you feel the instant impulse to come to his defense. “Of course I’d rather work for the top pro hero. Maybe if you weren’t so hot-headed you’d win a popularity contest once in a while.”

Uh-oh. Looks like you struck a nerve.

Bakugou leans into you and now you’re the one who has to shuffle back to keep your distance. He looks—well, murderous is a little too terrifying, so you’re going to go with pissed. Light shimmers out in harmless sparkles over his palms (it would be pretty if it wasn’t so foreboding) and the accompanying crackles make you shiver, but you hold the determined look on your face. He’s so close you can smell the fresh sharpness and witch hazel in his aftershave and under that—

—huh. It’s weird, but there’s a really sweet, really rich scent. Like…what is it? It’s wrong, out of place. Your brain is convinced that it’s not supposed to be there, so you can’t identify it. Without thinking, you inhale roughly, trying to get a better sense of the mouth-watering smell.

[BNHA] Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader

Summary: Yandere—You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, he’s never letting you leave again.

Warnings: unsafe piercing practices, don’t do this at home kids

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then, you’d offered to let him give you one. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did it. You were older than him and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and you told him you trusted him, it was the first time he’d ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He’d chosen twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you’d pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It’d been a while after the worst burns on his face, the ones under his eyes and wrapping around his chin and down his neck, and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the wrinkled purple-red scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he’d started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you’d said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

[KNY] Moonrise /// Kokushibou x f!Reader

Summary: A shrine maiden is spirited away by a demon posing as a land god.

Warnings: references to Shinto religion

“Look up there, up in the mountains behind our shrine,” your grandmother told you. “Do you see the place where the earth rises into the clouds? Our kami lives there, in the boundary between the physical world and the celestial one, higher than any human can reach.”

You stopped crying just long enough to follow the direction of her gaze, staring into the hazy mist in the mountains beyond your village. “Kokushibou lives in the woods?” The idea of your supposedly beloved deity living off the land like a wild animal was unsettling to you.

The anxiety was obvious in your voice, but your grandmother just laughed and patted your hair. “In the woods, yes, but the legends tell us he lives in a mansion fit for an emperor. His house is so fine that our little temple could fit inside it a dozen times.”

“Does he live there all by himself? Isn’t he lonely?”

“Kokushibou may be alone, but he spends his days watching our village. He has three pairs of eyes so that he may look upon the human world, the heavens, and his own affairs without changing his gaze.” Your grandmother pointed to one of the stone carvings that had scared you earlier (the one you thought was so demonic with so many eyes in its face) and her wrinkled lips curled up in a smile that made her look like a girl again. “Can I tell you a secret?”

You nodded yes, too enthralled in the tale to remember that you’d been upset.

“Once when my aunt—your great grandmother’s sister—was young, Kokushibou came down from his mountain to watch her perform her kagura dance. When she first met his eyes she was afraid, but her fear only lasted a moment, for although he was fierce in temperament his face was as beautiful as the full moon.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Did she say anything to him?”

“No, he disappeared before she could speak to him. But she told me she always regretted not being able to thank him for what he does for our village.”

“But what does he do? For our village?”

Your grandmother’s rough hands closed over your small ones, pulling them to her mouth so she could place a tender kiss upon them. “Kokushibou protects us. In other towns like ours there are criminals, raids…even attacks from demons and other creatures of darkness. Our village is peaceful because the evil fears retribution from kami.”

“So he takes care of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“Even me?”

“Even you, little one.”

[Haikyuu] Fanatic pt. 3 /// Oikawa x f!Reader

Summary: Oikawa takes advantage of a devoted fan for some stress relief after a bad match (…and then other stuff happens, see [part 1] and [part 2])

Warnings: implied smut?, 18+, implied dubcon??, degradation

“Wait!” you gasp out again, craning your neck to meet his gaze as best you can from over your shoulder (still without the nerve to pick your hands up off the glass or move your ass away from him). “Wait, we can’t—we shouldn’t, it’s wrong—“

We can’t. It’s wrong. Oikawa rolls your words around in his head and almost wants to laugh again—and he would, if he weren’t so focused on the fact that in a few seconds, he’s going to get what he’s ben wanting for months. You’re perfect, still his dutiful little cheerleader, still so deeply in denial that you can’t even say that he can’t, he shouldn’t, he’s wrong. None of this is your responsibility, but you’re acting like it’s a decision you’re making together. Because you want it too, he knows, he’s sure of it. Just like all his other vapid fans, you’re the same except you’re lucky, because he’s about to give it to you.

“Yeah, it’s wrong.” His voice is low and so close to your ear that you can feel the steam of his breath splay out over the skin of your cheek. “It’s wrong…you’re so sick, wanting it like this. So dirty, my sick little slut, let me make it better. I’ll make it all better, hm? Just stay put and—take it.”

A/N: I also wrote a bunch of iwcb pt. 3 but I really hate what I wrote so I might have to rewrite it, pray for me :(

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

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An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain. 

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.” 

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?” 

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”