#does anyone else hear the roaring noise in their ears

[goldfades]

Husband Joe burrow x wife reader blurb where Joe gets hurt at the game and she’s in the stands with their kids freaking out. Reader runs to locker room with kids and wait for hours awaiting news. Turns out to be a concussion and reader needs to take care of Joe.

so i just picked some random kids name but i hope yall like it anyway<3 this was a little quick blurb, if yall wanted me to go into detail lmk

the stadium feels alive in a way that almost makes your chest ache—electric lights cutting through the cold december night, the roar of the crowd washing over you in waves. jj’s got his little hands wrapped tight around your scarf, standing on the bench next to you, his cheeks flushed red from yelling. rosie’s curled into your side, clutching her stuffed tiger with all the fierce determination of a three-year-old who hasn’t quite learned to share her dad with the rest of the world.

and joe’s out there, as he always is, calm and unshaken in a sea of chaos. you watch him drop back, the ball slipping out of his hands like a whisper, and for a moment, it feels like time slows. you know the mechanics of it by heart now—the way his body turns, the way his head snaps up to track the pass.

except this time, something’s wrong.

you see it before anyone else does. before the crowd gasps, before the announcers scramble for words, before jj tugs at your sleeve and says, "mom, why isn’t daddy getting up?" your stomach drops, heavy and immediate, as joe stays on the turf, unmoving.

the medics rush out, and everything else—the noise, the lights, the game—it all fades to static. you’re hyper-aware of rosie, still tucked into you, and jj, now climbing off the bench to get a better view. you grab his arm, your voice sharp and shaking. "jj, stay here."

he looks up at you, wide-eyed. "is daddy okay?"

you don’t have an answer. you just know your legs are moving, somehow finding the stairs, the kids trailing after you like little shadows. the buzz of the crowd is deafening, but all you can hear is your pulse hammering in your ears, your breath coming short and uneven.

at some point, you find yourself at the tunnel, blocked by a security guard who’s trying his best to look apologetic. “ma’am, you can’t—”

“he’s my husband,” you cut him off, your voice shaking but firm, jj clinging to your side now, rosie tucked under your arm like a lifeline. “please, we need to see him.”

you don’t remember how you convince him, but the next thing you know, you’re in the hallway, the fluorescent lights glaring and cold, the echo of your kids’ sneakers on the floor making the silence feel heavier. no one’s telling you anything yet, and the minutes stretch into an eternity.

you drop to your knees, jj and rosie curling into you instinctively, and you press a kiss to the top of rosie's head like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "it’s okay," you murmur, mostly for them, but maybe a little for yourself too. "he’s gonna be okay."

you don’t know that. but you have to say it anyway.

the doctor’s voice is steady, practiced—like he’s done this a hundred times before. “it’s a concussion,” he says, glancing up from his clipboard as if to gauge your reaction. "he’s stable, but we’ll need to monitor him closely for the next few days."

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, the tightness in your chest finally starting to ease. a concussion. it’s not nothing, but it’s not everything you were afraid of, either. jj, sitting on the bench in the corner with rosie asleep in his lap, looks up at you. "is daddy gonna be okay now?"

you nod quickly, forcing a small smile even though your hands are still trembling. "yeah, buddy. he’s gonna be okay."

they let you see him after a while. joe’s lying on the padded table in the back room, his eyes closed, a bandage on his temple where he must’ve hit the turf. he stirs as you walk in, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, and even though he’s clearly disoriented, he smiles—a tired, lopsided grin that tugs at your heart.

"hey," he says, voice scratchy and quiet. "you okay?"

you laugh softly, shaking your head. "you’re asking me that? you’re the one who scared the hell out of us, joe."

his eyes drift to jj, who’s standing just inside the doorway, clutching his stuffed football like a lifeline. "hey, champ," joe says, his voice softening. "come here."

jj hesitates, looking at you for permission before running to his dad. he climbs up onto the table, careful not to jostle joe too much, and presses his tiny hand against joe’s chest like he’s checking to make sure he’s really there. "you scared us," jj says, his voice small. "mom was crying."

joe winces, his hand reaching up to ruffle jj’s hair. "i’m sorry, pal. didn’t mean to scare you."

the next morning, the house is unusually quiet. you wake up early, the soft gray light of dawn filtering through the curtains. joe’s still in bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, his eyes closed but his breathing steady. you can’t help but pause for a moment in the doorway, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair sticks out in every direction.

in the kitchen, jj is already awake, perched on a stool with his coloring book. he looks up as you walk in, his face lighting up. "morning, mom! can i make daddy breakfast?"

you smile, ruffling his messy bedhead. "what did you have in mind?"

“toast and eggs. that’s his favorite, right?”

together, you guide jj through the process—cracking eggs (with minimal shell casualties), buttering toast, arranging everything on a tray. jj insists on carrying it himself, even though it’s almost too big for his small arms. when you reach the bedroom, he marches in proudly, setting the tray on the bedside table with a dramatic flourish.

joe’s eyes flutter open at the sound, and he smiles groggily when he sees jj. "what’s all this, huh?"

"breakfast," jj declares, climbing up onto the bed next to him. "to make you feel better. you gotta eat, daddy, so you can get strong again."

joe chuckles, his voice still a little hoarse. "thanks, bud. this looks perfect."

you watch as jj chatters away, explaining every step of the breakfast-making process in excruciating detail. joe listens, his focus entirely on his son, even though you can tell he’s still not feeling great. it’s a small moment, but it feels like a balm—like the heavy weight of last night is finally starting to lift.

you sit on the edge of the bed, watching the two of them with a quiet sort of gratitude. jj has this way of lighting joe up, of breaking through whatever walls he’s put up, and it never fails to amaze you.

"you’re a good little nurse," joe says, ruffling jj’s hair. "best one i’ve ever had."

jj beams, and you catch joe’s eyes over his head. there’s something unspoken in his gaze—a thank you, maybe, or just a reminder of how much he loves this messy, chaotic little family of yours.

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[jolalibrary]

wicked games you play

javier peña x f!reader | bonus scene of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: smut. p in v. fingering. cunnilingus. javi pov. wrap it before you tap it, people. 18+. PLEASE read chapter six before this one.

Javi’s unsure who moves first—when the words leave your mouth.

All he knows is his lips are on yours, he has a fistful of your tee, and you’ve buried your nails into his scalp. 

It’s heavy, all smothered in desperation and wrapped with lust as he begins drowning again. So willingly, almost wishing too. Feeling your presence seep into his bones, making his brain turn silent and everything else wake up. 

Then you whimper, and he has to fight a grin. 

That night on the phone coming straight back to him. How you’d gasped, moaned, right down his ear—how it had kissed his brain and made him hard. How pretty you sounded.

Now he gets to see it all. Hear it all.

His fingers sliding over your neck, your quickening pulse hammering against his fingers as your eyes open. And they’re ablaze with want, dousing him in it, coating him—becoming the only layer he wants to wear. 

“Been thinking about this since the phone call.” 

“Quite tame for you, Javi. I’ve been thinking of a whole lot more, honestly.” 

He likes it when you’re quick. When your quick-wit slides from your tongue.

He likes it more that it’s you who begins to remove his shirt, palms sliding over his shoulders, fingers under the fabric as it slides down his arms until it flutters to the ground. Yours follows, his thumbs hooking under, knuckles grazing your skin before it’s over your head and in some corner. 

Then your lips begin to play a game. You pull them from him, making his mouth chase—doing so until he grasps your jaw and cheek, licking into your mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock—it hardening—uncomfortably so—against the zipper of his jeans. Rolling his hips against you as you moan.

Thankfully, the other clothes practically melt from the two of you. Javi guiding you out of yours, you sliding his jeans down with a doe-eyed look before kissing up his calf, past his knee, along his thigh—

Javi pulls you to your feet.

“I get first taste, baby.”

It’s an earlier promise he’s calling on, cashing it in. One you had given him—sweetly saying you promise— when you were so close down the phone to him.

His mouth finds your neck, tongue swiping over your collarbone, tracing a line down the skin close to the cup of your bra before he lightly sucks. 

It’s just enough—but not enough to mark. Hands winding around you, undoing the second to last piece of clothing on your body, freeing your chest to him—your nipples pebble under the cool air, before his tongue wraps around one and his palm the other. 

“Fuck.” 

He smirks at the breathy way you say it, your hand burying in his hair, tugging lightly. 

It’s then you mumble that you’re safe, clean. 

That you haven’t been with anyone in months. 

Javi kisses you for that. Not because he’s possessive, but rather he paints your lips in relief that he’s not at risk of losing you to someone else. Someone possibly better, who can offer you more.

A thought which niggles and roars, depending on his mood and day. But this, the two of you together and your confirmation calms a part of him that he’s tried not to let get to him. Something you must be able to tell because your palm tilts his head back up to you. 

Strict demands—instructions: bed, top drawer, protection. 

Tomorrow, when he runs his fingers up and down your side—now knowing how soft and warm you are—he’ll comment on your prepared presumption. Watch in awe as you likely go embarrassed again—hide yourself behind that smile until he pulls you close, kissing you, assuring you. 

Maybe he’ll tell you then that his room has some too. That he hadn’t assumed, having been happy to just meet you, but if it happened, he hadn’t wanted it to fall on you to sort. Wanting to be prepared.

In truth, he’d have been happy just to enjoy the feeling of you smirking against his lips as he clutches your cheek, presses his forehead to yours, and curl into the feeling of your hands digging into his side. 

But, if he gets to reap, he’ll reap. Sliding his hand down your neck, fingers brushing over your breast, thumb and finger lightly squeezing the peak of your nipple, feeling it harden under his touch once more.

“So pretty,” he murmurs.

Sliding his tongue across your smooth bottom lip—tasting the salt from the chips earlier—the scent of shampoo that he’s had driving him insane since you were in his truck. 

You make the prettiest noises too. 

Do the prettiest things. 

Feeling your hand stroke over his cloth-covered cock, fingers lightly sliding up and down, up and—

“Can I taste you, cariño? Please?” 

Your hand pauses its teasing, eyes meeting his, and then you nod. 

And fuck does he. 

Peeling your underwear from your hips, he leaves them balled up at the foot of the bed he has you splayed on. 

Javi knew you’d be soft, smooth. His cheek brushes your inner thigh as your fingers resume their place—tangled in his hair. 

He’s barely touched you, barely ran the tip of his tongue over you, but you’re trying to move your hips. Patience not a current virtue, by any means. 

Please, you beg. 

On another night—after sharing many of them together—he’d make you wait. Pin your hips to the bed, drag it out until your voice is hoarse from begging him. 

But he wants this, too. 

Needs you. All desperate to take you apart—to have your taste on his tongue, the scent of you in the hair above his lip. He wants to hear you make the noises you did for him down the phone, but here in person—all live, just for him. 

Maybe, on another night (if he can be so lucky), he’ll be able to see what you did that night. Watch, hand around his cock as your fingers bury themselves inside you at his words, at his praise. Because you are so good. Like being told it too, from the way, you whimpered when he told you to get on the bed. 

Good girl, he had said and he watched as your pupils swallowed all of the shades that make up your eyes. 

Gripping the back of your thigh, thumb digging into your skin, he slides his tongue over you. Feeling you keen. Mastering you as though he’s read books on you. Hearing you drop curses like they’re full sentences, teasing and taunting, before he breaches you with a finger, then another, sliding them in and out as you moan. 

It’s takes him a moment to realise his own hips are rocking against the bed, desperate for friction. 

Because you’re incredible, beautiful, gorgeous. 

From the sounds and how you look at him, to how you curl into his touch and say his name. His cock straining in his underwear, almost desperate to bury it inside of you—feel how warm you are wrapped around him. The thought willing him on as his nose catches your clit, his name dropping from your tongue as though it weighs something important. 

And he can feel how close you are. It is punctuated by how your breath is hitching, remembering it well from the phone. 

Your body craving what he’s doing to you—all tense because of him. Dangling, all set to fall and be flung over the edge. Pushing you closer and closer, your fingers tightening in his hair as he buries his tongue inside you, both hands keeping your thighs in place, and he’s waiting, bracing—

Then he hears it. 

How you snap.

The way you spill his name from your swollen, lovely lips as he works you over the edge. Feeling it ripple through you, tasting it on his tongue as you spill into his mouth. 

He expects you to need a minute, but you lift onto your elbows, eyes heated—all lust-filled, drunk on him. His tongue licking the taste from his fingers, watching your orbs darken before you pull him towards you.

You allow him a brief moment to take you in. His eyes spotting the way your collarbone glistens with sweat, your brow and forehead too. He’s unsure what he expects when your breaths die down, but it isn’t your interlocked fingers around his neck. It isn’t your lips crashing, slotting, forcing themselves against his as you pull down his underwear, wrap your legs around him and press your mouth to his ear: 

Fuck me. 

That’s what you whisper—more breath than syllables. 

And you’re warm, under his palm and body—hot and searing, threatening to burn him alive. He is a man who thinks he deserves to be on a pyre, an array of guilt that is squashed down—built into the foundations of who he is here, back home and in Texas. 

With you, he feels like something else. Someone whole. Better. Aware of his mistakes but confident he’s done time for them. Choosing, instead, to burn from your lustful gaze and the way you want him. 

His fingers brush over your cheek, tilting your head up so he can kiss you. Show you how you’ve shaken his foundation—made it quake under your kind laugh and perfect smile. He could name more things—of all the ways you’re perfect. 

But he hears your fingers finding something that crinkles, mouth pulling from him before your teeth rip it open—his lips curling into a smirk. 

Wide eyes asking, without your tongue moving, “Do you want me to do it?” 

He ascends. He’s sure he fucking does, anyway. Nodding, suddenly quiet—more quiet than Javi has ever known himself to be in this predicament. 

Because usually, he’s a talker. 

He’s the one who has someone on their knees, hand around the back of their neck as he makes their ass ripple. 

But, you’re not them—and he isn’t who he used to be. 

Your hand, all warm, smooth and silky, takes him, thumb brushing over his leaking tip as your other hand remains holding the rubber. 

It’s never been like this. 

Not when he was away, feeling things for those who’ll allow him to pretend; not back when he was younger, mind full of getting out of town. 

This is heavenly, fucking everything. You’re something else entirely, mumbling about putting it on with your mouth next time.

Next time. 

A sentiment his mind echoes in repetition when he lines up against you, another time I’d make you come again. But I need to be inside you. 

And fuck, when he slides in, a voice screams in the back of his head at how your walls wrap around him, the sharp, sweet gasp you emit as he bottoms out inside of you. 

You consume him. 

Holding you, hand on your hip to keep you close, another around the back of your neck, feeling your breath dance along his chin and neck. It mixes with the moans he had mentally saved from the phone call, now stitching to the way your lashes flutter as he starts to move. 

A few thrusts and he feels your nails cutting into his shoulders. His mouth leaves marks that your clothes will hide tomorrow as he stretches and ruins you, setting a pace that feels like bliss. 

Dragging himself out, before filling you again—making your lips part, nothing escaping except a breath and his name. 

And then you’re clenching around him, your body begging him, pleading for a second release as he pauses, groaning internally at his own teasing. 

Dropping to his elbows, boxing you in, he latches his lips to yours. Your pleas bleed into his mouth as he slowly rolls his hips—not enough to push you over but keep you there. 

“Please.”

“Please, what?” 

Your mouth slid against his ear, pants falling in plenty. “Please, baby—please.” 

His hands slide under your back, lifting you, sitting back on his knees. You’re in his lap. Fingers sliding up the back of your neck, face buried in your neck as he thrusts up into you—watching as your mouth parts, his name falling:

Javi. Javi. God, Javi. 

He knows. 

Fuck he knows. 

“Baby, so close—I’m close—“

He knows that too. 

Just like he knows how fucking good it is when you call him baby. 

an: smut is not my skill, so forgive me. normal romcom, text, banter continue tuesday.

[cjwritesforyou]

Rain Angels

4-Page Short Story

:)

“O rain, pouring rain!” Leaping into the air, crashing back down to the ground. Now flat on my back and sprawled out spread-eagle on the asphalt. Making rain angels like a kid—a kid that never made a snow angel before, but always imagined it would be just like this but freezing and more snow and more fun. There would be lots of snow. There would be snow deeper than I could stand where snow would be. Where rain would be—here, always here, forever—there was enough of it, but not so much that it could ever quite possibly replicate that white-stuffed-fluff. There was no snow here. Just rain.

The highway came alive tonight, surreal like the first time I walked the length of it. The feeling in the air, the wind, was the same. The feeling that kept me coming back night after night. It was lovely—it really was—but something about this night in particular didn’t sit right in my stomach, despite nostalgia.

Suddenly—a scream. The shriek pierced my ears and my night—ruined in a way I never could have expected. It startled me, and I would have jumped, if not for the weather. The voice wasn’t stopping. It continued crying out, a wail you expected to hear faintly miles away, howling against the dark. It wasn't a pretty voice. It was ugly. It cracked and groaned pathetically. Still it persisted, a matter of time between losing voice or breath. To say the voice was nearby would be an under exaggeration; I peeked up from my artistry to see a silhouette propped up against the outside railing of the freeway bridge. A gaping cavern flooded with forestry draped beneath the viaduct’s arches, like crumbled chandeliers. I imagined what the beautiful scenery below might look like with bright beaming light, which would illuminate each crevice flawlessly. I would have enjoyed the view, but the hour never permitted anything more than darkness. A little moonlight, even a crescent could suffice. On this night, of all nights, not even a spot would show. Not for its darkest hour.

Below, spectacularly towering trees conjured unsettling rustles of wildlife, resonating with the wind’s nudge. Breezes weren’t forceful yet, but rather suggestive. The screaming persisted. Then the voice’s tone grew stronger, and the wind began to flare. Nature assembled in conjunction, orchestrated. A drizzle became a rain, a shower, then a downpour, a hailing hurricane, slammed me to the ground. Tightly. Suffocating. I gasped for breath, wheezed, hyperventilated. The scream roared in the night sky. I processed the noise with what consciousness remained. Seeing below my own torso wasn’t manageable beneath the shield of rainfall. A certain fog of water had encapsulated my body like armor—an armor which seemingly protected me, but not from anyone else. Although I could no longer see the voice’s maker, I knew it still existed, had to exist, for it berated the air, pierced the atmosphere, right before me.

The voice’s tone altered, slightly weakened. I tried tilting my head up at the highway I knew existed, but could not see. I considered my route home. It instigated unease. In such a state, I figured fighting this force was unnecessary. It was uncomfortable. And here I lie, pinned to the pavement, middle of the night-morning, with my rain angels, hoping, not for the storm to cease (because it never does entirely) but to ease up, to let me through. I wasn’t one to pick a fight with nature. The speaker softened steadily. Pressure that weighed me down allieviated. The rain died down. The voice relieved itself, as did the weather. I was released from the floor. Only a small drizzle remained from prior. The figure returned to view, now misplaced in its surroundings, lacking a sheet of water to hide behind. I heard crying as I regained control of myself.

That’s when I considered the voice. I pondered the nature of the voice. I thought about what the voice was doing there, how the voice got there. But it pained me the most as to why the voice existed in the first place. Right here, right now, for what reason? For what purpose?

I sat up, cupped my hands around my mouth like a cone, and howled an outrageous screech. Startled, the figure scanned for an origin. Finding me, flat on the pavement, wasn’t difficult, but drew sensible confusion. The voice was about to speak again, but I took initiative, rose up now, and closed the distance between us. I stopped a few persons length before the figure, and the face followed me thoroughly, looked me up and down, then spun back to face away, to smear the tears.

“You gonna go?” I said, “You gonna jump?” 

“Is that what it looks like?” the voice asked, nervously. 

“What a stupid fucking question,” I said, waiting for a reaction. The voice said nothing. I waited a little longer, still nothing. I continued:

“If it looked that way—then there wouldn’t be anything to see here at all. There would be no need for explanation. It doesn’t matter what it looks like unless it’s real. I would go about my day, and you would not. And everything would stay the way it normally is. If you’re gonna do it, do it. Stop just fucking standing there. Whining and crying and all that. I hate people like you–attention whores.”

I could no longer hear the rain, nor could I hear my own voice. My heart swelled, then exploded, pounded louder than an engine. My words would lose power, would lose weight, if my inwardness persisted. I tried to stay confident, the way my mom taught me. I noticed cuts on the body, and that calmed me down for some reason. They were scattered all over the body in front of me—the kind of cuts you normally never see. Normally hidden under layers of covering, but were visible tonight, like they wanted to be displayed.

“Are you angry?” the voice said.

“Aren’t you freezing?” I replied.

“Does it even matter?” The voice said.

“Obviously it matters.”

“But if I were gone?” an arm emerged and pointed down below, “If I were down there, would it matter?”

“If you’re cold, you’re cold,” I said.

“And if I went, it wouldn’t matter. I would be down there. You would be up here. What’s the difference, really? Cold. Warm. What could you care if I’m cold?”

“What could you care?” I remembered my mom screaming, my dad face to face with her. He was drunk again, always was. I was conditioned to avoid it over time, staying in my room, away from him just as my mom told me. He never came into my room, or ever leave the living room, where he slept, smoked, and drank. I had seen her boiled up before, but not as much as this night. 

We drove home from my school recital that night and I had a big grin of satisfaction and relief on my face. We walked in the door, the hall, then the living room, and that’s when she erupted with anger at the sight of him, drunk off his ass, tobacco stinking the entire house. He lazed about sideways on the sofa, mindlessly watching some old drama. I typically went straight to my room, but that night was different. It had the same wrong feeling in my stomach. She seemed a little angrier than usual, he seemed a little drunker than usual. I pretended to go to my room like usual and instead hid. For what it was worth, I could have stood in plain sight, for they never once cared to look my way.

“I fucking knew it,” she screeched, “For our kid—do you give a single damn for our kid?”

“Obviously I must not,” he said, still watching the television.

“Obviously, for fuck’s sake—for fuck’s sake—for fuck’s sake obviously,” she screamed. She violently grabbed her purse by the strap and slung it and nailed the side of his head. She screamed again, “Is this how you wanted to raise him?” He didn’t react at all. He acted as if he had not actually just been hit by a purse with two bricks directly to the head. He drank some more.

“Is it ‘cus your dad didn’t raise you quite right?’ Huh? ‘Cus you had a fucked-up life?’ So now what? Time to pass off your shit? ‘Cus you’re mad at the fucking world?’ Huh? Are you listening to me?” she said.

He stumbled standing up off the couch and threw his beer across the room. I saw him look my mom dead in the eyes for the first time. Tears flew off her face uncontrollably. He said nothing, but stared. The television’s speaker blared and neither of them took notice. His arm started to twitch. My mother was struck by a hard blow to the temple—she was pummeled onto the carpet. He pulled a bat out from inside the couch, and I ran to my room, hands over my ears. Mom screamed, begged on the floor. I scrambled to lock the door. I hid in the closet corner, underneath mountains of hand-me-downs. She stopped screaming, and I heard nothing but my heartbeat.

“I couldn’t give a damn about you,” I said. 

The voice said nothing. Some time passed without anything happening, and I looked out at the darkness again, expecting to see something even though I knew I couldn’t. The figure got off the guard rail and looked me square in the eyes for the first time. Tears kept parading down, but a smile emerged.

“Thank you. That’s more than enough.” the voice said.

What I saw now was dark, lost eyes. I stared deep into them and found nothing. Those eyes had experienced a lifetime of emotions in too short a distance. And yet, those eyes faced those feelings.

Time began to slow down. When I could see the body moving backwards, leaning, falling, then gone, I didn’t feel a thing. I stared in the same place I had when the eyes were right before me, and that’s when I thought about my dad and my mom and how something never felt right but it felt just like that day. I thought about what it would be like to walk down the highway now, as I normally would, to come back tomorrow, and the next day, and pretend like nothing ever happened. I thought about how my life wouldn’t have to change. How I could keep coming back right here, night after night, and how nothing had to change. I thought about the voice, and placed my hands on the railing. Then my legs hurdled the banister, and I peered over the ledge. Darkness. Nothing had changed. I decided I’d pretend nothing happened and that I would walk down the highway. But instead of turning around, I fell. Head on, head forward. My sensations returned. I heard and felt the rain again, the sensation of being in my own body, and I felt satisfaction and relief. A big grin covered my face. I imagined that some other day, someday far in the future, I might see another person just like myself. I might see that person leaping through the air, crashing to the ground. Walking the highway in the middle of the night-morning through the downpour. And there I’d be, a big grin on my face, watching from above, like a rain angel.

[tartarusknight]

I don't know what you're hunting. It's not me, it's something else - 3/10

Also on ao3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3: An awful noise filled the air. I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

The Cabin was quiet as the radio buzzed to life. El looked away from the map she and Will had been looking at to her dad. “Code Red does anyone come in?” Nancy's voice was static but strong enough to have everyone tense. She looks over to Will, just for a moment. Just for a second of comfort before shit hit the fan once again.

“This is Hopper, we hear ya,” Hopper's voice was gruff and El could see the worry in his stance.

It takes a second for Nancy to respond. Probably less than a second but it feels like forever. “We think that Steve might- Steve's Bimmer is empty on the side of the road. Black blood on the ground and we could hear-” Nancy's voice stops for just a second but El's already looking around for something to create the static for her to look for Steve. “A Demogorgon and screaming,” Nancy's voice was tight.

Will tosses her a sweater she knows is one that Steve must've forgotten one of the last times he had been there. “El wait,” Hopper snapped, making El freeze. “I- I don't think you'll want to look for Steve. Not- you haven't seen the victims of-”

El stares him down, “I have seen death before.”

Hopper looks frantic, “But you haven't seen someone you-”

“I'm home but we need to make a plan.” Nancy's voice is still going on in the background of their staredown. “Robin- she's really out of it. She's barely responding to anything. Mike is trying to figure out something but Dustin's basically mute as well. We're not- I can't do much here.”

El squares her shoulders, “I have to try.” She states and Hopper's gaze washes over her, almost like he was looking for a weakness. El met his gaze, unwilling to show anything. She brings her makeshift blindfold to her room and Will follows. As she sits on the bed, he mimics her. Gently taking the piece of fabric and tying it around her head.

She closes her eyes and calms her body down. Trying to regulate herself; trying to focus. Her grip tightens on the soft sweater. She pictures the babysitter she didn't know nearly as well as she wished she did. She thinks of all the kind words the others say about the man when he wasn't there. How much he meant to the party.

The darkness of her void shifts and she looks around for anything. An ear-piercing scream has her stumbling back. She lands back into the water, her eyes scanning for Steve. The void stays black but the scream was- it sounded like Steve. She just couldn't see him. She pushed up to her feet, “Steve!” She yells into the blackness.

She moves forward, nothing coming into view as she goes. "Anything?" Will asks gently and El doesn't respond. Guilt bubbled up as she continued without success. However, as the scream grows in pitch she sees a big house, Steve's house, and takes off. The screaming isn't closer or further away. As if it was just all around her. El doesn't hesitate to slam into the house.

The area around her doesn't come into view except for glass on the ground. She runs forward and the monstrous roar of the Demogorgon overpowers the screams. “Steve!” She yells again and there's a crunch of glass under her feet. She rushes forward. She sees broken glass sliding doors heading and instantly runs through them. There's nothing out there though. The world stays black and empty around her. However, before she can keep going to find Steve. Something rams into her.

Wet, almost slimy skin touches her. The weight presses her down before she feels fingers curl around her arms. They tighten their grip until claws are sinking into her arms and it feels like its going to break her arms. It roars, the familiar Demogorgon's roar straight into her ears as she screams in pain. “El!” Will's voice breaks through her mind once again. It snaps her into motions and she bellows, making the monster fly back and off of her. It crashes into the side of a shed, the whole thing collapsing on it.

As she rolls to her feet she hears another roar in the distance. An answering call comes from the shed and El feels like something different. "El, what's happening?" Will asks and El takes a step back at the wet rumbling coming from the shed. A scrap of the claws on concrete filled the air as it tried to stand. Blood dripped down El's arms and she blinked as it hit the ground. As if casting a red glow.

A scream pierced the air and she stumbled. It came from the shed and felt like it was being drilled into her skull making her concentration break. It was so filled with pain. As if it was trying to put all that pain into her. And it was a lot of pain. She crumpled in on herself, covering her ears. It didn't stop. She screamed as see felt as if her body shook with the sound. 

Her chest heaved as felt pain running through her body. She glanced down at her arms, but nothing was there. There was a faint ringing in her ears as she pulled off her bandana. The door to her room slams open and she looks over to see her dad and Joyce there. Jonathan is not too far behind them.

She couldn't help but remember defeating the creature the first time. She had been so exhausted it sent her to the Upside Down too. The panic in her friends as she forced herself to wake up and protect them. Of all of the dead military outside of the science room.

Her eyes fill with tears, “I- I couldn't find him.” Her voice breaks and when Will reaches out she takes his hand. Hopper drops down next to her and pulls her into a tight embrace. She feels like a failure. She could only find the thing that- that...

She could feel the group of people in the room break a little at her news. She, herself, broke a little. “You did what you could,” Joyce said, her voice watery.

El shook her head, “We should have made him stay. We should've taken care of him.” She argued and looked away from them to the wall. “All I could do was- was find a monster .” Her hands went to her arms and she kept expecting blood to show but they were unhurt.

“I- I can try again,” her voice shakes but Hopper's already shaking his head. “I have to try again! It's Steve!” She states and everyone looks like they understand but aren't about to let her.

Joyce wipes the blood from her upper lip with her sleeve. Her hand hesitated for a moment before it gently reached toward her ears. El tensed as more blood came away. “We can't let you get hurt either, honey.” She says and El feels like it's unfair. She knows that they expect her to be ready to fight Vecna, to close off the Upside Down. But what were her powers for other than to save her friends?

“You were at the hospital earlier, trying to get through to Max. If you keep going, you'll burn yourself out.” Joyce says and it's soft but it's not what El wants to hear. “We'll make a plan and do it the old-fashioned way.”

Hopper nods, “I'll get Owens on the line and have him send men with the right weaponry to the area. Right now... right now we don't have what it takes to send out a rescue mission.” He says and El squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears. “The woods aren't safe after dark,” he states and she pulls herself from his grip.

She feels a little faint from it all but she refuses to show it. “I try again,” she demands. She holds out her hand to Will who had the blindfold in his hand. “Please,” her voice barely manages to stay strong. Will hands it over with a worried look and she glares at Hopper until he takes a step back.

El returns to her position and closes her eyes.  Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.  She chants in her head, one hand holding the sweater in her lap. The world shifts until she's in her void. She looks around more frantically than before. “Steve!” She screams and spins around, looking for anything that would lead her to him.

Until she hears a steady drip. It feels like an echo and her entire body tenses up. She slowly turns around and looks around to see a tree. Her hands shake as she moves closer. She can see the droplets hit the water's surface as she draws nearer. Then slowly, she looks up to see a shirt that she remembered Steve in just that night.

The entire right arm of it was stained black like her pink dress had looked after she had been in the Upside Down, only worse. It was so wet that it continued to drip down. Black like the night sky. She reached up and pulled it down. It was torn to pieces and she held it to her chest as she looked around for anything else.

“Steve!” El called out and moved away from the tree. Instead of her babysitter, she hears a chittering that couldn't be described as human. Her throat bobbed and she held onto the shirt tighter. Fear fought with anger as she looked around for the creature.

Fear won over as she heard heavy panting behind her. Everything in her froze as she felt like prey, not for the first time in her life. But this time wasn't different. It wasn't Papa or One's calculating gaze, it was a feral predator on the hunt. El turned around slowly as if not to startle it. A form that looked almost human crawled towards her, looking unnatural on all four. It remained in shadows and she took a small step back. Her hand raised ready to attack when she caught sight of it for the first time.

Eyes so black there was no white left, ears pointed and elongated, with the bottom of the face peeled back to show rows of teeth, drool dripping from its petal face. The dark of the night made the hair on its head look black. Black blood dripped down its neck. It was so monstrous that she couldn't make sense of it. It raised itself onto two legs with ease. Its arms were much longer than they should be.

The creature let out a guttural rumble that had El's chest shaking along with it. It felt like thunder before it opened wide and let out this sound that had her stumbling back. A wail of vocal cords as they were pushed to their limits, going from low like thunder to a hellish screech.

It took her stumble as weakness and dropped onto all fours running at her with an unnatural dash towards her. El threw her arm up and shoved it backward. It let out a wet tittering sound almost like laughter. The hair on her arms stood on end as its shoulders cracked and a loud ripping sound came from its body. Flesh squelched and tore.

“Eleven,” the word torn from the figure like an anguished wail, more pained than anything she'd heard before. Another another eerie laugh broke from the creature as it shifted onto its feet. She locked her gaze on the monster and saw blood dripping from its eyes, almost like tears. The petals, made of pale skin fluttered, black liquid dripping down its neck.

She felt sick looking at this creation. Something that had to have been human at one point. No stretched and molded into this abomination. The eyes were pitch black, still bleeding as its back seemed to self-mutilate. She gripped the sweater and shoved her hand forward, trying to push it back again. Only this time, it didn't move. It stayed in place, wet garbles coming from its mouth as it changed.

A sharp bone broke from the skin of its back, ripping what was left of the shirt it had on. Its own bone rending its flesh. As it let out another horrifying sound, El ran. Away from the sight, away from the predator. Away from the monster, her breath catching.

Her feet splashed against the water on the ground but it was overpowered by the roar the creature let out. No doubt, on her trail. As the creature screamed behind her, she found herself snapping back into her body. Her breathing was harsh as she pulled off the blindfold.

Tears filled her eyes as the fear seeped from her bones. Her entire body was trembling as the creature played like a movie on the back of her eyelids. Her family watched her closely. And she reached toward Hopper with a shaky hand. Hopper moved quickly, pulling her into an embrace.

“El? Did you find Steve?”

The creature lunged. I turned and ran. To save a life I didn't have (In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier) Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Tags: @ellietheasexylibrarian @nburkhardt @artiststarme @flowers-that-sing @juleswashere3 @indiearr @remosdeerica

[the-violet-witch-saga---book-1]

CHAPTER 1

Silva is a world that is home to humans, elves, and dwarves. The elves inhabit the forests of Silva and live in harmony with nature. The dwarves live in the mountains of Silva and mine for building materials, as well as various artifacts and treasures. The humans live on the plains of Silva and farm the land for food. Silva is a tumultuous world and is inhabited by various entities and sentient animals.

You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire. You've lived in the commune your whole life, and are currently leading a caravan into the wilderness. You're hoping to make a name for yourself and are accompanied by several other hippies.

You travel through the forest for several days and begin to hear strange noises in the distance. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You look around for the source of this disturbance, seeing if you can sense any magical energy that you don't recognize.

You look around, but you don't see anything out of the ordinary. The forest is still, as it has been for days. There are no sounds but the wind. You relax slightly.

"I guess it was nothing."

Your comrades relax as well.

"I guess it was nothing."  Says one of the passengers.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a dark shape dart past you.

You pull off your leather gloves, and your hands are surrounded by violet magic. You see that a purple mist is starting to surround your friends.

"What the heck is that?" asks a man.

"Just a precaution." You say. "I wouldn't want any ostriches or dark entities to hurt anyone here... I solidified some of the space around you so it acts like a shield. Everyone stay close together!"

The violet mist spreads throughout the surrounding forest. You can't see past it.

It spreads to the sky and creates a purple cloud that completely obscures the sun.

"Okay, that's not me!" You exclaim. 

"Where is this thick fog coming from!?"

You don't know, and the fog continues to spread.

The forest becomes dark as the fog covers the sun.

It is very dark and thick, and the forest becomes completely dark.

You attempt to light a fire, but you can't see anything. You can't even see your hand in front of your face.

The forest becomes cold.

You light a piece of wood with your transmutation abilities. You can't help but notice it felt more difficult than it should. This worried you for a moment, but you shook the feeling off. 'It must be something in the fog…' you thought.

You can only see a few feet in front of you, and even that little bit is blurred.

The wood catches fire.

The forest becomes warm.

You sit around the fire and gesture the other Hippies to sit around the fire too. You look around to see if you can sense where the fog is coming from magically.

You notice that the purple mist is starting to lift. The sun is starting to peek out from behind the purple clouds.

You hear a hissing sound.

"What is that!?" You yell, fear coursing through you.

You hear the hissing sound again.

You look around, but all you see are the other commune members.

The sound gets louder and louder.

You cover your ears and try to use your violet mage perception to figure out where the hissing is coming from.

You see nothing, but the hissing noise continues and you begin to feel lightheaded.

You begin to make and light torches for everyone, so that you can at least see where you're going.

You hear a popping sound, and the torches you are making burst into flames.

You quickly throw the torches into the fire, and everyone else does the same.

You hear the sound of breaking wood, the fire roaring as the flames climb higher.

"Well, at least there's still a warm fire, I think I can see even further than before at the rate that it's burning..."

You try to make out the shapes of the forest in front of you, but you can't.

The fire continues to burn brightly.

"Does anybody have any ideas on how to get through this horribly noisy fog?"

No one answers.

The fire becomes very loud.

You hear a cracking sound.

Then you hear the sound of a body hitting the ground.

You hear the sound of a human skull cracking.

"Who's there!?" You exclaim. "Is everyone accounted for?"

No one answers.

You hear a loud cracking sound.

Then you hear a loud thump as someone hits the ground.

The fire is very bright.

A cracking sound.

"Everyone gather around the fire quickly, so we can see each other!!"

The hippies move around the fire, and no one seems to be missing.

You sit around the fire with the others. You can see the entrance of the forest is visible again.

The fog has lifted.

"What in the world was that!?" You ask.

You look at the others, but no one answers.

A very bright orange and yellow fire is visible, and a very pale violet mist is still floating in the air.

"Is everyone okay?"

No one answers.

The forest looks the same as it did when you entered it. The trees are still there, and

the sun is now peeking out from behind the purple clouds.

You gesture for everyone to follow you.

"Let's head back to town everyone... follow me."

You lead the way back to the main road.

You can still see the fog on the edge of the forest, but it's not as thick as it was.

"Can somebody please say something?" You ask, feeling uneasy…

Silence.

You can see the road in front of you.

The fog is thinner than it was when you entered the forest.

You still feel tired, but you try to use your magic perception to sense the magical energy of your friends and see if they're alright.

You see a bright blue glow coming from each of them.

"So you're all still here, and I can't see any magic spells coming from you... so what's with the silence guys? This isn't like you."

Everyone is still silent.

You try to see if you are any closer to town.

The road in front of you is familiar now, so you relax a little.

You approach the outskirts of town, but first you check again to see if your friends have some kind of spell on them.

No spells are detected.

You enter Yhiapshire with the rest of your hippie friends. You rest against the welcome sign to Yhiapshire, breathing out a contented sigh.

"I'm so relieved to be home!"

Everyone agrees, their silence suddenly broken.

…You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire...

"I'm happy to see you're all feeling better…" You say. "What do you think happened back there?"

An young woman spoke up.

"We were possessed by some kind of evil force. The forest was all dark and creepy. It felt like we were going to die in there!"

"Strange! I didn't sense any signs of possession."

You felt an uneasy feeling come over you again.

"Maybe we should stay away from that part of the forest from now on."

…You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire.

You've lived in Yhiapshire as long as you can remember…

You approach city hall to talk to some of the commune leaders about the strange mist that you and the others encountered in the forest.

City hall is a large building made of stone, resting right in the center of town.

You quickly enter the building, seeking out the first community leader that you can find to tell them about the deadly mist that you and the others encountered in the forest.

You approach an elderly elven man in a robe.

"Svaelen! Thank goodness I found you!" You exclaim. "...I'm afraid that I have some strange news about the wilderness we were sent to explore just east of here. We were assailed by this ominous purple mist. It had a strange effect on the others, and I couldn't sense where it was coming from or what it was. I didn't seem to be affected by it for some reason, not like the others were at least. I really don't think we should explore that area for right now, it's just not safe."

The elven leader thinks for a moment.

He says nothing, seeming to be lost in thought. You can tell he's thinking hard about what the commune's next move should be.

"How did this mysterious mist affect the others in the group?" He asks you.

You tell him about the strange effect the mist had on your friends.

He thinks for a moment, saying nothing.

You sigh. 

"Svaelen, I can tell you're having a hard time deciding on this. I know that the forest has resources that we may need for the future of the commune, but personally I don't think it's worth risking the precious lives of the wonderful citizens of Yhiapshire."

Svaelen is silent for a moment longer.

He nods slowly.

"I understand your concerns Iris, but we need to explore the forest. The mist has cast a pall of uncertainty over us that we need to dispel."

You shake your head.

"Then what would you suggest I do, should the awful mist target us again in the eastern wilderness?"

The elven leader seems to think hard for a moment. You grow impatient.

"If you don't know what to do, then perhaps you should travel with us next time. Maybe then you would have a better idea of what we're up against."

The elven leader looks at you for a few moments.

He shrugs.

"I suppose that's a good idea."

You give him a curt nod. "Alright then, I'll let you know when we're ready to venture out again."

Svaelen nods in approval.

"I look forward to it."

The elven leader disappears from view, and the building becomes a blank stone wall. You shake your head, bewildered. "How does he do that?" You mutter to yourself.

You turn to see a large group of people waiting for you outside. 

"Well, I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?"

The group of people gives a collective groan. They all give off the energy of weary, weathered travelers. 

"The bad news is that we have to travel out into the eastern forest again and risk running into that mist. The good news is that Svaelen, one of our most powerful community leaders, is going to come with us next time."

The travelers all seem to perk up at this.

One of the citizens, a man with a large beard, says "Really? Well that's fantastic, let's get going right away."

You look down, unsure of this course of action. Everyone seemed so eager to move however, so you didn't want to keep them waiting for too long.

"I suppose if we're all rested up, we should make haste."

The group of travelers all get up and start walking in the direction of the eastern forest. You follow them.

"Svaelen, remember to come with us this time. We might need you if the purple mist comes back."

Svaelen nods and disappears from view.

The community continues walking. Everyone approached the eastern forest, there were more of them this time. This time, you were all in good spirits and ready to explore.

You made it out of the eastern wilderness safely, but couldn't help but feel a feeling of confusion wash over you.

"What do you think happened before? Svaelen did you sense anything this time around?"

He looks around, but remains silent.

You give a look of dismay.

"...Typical Svaelen. I'll take it you mean no? Okay then... We should start looking for resources."

Everyone seems excited about this.

You make your way towards a large cliff that rises up from the plains.

Svaelen shakes his head. "I don't remember the cliff being here before."

You feel another creeping sensation.

"This forest must have some strange and foreign magic coursing through it."

Svaelen nods. 

"Well, I know this area pretty well, so I'll go first."

Everyone agrees.

"Okay then, follow me."

You begin to follow Svaelen through the forest and toward the mysterious cliff.

 

You come to the end of the forest and see the massive moss covered rock face. It's about a hundred feet tall. You see a ledge on the side of the cliff about half way up.

"Does anyone else see that ledge up there?" You say, pointing at the halfway mark of the cliff.

The group of travelers seem to see the ledge as well.

"Well? Are we going to explore it or not?" A man in the group asks.

You nod. "I guess we have to climb then."

Everyone outfits themselves with ropes and proper climbing gear. You all begin to climb up the cliffside.

The ledge on the cliffside looked just big enough for everyone to stand on, although there's wasn't much room otherwise.

"Okay, now everyone be very careful the rest of the way up. We're all squeezed together pretty close up on this ledge, so let's try to stick together."

The group nods in understanding and continues to make their way up the cliff. You continue to talk to them, occasionally mentioning that you can see a little further up.

You make it to the top, and ensured everyone else made it safely up the cliff. You gaze out over the other side, able to clearly see it now.

The plains of Silva spread out below you. 

You can see the forest of Silva on the horizon. The purple mist that blocked your path earlier still lingers in the air, but it looks like it's moving a little.

"I wonder if the mist was some kind of weird storm... I guess it's moving away from us now."

You can't help but wonder if it was some kind of unnatural storm that the purple mist is capable of creating.

You look at the forest, it appears that the mist reached the forest and started to consume the trees.

"How did it get behind us!?" You yell. "Svaelen, what should we do!?"

Svaelen doesn't say anything, he just raises his hand and begins to invoke a magic spell. You feel a sense of comfort as you watch him disperse the deadly mist with but a flick of his wrist. You feel insecure for a moment... this man is so magically competent, and you feel as if you could never reach his level. The feeling quickly passes, and you relax. You're just glad everyone is safe.

"Let's get moving." He says. "We still have a long way to go."

You turn around and head back into the forest. You spot a lush grove in a  small clearing filled with ample amounts of resources and supplies, it's enough to get the whole commune through for months at a time!

"Come on!" You exclaim. "Let's get to gathering all of this stuff up!"

Everyone begins to pick up the pace, gathering various supplies for the commune. You take your fill and continue your trek.

You come across a bridge that you built long ago. You smile, remembering the days of your youth as you built this old bridge with your friends. Strange though, you could have sworn that it was built in the western forest, not the eastern one. You quickly dismiss your thoughts as foolish, you're probably just seeing things in the reflection of the mist in the water.

You cross the bridge and continue your journey.

"Oh wow! What a beautiful day." You say, sighing happily. "We have so many supplies now... We should all come back in a few months to stock up again, give the area a chance to recover."

You lead the group out of the forest and back into the fields of Silva. Everyone seems to enjoy the trip, as the sun's rays dance across the sky in a beautiful display.

"We should be back in Yhiapshire in no time! Not much longer now."

As you continue to walk with the group, you notice that the landscape is slowly changing. You come to a full stop and everyone else does as well.

"W-wait... what's going on? This doesn't look familiar. Svaelen?"

Svaelen looks around and then shrugs.

"I think you'll find this place more familiar than you think, Iris."

You look around, trying to figure out why this place should be so familiar to you.

You take in the scenery for a moment, when you suddenly realize where you are. You shake your head, feelings of shock flooding your system. You feel lightheaded again, and unsure of your sanity.

"Th-This is the region I was born in... No, but I was born in Yhiapshire and my parents passed away soon after I was born... right? How is this possible? Was my backstory a lie? How do I suddenly know that this is my homeland!? This doesn't make any sense!"

Everyone seems to be getting anxious and uncomfortable with your questions.

"Iris, calm down." Says Svaelen, a strange deep tone to his voice now. "I don't think your story was a lie."

You try to breathe slowly.

"Okay... I'll try to stay calm. If I was born in a different region, then how did I get to Yhiapshire? What happened to my parents, and how do I suddenly know all of this? It's as if the information just flooded my mind and I started to remember..."

Everyone seems to be growing uncomfortable with your questions.

They are all silent.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest.

"Why is everyone staring at me? I'm scared okay? I'm just finding out for the first time that my life might not be what I thought it was before. It's just a lot to take in."

Svaelen says nothing, and you're unsure of why.

"Wh-Where am I?" You ask, your voice shaking.

You feel the ground cave a little, and you see that it has started to crumble.

You feel this sinking feeling of horror fill your chest.

"What the hell is going on!?" You scream.

Svaelen says Nothing, and everyone says Nothing. They all begin to melt in front of you, turning into soft piles of mud.

"I-I have to get OUT OF HERE!!"

You run, leaving everyone behind. Tears spill from your eyes, and you begin to wonder if this is all a dream, because nothing is making any sense.

A deep and demonic voice booms through your mind.

"IRIS…!"

You fall to your knees, sobs escaping your lips as you are consumed by fear…

You have this dark and unforgiving feeling pressing on your head, as all hope begins to slip away…

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you flinch, falling back.

"Wh-Who are you!? STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

You can feel your body shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

A young man about your age with dark brown hair and kind blue eyes looks back at you, kneeling down to meet your eyes.

"Hey, hey… it's okay now… it's okay."

You feel yourself relax a little.

"I… I don't know where I am… who I am."

You hide your face and continue to cry.

"I just want to go home!..."

The man put a gentle hand on your shoulder, it felt comforting.

"Look, I know you must be really scared right now. I promise, you can trust me… I'm your friend. If you come with me, I'll make sure you have a safe place to stay if that would make you feel more comfortable. We can figure out what's going on together, don't worry."

He helps you to your feet. You follow the young man as he leads you through the plains. You don't know where this kind and gentle man came from, but you are grateful that he is willing to help. He seems to know where he's going, and he doesn't lead you into danger. 

You both stop at a cave, where you see a man standing there.

He grins.

"Leirik, where have ya been off to? And who's this lass that you've brought with you?"

The nice man smiles back at him.

"She's a friend of mine, her name is Iris."

Your eyes widen.

"How do you know my name? Have we met somewhere before? I don't recognize you from the commune..."

He grabs your hands.

"We have indeed met before. I was a friend of yours back when you were still with your mother, Rielle."

You let out a heavy sigh.

"So you know more about my history than I do... this place, it stirs up these Familiar feelings and vague memories... it's all still so fuzzy and unclear though."

He looks down. 

"I know. But we can talk about it on our trip. Now, you'll be needing a safe place to sleep tonight, I know a nice place close by..." 

You feel a tightness in your chest, like you don't want to leave his side and you don't know why.

"Can I stay with you?" You ask. "I promise I won't be much trouble."

He gives you a surprised look. 

"Well, I guess for now that would be alright... Irden, what's your take on this?" Said Leirik, gesturing to the gruff yet nice seeming man in the cave.

Irden nods. "Aye, I have no problem with that."

"Well, I guess we'll head in for the night then." Says Leirik with a smile. You give a shy smike in response, and step inside the cave.

The cave is surprisingly nice. It's warm, and the bedding here looks surprisingly soft. 

Leirik gestures toward the bedding.

"Get some rest if you need, and we'll talk more tomorrow okay?"

You nod slowly, settling down and wrapping the warm blankets around you.

"Umm… Leirik?" You ask softly.

He looks over at you.

"Hmm? What is it?"

You look away, feeling bashful for some reason.

"Just… thank you for helping me."

He smiles warmly at you.

"Of course Iris… Now get some rest."

He sits next to the fire and begins to chat with Irden.

You feel a deep sense of exhaustion come over you and fall asleep within minutes of laying down…

[noclassact]

Everything is simultaneously happening all too quickly and yet not enough, not nearly enough: the pressure of Felix's knee sweet but dull through layers of fabric, the little noises escaping his mouth like electricity playing across Rhys' nerves but so, so frustratingly quiet. When Felix pulls away again, Rhys lets out an embarrassingly pained noise, almost chasing after his stupid mouth again with his own until he hears the telltale gentle clink of his belt coming undone. That stops him right in his fucking tracks; he's torn between watching Felix's long, clever fingers moving against him or that heady expression on Felix's face as he gets a proper look at his cock. It's almost unreal that Felix Catton could react like that over anything or anyone, least of all Rhys and his body. Every ounce of blood in said body somehow gets heavier, hotter, louder at the very thought. Practically roaring in his ears. "Jesus, Felix, what are you on about," Rhys starts to say, looking at him in a daze, but anything else coherent he might have to add simply evaporates into the ether because Felix is suddenly on his bloody knees in front of him. For him. If his brain wasn't already cracked from the moment Felix put his hand on his prick, this display surely would have broken it instead. "Oh," he says instead, and then, softly, deeply, near involuntarily, "Ohhh." It's not that Rhys hadn't actually meant the Felix could do whatever he wanted to him, it's just that he hadn't ever considered Felix would want to shove an entire cock in his mouth. And he does, apparently, very much so. Is in fact doing his best to get him all the way down, even though Rhys can immediately tell that he's going at it wrong when Felix's eyes get wet and his face scrunchy. God, but he's so eager and clumsy in a way that shouldn't make Rhys' heart feel like melted wax in his chest, because it's also somehow the sexiest thing he's ever experienced. Slippery heat and the dark flutter of Felix's dewy lashes and the stretch of his pretty mouth and deliciously wet noises. His hand goes into Felix's hair then, not to pull on nor stop him, just gingerly pushing it back away from his face, biting his tender lower lip as he watches. In the distance Rhys hears the echo of a door shutting and it's as if someone abruptly dumped an entire bucket of ice water on him. The reality of the situation slides into painful, crystal-clear focus. Felix Catton on his knees, blowing a footman, in the bloody corridor, where anyone could walk by and see them. Unfortunately, that does make his idiotic dick twitch hard in Felix's mouth anyway, but in the next moment he's grabbing Felix by the back of his shirt and unceremoniously yanking him onto his feet. "Fuuuck," he breathes, pushing his face into Felix's shoulder with a little groan. "We can't, we can't, not here."

felix's experience with other men was few and far between, limited to listening in on the discrete handjobs his peers gave each other at boarding school and turning a blind eye to anything beyond that. he can't open pandora's box right now, not when rhys is flush against him and sharing breath, looking at him with eyes so dark felix doesn't know how he can even see. "whatever i want?" felix repeats, breath hitching when rhys rucks up the fabric of his shirt to expose the sunkissed muscle of his chest, grinding his knee against the growing hardness between rhys' legs. everything about this was ill-advised, felix having gone to making inappropriate jokes that didn't land about fraternizing with the help to now trying to fuck the newest member of their staff. that wasn't even touching on their complicated friendship, mind you. but rhys is kissing him like he wants to eat him, felix's reason slipping away with every swipe of tongue and press of lips. he breaks away from rhys' mouth for a moment, long fingers loosening the buckles on his belt before unzipping the fly on rhys' pants, palming the tenting arousal through the fabric of his underwear. felix nudges the waistband down slightly, just enough to expose rhys' cock to the outside air, letting out a sharp and shaky breath in response to the sight. "ha, fucking hell. rhys," he kisses him again, tugging the swell of rhys' bottom lip between his teeth, watching him through dark lashes. "shit. let me have you first, let me taste you, and then you can decide if you hate me. just, i don't know, pull my hair if it's too much and i'll stop," he reassures softly, voice rough with arousal. rhys had made it pretty clear that he wouldn't be wanting felix to stop, but he doesn't want there to be any misunderstanding or regret. not when he's already so eager to be forgiven, to be back in rhys' good graces by any means necessary. felix drops to his knees, spitting into the center of his palm before he wraps it around the shaft of rhys' cock, stroking him from root to tip. this hadn't been the apology felix initially had in mind when thinking about how to get back on rhys' good side, but he supposes it's as good as any. he's inexperienced, but he's sincere and wants too much to let that stop him, pushing the tip of rhys' cock past the seam of his lips. he shields his teeth behind his lips and dutifully bobs his head, trying to find the right balance of saliva and suction as he gets acclimated to it. felix's eyes sting with tears when rhys' cock nudges the back of his throat, reflexively swallowing around him. he had received plenty of blowies in his lifetime, but fuck, felix had no idea how to give decent head.

[toji-bunny-girl]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐁𝐍𝐇𝐀 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐀𝐔...

Fighting Bull!Midoriya who you managed to save from a bull fighting breeder before he gets sent into the ring with another bloodthirsty animal, buying the green hair’s life with most of the money in your bank account and he looks at you with his watery eyes; warm chested within and thanking you with all of his heart.

Fighting Bull!Midoriya who’s all sorry eyes and lowering head the first few days in your apartment. He’s so huge that the couch sinks below his weight and he has to crouch a little in order to get through the doors.  

Fighting Bull!Midoriya who, to you, doesn’t seem to be one of his breed at all. With his fluffy coat and adorable plushy cheeks, there was no way that the sweetest little boy could be a savage that could heartlessly kill another of his own kind. 

And he shows you, all wide shoulders and toned muscles beneath his skin, that he’s no where near that idea you had of him with his cute little nose and innocent wide eyes at the world. And you finally get it when he’s shoving the half of his cock into your tight little hole, too big and too deep for a human like you, all whiny and sobbing and pretty just for him. 

German Shepherd!Bakugou who works as a police dog investigator and is the grumpiest, meanest hybrid that every other officer hybrid hides away from. He hates his job and the dangers that comes with it, occasionally getting hurt and having scars all over his body until one day where he visits a new vet that makes his work all worth it. 

German Shepherd!Bakugou who’s all amused when he notices how much of a giant he is compared to you, paws that are so much bigger than your soft little hands when you check for them, towering build over your adorably short height when you bandage his wounded torso and when you need to tug his collar lower to your stature in order to see the insides of his pointy ears. 

German Shepherd!Bakugou with his fluffy mixed brown-blonde ears, softly twitching towards each little noise he hears, each little noise out of your gasping and moaning lips as his tongue reaches deep into your cunt, lapping for more of your taste until you shakily tug at his collar, begging the pussy-addict pup to stop but how could he, when you taste so good?

Jaguar!Shoto with his rare white fur and special red spots over his body and his piercing heterochromatic eyes, glaring at everything upon his sight as he considers whether to feast or to be merciful. 

Jaguar!Shoto who hates it the most when he sees anyone else with you, growls and snarls and does absolutely anything he could to warn the unwanted strangers away from the two of you. And when you're finally alone and together, he’s a whole new kitty in front of your presence; rubbing his cheeks against you and purring to your every pettings.

Jaguar!Shoto who gives kitten licks to your blushing, sensitive clit from while his nails dig into the flesh of your thighs and eyes train themselves onto your whiney little features, his pretty lips slurping up the squirts of your essence when you couldn’t help but cum for the sixth time. 

African Lion!Enji with his beautiful reddish-black mane that is full of knots he couldn’t care less to deal with and his deep, booming roar, dominating and commanding the whole room to his every word as he crowns as the alpha within his pride.

African Lion!Enji who found you, a lone lioness-hybrid who’s all healthy and fetching and in need of a pride male to protect you, fight off any other lions and rule over a territory completely safe at all times; and Enji was just the perfect mate. 

African Lion!Enji who’s all testy and frowny face until the scent of you in heat fills his head and he couldn’t stop mating with you, heavy balls slapping your skin as he pumps load after load of his seeds deep inside of you for days, the thought of you round with his cubs rousing him up to have his semen drooling out of your poor, twitching cunt.  

part ⅱ in progress

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Sleepovers At The Baji Household feat. A Fed-Up Chifuyu

Summary: Chifuyu just wants to sleep, man, but Baji wants to be a jealous crackhead at 2 AM.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Note(s): I had a little free time and wrote this. So, please enjoy! ALSO, to the anon that sent me a request a few days ago, I saw it and have it filed on my to-do list!!! I will definitely get to it as soon as I get a break in my schedule :)

"Chifuyu, ya wanna see some real discrimination?"

No. No, Chifuyu does not want to see what Baji means by 'real discrimination.'

Does he tell him that, though?

Yes, actually, because it's 2 in the fucking morning and, as much as he respects the other boy, he wouldn't put it past himself to smother him with a pillow after having his dream of cuddling with a sea of puppies suddenly destroyed.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Baji either doesn't hear him or, more likely than not, doesn't give a fuck, because he's already flopping onto his belly and whipping out his phone to do God knows what.

The dial tone that sounds from the speaker a few seconds later makes Chifuyu cringe, especially since it's only ever been a calm silence fit for a good night's sleep prior to Baji bulldozing through it with his absurd question. (At the very least, he's thankful that the latter has half a mind to keep the brightness on the lowest setting, otherwise, Chifuyu would have had to fight.)

On the far end of the row of carefully-laid futons, you shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowing together at the noise. Rotating onto your side, you unconsciously reach for Baji, and just when he thinks you're being cute and trying to cuddle him, you smack him in the head.

Baji doesn't flinch, instead, takes his pillow and shoves it in your grasp to keep your unconscious self occupied, so that he can focus on getting through to the person who reuses to pick up (understandably so).

Releasing a frustrated groan after being redirected to voice mail for the fifth time, he dials the number again, muttering an impatient, "Pick up already."

Chifuyu feels sorry for the poor soul on the other end. He would've blocked someone following the first call, because again, it's-

The blond has to squint his eyes up at the digital clock on Baji's nightstand, which confirms that it's already 2:22 A.M, further solidifying the fact that he shouldn't be awake right now. And this also applies to the ever persistent first division captain, who insists on bothering who Chifuyu soon discovers is Mikey from the contact ID that flashes across the screen.

Why Baji is so keen on bothering him is a question he doesn't have the mental capacity to ponder over. The most energy he'll expend is to listen in when the call miraculously connects.

"What...?" comes a muffled voice from the receiver, tone laced in an irked grogginess birthed from a slumber rudely interrupted.

There's an absurdly loud, almost angry, roar of Mikey's name, one that has Chifuyu curling in on himself in a futile attempt to escape a sound that should be illegal at this hour.

But you know what else should be illegal?

The fucking whiplash Chifuyu gets when Baji's deep voice takes an abrupt 180°, switching from its normal gruffness to a squeaky, ear-piercing shrill as he screams, "I love you, love you, love you! Do you love me, too, Mikey-kyun~♡?!"

The room is dead silent.

Not a word. Not a murmur. Not a breath.

Just pure, unadulterated silence as both Chifuyu and Mikey process the words that hang in the air, permeating it with a goosebumps-inducing eeriness from having heard such a...a girly, overtly cutesy screech from Baji.

Then-

"What the fuck? He hung on me!"

Chifuyu opens his mouth, thinks better of reacting to the cursed scene he had the misfortune of bearing witness to, and promptly closes it.

Other people may have sleep paralysis demons.

But Chifuyu?

Chifuyu has Baji.

With both hands partially raised in prayer, he begs for the shenanigans to be over and done with.

They are not.

While his eyes remain closed in a last ditch effort to convince himself that it's all a bad dream, he hears a lot of grumbling happening on your side of the room, courtesy of Baji, who's scrambling around in search of...something. One quick peek reveals him fiddling with a phone - yours, to be exact, as evidenced by the distinctive phone charm of your favorite anime character hanging from it.

"(Y/n), wake up for a second," he hears him whisper. It takes a bit of prompting, until he's able to successfully rouse you enough from sleep to elicit any kind of response, which is, essentially, nothing short of an incoherent, slurred mess. Although, Chifuyu is pretty damn certain he heard you call Baji a 'dickhead' for the trouble.

Unperturbed, he continues shaking your limp form, coaxing you into wakefulness with, "Repeat what I tell you, and I'll let you go back to asleep. Deal?"

You squint your eyes at him, only able to make out a vague outline of his visage in the lightless room. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he automatically responds with the same phrase he's become accustomed to saying whenever you two made a promise, something done purely out of habit, formed when the two of you were just kids and he wanted to get you to do something absolutely ridiculous either for him or with him. And just 'cause he knows you're more susceptible to complying if he does it, he also interlocks his pinky with yours.

"...Fine."

The approval is his cue to proceed, and it's as he's putting the phone on speaker that he turns back to a regretfully wide awake Chifuyu, mouthing a wordless, 'Watch.'

The phone rings, loud and clear, precisely once and only once.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" It's important to note that even though Mikey still sounds tired as hell, his tone is much lighter, much happier really, than when it was Baji, which is an offense in itself to the said teen that's off to the side, attentively listening to the conversation unfold.

Then, it strikes Chifuyu, what Baji is trying to do, and fuck does it give him an instant headache.

Meanwhile, your mouth morphs into the dopiest of smiles with the pleasant surprise of hearing your boyfriend's voice, chest instantly overtaken by a warm fuzziness that never fails to make an appearance whenever he's involved. Sappy, you know, but it's true!

A light but firm nudge to your shoulder reminds you of your mission. It's too bad that, teetering along the edge of sleep as you are, the words Baji whispers are barely repeated correctly.

The initial phrase from before, the one Baji greeted Mikey with, is shortened to a simple, "You wuv I...?"

But, without missing a beat, you receive Mikey's confident reply of, "Mhm... I wuv you a lot."

There's a sleepy giggle then - a fucking giggle - before your voices drop to sweet whispers that the third and fourth wheels can't fully comprehend from where they are.

"Where the fuck was my 'I wuv you,' huh?!" Baji whisper-shouts, considerate of your conversation even when ranting and raving. "Shit, I would've taken a simple 'I love you,' too! I've known that bastard way longer than (Y/n), and this is what I get?!"

Okay. Toman's president answers his boyfriend's late night calls faster than he does anyone else's and openly expresses his love for him. So what? Chifuyu wouldn't exactly call it 'discrimination,' per se. 'Favoritism,' maybe if you wanna stretch it, but using as strong a word as discrimination, especially taking into account you two are dating; it's normal? Nah.

"You wanna say 'bye' to them? Mm. Baji and Chifuyu." A pause. "Fuyu, Mikey says 'bye.'"

"Bye, Mikey-kun."

The other person in the room waits, and waits, and waits, and when it's clear that there is no intention to address his presence whatsoever, Baji turns to Chifuyu with an almost scandalized expression, making wild gesticulations with his hands, clearly distressed. "See?!"

Blank blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. Honestly, it's a common occurrence - Baji spiraling in a nonsensical rage - so it's easy for Chifuyu to block out the muted, jealousy-driven temper tantrum as he takes his pillow in both hands, raises it as high as he can, and-

Sigh.

-lets it flop right back onto his face.

He can't suffocate Baji. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, they're best buds, meaning he has an obligation to put up with shit like this once in a while. (Plus, he'd probably get his ass kicked before he succeeds anyway. Totally not worth the beating.)

"Did you hear? Mikey said he wuvs me," he hears you drawl dreamily as soon as you hang up, sounding very close to clocking back out for the night.

"Yeah, yeah. Cute shit. Happy for ya, dude," Baji huffs. Thankfully, he sounds like he's in a similar state to yours, if the yawn that follows his sarcastic comment is anything to go by.

"...He soooo ignored you."

That warrants a punishing punch to the arm, dulled only slightly by the combination of the thick quilt you're swaddled in and the raven-haired boy's fatigue.

"I'll fucking throw you out right now, (Y/n). Don't test me."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

The conversation gradually dies down shortly after, the exhaustion that took its sweet time getting to both of you having reached its peak with the help of the childish bickering. It takes 10 minutes, maybe 15, before two sets of light snores fill the room.

Finally.

Let it be known that there is a lesson to be learned from tonight's events. Really, there is. Y'know, something along the lines of 'Don't agree to a sleepover with Baji, if you plan on actually sleeping,' or whatever.

Alas, Chifuyu's consciousness fades before he realizes what it is.

~~~

"Mikey, be honest. Who do you love more? Me or-?"

"(Y/n)."

"But-"

(Y/n)."

"I-"

"(Y/n)."

Baji is only momentarily discouraged, sharp eyes glaring at the blond that lays his head on your lap after hi-fiving you. He didn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice.

"(Y/n) or Babu?"

From the way Mikey stiffens up, refusing to look at either him or you in the eyes, Baji knows he has him right where he wants him, has him torn between a cute face or a sweet ride.

"Oi! Don't pretend to be asleep! Answer the damn question! OI!"

(After hours of serious contemplation - even though you told him it doesn't particularly matter - it's revealed that, of course, Mikey loves you more. Babu just happens to trail behind as a very close second.)

[kyberphilosopher]

Fensterln

“I can’t get up. You’re sitting on top of me.”

Warning(s): some allusions to sex, explicit-ish language, fluff, reader has a whole ‘Black Cat’ thing going on. Word Count: 3273

Notes: This is a requested work. This is a headcanoned canon version of Superboy, meaning he is no version in particular and simply the character I figure as a whole. Reader can be any gender.

“Fensterln is when you have to climb through someone’s window in order to have sex with them, without their parents knowing about it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You know, most people think that climbing up the side of a building is easy. Like it’s nothing. They see it on TV, and in the movies, and in cartoons even, and they think, “That doesn’t look so bad!” because it doesn’t. Cartoons and actors don’t have to deal with the wind whipping their hair, constantly pushing their whole body all around, the butterflies of anxiousness making their heart thump, threatening the scenario of falling to their death. It’s terrifying. It takes a lot of skill, a lot of courage, and a lot of luck. 

“Shit.”

Your right hand releases from the glass, arm slowly swinging back until it’s at your side. The same sides foot follows this pattern of rotation, until only your left fingertips and toes are stuck to the wall of the building, suctioning you to life. Below you, hundreds and hundreds of feet, is an island of grass and sand, encompassed by a large body of water. Over the tidal waves chip chopping away, there’s a distance. And in that distance, is the city, just under the inky blackness of the midnight sky. 

Jump City, it’s called. You’re not too familiar with it. Most of your time is spent in Metropolis, or Gotham. Luckily, both of those cities have plenty of skyscrapers to practice scaling. One could say that you’d perfected the art of this sort of thing. The finger pads on your suit are sophisticatedly sticky, seamlessly letting you latch onto anything with grace. Your feet are the same. 

The wind hits your face like sharp needles, amplified by the cold air and the incline. Your hair whips around wildly, also different from how it flows, softly, in the movies. The harsh breeze roars in your ears, louder than the thousands of explosions you’ve heard in your lifetime. Although dangerous, nothing beats the view. Those thousands of lights in the distance, the cars, the buildings, this building that you’re on now. Titan’s Tower is far larger and closer and more important than anything else at the moment. 

“Okay then,” you mutter, twisting your body over to the right twice more, until finally both hands and feet are connecting against the glass in a stealthy, perfect crawling position. 

You work your way up, one foot and hand at the time. You resemble that of a spider, or perhaps a cat. One, two. One, two. 

His room is on one of the top floors, if not the top floor. From the two other times that you’ve done this, you remember the number of steps, the distance, the little cracks in the glass panes to look for so you know you’re close. Even from the outside, hundreds of feet up, hanging above death tantalizingly, you know exactly where you are and where you need to be. And you know, of course, that you are close. 

Your right hand leaves the wall once more and reaches down to the belt on your hips. “Coming, my love,” you mutter as you flip open a small pouch attached. From the inside you pull out a slim switchblade, made specifically to cut through glass walls like this- designed it yourself. 

The knife springs open. In a circle big enough to fit your entire body, you trace the blade in a wide arc from up to down, left to right. Then you flip the blade back inside, place the whole thing back into the pouch on the belt, and shove your left elbow against the middle of the glass in front of you. 

It pops free immediately. The circle of wall falls forward into the room, with you not far behind.

Landing like a gymnast on your toes with your arms overhead, you are immune to the sharp pain in your femurs that comes from a sudden pressure like this. The glass pane is still intact on the floor ahead of you, which is coated with a red carpet that you recognize so well. It’s much warmer inside than it was outside, although you can still feel the night wind from behind you.

“Silent,” a voice remarks from beside you. It’s not an amused tone, really. It’s genuine and full of awe, surrounded by something casual. 

You hum as you stand before throwing a look over your shoulder. Sure enough at your back, splayed casually on a bed against the wall you just broke through, is your favorite boy toy. Dark, curly hair framing his classically handsome face, nose scrunching slightly on instinct. He’s wearing the black and red super shirt he always does, coupled with the plaid pajama bottoms you’d gotten him as a gift in spring.

You want so badly to quip something back, but you both know you can’t right now. Not when you’re so close to the door. And yeah, that’s partially Conner’s fault, if not all. Too much noise would attract the attention of his team mates, the Titans, and then something probably not that great would happen. Maybe they’d throw you out. Maybe they’d fire him. Maybe things would just get weird. It’s not as if you and Connor are an official couple, even after all this time. You could stop sneaking around to see each other at any sense of danger.

You take a step towards the bed he lays on, noting the big, bright smile that lights up Superboy’s face at the motion. “Can you fix the hole?” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

Conner’s eyes go wide and the smile gets bigger.

“In the wall.”

The smile turns into an eye roll. “Yes,” he sighs, almost dramatically, pushing himself up. The boy crosses to the center of the room a few feet from you and begins picking up the perfect circle of cut window- wall while you look around the area.

You’ve snuck into Conner’s room before. Twice, in fact. It’s not clean, not horribly messy. His leather jacket is usually hanging off the dresser or door handle. Sweatshirts of different colors are littering the floor in a collective pile. It looks like a normal teenage boys room, really. It just feels very ‘Conner’.

First, he pushes the glass back into place in the wall, then he takes a few steps back. You throw him a smirk, nudging your head to encourage him to do the thing.

Conner’s eyes heat up. Little at first, as a soft yellow. Then into an all consuming scarlet that hisses out in two beams meeting in the middle between them. They move in a circle around the pane until you can’t even tell it was ever not there, and the wind you once heard no longer exists. The wall is perfectly in tact.

“Thank you, Superboy,” you tell him, tone laced overly sweet. Your hands, freezing from the cold even through the gloves of your costume, wrap around Conner’s upper arm.

“Yeah,” he tosses, back, voice low. His cheeks are turning pink.

You unhook your arms and saunter over to his mattress. As you throw yourself on and relax as you sink into the pillows, you let your eyes close. “You’re lucky I like you so much,” you tease. “Mm, do you know a lot of people who would climb up the Tower for you? I don’t.”

Upon hearing him take a single step forward, one eye pops open. “I know you missed me,” you continue.

Conner lays himself on the bed beside you, hands behind his bed with his arms bent. You turn to face him, propping your head up with your palm.

“You never answer my texts,” Conner says, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You text me?” you smirk, watching Superboys eyes sink close as he releases a sigh of defeat.

Your left leg slips over Conner’s hips. Then you pull your whole body up and over into a straddle over him, looking down at him. He’s handsome in the way nobody can argue with, so perfect and soft and structured. When you squint, he looks like Superman. But Conner’s not Superman, he’s better. You can’t explain why, or how, but he just is.

You place your palms forward on his chest at first, then backwards, behind your back, on Conner’s thighs. Your chest puffs out at the slight change of position.

Below you, the boy bites his lower lip softly in thought for a second. “What if I got you a phone?” Conner asks you. His light eyes holding yours through thick, dark lashes. “Just so you can text me back sometimes?”

“Us?” you gasp with wide eyes. “Talking? During the daytime?”

Conner glances away. “Message received. Very funny. Forget it.”

“I’m messing with you,” you promise with a smile. “Loosen up Super-Annoy.”

“So you’ll let me get you one?” Conner pushes himself up with a snap, eyes wide with some kind of excitement.

Well… would you? You haven’t had a lot of long term partners, if any. Your time with Conner has been the longest with anyone, and he’s not even really your boyfriend. He’s just… you know… the guy you kissed on a rooftop one night. The guy who once surprised you with a cone of ice cream, again on a night time rooftop, whilst you were sitting on the side of the building to watch the city below. The guy who remembered your birthday, the guy who keeps sending you the many, many texts reminding you that you can watch your favorite show on the TV in the tower. The guy who once lied to get you to ice skate with him.

Something about Conner has been enough to keep you hooked for months and months, always coming back. Sneaking into the Tower, taking more and more trips to Jump City, keeping notes of events throughout your week to tell him about when you see him. 

How silly. Never giving the time of day to any other partner of yours, but for Conner? Conner has gotten at least eight months of it. 

“I’ll think about it,” you roll your eyes. 

“You promise?” Conner urges. 

“Yes. Jeez, I promise. I will think about letting you get me a phone that only you have the number to.”

“Please don’t laugh at me about this.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“It feels like it.”

“Connor,” you clasp a hand on his shoulder, pushing back laughter. “Have I ever laughed at you?”

“W- Is that- is that a serious question?” Conner’s eyebrows raise. 

“Get up,” you roll your neck. “I want to change positions.”

The boy below you shifts. For a quick moment, something pokes between your hips from underneath. Your pupils dilate in response, but by the time they finish, the movement has ceased. “Tell me about your day.”

“I want to lay down,” you say as you stretch. “I just scaled up the side of the skyscraper-”

“You love it.”

“-and it was oh, so cold. I’m tired.”

“That’s not your day.”

You just stare at him expectantly, not quite sure what it is you’re waiting for. 

“I can’t get up. You’re sitting on top of me,” Conner concedes. “You chose to be up there.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy below you hisses as if annoyed. “I get it,” he says, but his arms are already snaking around your torso to pull you close and slowly pull you into a new position. 

You lay on your side, back against Conner’s broad chest. His arms stay wrapped around your middle as he curls up against you on instinct, legs quick to tangle with your own. You know he must really be interested in you if he’s not going to mention that your ‘work’ shoes are still on while in bed. 

“You’re an ass,” he mutters into your hair. 

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Ha,” you chuckle once. “Douche.”

“Please tell me about your day now?” you hear Conner almost plead. “Please?”

One of your hands, your right one, rests on top of Conner’s against your stomach. “Oh, you know. The usual. I helped out a small jewelry store today, snuck into a big building, currently hiding from Nightwing- you know how it is.”

“There wasn’t much crime today. I mostly just stayed in. You know that big building you snuck into?”

“Such a douche,” you breathe.

“Jealous much?” Superboy rumbles against your ear. 

“I’m gonna tell Dick,” you tell him. “I’ll send an anonymous tip that one of the Titan’s is a big poop face.”

Conner puts his whole face in your hair. “Shiver me timbers.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not fair you guys get a whole building to yourselves. What are you even using half these floors for? People in Gotham are struggling.” You frown. “Well, except for Wayne. But you know what? He’s a douche too. You’d get along.”

Conner squeezes you once. Then you feel him still from behind you, not even breathing. And then-

“Move in then.”

At once, your brows furrow. “What?”

Your companion squeezes you once more. “Move in. Move in with me. In the Tower.”

Your mouth opens and closes a couple times, eyes looking around. You can’t see Conner, but you can feel him out. His eyes are closed, still inhaling the scent of you shamelessly. It’s hard for people to catch you off guard, not just like this, but at all. You just have that sarcastic, witty, sultry reputation. And for him- Super-Annoy, of all people- to just throw you off so easily?

“I’m not a Titan,” you decide on explaining, almost asking. 

“Become one, then.”

“I don’t have the money to move in. The rent must be crazy.”

“I’ll pay for you.”

“Conner,” you swallow. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.” His head pops up. When you turn yours a little, you can look up at him, and he can look down at you. “Move into the Tower.”

Now your eyes are wide, and his are relaxed. No, Conner’s are focused, drilling into your own. “I’m... hardly Titan’s material.”

This was true. You’ve been skirting the gray line far longer than you’ve known Superboy, and he’s been super since the beginning of his creation. The first time you’d met was about ten seconds before you’d robbed a bank and sent him a wink before disappearing. 

“You just told me, not five minutes ago, that you helped a small business. Helping people is what heroes are all about. You can do this, Y/N. You are Titan’s material.”

Shit. He’s right. 

“Why not?” Conner questions. 

“I... um...”

You’ve never lived with another person before. Your family, once upon a time, sure. Not friends. Not Dick Grayson, or Kori, or Rachel fucking Roth. And certainly not Superboy- Super-Annoy. Not someone you have a ‘thing’ with. What would that mean for the two of you? And when things go terribly, terribly wrong, what then?

Gotta’ think fast. 

Your face is wiped clean, replaced by your signature smirk. “Get me a phone first. Then I’ll consider it.”

Conner doesn’t budge though. You wonder if X-Ray vision can see through lies too. “I mean it,” the boy tells you. “I want you here.”

“I have to survive the night in the building with boy prodigy and star flame.”

“Starfire.”

“Whatever. I have to do that first. There’s a reason we sneak me in, you know.”

Your free hand reaches up and cups Conner’s cheek without you telling it to. You ask your brain why, but yet, your palm doesn’t move. It feels over Conner’s cheekbones, encouraging you to look deeper into his somehow soft eyes. Your fingertips can even feel his hair, which is in need of a wash, as they get comfortable. 

“For you,” you finish the sentiment, voice now genuine- also not predicted. “Sneaking in for you.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a secret,” the boy above you whispers, pouring his entire heart into it. 

You answer with a snort. 

If anything, Conner’s the secret. If he had his way, the two of you would probably be on your honeymoon at this moment. Hell, your whole relationship and subsequent marriage would be a honeymoon. You’re the one letting him follow you around. You’re the one never giving him just what he wants. 

But then again, you’re the one who keeps coming back. Conner’s the one that never left. 

“Trust me,” you nod with a humored grin. “I don’t.”

Conner sighs and falls back down to rest behind  you. “Good.”

Besides his breathing, then there is silence. 

Really? Telling you to move in? Of course it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to him. Of course he has the solution to all the reasons why not. Your fairly certain that Conner hasn’t thought about this until mentioning it, but even then, how did he have all the answers so fast? Where would you stay? With him? Sandwiched between Conner and Wally West playing video games for the rest of your life? Dying after Donna Troy catches you accidentally stealing her lunch?

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Conner begins, “but you should really stay the night.”

In response, you practically burst. “You hate being told what to do!” you say as you squirm in his arms. “Now you’re giving me suggestions?”

Conner sits up again so he can look down at you with a little frown. Luckily, it’s too nice of a view to be really scared of anything he could do. “Shh! You’re gonna get caught, Y/N.” Then Superboy’s eyes widen a little. “If you lived here, you wouldn’t have to be so quiet, either. You could just come through the front door.”

“Oh my God,” you squeeze your eyes closed. “Conner...”

One battle at a time. 

“Fine,” you begrudge. “I’ll stay the night.”

Conner tightens his grip around your form happily in response. “Will you need any help in the morning?”

“No. No, I got it.”

Silence. 

Say it. Say it. Say it. 

“Conner? I, uh...”

Say it. 

“I don’t have any sleeping clothes,” you lie. 

“Sleeping?” you hear the boy behind you whisper. “I didn’t think we were going to be sleeping.”

“Now who’s going to get us in trouble?” you smirk. “Seriously though. I’ve been wearing my suit all day.”

“I can get you out of it.”

“You can’t just see through it?” you question. “Don’t you have X-Ray vision?”

Conner groans. “You’re ruining it.”

You smile. Conner’s the only partner of yours you realize you’re actually happy to be around. “I think you just want us to get caught.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Yayyy. Request finished. Next I have a Reverse Flash request, and then I should be good with the DC requests for now. Other than that I have some Jason Todd things, something for Damian and 2 fics for a character I haven’t written for before but are looking pretty good. I hope this satisfied the prompt that I was given in the request. Let me know anything you want or whatever. 

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!��� you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

or

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif 

-

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

-

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.  

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

-

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

-

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.  

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

-

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

--

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends,  but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.  

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

-

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.  

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

[toomanyrobins2]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

Summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

masterlist // next part

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple of days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

She managed to escape and turned to look at her boyfriend, “I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

She sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but the fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned your arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.”

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the house with friends, had led to this wild, secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was that Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her, “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay!” she stamped her foot, knowing it was childish, “If you would just listen to me!”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other.

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected of them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and stalked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument over in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead, he stared at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had averted their gaze, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “Y/N/N has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince Y/N to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one, and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. Y/N had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat-Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.

[jekacatrina]

Fate don't know you like I do

Hello, guys, have this super cheesy and self indulgent piece I wrote for Bakudeku day! I'm so happy to be part of this fandom and all the wonderful content creators out there, so here's my little contribution, enjoy! I wrote it super fast so sorry for any mistake or typo!

Also, the title is a song I love, please check it out, it inspired the whole thing!

Izuku wakes up to the sight of his bedroom ceiling, body aching and mind restless. He’s no longer wearing his hero suit, except for the undershirt and his pants, everything else is gone. Slowly, the yells of the crowd infiltrate his thoughts and he wishes to run away, to go to where he can’t hurt anyone he cares about.

He has to leave. He is being selfish. Izuku props himself up on his elbows.

“That’s the face of a rabbit ready to bolt,” the gruff voice startles him, and he turns to see Kacchan sitting on his desk, frowning. It adds up that they wouldn't leave him without someone standing guard.

Kacchan has changed out of his hero suit, and a dark grey long sleeved t-shirt hides the bandages on his shoulder and stomach, but Izuku is keenly aware of the wounds he was sporting as he flew around trying to keep him from leaving. By the end, his childhood friend was bleeding through them. That was Izuku’s fault; both Kacchan reopening his injuries and the fact that he has them in the first place.

“Kacchan, I'm so-“

“Save it, nerd,” he abandons the desk chair and shuffles closer.

Izuku takes him in; after weeks of agonizing over the state in which he left Kacchan, seeing him do a perfect arch in the air and stop a villain with a precise AP Shot, filled him with a relief so strong, it paralyzed him, and he was only able to stare in awe.

During the following fight, if Izuku can call it that when it was against his friends, Kacchan was everywhere; coordinating different maneuvers, and he even had a new move. Izuku told his friends they couldn’t keep up, and he remembers vaguely that he apologized, because in reality they’re miles ahead of him.

Still, nobody is like Kacchan: certain and absolute, pure will held together by his convictions. He never backs down, and he never gives up, only marches forward. Izuku never stood a chance against him, in more than one way.

Kacchan kneels by the bed, putting an elbow on the bed, close to his hips, and lazily resting his head on his hand.

“Kacchan, I can’t stay here,” he mumbles, trying to convey all his inner turmoil. He wants to stay, he is so tired and scared, but he will not risk anyone for his sake.

Kacchan frowns in response.

“You can, and you will, dumbass,” he states, surprising him by clutching his forearm. “I’m not chasing your sorry ass around anymore.”

“Then let me go,” Izuku turns his arm, grabbing him as well.

“You’re not going anywhere, Izuku.”

The name travels through his body, lighting him up on the inside, coursing through him with the violence of the first time he used One For All, equally exhilarating and terrifying.

It all comes back to him; the rain, his words, his bow, Izuku collapsing and Kacchan appearing in time to support him.

Izuku.

“You apologized,” he whispers, tears coming to his eyes. “You said all those things in front of the whole class.”

“I had to, asshole, you left before I could tell you in private,” he doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful. Kacchan doesn’t shy away from his decisions once he makes up his mind. “Only a shitty letter for explanation and that was it.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t even let me go with you, idiot.”

“You’re still dealing with the outcome of the last time I let you come with me.” The tears are running freely down his cheeks. “I had to watch how he almost took you away from me.” He scrubs his eyes furiously with his free hand, not letting go of Kacchan. “I can’t allow more people to suffer because of me.” He’s on his way to a full on breakdown, struggling to get air in his lungs, and blood roaring in his ears, the noises muffled.

Suddenly, Kacchan is hovering over him, shoving his shoulder firmly.

“Hey, Deku, scoot over,” Izuku only glances at him through his crying, baffled. “Give me some room to lay down, like when we were kids.” He’s already in the process of climbing on the bed, and Izuku manages to slide his body closer to the other end, grabbing the bed cover when the weight of his childhood friend laying down almost makes him roll over him. “Jesus Christ, you stink,” Kacchan complains.

“I know,” Izuku turns on his side, creating more space between them. Hygiene wasn’t that high on his list of priorities, not even eating or sleeping was, and he feels awful. He didn’t have the energy to shower before passing out.

“You smell like dirt and sweat.” Kacchan scrunches up his nose. “Worst of all, you reek of that goddamn martyr complex, and it pisses me off.” he turns too, and traps Izuku in his red gaze. “If you’re choosing to ignore all I said before, at least pay attention to the last part.” He’s not sugarcoating his words, he’s as brash as he always is. “We all want to fight, because we’re heroes and we want to protect everyone, including the fucking chosen one, whether you want us to or not. I’m not asking for your damn permission, and neither is any of the rest. So, you can either play nice and make it easy for us, or be a self-sacrificial idiot, making it all the more annoying. Your call.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Izuku grimaces, reaching for him with a shaky hand, and awkwardly squeezes his arm. “I’m not ignoring all you said, Kacchan” he chooses to focus on that, gaze in his All Might covers. “I, I forgave you a long time ago, mostly because I wanted to focus on the good parts, so in a way I let go of it for me.” He forgets about his smell, and scoots closer, resting his forehead close to his shoulder. “But thank you, Katsuki.” He hasn’t said that name in ages, but that doesn’t come from any animosity on his part. Kacchan has always been and will always be Kacchan. Izuku feels him move as Kacchan places his chin on top of his matted curls, and they stay like that for a while, with their past laid to rest at last.

Kacchan speaks up first.

“Listen, Deku, everything is getting pretty fucking real,” he pauses for a moment. “Shit is really dangerous for any of us, but for you it is like a thousand times worse. Your ass is a fucking death magnet, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“One For All is a big responsibility, Kacchan, but it’s not yours.” He does his best to keep his voice low and soft, the weight of the legacy crushing him.

“The Hell is not!” Kacchan retorts vehemently. “You made it my deal the moment you told me!” Izuku winced. “What’s up with that? Wasn't that the biggest secret ever? Are you that much of a blabber mouth?”

Izuku clutches his arm harder.

“I wasn’t going to let you think I lied all those years.” He explains, and in a moment of bravery, he continues. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you, Kacchan.”

The anger in his voice disappears as fast as it came.

“I know that, idiot.” His bigger hand finds Izuku’s hip. “One for All is your responsibility, but you are mine.” Izuku is pretty sure he stops breathing. “Since we were fucking four years old, and you were this quirkless little shit that wouldn’t quit chasing after me, no matter how much I pushed you away.” Kacchan scoffs and his breath tickles him. “Well, congrats, dumbass, now you have me and I’m not going anywhere.” His heart flies to his throat and doesn’t let any word come out. Kacchan growls, clearly bothered by his silence. “All for One VS One For All is the fucking shit show for the ages, and of course you, Deku of all people, have to be right in the middle of that crap.” He talks through clenched teeth, and Izuku longs to soothe him, but there’s nothing he can say to fix the situation. “All those who fell against that fucking maniac and now you have to-” Kacchan chokes up, and punches Izuku on the arm. “Whatever, there's nothing I can do for those nobodies that came before you, but you have an advantage over them.”

“What’s that?” He whispers in a small voice, not believing he is having this conversation in bed with his childhood friend.

“You have me,” Kacchan utters, and Izuku feels like he hit him with an explosion, sweeping his feet from under him. “Just let me set something straight, Deku, I’m not going to be your fucking sidekick, you hear me? You watch my back and I watch yours. I don’t trust anyone to keep up with you.”

I don’t trust anyone else to protect you.

“Kacchan-”

“You deal with this crap once and for fucking all, Deku, and we come up on top.” Kacchan declares, Izuku can hear the smirk in his words, and he has to smile back. “I don’t settle for anything but the best, and taking down fucking evil incarnated, I’m in, Deku, I’m all in.” He disentangles them, leaning back with a vulnerable expression, and offers his hand for Izuku to clasp. “What do you say?”

Izuku wants to say no, push him away from danger and lock him somewhere where he is going to be safe, but he knows Kacchan. He is determined, stubborn to a fault, and braver than anyone he has met. If he sets his mind on protecting Izuku, nothing is going to stop Kacchan, not even him.

That’s why Izuku loves him like he does.

In this space, with just the two of them, Izuku can be honest with himself: He is scared, and he has been for a while.

Scared of not living up to All Might’s hopes.

Scared of never mastering this power.

Scared of letting down all the people that gave up their lives to take down All For One.

Scared of being the wrong choice.

At the end of the day, Midoriya Izuku is terrified of not being enough.

In the midst of all the fear and doubt, he sees Kacchan; the person Izuku admires the most, the hero he has chased since he was four years old, and the driving force behind his progress. Kacchan, who knows all of him, and understands him because he sees Izuku for who he is, all the good and bad parts.

His Kacchan, who is now offering to help him and ease his burden, risking his dream, his precious life in the process, to stay close to Izuku and protect him.

A part of him, the one that imitates All Might, is screaming at him that he has to reject the support, to do it on his own. He should hold the weight of the legacy by himself. However, the other part of him, the one that believes Kacchan is what victory looks like, tells him he isn’t All Might and he doesn’t have to be.

He is Midoriya Izuku, and he is allowed to live his life and fight his battles on his terms, just as Kacchan does.

He clasps his hand, and Kacchan smiles, without a trace of mockery or anger, just plain happiness and relief lifting the corners of his mouth. Izuku hasn't seen him smile like that in years, and he needs to say something. He means to say yes to his offer, maybe thank him, but what comes out instead is:

“I love you.”

The punched out gasp that Kacchan lets out shocks Izuku more than his confession does. He can’t believe the words he has hidden for so long in his heart escaped that easily. More shocking is the fact that he doesn’t want to take it back. Even if he is scared of many things, Kacchan isn’t one of them. Yes, Kacchan frustrates him, he worries him, and makes him nervous, but Izuku is not scared of him, never has been. He can die any day now, any of them can, and he is done with silencing his feelings.

Kacchan is not screaming or scowling, neither he is leaping out of the bed and running away from him, so Izuku would say he is mostly stunned, although he doesn’t see why. His feelings for him are a key part of the person he is. Izuku admires him, cares for him.

Izuku loves him.

“Do you mean it?” The question seems to pain him. He hasn’t released his hand.

“Yes, Kacchan.” Izuku is not hiding it, not anymore.

“After everything?”

The words strike his heart and cut deeply. Izuku doesn’t hold any grudge or resentment, and he can’t tolerate the idea of Kacchan thinking he can feel something for him despite their past.

“Because of everything, Kacchan,” Izuku replies, touching their joined hands with his forehead, shying from the red eyes. “The past doesn’t disappear, but that’s not our present, and definitely not our future.” He takes a deep breath to calm his heart. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it to get an answer.”

“Deku, you can do so much better,” Kacchan says, bluntly.

Izuku doesn't let the obvious rejection deter him from speaking with the truth.

“I don’t see how,” he stares at him, mustering a wonky smile. “You are you, Kacchan; you’re brave, honest, loyal, brilliant, and hardworking.” The words spill without filter, and he drinks the sight of his pale skin blushing. “It’s not about doing better, just who I choose, because when it comes down to it, I chose you a long time ago, Kacchan.”

Kacchan tips his head up, the blond strands cloaking his eyes. Izuku refuses to regret coming clean about his feelings, but as the silence grows between them, he starts to fidget. Little by little, he realizes the true weight of his confession, and the bridges he might be burning.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, Kacchan.”

“It changes everything, Deku,” he replies, not missing a beat.

Izuku curses his luck; it was just like him to confess his love right when Kacchan finally came back to him, something Izuku hadn’t dreamt in his wildest dreams. Dealing with these feelings much longer, when they are so powerful and consuming is not possible. Still, he should have tried, for the sake of their friendship.

A callous finger touches his chin, breaking his spiral of thoughts, and lifts his face. The fiery eyes are wide and defenseless, embers instead of the wild inferno Izuku expected.

The first touch of chapped lips is an awakening, and his first kiss is over before he can finish tasting it.

Kacchan leans back, and for the second time in his life, Izuku’s mind goes blank and his body moves on its own, chasing after him. Their second kiss is messy, they don’t have any experience, but Izuku is lost to it. He tries to commit to memory every brush of their lips and ragged gasps, how soft is his blond hair, and the feeling of fingers sinking in his curls, guiding the kiss.

They break apart, but stay close.

"You didn’t have to do that, Kacchan,” he says against his mouth.

“I never do shit I don’t want to do, Deku.”

Izuku grabs him again, bunching up his t-shirt, so full of love that he fears he is going to float away if he doesn’t get a firm grip.

“Deku, I-“ his voice quivers and Izuku kisses him again, softly and reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Kacchan, you don’t have to say anything yet.” Izuku told him because he wanted him to know, but he has had years to come to terms with it. He’s not expecting Kacchan to figure everything out right now.

“You better stick around after that, you damn nerd,” he touches their foreheads together. “Or take me with you. Two options, I’m magnanimous like that.”

Izuku giggles, the sound so foreign after the past weeks.

“Okay, Kacchan, for that I’ll stick around.”

“Or you’ll take me with you.”

Izuku is still terrified of anything happening to him, but he trusts him the most.

“I’ll stick around or take you with me,” he promises, and Kacchan nods satisfied, wrapping Izuku in his arms and hugging him closer. “I thought you said I stink.”

“You fucking do,” Kacchan says immediately. “When I think about this, the first thing that is going to pop into my mind is that my first kiss smelled like a wet dog.”

Izuku laughs until he cries, and Kacchan joins him.

At one point, his back is to Kacchan, and he’s playing with his hands. Izuku’s so relaxed his eyes are drifting close, sleep taking over.

“Hey, Deku,”

“Yes, Kacchan?” he says drowsily.

“You have magnificent taste.”

Izuku snorts, pulling his arm tighter around him.

“I’m going to sleep now,” he murmurs, and he jumps when Kacchan buries his face on the crook of his neck. “Wake me up if something happens.”

“You can trust me, Deku, nobody is going to pass through me.”

Izuku believes him with his entire heart, but he still chooses to only think and not say what crosses his mind before falling asleep in his arms:

I would die before letting anything happen to you.

[the-violet-witch-saga---book-1]

CHAPTER 1

Silva is a world that is home to humans, elves, and dwarves. The elves inhabit the forests of Silva and live in harmony with nature. The dwarves live in the mountains of Silva and mine for building materials, as well as various artifacts and treasures. The humans live on the plains of Silva and farm the land for food. Silva is a tumultuous world and is inhabited by various entities and sentient animals.

You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire. You've lived in the commune your whole life, and are currently leading a caravan into the wilderness. You're hoping to make a name for yourself and are accompanied by several other hippies.

You travel through the forest for several days and begin to hear strange noises in the distance. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You look around for the source of this disturbance, seeing if you can sense any magical energy that you don't recognize.

You look around, but you don't see anything out of the ordinary. The forest is still, as it has been for days. There are no sounds but the wind. You relax slightly.

"I guess it was nothing."

Your comrades relax as well.

"I guess it was nothing." Says one of the passengers.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a dark shape dart past you.

You pull off your leather gloves, and your hands are surrounded by violet magic. You see that a purple mist is starting to surround your friends.

"What the heck is that?" asks a man.

"Just a precaution." You say. "I wouldn't want any ostriches or dark entities to hurt anyone here... I solidified some of the space around you so it acts like a shield. Everyone stay close together!"

The violet mist spreads throughout the surrounding forest. You can't see past it.

It spreads to the sky and creates a purple cloud that completely obscures the sun.

"Okay, that's not me!" You exclaim.

"Where is this thick fog coming from!?"

You don't know, and the fog continues to spread.

The forest becomes dark as the fog covers the sun.

It is very dark and thick, and the forest becomes completely dark.

You attempt to light a fire, but you can't see anything. You can't even see your hand in front of your face.

The forest becomes cold.

You light a piece of wood with your transmutation abilities. You can't help but notice it felt more difficult than it should. This worried you for a moment, but you shook the feeling off. 'It must be something in the fog…' you thought.

You can only see a few feet in front of you, and even that little bit is blurred.

The wood catches fire.

The forest becomes warm.

You sit around the fire and gesture the other Hippies to sit around the fire too. You look around to see if you can sense where the fog is coming from magically.

You notice that the purple mist is starting to lift. The sun is starting to peek out from behind the purple clouds.

You hear a hissing sound.

"What is that!?" You yell, fear coursing through you.

You hear the hissing sound again.

You look around, but all you see are the other commune members.

The sound gets louder and louder.

You cover your ears and try to use your violet mage perception to figure out where the hissing is coming from.

You see nothing, but the hissing noise continues and you begin to feel lightheaded.

You begin to make and light torches for everyone, so that you can at least see where you're going.

You hear a popping sound, and the torches you are making burst into flames.

You quickly throw the torches into the fire, and everyone else does the same.

You hear the sound of breaking wood, the fire roaring as the flames climb higher.

"Well, at least there's still a warm fire, I think I can see even further than before at the rate that it's burning..."

You try to make out the shapes of the forest in front of you, but you can't.

The fire continues to burn brightly.

"Does anybody have any ideas on how to get through this horribly noisy fog?"

No one answers.

The fire becomes very loud.

You hear a cracking sound.

Then you hear the sound of a body hitting the ground.

You hear the sound of a human skull cracking.

"Who's there!?" You exclaim. "Is everyone accounted for?"

No one answers.

You hear a loud cracking sound.

Then you hear a loud thump as someone hits the ground.

The fire is very bright.

A cracking sound.

"Everyone gather around the fire quickly, so we can see each other!!"

The hippies move around the fire, and no one seems to be missing.

You sit around the fire with the others. You can see the entrance of the forest is visible again.

The fog has lifted.

"What in the world was that!?" You ask.

You look at the others, but no one answers.

A very bright orange and yellow fire is visible, and a very pale violet mist is still floating in the air.

"Is everyone okay?"

No one answers.

The forest looks the same as it did when you entered it. The trees are still there, and

the sun is now peeking out from behind the purple clouds.

You gesture for everyone to follow you.

"Let's head back to town everyone... follow me."

You lead the way back to the main road.

You can still see the fog on the edge of the forest, but it's not as thick as it was.

"Can somebody please say something?" You ask, feeling uneasy…

Silence.

You can see the road in front of you.

The fog is thinner than it was when you entered the forest.

You still feel tired, but you try to use your magic perception to sense the magical energy of your friends and see if they're alright.

You see a bright blue glow coming from each of them.

"So you're all still here, and I can't see any magic spells coming from you... so what's with the silence guys? This isn't like you."

Everyone is still silent.

You try to see if you are any closer to town.

The road in front of you is familiar now, so you relax a little.

You approach the outskirts of town, but first you check again to see if your friends have some kind of spell on them.

No spells are detected.

You enter Yhiapshire with the rest of your hippie friends. You rest against the welcome sign to Yhiapshire, breathing out a contented sigh.

"I'm so relieved to be home!"

Everyone agrees, their silence suddenly broken.

…You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire...

"I'm happy to see you're all feeling better…" You say. "What do you think happened back there?"

An young woman spoke up.

"We were possessed by some kind of evil force. The forest was all dark and creepy. It felt like we were going to die in there!"

"Strange! I didn't sense any signs of possession."

You felt an uneasy feeling come over you again.

"Maybe we should stay away from that part of the forest from now on."

…You are Iris, a female human violet mage in Yhiapshire.

You've lived in Yhiapshire as long as you can remember…

You approach city hall to talk to some of the commune leaders about the strange mist that you and the others encountered in the forest.

City hall is a large building made of stone, resting right in the center of town.

You quickly enter the building, seeking out the first community leader that you can find to tell them about the deadly mist that you and the others encountered in the forest.

You approach an elderly elven man in a robe.

"Svaelen! Thank goodness I found you!" You exclaim. "...I'm afraid that I have some strange news about the wilderness we were sent to explore just east of here. We were assailed by this ominous purple mist. It had a strange effect on the others, and I couldn't sense where it was coming from or what it was. I didn't seem to be affected by it for some reason, not like the others were at least. I really don't think we should explore that area for right now, it's just not safe."

The elven leader thinks for a moment.

He says nothing, seeming to be lost in thought. You can tell he's thinking hard about what the commune's next move should be.

"How did this mysterious mist affect the others in the group?" He asks you.

You tell him about the strange effect the mist had on your friends.

He thinks for a moment, saying nothing.

You sigh.

"Svaelen, I can tell you're having a hard time deciding on this. I know that the forest has resources that we may need for the future of the commune, but personally I don't think it's worth risking the precious lives of the wonderful citizens of Yhiapshire."

Svaelen is silent for a moment longer.

He nods slowly.

"I understand your concerns Iris, but we need to explore the forest. The mist has cast a pall of uncertainty over us that we need to dispel."

You shake your head.

"Then what would you suggest I do, should the awful mist target us again in the eastern wilderness?"

The elven leader seems to think hard for a moment. You grow impatient.

"If you don't know what to do, then perhaps you should travel with us next time. Maybe then you would have a better idea of what we're up against."

The elven leader looks at you for a few moments.

He shrugs.

"I suppose that's a good idea."

You give him a curt nod. "Alright then, I'll let you know when we're ready to venture out again."

Svaelen nods in approval.

"I look forward to it."

The elven leader disappears from view, and the building becomes a blank stone wall. You shake your head, bewildered. "How does he do that?" You mutter to yourself.

You turn to see a large group of people waiting for you outside.

"Well, I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?"

The group of people gives a collective groan. They all give off the energy of weary, weathered travelers.

"The bad news is that we have to travel out into the eastern forest again and risk running into that mist. The good news is that Svaelen, one of our most powerful community leaders, is going to come with us next time."

The travelers all seem to perk up at this.

One of the citizens, a man with a large beard, says "Really? Well that's fantastic, let's get going right away."

You look down, unsure of this course of action. Everyone seemed so eager to move however, so you didn't want to keep them waiting for too long.

"I suppose if we're all rested up, we should make haste."

The group of travelers all get up and start walking in the direction of the eastern forest. You follow them.

"Svaelen, remember to come with us this time. We might need you if the purple mist comes back."

Svaelen nods and disappears from view.

The community continues walking. Everyone approached the eastern forest, there were more of them this time. This time, you were all in good spirits and ready to explore.

You made it out of the eastern wilderness safely, but couldn't help but feel a feeling of confusion wash over you.

"What do you think happened before? Svaelen did you sense anything this time around?"

He looks around, but remains silent.

You give a look of dismay.

"...Typical Svaelen. I'll take it you mean no? Okay then... We should start looking for resources."

Everyone seems excited about this.

You make your way towards a large cliff that rises up from the plains.

Svaelen shakes his head. "I don't remember the cliff being here before."

You feel another creeping sensation.

"This forest must have some strange and foreign magic coursing through it."

Svaelen nods.

"Well, I know this area pretty well, so I'll go first."

Everyone agrees.

"Okay then, follow me."

You begin to follow Svaelen through the forest and toward the mysterious cliff.

You come to the end of the forest and see the massive moss covered rock face. It's about a hundred feet tall. You see a ledge on the side of the cliff about half way up.

"Does anyone else see that ledge up there?" You say, pointing at the halfway mark of the cliff.

The group of travelers seem to see the ledge as well.

"Well? Are we going to explore it or not?" A man in the group asks.

You nod. "I guess we have to climb then."

Everyone outfits themselves with ropes and proper climbing gear. You all begin to climb up the cliffside.

The ledge on the cliffside looked just big enough for everyone to stand on, although there's wasn't much room otherwise.

"Okay, now everyone be very careful the rest of the way up. We're all squeezed together pretty close up on this ledge, so let's try to stick together."

The group nods in understanding and continues to make their way up the cliff. You continue to talk to them, occasionally mentioning that you can see a little further up.

You make it to the top, and ensured everyone else made it safely up the cliff. You gaze out over the other side, able to clearly see it now.

The plains of Silva spread out below you.

You can see the forest of Silva on the horizon. The purple mist that blocked your path earlier still lingers in the air, but it looks like it's moving a little.

"I wonder if the mist was some kind of weird storm... I guess it's moving away from us now."

You can't help but wonder if it was some kind of unnatural storm that the purple mist is capable of creating.

You look at the forest, it appears that the mist reached the forest and started to consume the trees.

"How did it get behind us!?" You yell. "Svaelen, what should we do!?"

Svaelen doesn't say anything, he just raises his hand and begins to invoke a magic spell. You feel a sense of comfort as you watch him disperse the deadly mist with but a flick of his wrist. You feel insecure for a moment... this man is so magically competent, and you feel as if you could never reach his level. The feeling quickly passes, and you relax. You're just glad everyone is safe.

"Let's get moving." He says. "We still have a long way to go."

You turn around and head back into the forest. You spot a lush grove in a small clearing filled with ample amounts of resources and supplies, it's enough to get the whole commune through for months at a time!

"Come on!" You exclaim. "Let's get to gathering all of this stuff up!"

Everyone begins to pick up the pace, gathering various supplies for the commune. You take your fill and continue your trek.

You come across a bridge that you built long ago. You smile, remembering the days of your youth as you built this old bridge with your friends. Strange though, you could have sworn that it was built in the western forest, not the eastern one. You quickly dismiss your thoughts as foolish, you're probably just seeing things in the reflection of the mist in the water.

You cross the bridge and continue your journey.

"Oh wow! What a beautiful day." You say, sighing happily. "We have so many supplies now... We should all come back in a few months to stock up again, give the area a chance to recover."

You lead the group out of the forest and back into the fields of Silva. Everyone seems to enjoy the trip, as the sun's rays dance across the sky in a beautiful display.

"We should be back in Yhiapshire in no time! Not much longer now."

As you continue to walk with the group, you notice that the landscape is slowly changing. You come to a full stop and everyone else does as well.

"W-wait... what's going on? This doesn't look familiar. Svaelen?"

Svaelen looks around and then shrugs.

"I think you'll find this place more familiar than you think, Iris."

You look around, trying to figure out why this place should be so familiar to you.

You take in the scenery for a moment, when you suddenly realize where you are. You shake your head, feelings of shock flooding your system. You feel lightheaded again, and unsure of your sanity.

"Th-This is the region I was born in... No, but I was born in Yhiapshire and my parents passed away soon after I was born... right? How is this possible? Was my backstory a lie? How do I suddenly know that this is my homeland!? This doesn't make any sense!"

Everyone seems to be getting anxious and uncomfortable with your questions.

"Iris, calm down." Says Svaelen, a strange deep tone to his voice now. "I don't think your story was a lie."

You try to breathe slowly.

"Okay... I'll try to stay calm. If I was born in a different region, then how did I get to Yhiapshire? What happened to my parents, and how do I suddenly know all of this? It's as if the information just flooded my mind and I started to remember..."

Everyone seems to be growing uncomfortable with your questions.

They are all silent.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest.

"Why is everyone staring at me? I'm scared okay? I'm just finding out for the first time that my life might not be what I thought it was before. It's just a lot to take in."

Svaelen says nothing, and you're unsure of why.

"Wh-Where am I?" You ask, your voice shaking.

You feel the ground cave a little, and you see that it has started to crumble.

You feel this sinking feeling of horror fill your chest.

"What the hell is going on!?" You scream.

Svaelen says Nothing, and everyone says Nothing. They all begin to melt in front of you, turning into soft piles of mud.

"I-I have to get OUT OF HERE!!"

You run, leaving everyone behind. Tears spill from your eyes, and you begin to wonder if this is all a dream, because nothing is making any sense.

A deep and demonic voice booms through your mind.

"IRIS…!"

You fall to your knees, sobs escaping your lips as you are consumed by fear…

You have this dark and unforgiving feeling pressing on your head, as all hope begins to slip away…

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you flinch, falling back.

"Wh-Who are you!? STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

You can feel your body shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

A young man about your age with dark brown hair and kind blue eyes looks back at you, kneeling down to meet your eyes.

"Hey, hey… it's okay now… it's okay."

You feel yourself relax a little.

"I… I don't know where I am… who I am."

You hide your face and continue to cry.

"I just want to go home!..."

The man put a gentle hand on your shoulder, it felt comforting.

"Look, I know you must be really scared right now. I promise, you can trust me… I'm your friend. If you come with me, I'll make sure you have a safe place to stay if that would make you feel more comfortable. We can figure out what's going on together, don't worry."

He helps you to your feet. You follow the young man as he leads you through the plains. You don't know where this kind and gentle man came from, but you are grateful that he is willing to help. He seems to know where he's going, and he doesn't lead you into danger.

You both stop at a cave, where you see a man standing there.

He grins.

"Leirik, where have ya been off to? And who's this lass that you've brought with you?"

The nice man smiles back at him.

"She's a friend of mine, her name is Iris."

Your eyes widen.

"How do you know my name? Have we met somewhere before? I don't recognize you from the commune..."

He grabs your hands.

"We have indeed met before. I was a friend of yours back when you were still with your mother, Rielle."

You let out a heavy sigh.

"So you know more about my history than I do... this place, it stirs up these Familiar feelings and vague memories... it's all still so fuzzy and unclear though."

He looks down.

"I know. But we can talk about it on our trip. Now, you'll be needing a safe place to sleep tonight, I know a nice place close by..."

You feel a tightness in your chest, like you don't want to leave his side and you don't know why.

"Can I stay with you?" You ask. "I promise I won't be much trouble."

He gives you a surprised look.

"Well, I guess for now that would be alright... Irden, what's your take on this?" Said Leirik, gesturing to the gruff yet nice seeming man in the cave.

Irden nods. "Aye, I have no problem with that."

"Well, I guess we'll head in for the night then." Says Leirik with a smile. You give a shy smike in response, and step inside the cave.

The cave is surprisingly nice. It's warm, and the bedding here looks surprisingly soft.

Leirik gestures toward the bedding.

"Get some rest if you need, and we'll talk more tomorrow okay?"

You nod slowly, settling down and wrapping the warm blankets around you.

"Umm… Leirik?" You ask softly.

He looks over at you.

"Hmm? What is it?"

You look away, feeling bashful for some reason.

"Just… thank you for helping me."

He smiles warmly at you.

"Of course Iris… Now get some rest."

He sits next to the fire and begins to chat with Irden.

You feel a deep sense of exhaustion come over you and fall asleep within minutes of laying down…

[asexual-abomination]

Hi 🥺 I saw requests were open? Could you maybe do platonic Phantom Troupe with the reader having echolalia? If the troupe is too much, maybe just Chrollo and Feitan? Thank you in advance 🥺

Thank you so much for this request! I had a lot of fun writing it!

I know that echolalia and a lot of other symptoms show up differently in different people, so I had to base this on my own experience, and I have a tendency to echo literally anything, words, sounds, rhythms, anything.

I decided to have this take place in a scenario where reader copies each member individually!

Chrollo

Probably the one who has read up on any and all of your symptoms, since he considers it his responsibility to be educated on your needs

When, after you happened to be sat in a meeting with the Troupe, you began muttering to yourself, he wanted to see if you were alright

As he walked up to after, hoping to speak with you, he was surprised to see you repeating a seemingly innocuous phrase from somewhere in the middle of the meeting

Chrollo would recognize this as a stim, but he wouldn’t understand immediately why you would be stimming something he randomly said

He would be a bit thrown off when your explanation is very simple, telling him that it just sounded right, felt right in your brain

He wouldn’t tell a soul, but a little part of him was proud that you found his voice that nice to listen to that you’d imitate it for fun

He definitely doesn’t mind, and even encourages any stimming in general, since he can see that it makes you happy

Machi

While most of her medical training is in more physical things, after it was mentioned that you were autistic, she decided to go and top up her knowledge of neurodivergency.

At one point during a mission, she murmured to herself to remember a safe’s code, not realizing that she was within earshot of you

Several hours after the mission was over and everyone was celebrating the spoils of victory, she overheard you repeating the code to yourself over and over again

She expressed her confusion to you, reminding you that the mission was over and there was no need for the code anymore

When your response was to tell her that the code simply sounded nice, she would probably get confused for a moment

Machi doesn’t quite understand how some random string of numbers can ‘sound nice’ but she also knows that your brain functions differently from hers

I don’t see her making too big a deal out of it, but she’d actually make a sly comment about how much you listen to her

Other than that, she happy to let you stim as you please!

Phinks

Probably not educated at all about the intricacies of your stimming or any symptoms in general, but he'll never get upset with you, since he understands on some level that it's just how you are

I'd imagine that the way you'd echo from him miiight come from overhearing him death threatening a scared hostage

Definitely spooks him when he hears you mumbling the harshest and longest string of curses he's ever heard

Mostly because you're spitting the words with the exact same tone as he did, and he thinks that you're trying to threaten him

(He doesn't wanna mess with you 😆)

When he finally figures out that you're copying him, he jumps to the next conclusion that you're mocking him

"What? Am I not intimidating to you? I sure scared that scum back there!"

"What are you talking about?"

His face when you explain yourself to him is nothing short of flustered, and he begins profusely apologizing

He gets super caught up whenever he's accidentally ableist, since he wants you to feel safe around him

Once you've cleared up the situation, he actually takes joy in seeing you copy him, and if he gets the chance he'll want to teach you how to be more intimidating

Uvogin

Another case of not really knowing what stims are, but being respectful of them anyway

I mean, man is literally eight feet tall, he doesn't care about whatever weird things anyone else might do

He roars at the back of his throat once, and that's it

When he's walking past you after a mission, Uvo's almost shocked to hear you making a vague growling noise constantly

Since he likes to lean into his animal side a bit more than others, he'll jokingly ask if you're trying to intimidate him, much like Phinks

When you explain to him to you thought that his roar was fun enough to copy, he also takes an odd sense of pride in it

He's not normally a man for any kind of subtlety, but if you actually found his roars pleasing to listen to, he'll see if he can roar at a volume that won't immediately burst your eardrums without protection or distance

If you do a lot of vocal stimming in general, especially imitation of his roars, I can see him taking you out to some mountain or cave or whatever to practice your roar for some fun bonding

Nobunaga

Okay so we know that he spends plenty of time around Machi, so she's probably explained some of the main symptoms of your autism at some point when he asked

But when he sits next to you and hears you trying to imitate the sounds that his sword makes when he charges it with his Nen, he looks at you incredulously for a moment

You may not have even noticed that you were echoing at first, so you'll probably be confused when you see him looking at you

"Oh, sorry, your sword just sounds nice!"

*Cue even further confusion from him*

Completely doesn't get how a sword sounds nice, but kind of has this "You do you, kid" attitude about it

May or may not invite you to listen to his practice and then wait until afterwards to listen for your echoes because he finds it cute

Shizuku

Okay I'm gonna be honest, when Blinky first appeared in show and made that noise, I was taken and kept trying to make the same noise for hours whenever it appeared

"Shizuku, why did you summon Blinky? Is something wrong?"

"What are you talking about? I didn't summon them?"

"Oh that was me, sorry."

Definitely has a giggle about it when she finds that you enjoy echoing her Nen ability

Will summon Blinky whenever you want to 'have a chat' with them

Very openly thinks you're absolutely adorable with it, and it's one of the first things she'll do every time she gets to see you

Shalnark

Honestly, he says everything with such a happy, upbeat tone, anything he says can be copied for fun

His laugh is the best, so you're probably echoing that

He's probably not too shocked when he hears an attempt his own laugh coming from down the hallway, thinking someone's trying to play a prank on him

But he'll be a little confused when he finds you

When you reveal the truth of what you were doing, oh god, be prepared

"Aww, you like my voice that much??"

"You do a pretty good impression of me, must spend a lot of time listening, huh?"

He WILL NOT stop until he gets to see you blush, though if he does overstep and upset you, he'll tone it back down immediately

Might not change anything especially big with his usual way of talking, but will take a moment to appreciate his own voice whenever he catches you imitating him

Bonolenov

THE MUSIC!!

Okay I know that they're mainly used for battle and injuring people's ears, but he definitely has more calm songs that he plays for his friends

When you first hear it, the tunes are so enchanting that you will be humming or whistling it for weeks afterwards

He's sitting and relaxing when he hears you attempting to hum the tune of a sweet lullaby he had once played for the Troupe

It's probably not a perfect replication, since it takes a while to learn the songs he makes, but it makes his heart melt to think that you want to try your hand at his beloved music

When he overhears you, he jumps in to begin gushing about the song you found so lovely

Asking if you'd like to hear it again -  he'd certainly love to play it for you again!

He might seem really overexcited, but he's genuinely happy that he can bring you joy with his ability

Franklin

Took me a moment to think of something for him, but after a while of thinking:

He speaks slowly and calmly quite often, so I can imagine that he can sometimes say things in very rhythmic fashion, which will catch on very quick

You're walking away from a quick chat with him, when he hears you whispering under your breath

Normally wouldn't even make a note of it, but he wants to make sure you're okay

(Definitely isn't worried about you and wanting to keep you safe)

His reaction when you tell him that you liked the way that he said something is a mix between "Oh, that's nice" and "What are you on about"

Has probably the least amount of education on stimming, but also one of the most open to learning, since he wants to do what he can to keep those he cares about safe and happy

Will be a bit put off by the way you seem to copy him at first, but definitely doesn't mind after a while

Silently thanks you for making him take a moment to appreciate his own voice

Pakunoda

Sweetheart hums a meteor city anthem one day, and isn't really shocked when she comes upon you humming it yourself

Since she's looked into your mind with her ability, she knows the way that you like to echo certain sounds, and doesn't mind at all

If she's listening from around a corner or such, she will smile joyfully and quietly wait out of your sight

Unless you catch her in the act, she's actually quite happy to not let you know of presence while she enjoys the thought of you enjoying her culture

But, if you do catch her, she'll probably start gushing to you about the origin of whichever song you wanted to imitate

She wants you to feel happy, however you wish to pursue that, and will absolutely hype you up in any sort of stimming you need to do

Whether you want her to ignore your echoing, or to join in whenever she hears, she's happy to do whatever you ask to keep you happy

Feitan

If he catches you copying something he said in broken language, at first he will assume that you were making fun of him

Not because he thinks that you're mean spirited, just because he's used to people mocking

With most members of the Troupe, he would show no mercy at this point, but since he actually likes you, you get one chance to explain yourself

Once you tell him about why you're copying him, he'll be seriously confused for a moment

Yeah he's never heard the word echolalia before

So you'll have to explain it to him

Probably doesn't immediately get it, but he lets you off the hook for it, since he does understand that you're very different from him and the others

Doesn't really think too much of it once you've cleared up that you aren't mocking him, although he finds it interesting to listen to you talking about how stimming works, even when he doesn't understand half of it

Kortopi

Actually another case that assumes that you're mocking him

He's used to being acknowledged as a weak link in the Troupe, and would get quite internally upset if he thought you were also in on the joke

I can't explain why I think this, but I actually see him as one of the most educated members of the group when it comes to any sort of neurodiversity, since I think he's neurodivergent himself, but he probably doesn't catch on immediately that this stems from your own autism

Wouldn't confront you straight away, but when he does, he tries to be as professional as possible about it

Cue a string of quiet apologies when you explain yourself

Quickly tries to explain himself to you, and you probably bond over how annoying it can be to have stimming misunderstood

Tries his best to let you know from then on that any symptoms you need to express are accepted around him, since he knows that you accept him as well

-----

Thanks for reading!

[officialleehadan]

Claxon Call

The Quasar was a ship unlike any ever built. In fact, it wasn’t built as a single ship at all, but was rather a series of destroyers that had been fused together. The garden domes, were added later, and so were most of the more serious weapons, and armor. All in all, it was a fortress, and not one that most people were willing to challenge.

So when the claxons sounded, and the shields dropped, Cuira called her handmaidens together, sat them down, and determinedly kept calm.

“There is nothing we can do to affect the battle,” Cuira told them as she took a seat beneath her lemon tree again, and reached for her basket. It held half a dozen half-finished projects of various sorts, and she chose one at random. The one that came to hand was her bobbin-lace pillow, and she got it settled on her lap with hands that barely shook. It wasn’t her first space-battle, and she was used to being left to wait and see what happened. “Better to get comfortable. Does anyone have anything to read aloud?”

“Bess has a book of poetry,” Mariza said. Like Cuira, she was afraid, but she hid it well. All of Cuira’s handmaidens had some combat training, but they were chosen to be decorative, and as a last chance for survival, not as warriors. She set her picnic basket in the center of their ring in case anyone got hungry. Cuira doubted any of them could stand to eat, but then, she didn’t know any of her six maids terribly well. Mostly, it was because they were a somewhat flighty lot. “Bess, would you read to us? It might- it might help with the noise.”

“Alright,” Bess said, braver than Cuira expected. She was afraid, like they all were, but given a little instruction, she seemed to do reasonably well. “If- If Your Majesty doesn’t mind, it’s mostly about flowers.”

“I don’t mind,” Cuira assured her. Given, poetry about flowers wasn’t her first choice, but they didn’t have much in the way of options unless someone happened to have a communications padd handy, which she rather doubted. Cuira herself preferred actual books in her hands, a product of a decidedly old-fashioned education that put emphasis on the permanence of physical knowledge. Go ahead if you like. The rest of you, talk as you will, but please keep your voices low for those who are listening.”

There was a murmur of frightened agreement around the circle, but some of the tension faded away. Bess was one of the youngest maids, but she read well, and the poems turned out to be about the small personifications of the flowers themselves, and was much more enjoyable than Cuira expected. The rest of the maids spoke quietly amongst themselves, and offered soft thanks when Cuira opened her craft-basket to them.

Anything that helped to distract frum the thunderous explosions that rocked the ship was welcome.

A claxon sounded in the distance, just near enough to be heard, and Cuira determinedly ignored it. Either there was danger, or there wasn’t, and there was very little chance any of them would be much help in any situation at present. Another claxon sounded, closer this time, and the garden dome shuddered furiously as something struck it.

It went on for more than an hour. The shudder of impact on the dome, and the ship around it. The claxons that sounded, and silenced, and sounded again somewhere else. The distinctive rumble of the Quasar’s huge engines roaring to life, ready to maneuver them amidst the unseen fight outside. Cuira determinedly kept her mind on her project, and her ears on Bess’s poetry as her maids talked nervously around her. When the battle came up as a topic, she gently steered them onto softer topics.

No need to allow themselves to become frantic.

Halfway through the battle, Cuira noticed the gardeners of the dome creeping closer, not out of aggression, but seeking what little stability they could find in the moment. She caught their eyes, one by one, and gave each a small nod of permission. One by one, they settled, politely distant from her circle of maids, but close enough to hear Bess.

Perhaps some would scold her for allowing the workers of the ship so near, but she knew these gardeners. They were often the friendliest faces she saw all day, and they never bothered her when she sought the peace of the gardens. Now, they were afraid, and she could offer them some comfort in return.

A massive explosion made the whole ship tilt, and the stabilizers fired. Cuira found herself tumbling sideways as the ground dropped away to her left. Flailing hands caught hers, and she pulled herself into a tight knot with her maids, supported by the planters to either side of them.

“Stay calm,” she instructed, even though her own heart pounded. She hoped it didn’t show in her voice. “His Majesty will settle matters soon enough. There is no reason to panic.”

Mariza snorted in her ear, and Cuira elbowed her, but didn’t comment. Soon enough, the ship tilted back to level, and Cuira breathed a sigh of relief. When no more explosions followed, she gathered her lace back onto her lap, and put her back to the planter just in case the ship listed again. It took Bess two tries to start reading again, but she managed it and Cuira gave her a smile of approval. Perhaps she had been too hard on her maids. They were doing their best, and she was not an easy charge.

Finally, the alarms silenced, and did not return. The explosions faded away, and the Quasar fell still, at peace once more. Cuira waited until Bess finished her latest poem, about the mischievous spirit of a chestnut tree, and then got to her feet. The rest of her maids scrambled to follow.

“It seems the battle is over,” she said, and shook her skirts out, before she tucked her lace away in her basket. It went over to redheaded Nina, who looped it over her arm without a word. “Mariza, Whiloh, Hanni, Brihn, with me. The rest of you, back to my chambers. With luck, I will return soon with news. Until then, be safe and stay out of the way if you can. We don’t know what new enemy has dared to attack our home.”

+++ Forging an Empire:

Cuira was sent to marry a man who would soon rule a substantial part of their galaxy. She would have been happier about it if she had a chance to meet him first.

Garden Dome

+++

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