#does it feel like a waste of paper when it's already printed in the book? a little bit. but it pisses me off less.

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Chart b finished on shawl #10, which means I’m officially free from purl decreases. People who can do purl two together through the back loop and don’t want to cry are stronger than me. 

[thatshithurted8]

jeff wittek imagine where the reader and jeff go on vacation together like to vegas or miami???

Holiday 

Summary: Throughout your mini holiday in Miami with your boyfriend Jeff, he realizes just how special you and your relationship are. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, mention of alcoholism and Jeff’s accident

A/N This is also inspired by KSI’s song Holiday! 

I wanna wake up every mornin', feelin' better 'Cause I know you're sleeping by my side And every moment we're together I remember just to keep it all for you and I

Jeff’s brown eyes slowly open, being awoken by a crying baby that was a few rows behind you two. He lets out a yawn before looking over at you who were fast asleep on his shoulder. 

Something that not a lot of people knew was that Jeff hated flying despite being a certified skydiver. Ever since he was younger he was never a fan of flying, only now he was a bit more comfortable with it due to his experience skydiving. Nevertheless his initial nerves after waking up quickly wash away just from being in your presence.

Wanting to capture this seemingly perfect moment, Jeff slowly grabs his phone out of his pocket without disturbing you and takes a quick picture. As he analyzes the picture his heart swells at how at peace and comfortable you looked sleeping on him and in one of his sweaters. The two of you were extremely tired from catching a red eye flight to Miami so no wonder why you both fell asleep. 

Saving the picture Jeff puts his phone away and slowly opens the blind of your window seat. The rising sun shines into your row, the rays illuminating your face making your features and long lashes more prominent. The purpose of the trip to Miami was to watch the Logan Paul vs Floyd Mayweather fight. In fact you were ecstatic when Jeff told you he got you guys tickets to the event since you grew up watching boxing with your family and you were a huge fan of Mayweather. With that being said you had no idea how close the tickets Jeff got were to the ring. 

Jeff’s breath hitches as he admires you. He was so in love with you and was so excited to see your reaction to being ringside. As Jeff softly moves some stray hairs out of your face he realizes everything he does is for the benefit for not only you, but your relationship as well. It was you two against the world. 

I see that body in the sunlight Feelin' the heat and it feels right I wanna do this for the rest of my life

“I know you guys are dating and all, but you seriously need to stop staring before you sink the boat with your drool.” Mike Maijlak says walking over to Jeff’s side and handing him a La Croix. 

Jeff booked your mini holiday to last a few days before and after the fight which gave you guys the opportunity to explore Miami and let lose. With that being said neither of you were going to turn down Mike’s invite to join him on a yacht to party. So there you were talking and dancing with some girls you knew from LA while sipping on a La Croix. 

Jeff lets out a laugh while opening one of his favourite drinks. “I can’t help it man, just look at her.” He says taking a sip of the bubbly liquid while continuing to admire you from afar. 

The Miami sun that shined onto your skin paired with your infectious laugh, seemingly gave you a golden glow that made you standout. Not only that, but the bikini that you were wearing flattered your body type so well. 

After feeling as if someone was staring at you for the past few minutes you finally turn and look around the boat to find the owner of the eyes that were on you. Quickly your eyes find Jeff’s brown ones and you realize it was just Jeff staring at you the whole time, causing heat to wash over your body at his gaze. 

You shoot him a smirk and wink in return before turning back around to continue your conversation. A smirk of his own falls upon Jeff’s face as you do so, along with a light shade of pink on his cheeks. 

“You’re so whipped.” Mike laughs shaking his head, finally speaking up after watching the whole interaction. 

“Well I wanna be whipped for her for the rest of my life then.” Jeff says without realizing how big of a statement that was while his eyes remained on your beautiful figure. 

Oh, I know, I know, you know the vibe I wanna stay with you every night You and me underneath the lights I'm always good when you're by my side I know, you know you're on my mind You really make me come alive I wanna be here for the rest of my life

“Jeff look at my hands I’m literally shaking I can’t believe we’re this close!” You exclaim while glancing between your boyfriend and the boxing ring in front of you. 

“Only the best for you doll.” He says sending you a wink while laughing. For the past hour and a half as you two watched the undercards you continued to gush about your seats making Jeff happy to see you happy. 

Without wasting another second you roughly grab Jeff by his green shirt and pull him in for a passionate kiss. Just before the brunette could immerse himself into it fully you pull away. Some of your lipstick was smudged and Jeff knew without a doubt he had some on his lips, but he didn’t care. In that moment it truly seemed as if you two were the only ones there under the rings bright lights and in an arena full of screaming fans while you two stared into each others eyes lovingly. 

Your attention on your boyfriend is torn away when the already loud arena becomes even louder as Mayweather starts to walk out. Quickly you start to cheer for your favourite boxer while jumping up and down and clapping excitedly. Jeff glances between you and the boxing legend before his gaze finally lands on you. 

You look over at your boyfriend with a smile that was from ear to ear. “It’s Floyd fucking Mayweather!” You exclaim pointing over to the undefeated boxer entering the ring. 

A smile washes over Jeff’s face as he laughs at your excitement. You truly resembled a child in a toy store. Seeing your excitement only made Jeff more excited, causing him to join in on cheering for Mayweather despite being friends with Logan. 

There was no one else Jeff would rather be with to witness the fight and this thought only made him realize he wants to be by your side for the rest of his life. 

Looking for sun rays, needin' them good days Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Cool like the ocean, lost in emotion Fly me away-away, you're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday Whenever you're here it's a good time Strawberry shirts in the sunshine Ice-cold drinks 'til the moonlight You're my holiday

The next few days after the fight was a whirlwind, but in a good way. Despite having a good time underneath the Miami sun and it’s nightlife Jeff wouldn’t be having as good of a time if you weren’t there. You truly made the trip for him, making the sunny days that were good for his mental health even better and the dreary days full of life from your infectious positivity and smile.  

You let out a loud laugh as you and Jeff wrap your arms around each others, mimicking a toast before brining your drink to your lips while your boyfriend did the same. At the same time you two sip at your virgin drinks while maintaining eye contact with each other in the close position. You gulp down the rest of your cold drink despite it being alcohol free before untangling your arm with Jeff’s and ordering another at the outside bar. 

Over the past four years of knowing Jeff the two of you created a special connection that no one in your friend group had with each other. And that was being sober. Jeff turned to alcohol after his break up with his ex girlfriend while you on the other hand turned to it to deal with the death of your mom. To say you were there for each other was an understatement. When the temptation to drink was too much Jeff would call you up and the two of you would go on late night hikes and talk about everything and anything, and vice versa for you. There was always a mutual pining for one another, but neither of you acted on it due to how broken you both were at the time. However, as the years went by your feelings only intensified along with Jeff’s. Though it wasn’t until a few months after Jeff’s accident when he took a leap of faith and finally confessed his feelings to you after realizing how short life truly was.

Jeff places his glass on the bar as well, placing his hand on the small of your back while looking around the crowded club that was partly inside and partly outside. Once you get a refill of your drink you turn around sipping on the paper straw, your back leaning against the bar causing Jeff to redirect his attention back to you. 

“You look beautiful.” He says looking down at you in his arms. 

Heat washes over your face and Jeff’s smile widens at how flustered you still got after all this time together. He loved showering you in words of affirmation and he meant every thing he said to you. Although, you always look beautiful the way the moonlight reflected off of your skin made you look angelic. It was a great contrast to you earlier in the day at the beach wearing a strawberry printed bikini that made Jeff feel a certain way. 

“Thank you baby you don’t look too bad yourself.” You say placing a soft peck on Jeff’s lips before pulling him towards the dance floor. 

I wanna stay up 'til the mornin' with you talkin' Just to listen to the things you say And every time we're in the middle of the city I imagine us so far away

The two of you sat down in a booth with Mike Majilak and Logan Paul at a random Denny’s that was in between your hotel and the club you four were previously partying at. By now the jet lag and the numerous activities you and Jeff participated in was starting to catch up to you. However, that wasn’t apparent to anyone other than Jeff as you talked the boys ears off while eating. 

“We’ll see you guys later! And once again Y/N text me when you’re free to film an episode of ImPaulsive.” Logan says as him and Mike get out of the booth, placing money on the table and getting ready to leave the restaurant. 

“Of course!” You exclaim before picking up your lemonade and drinking what was left. Jeff bids his goodbyes to the two influencers and once they leave you quickly rest your head on his broad shoulder, letting out a loud sigh. 

“You okay doll?” Jeff asks placing his hand on your thigh. 

“Yea just tired.” You say kissing his neck and placing your hand on his cheek. Similar to Jeff you were able to pick up on the energy of situations and that affected how you acted. So once Mike and Logan left you felt as if you could finally wind down from their partying aura. 

A comforting silence falls upon you two and your eyes slowly flutter close as the rising sun shines in through the Denny’s windows. As cliche as it sounded Jeff felt as if it was only you two in the quiet breakfast place. The brunette rests his head against yours and his eyes follows your lead by shutting close. 

The two of you remain in this position for a few minutes, cherishing not only the first quiet moment of the trip, but also the little moments you two shared. 

Ooh, ooh Ooh, you're my holiday

Scratching at his eyes and stretching Jeff slowly and quietly gets out of bed, the sun filtering in through the hotels curtains and onto your sleeping body. You looked so peaceful and he didn’t want to disturb that. Once you guys returned to your hotel room from a night out partying and a very early breakfast at Denny’s the two of you instantly fell asleep. 

Jeff glances at the analogue clock on the bedside table which read 2:34pm before he slips on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Making sure to not wake you Jeff grabs his phone, wallet and room key then quietly leaves your shared room. However, before he leaves he makes sure to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and whisper to you how much he loves you. 

Throughout the trip he was constantly reminded of how much he loved you. You helped him through some of the darkest times in his life and after all this time of knowing and being together Jeff finally knew what he had to do. 

Remembering a shop that was a few buildings away from your hotel, Jeff quickly walks over to it wanting to be back before you woke up. The Staten Island native hands become clammy as he approaches the store, his tough guy persona seemingly crashing down with every step he took. 

The bell above the shops door dings as Jeff walks in causing a sales representative to walk over to him with a welcoming smile. 

“Good afternoon how can I help you?” She asks. Jeff takes a look around the quaint shop and all of the glass casings before redirecting his attention back to the worker. 

“Hi uh yea, I was wondering if you guys have any engagement rings?” 

[call-me-amanda]

BTS as Lawyers

10 facts plus read the smuts on

Wattpad or Spirit

⚠️Warnings:

Min Yoongi as Milen York

He’s like a demon (lawyer) of contracts keeping souls (deeds) in a piece of paper

Always wears the whole suit, unless he’s already at his office, sitting in his leather chair and completely concentrated on his job

Is not the type of making many trips a year, but when he does his phone dies and he just charge it when he comes back home (which means two or three months living like a ghost)

He is known for being coldblooded, dealing with his rivals as it was an actual war (and he never lost, not even once)

The firm has his surname, indeed it became famous ‘cause he is the face of the justice

His bank account hide millions, still he ain’t the kind of man whose spends too much, saving for what he really needs, or, at the end of some good season, an amount end up being donated for charity

Many basketball players are on the list of his loyal clients, hiring him not only to take care of their properties, but to go out to chat and drink some scotch in a private club

Has a collection of exclusive basket balls (he goes at each game and, of course, he is always wearing his best grey suit)

The associates fear him. He can be very demanding, pushing them far hard an ordinary human could normally handle. However, when someone catches his attention, he is capable of teaching everything he knows for his special pupil

Sex is one of his last concerns. A lawyer known by name commonly attracts self-serving women, so is kinda easy chose who and when he’s gonna fuck

Kim Namjoon as Kristopher Nandes

He’s the type of lawyer that pursue many black cards and doesn’t stay a single week in one place, traveling around the world and building an empire by making rich and famous clients

Speaks four languages and is finishing his russian classes. This made him a true polyglot (that’s the definition of a sexy brain)

Loves to say legal brocade in some discussions. He knows what every article of international law says and can dictate it backwards (please, don’t try him)

Reads two or three books per month, always bringing one pocket version with him anywhere he goes (has an incredible collection of classics at home, with separate sections for his personal lawyer books)

He’s a writer. His truly dream was to be a word wide celebrity, with his masterpieces published in every country with a billion copys sold out

Far from dumb, he knows a few tricks to arouse women. It’s a one night stand, but is the best of their lives (most girls are models and brunettes, but sometimes they might be the fiancée of one of his clients, so let’s keep it on the low)

His suit is evermore clean, has an expensive watch on the wrist and not a cheap glasses on his face though. Wherever he goes people notice him and take word by word that leaves his mouth as a holy prophecy

People respect him. On the court, no one can with him. The judge gets impressed easily by his features. He has an argument for everything (again, don’t test him)

The papers he cares are all handwritten. Prints are only for contracts, beyond that he prefers to waste ink in some stunning clever words

He is a great son, supporting his family from far away. Here and there he sends an envelope with dollar bills. His little brother admire him and wishes to become just like the cool older bro

Jung Hoseok as John Hoffman

For being well married with a beautiful and succeeded judge since he graduated he is really satisfied with his romantic life pushing away anyone who don’t respect that

Feels guilty when his clients don’t win and try to comfort them the best way he can (depending on the client, they go to a bar drown their sorrows with dignity)

It doesn’t matter the extension of work, he gives his blood, sweat and tears for the cause

Hates working on divorce when it has a child involved (he and his wife are trying to have a baby and it gets so blue when he thinks about like “what if it was my son’s situation? poor him! no one deserve that”)

Eats a lot of healthy food and makes exercises before going to work every morning as a strict routine

With a busy schedule he ain’t got no choice but to wait until the very end of the day to give attention for his wife and does whatever he waited so long for (when he’s incapable of finishing the work at the firm, he does home office)

Everybody loves him. For being so gentle on the way he talks, the way he solve problems and for act politely with his colleagues. Even his boss toast in his name

He is almost getting a promotion, but he still doesn’t know yet. Probably he’ll go out for a dinner with his wife and they gonna order some red wine and have a big lobster to celebrate

A growth man shouldn’t fear ties, but he does. The allegations are: “this devilish thing could hang me some day” and “there’s no way I’m gonna cosplay some random clown wearing a white butterfly tie with red circles as if I was a character of Stephen King’s book”

He never leaves without his black suitcase. The funny thing is that the outside is filled with stickers about his profession. His car keys too have a golden libra symbol key chain, which means he’s very proud of his career

Kim Taehyung as Killian Tennant

He has his own office in Chicago, works all by himself, but sometimes he receives help of his lawyer friends (when it comes to be civil cases, which are not his specialty)

Likes a little too much of role playing a detective in his cases, searching and discovering secrets that might ruin someone’s reputation

Doesn’t wear common suit, preferring brown tones waistcoats of the best cotton around the world (he has a particular taste of clothing, it has to be exposed)

The more difficult the job is, the more he’s into it (sorta obsessed for improving his logical skills and showing to his ego he’s the greatest)

Once in a while he hires interns and all of them think he went insane, never ever coming back to work for him again (insane may be overstatement, eccentric fits better)

His so pure and fights so hard for justice that blindly believes in any client, even though the accusations against them are really severe

He is fearless, visiting his clients at dirty and stinky jails. He also makes a lot of enemies, most of them are penalty’s dissatisfied families and a bunch of police officers that rather be sleeping at job’s time than answering the lawyer’s routine questions about prisoners cares

Released many doomed outta prison, saving countless innocents lives and bringing back happiness for their families (you should consider him a real life hero)

Has a huge mansion with a magnificent view of the city and a lot of muscle cars, including Mustangs and others preciousness

He is a natural teaser and both, girls and boys (mostly are small women), suffer of his extravagant blinks and insistent invitations for a tour on the city in one of his cars

Jeon Jungkook as Jean Jacobs

When he ain’t at the office he’s probably at the gym. Working out is how he relax putting away the bunch of problems that aren’t his

Likes to stay only with his socks during the work because he walks a lot when he’s talking on the phone and his shoes hurt him

Wakes up, eats, works out, takes a cold bath, gets ready, leaves for the office, makes new clients, drives home, takes a hot shower and sleeps

It has a rival firm that steal sportsmen by offering crazy contracts and he is pissed of with a woman in specific. She stole half of his clients and now she’ll deal with the consequences

He’s workaholic. Has no hobbies besides taking care of his big body. Thinks about clients, money, papers and pens (seldom craves for a small girl in his strong arms)

Adores to listen to loud music. His brain gets faster and he can focus easily turning the reading process kinda fun

His few friends drag him to nightclubs. A ruthless headache beat him up at every party he goes (almost as if he was allergic to amusement)

Tinny drinks during the day heals him. He overcame a drinking vicious, or at least decreased the number of bottles

Wrath is his ultimate enemy. There ain’t much to get on his nerves, but once he gets angry you better get down ‘cause things are gonna be thrown

Wants to move to Miami and gets tanned on the beach. That’s why he barely breathe and just does his stressful job

Kim Seokjin as Kaleo Sueji

Park Jimin as Paul Jinx

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 1

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance. Billy gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀'𝕞 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕕, 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪, 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕙

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕕 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were grabbing armfuls of clothes out of the wardrobe and dumping them into the three massive suitcases you’d laid open on the floor. If any of your friends had seen you at that point, they’d have said you looked like a woman possessed.

Finally, the wardrobe was empty of your clothes, and you moved on to the chest of drawers and then the bathroom. The contents were shovelled into a couple of large backpacks, as were various other bits and bobs from bedside table drawers and shelving units. In a surprisingly short space of time, you’d packed up everything that belonged to you in this damned apartment.

That left you just two very quick things to do, and you could then somehow get all this luggage downstairs into the lobby and get the hell out of Dodge.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The receptionist at the airport hotel you were booking into looked at the amount of luggage you had with you, and studied your face again carefully. No doubt she was wondering if you were a celebrity. Obviously deciding that there was an outside chance that you were but she just hadn’t recognised you, you were given an upgrade on the room without even asking for one.

Plopping down onto the bed once you’d got into your room, you rummaged around in one of the backpacks until you found your laptop, connecting it to the hotel WiFi. Opening one of the major airlines’ websites, you began scrolling through the destinations offered from JFK.

So many to choose from!

Now to plan your getaway.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy Russo got back home really late. He was going to be in trouble, no doubt about it... he hadn’t even texted because he hadn’t wanted to face any questions about what he was doing and when he’d be home.

Opening the apartment door, he was surprised to find it in darkness. Oh... had she gone to bed already? That wasn’t a good sign. He switched on the lights and immediately noticed a sheet of paper and a photo frame lying prominently on the kitchen island.

Walking over, he didn’t even have to pick up the note to read it. There was only one word, printed large.

“Goodbye.”

His stomach knotted and then he looked at the photo frame lying next to it. The photo was the one which was usually on the bedside table, a favourite of his.... she was sitting on a bar stool and he was behind her, his arms right around her. Both laughing into the lens as the photo was taken.

The photo was still in the frame, but it was torn in two.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Finally, by the next morning you’d decided on London. You’d never been, and quite honestly wanted to lose yourself in another big city. Flight booked, an AirBnB apartment booked for two weeks and you didn’t need a visa, so you were all set.

Now just one more thing to do. You opened up the box containing your new mobile phone and fitted the SIM card into it. After about twenty minutes of entering contact details and various apps onto it, you took your original phone and called Karen.

Her bored voice answered so you knew she was already at work, but she perked up when she heard your voice.

“Hi honey! How’re things? Wanna meet up for lunch today? I’m bored and I need a good gossip.”

You were a freelance copy writer and so you were your own boss. There were one or two assignments you were currently working on, but you could work from anywhere you could get a WiFi connection, so that wasn’t a problem.

“Uhhh, sadly not darling, I’m flying to London this afternoon.” You could hear her intake of breath, then she squealed, “Oh you lucky woman, how’d you manage to land an assignment like that?”

You gave a bitter little laugh, “I’ve left Billy.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had sat on his sofa for a long time after he’d seen the note and photo. At first he’d just had to sit down, overwhelmed, as he had the most horrible feeling that his world was crashing down around his ears.

She was the one person who made him feel safe and loved. But he knew only too well that he’d been walking the line recently what with the situation at Anvil and having to keep Madani sweet. He hadn’t actually crossed the line, but he’d had to make sure she thought that he would, and soon at that. Would he have crossed it? He’d need to get back to himself on that question.

Of course he’d mentioned none of this to his girl. But obviously - somehow - he mustn’t have done a very good job at being discreet because she’d guessed something was up. And left him.

He’d poured himself a large whisky and downed it in one, before going over to the window and looking out forlornly at the city lights. Then he called Frank.

When he heard the gruff growl on the other end of the line, he said, “She’s left me, Frankie,” and realised how hoarse his voice sounded.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“What?!” screeched Karen. You hadn’t divulged your recent secret fears to her, hoping against hope that you were wrong when you’d started noticing little things over the past few weeks. But now you gave her a full rundown of it all.

More and more claims of ‘working late’ and ‘being very busy at work’.

Alcohol on his breath after he’d been on these ‘working late’ evenings.

A distinct smell of CK’s Eternity from a jumper he’d left crumpled up in a corner on the bedroom floor when he’d been out extra late one evening.

The final straw? You almost laughed when you thought about it, as it was such a cliché. A smear of dark red lipstick on the inside collar on one of his otherwise pristine white shirts. And another unmistakable whiff of Eternity.

You’d never be able to wear that damn perfume again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frankie had been suitably sympathetic to start with, but had then begun to berate Billy for being ‘a stupid asshole’ once he’d explained what he’d been up to with Madani. “I didn’t sleep with her!” Billy grumbled, “....just messin’ around. You know we need to know what she knows.”

“Yeah, but women ain’t stupid, Russo! Were you goin’ home reeking of booze and another woman’s perfume?” Billy said nothing at first, just grunted but then said, “Maybe. Yeah.. probably.” “See!” said Frank, “...you’re a stupid asshole!” “I mean, she didn’t even challenge me on it!” Frank started laughing, “So that makes it her fault, huh!? You’re a piece of work, Russo.” “No, no.... I just meant, aren’t you supposed to have arguments about that kinda stuff first? She just up and left me!”

“I don’t blame her,” said Frank, “...and you know she’s not the type to take any BS from you, Bill. She probably thought it wasn’t worth her time listenin’ to you tryna give excuses for the inexcusable.”

Billy was reminded by this that one of Frank’s pet peeves was infidelity. “But I didn’t cheat!” said Billy forcefully. “Whaddya do, kiss her?” “Yeah.” “Feel her up a bit?” “Mmhuh.” “That’s cheatin’ in my book, Russo.” Billy realised he was hanging his head in shame, and quickly looked up and out of the window again.

“I dunno what to do, Frankie.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d given Karen your new number and told her on pain of death not to pass it on to anyone, even Frank and especially not to Billy. She’d assured you she wouldn’t, and neither would she tell them where you were headed.

She’d been fuming at Billy, and you wouldn’t like to be in his shoes the next time she happened to meet up with him. Her rage had been quite spectacular and she was really, really pissed that Billy hadn’t even tried to contact you. You didn’t say anything to her, but secretly you wondered if he’d actually spent the night with his side piece on this occasion and hadn’t even seen your note yet. Jealousy and anger began to take over and you stood up abruptly, determined that thoughts of that douchebag weren’t going to invade your brain.

You took the SIM card out of the phone, shut it down and tucked it away in one of your bags. Gathering all your stuff together, you began to get ready to leave the room..

Can’t wait to get on that plane, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frankie rang Billy back a couple of hours later. “Micro tracked her phone,” he said without preamble. “Where is she? At Karen’s?” Billy asked anxiously. There was a pause, then, “Nah, Bill. She’s at JFK. And her phone’s switched off now.”

Billy, standing next to the window again, yelled, “Fuck!” before leaning his head against the cold glass. “Can Micro find out which flight’s she’s booked on, Frankie?” “He can try, but it’ll involve some hacking so it might take a little longer.” He paused again, before continuing, “And avoid Karen. She’s out for your blood.”

Billy sighed, “She’s spoken to her?” “Yeah, course she has, Bill. She knows more than she’s tellin’ me of course, but I’m not even gonna try askin’ her. Waste of time.” “It’s okay, I get it, Frankie. I wouldn’t ask you to. But if she does say anythin’.....” “I’ll let you know,” Frank finished the sentence for him and hung up.

Billy looked out of the window and then up into the sky. She wanted to get away from him so badly, she’d got a plane ticket and was about to fly.

He just prayed he’d be able to find her before she took off.

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@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep

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London

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 Wednesday, May 5th - holiday & vacations title: love is in the air summary: When his brother decides to mess with him as a Holiday prank, Damian ends up having to travel in coach like the rest of the mortals. Eventually, though, he learns that turbulence can strike even before the plane takes off.

.

“What do you mean by coach class?”

His brows are furrowed when he asks her that, a puzzled expression taking over his face. Expectant, green eyes are on the flight attendant in front of him, as he waits for her to provide him a little more information on the matter. She’s growing anxious the longer he stares at her, a nervous tic making her left eye tremble whenever she tries to maintain eye-contact. Apparently, she knows who he is— of course she does— therefore; he believes it’s safe to presume she understands why he’s so confused.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne, but that’s what your ticket says.” She explains, her voice laced with nervousness as she shows him the printed paper with his name written on. Damian is not blind— far from that, actually. He can see all the information written on that paper, but no matter how much he tries, he still can’t comprehend the ‘coach’ part. He has been traveling by plane for as long as he can remember, and never once has he deliberately chosen a seat in coach— in fact, never once has he chosen a seat at all, since he has a secretary of his own. A very competent and well-paid one, for the matter.

Such a primal mistake like this has never happened in all the years they’ve been working together. Something must have happened, he knows.

“I believe there must have been some mistake.” He states calmly, his demeanor unaltered. “Could you please check it again? The people at my company would never make such a trivial mistake.”

“Of course, I understand completely. I’ll try checking it on the system to see if I can find anything.”

Her fingers move rapidly across the keyboard, and he studies her face, looking for a hint of what’s actually happening. She’s still nervous, he can tell, and if anything, that’s not a good sign. It means she’s not finding the problem in the system, and if she’s not finding it, it means the said problem doesn’t exist. And if it doesn’t exist— well— something must have happened at Wayne tech.

How odd, he ponders.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne, but there really has been no mistake. Your ticket was ordered last Wednesday night, and it is as I’ve told you, see?” She turns the monitor so he can see, probably so he won’t hold it against her or anything. “You know, it’s quite common for some of our clients to make this kind of mistake. Perhaps you forgot to select the first class? “

“Highly unlikely. My secretary always double-checks everything.”

“Well, both the coach class and the seat were chosen by your secretary last Wednesday night. Are you sure nothing unusual happened when he ordered the ticket for you?”

“I’m positive. It was a normal Wednesday and— wait.” He suddenly stops. His emerald eyes blink once, twice and a third time, a blank expression taking over his handsome face. ”Did you just say he?”

Once he allows her words to sink in, Damian questions the integrity of his ears. Perhaps, after all of those years fighting crime and handling explosives, they might not be working as perfectly as they are supposed to.

He must have heard it wrong because, last time he checked, Mrs. Miller was not a man. She’s a conservative woman who’s around her 60s, and even if that doesn’t mean a thing anymore, she has never once told him anything about switching genders. If anything, she’s always the one lecturing Jason about finding a kind woman such as herself.

Still, a stranger such as the woman standing in front of him could never know such personal things about Mrs. Miller’s life. Things are not adding up. And for he is his father’s son, he wants to know why.

“Oh, yes. I presume the name Richard belongs to a man, no? It’s the name of the account who’s booked you this flight.”

“Richard?!” He questions, and it only takes him a second to put all the pieces of that silly puzzle together.

Grayson, you bastard.

Now it all makes perfect sense. Of course he had to be behind this childish act. Who else would have enough free time to waste before the Holidays just to prank a busy, young man such as himself? His older brother might be respected by many of their super friends, but more than anyone, Damian knows he is but a child filled with hormones. He probably thought it would be funny to make his little brother travel for hours in coach as a commoner, where he would have to sit next to a stranger.

That worthless manwhore.

However, he won’t let his predecessor have the last laugh. Grayson did this solely to piss him off and throw him out of his comfort zone, therefore, the best revenge should be handling the situation without creating a fuss. Damian is going to accept the conditions without putting up a fight, and his brother’s victory will have a bitter taste.

Yes, that’s how a real man gets his personal revenge. He will endure a six-hours flight home in coach class like a pro, and he will show the first Robin not to mess with the newest generation.

A proud smirk, then, takes over his lips. That certainly should teach him a lesson—well, that and the explosives Damian plans to hide in his brother’s bedroom, of course.

“Mister Wayne, I’m terribly sorry about all this. I—“

“No need to be sorry. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for all of these questions now that I know what happened.” He starts, placing his hand on his chest as an apologetical gesture. “You see, Richard is my older brother. He’s not as smart as the rest of the family, so it’s highly likely that he’s made this mistake.”

“Oh, I understand. I guess every family has one of those, right?”

“You have no idea. Now, Karen.” He says, finally paying attention to the name written on her uniform. “I’m incredibly sorry for wasting your time. Without further ado, I will head to my seat.”

“Mister Wayne, you’re very kind, indeed.” She starts, a blush tinging her cheeks. With a staple, she makes small holes on his ticket before handling it back to him. “I hope you have a safe flight to Gotham.”

“Yeah, me too.”

His voice doesn’t sound as irritated as he feels, and that alone is a big victory. Without wasting more of his precious time, Damian walks towards the jet bridge so he can finally board the plane. A couple walks behind him, chuckling as they talk about how much fun it will be to go back home for Christmas.

Going home for the Holidays, huh?

An entire week at the Wayne Manor with his brothers and his father, sharing meals together and trying not to murder each other during their morning exercises. Though Gotham could not get any safer since the whole bat-family will be together, it is also the one time of the year when his murderous instincts are at their peak.

A tired sigh escapes his lips. That’s a problem for another time, he thinks.

Once inside the plane, his eyes search for the signs that will take him to his seat. For the first time in his life, he turns right instead of left— coach instead of first class— and suddenly, a small corridor is in front of him. For a moment, he feels like a cow heading for the slaughterhouse, as many other people are forming a line in front of him.

It’s hard to breathe and even harder to walk with all of those people trying to put their bags inside the upper compartments. He checks his ticket again. D21. According to the numeration pattern, he’s almost there, but he’s still not moving fast enough. All the simultaneous talk is driving him insane, and now he understands why some people choose to dope themselves as soon as they get inside the plane.

He doesn’t have any sleeping pills with him, but maybe if he punches himself with enough strength…

No. He can make it. Things will get better once he sits down and they take off. It can’t possibly get any worse than it already is, right?

Right?

A curse is muffled under his breath, and finally, he reaches his seat. For he knows how to travel light, Damian is quick to place his bag where it belongs and now he can establish himself. It’s a window seat, he notices, which means that soon there will be another person next to him, too close for his own liking. He knows there’s no use in picturing what kind of person it will be, but he can certainly hope it’s a nice one who knows how to respect his personal space.

If he or she doesn’t have vocal chords, Damian definitely won’t complain.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then, allowing himself to settle down and get used to his surroundings. It’s chaotic, he thinks, and he knows chaotic. Children are crying, some people are on the phone and others are just breathing too loud. He knows he’s whining like a brat, but it’s stronger than him. It’s annoying, and he swears if that lady keeps on talking about her 3 cats, he’s going to—

His inner monologue stops, his eyes widening for a moment. At last, he hears the one thing he hates more than Joker’s maniacal laughter. That unbearable sound that makes his head throb and makes his lips turn into a deep frown.

“Is that Damian Wayne?”

Teenage girls. And they know him.

Perhaps it’s the annoying giggle or even the way they keep on getting bolder every time they meet him, but Damian can’t stand them. They’re just too obnoxious— a real pain. He honestly doesn’t know why on earth they tend to approach him whenever they have the chance, especially since he’s sure he has never once paid them any attention. In fact, chances are he has even been rude to them on more than one occasion.

Trying to understand a teenager’s mind is beyond his capacity. Ignoring them, though doesn’t prevent them from returning, is the easiest way out, and when they come— because they will come— that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Excuse me, Damian Wayne.” One of them says, her voice laced with excitement. Two more stand next to her, but he can’t really tell them apart. “It’s you, isn’t it? “

Jesus, can someone please knock him out already?

He crosses his arms at her words, his brows now knitted in annoyance. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing welcoming in his expression, but that won’t stop them from continuing. It’s not like they actually care about his feelings or anything.

“Oh, my god! It really is you!“ She claps her hands, biting her lower lip. “Can I get a selfie? Can I?”

“God, Mary. Can you be any more inconvenient?” The one on her left asks, pushing her friend away so she can take a step closer. “Forgive my friend. She can’t read the atmosphere like I can. If you want, I can send her away and keep you some company during the flight.”

“Ugh, get out of my way, both of you!” The third one pushes through, using her elbows to force her way forward. “Hi, I love you and I really mean it, Damian! I love you so much that, if you want, we can meet at the bathroom cabinet and I’ll show you.”

His eyes widen in horror at such proposal, and he’s almost sure this girl isn’t old enough to be saying such things. From the corner of his eyes, he watches as a bunch of people lift their phones to point at him, all of them waiting to hear his final answer so the dirty press can judge him.

Grayson is going to pay dearly for this.

This girl is insufferable. All of them are.

They’re causing all of that commotion, preventing people from walking down the small corridor and embarrassing him in front of all of those eyes. They can’t possibly think it’s okay to do or say those things so openly like to a man they know nothing about. Though the initial plan might have been for him to at least talk to them, Damian can’t bear any more hatred inside of him than at this very moment, and if looks could kill, those three wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

His hands turn into fists and he closes his heavy eyes so he can stop himself from committing a murder. Justice, not vengeance. His father’s words echo inside his head, and he’s having a really hard time trying not to think only about the second part. He really just wants to go home right now. And thankfully, he’s not the only one.

“Hum, excuse me…”

His ears detect a fresh voice, calmer and more mature. Instinctively, he opens his eyes to look at this new stranger, and he’s impressed by what he sees. She’s beautiful, he notices. Dark hair, violet eyes and ivory skin, all together to form an ethereal beauty like he has never seen before. Damian can’t help but keep looking at her, curious to know what she’s going to say on this matter.

“Hi!” She continues, her thin lips turning upwards in a smile. “I know you’re all busy trying to seduce this man with your oozing pheromones and irrefutable proposals, but in case you haven’t noticed, there are people trying to get to their seats here.”

“So what?” One of them says, a hand on her hips and a lot of attitude in her high-pitched voice. She’s trying to be intimidating, but it’s clearly not working. “Can’t you see who he is, you emo? He is—“

“I couldn’t care less about who he is.” The raven-haired girl cuts in, clearly not in the mood for that drama. “He could be Superman or even the president himself, for all I care. My problem is with you three airheads who are interrupting the flow. There are people trying to walk here and the airplane hallway is not a place to flirt with strangers who won’t even remember your face once we take off.”

“What!? Of course he will remember!” She glares. “We are—“

“Annoying the hell out of him? That you are. I mean, just look at his face! He looks like shit!” She points at him, violet eyes now meeting emerald ones. Her though expression suddenly melts into a softer one, her head tilting a bit to the right. “No offense, though.”

“None taken.” He answers, an amused smirk now taking over his face. She nods at him before returning her burning eyes to those three girls.

“Like the rest of us, this man just wants this damn plane to get him where he needs to be so he can move on with his life and get drunk during the holidays. We don’t want to be here. So, without further ado, could please you get the fuck out of the way before I lose my temper? ”

He doesn’t know what happens next or even how a small girl such as herself could be so intimidating, but at her words, he notices his three fangirls flinching. They’re avoiding eye-contact, and for the first time, one of them seems to grow aware of the crowd staring at them. The one standing in the middle starts to tremble, and though they’re looking at him as if searching for some sort of support, Damian can’t bring himself to offer them anything slightly remote to that.

In fact, if he has to pick sides, he wouldn’t need to think twice before taking the brunette’s.

“I-I… I—“

“You what?” She asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Her pose holds no hesitation as she stands her ground. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? “

With a 'tch’, the three girls finally walk away, returning to their respective seats with their heads hanging low, and he can’t help but feel incredibly satisfied by that. There’s a victorious smirk on her face, and it’s safe for him to assume she’s also feeling pretty good about what she just did.

What an interesting woman, he thinks. All that sass and eloquence are certainly eliciting his curiosity, and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t help but feel slightly turned on by this stranger.

Interesting, indeed.

While Damian is still trapped in his thoughts, a round of applause takes over the airplane, as people congratulate the raven-haired girl. They pat her shoulders, thank her for getting rid of those girls, and she even laughs once the old lady behind her tells her they don’t make girls like her anymore. For a quick moment, she becomes the hero they didn’t know they needed, and for sure, this is going to be a pleasant story to tell during Christmas dinner.

They will portray her as the girl who saved their flight.

Damian, however, will portray her as the one who told his fangirls to fuck off.

He really needs to thank her for that. Fortunately, he will have over six hours to do that.

Before the Wayne heir can bring himself to form the words in his head, the girl is placing her small bag in the compartment above their heads. As she lifts her arms, her shirt lifts, momentarily exposing her belly. Even if it was just for a brief second, she catches him staring, and once their eyes meet, he looks away, his cheeks growing slightly warmer.

He sees as she slowly shakes her head before sitting next to him, and though he was not expecting a girl such as her, he’s currently thanking the superior forces for the partner destiny has chosen to be his seat-mate. She’s beautiful, her voice is not annoying, and the best part is that she doesn’t seem to give a crap about who he is.

Maybe he’s finally going mad because of— well— everything, but right now, Damian trulls believes that he might even fall in love with this girl.

A sly smirk takes over his lips, and he can’t help but stare at her for a little too long. She watches as he does so, and as expected, she doesn’t feel embarrassed or inhibited at all. Instead, she stares back, eyes squinting a bit in sheer mockery. A questioning look spreads across her face, and he decides that he should be the one saying something. Anything, really.

“You’re mean.” He states, as if that’s the biggest truth in the world. She tilts her head, but his words don’t seem to affect her.

“So what?” She asks, not really caring about his answer as she fastens her seatbelt. ”If you didn’t like the way I talked to your fan girls, you can go and apologize to them, be their hero or whatever. Though, if you’re really gonna go meet them at the bathroom cabinet, I suggest we switch seats so we don’t bump knees every time you have to go.”

She’s a spirituous one, he notices. And if he’s not careful, he might be the next victim of her graciously rude words. “Nah, don’t worry about it. As you’ve pointed out before, I don’t even remember their faces anymore. Your knees can rest assured.”

“Thanks, I guess?” She lifts her brows, not bothering to spare him another glance as she adjusts her dark clothes. There’s a book resting over her lap— Christmas Carol, for what he can see— and she uses her small fingers to tug a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah…” He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I am Damian— “

“Save it. I know who you are, Wayne. I might not be the most updated person in this world, but even Eskimos know your family. Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m not a disguised reporter or an annoying fangirl.”

“Not with that attitude, you’re not. Your clear lack of interest in my personal life can only be matched by only one other person I know.”

“Oh, really?” She asks, her eyes now turning to face him. Now that they’re so close to each other, he can see how bright they really are, and for a moment, he thinks she might even have hypnotic powers because he just can’t look away. There’s a curious tone lingering over her words, and he wants to believe she’s actually paying attention to him this time. “And who would that be, if I may ask?”

“My father.” He answers bluntly, and he notices as she she chokes back a giggle. There’s a soft smile decorating her lips now, and the surrounding atmosphere feels a lot lighter.

“Rachel Roth.” She sticks out her hand to him, and without hesitation, he shakes it carefully. Her hand is soft against his calloused one, and he notices the way she brushes her thumb over his skin. It’s a delicate and pure gesture, so fleeting that makes him wanting more as soon as he releases her from his grip.

“Well, Rachel…” Her name rolls out of his tongue as he tests the sound of it. It has a nice ring to it, he notices. “I think I need to thank you for saving me from a huge headache back then. Seriously, I owe you one.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t really do it for you, so you don’t need to thank me or anything. I just wanted them to get out of my seat, that’s all.”

“Selfish or not, you still got rid of them, so… thanks. “

“Well, if that’s the case, you’re welcome, Damian.” Rachel nods at him, the same smile still decorating her face. She picks up her book, then, flipping through the pages so she can pick up from where she had left. The way she says his name— so simple and unpretentious— makes his lips curl upwards, and all the bad feelings from before disappear.

This girl— Rachel— she’s showing what a life away from the streets and the business meetings must feel like. The conversation flows easily and effortlessly, to the point where it’s hard to believe they’ve met not even 30 minutes ago. It feels natural in a way very few things in his life do, and though he knows it’s not meant to last, at least he will cherish this moment before it turns into a fading memory in the depths of his mind.

Moments of pure joy shall fade into oblivion, that’s one of the most important rules of his life.

Thankfully, the internet is forever.

An unexpected buzz inside his pants breaks his train of thought. At first, he decides to ignore it, but after the third time, he gives up on the idea. Silently, he scoffs in annoyance, fishing his phone from his pocket. He presses the side button, then, the screen lighting up to reveal a couple of notifications. His eyes, though, land on three particular messages from his family’s group chat:

Grayson: I ship it

Drake : what happened, Damian? Are you okay?? Todd : hot and feisty. The best kind of girl, little bro

His brows furrow in confusion at his brothers’ messages. For what he can conclude, they’re talking about a girl he knows and has interacted with, but that’s pretty much it. The only female human in his mind right now is Rachel, and there’s no way for them to be talking about her. He’s not being followed or bugged, for all he knows— and he knows.

Something strange is happening, and he wants to know what. The youngest Wayne, then, texts them a single ‘?’ and almost immediately, Dick sends him a link to an Instagram page. He’s growing more confused with every additional information, but figures it must be just another one of Grayson’s stupid pranks.

He sighs at the thought. Isn’t he a bit too old for that?

An annoyed pout takes over his lips as a clear sign that he just wants to get this stupid thing over with. Once he taps on the link, though, it takes less than a second for his eyes to widen and his bored expression change into a surprised one. The video playing is muted, but he doesn’t need any volume or subtitles to know what the raven-haired girl in it is saying.

Oh… That angle does make her look nice.

He blinks twice as he allows the whole thing to sink in. Apparently, all of that show earlier was recorded by some cameras and posted all over the internet. There are many posts about it, with all possible captions and comments about them, and he has to admit some are quite creative. Apparently, they’re the new internet hits, not that Damian really cares about it. He’s used to all the lies and overreacted dramas, but if he were to be honest, this one is making him quite intrigued.

Not by the gossip itself, no. That would never happen.

This time, he’s intrigued by how the girl next to him will react as soon as she finds out.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches as she’s calmly reading her book, waiting for the plane to take flight. She’s immersed in Charles Dickens’ words, and it’s like the entire world around her can’t interrupt her. It’s just her and the book, and for she hasn’t touched her phone since her arrival, he’s quite sure she doesn’t know what’s happening in the digital world.

At least, not yet.

He’s definitely going to tell her.

“Uh… Rachel? ”

“Yes, Damian?” She answers, her eyes not bothering to leave the pages of the book.

“Just a quick question… How do you feel about being the center of attentions? “

“I hate it. Why?”

“Well, you might have to reconsider this…” His voice falters and he slowly massages the back of his head.

“Oh, and why would I do that?” She looks at him, at last, her brows now arched. Her expression is blank, and he suddenly wants to laugh because she has no idea of what’s coming.

“Here, check this out. ”

He gives her his phone, a smirk decorating his face. Slowly, he watches the video playing once again on the small screen, all life slowly fading from her pretty face. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she places her fingers on her left temple. Her cheeks are growing redder than a tomato, and once the video ends, she is completely dumbfounded.

“Wha-what the hell!?“ A couple of seconds pass until she says something, her voice a little too loud, and her eyes filled with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “What’s the meaning of this, Damian!?”

“Well, I think people enjoyed your bossy words from many different angels”” He starts, taking his phone back and scrolling through his time line. His voice sounds too excited for her liking, and it’s easy to tell he’s trying to hold back a laughter. “You went viral, Rachel. ”

“No no no no.” She repeats, slowly shaking her head in denial and taking her own phone in hands. With trembling fingers, she opens her Instagram page and a rush of follows and mentions makes her eyes widen even more. “I can’t believe this is happening. ”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” Damian tries to calm her down, but the joy in his voice takes all of his credit away.

“Not that bad?!” Her eyes are glaring at him now, cheeks puffed in pure anger. “I got remixed, Damian!”

A sly smile takes over his lips, and he’s]really trying not to laugh in front of her. “And it’s a good remix. Besides, for what I can see, most people are on our side.”

“Our side? I was just trying to reach my seat. There’s no our side, Damian.”

“Well, apparently, there is. Look.” He leans towards her, absentmindedly, until he’s close enough to feel her embarrassment exhaling from her. Their knees are brushing, but neither of them seems to be aware of that closeness right now. He shows her his phone one more time, a couple of comments now displayed. “Some people are even shipping us already. #Damirae.”

A defeated whimper escapes her lungs, and finally, she locks her phone-screen. Apparently, Rachel can’t look at all that anymore, and decides to just sink into the seat. Her hands are covering her face, and her voice is muffled when the next words come out. “Ugh, this is a nightmare.”

“Try looking at the bright side. This video can make you famous. I’m sure the media already loves your sarcasm. “

“If you haven’t noticed, Wayne, I’m a goth.” She spreads her hands across her face so she can look at him through the space between her fingers, and he can’t help but find that utterly adorable. “I don’t do bright side. ”

“God, you’re so dramatic.” He also locks his phone, placing it back inside his pockets. His torso turns around so he can face her properly, that same smirk still planted on his lips. “It’s just a video, relax. Most people will soon forget about it.”

“Some people? And what about the others?” Her voice is lower now, shier, as if she’s really seeking some sort of comfort— not that he’s even trying to offer her any.

“Oh, we will remember this forever, don’t worry.” A dry chuckle escapes his lips, and he notices the way her expression melts in response, tension and nervousness now gone.

Damian is having the time of his life, not only because the video was, indeed, funny; but also because he’s getting to see another side of this interesting girl who’s sitting next to him. Even if she really is bothered by the whole thing right now, eventually, he trusts that she will get over it and realize that no one gives a damn about stuff like that.

It’s just a temporary thing. A funny story for the future.

Rachel will survive it. And he—well…

He’s just found himself an excuse to follow her on Instagram.

“You jerk.” She chuckles, finally placing her hands on her lap and adjusting her posture. She takes a deep breath, then, as if she’s trying to recompose herself, but he notices the way she shrinks a little once she realizes the couple next to them are staring. Her body turns towards his, a sign that she feels somehow safe with him.

And for that, he’s extremely glad.

“That’s a new thing.” Damian states, mockery no longer lacing his voice.

“What is?” The girl questions.

“You’re laughing.”

“So what?”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just… cute.”

Her cheeks grow red once more and she bites her lips. For a fraction of a second, she turns away from him, but soon, her amethyst eyes are once more looking into his emeralds ones. “Shut up, will you? You’ll need more than that if you want your Damirae fantasy to come true.”

“Oh, so are you saying I have a chance, Rachel?” He teases, knowing very well she didn’t mean it like that. Still, he figures he can’t waste this opportunity. “Are you sure you’re not a disguised fangirl? “

“You wish, Wayne.“ She smirks, offering him a side glance as she picks up her book again. “And I never said that.”

“You didn’t say the other way around, either.”

“Good point.” She nods, acknowledging his words instead of trying to deny them. “I guess you have the entire flight to make sure I keep it that way…”

There’s a flirty tone in her voice, and instantly, the Wayne heir is up for the challenge. Their eyes meet again, and for a moment, he thinks she’s checking him out. They smile at each other, exchanging that you-know-what look, and right now, he doesn’t think this flight will be long enough.

He wants to know more about her. He wants to play this push-and-pull game, and more than anything, he wants her phone number. And Damian Wayne win’t stop until he gets what he wants.

At last, the pilot makes his announcements, and for once, they break eye contact when the flight attendant passes by their seats, closing the compartment above their heads. Seat-belts are fastened, tables are up, and the crew is ready. They’re ready to take off.

fin.

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a/n: Well, there are not enough words to describe how much trouble I had with these prompts. I gave up on so many ideas and got so mad at everything that I’m impressed I even managed to write something in the end. Still, I’m glad to have written this one. I had a lot of fun with the dialogues and with every smirk I wrote! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and please, tell me what you think!

[dirtyrick]

The Scientist

Wow. It's been almost 5 years since I last wrote fanfiction on here. With the new fantastic season 5 out, I decided it was time I made a comeback. This is an idea I've had since 2016, but I truthfully couldn't figure out how to weave this web. Now, I think I do. Please enjoy, this really is my baby.

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Beth woke me up in my workroom at around 6am, just a little bit before heading off to school. She usually did this, as she had more motivation to cook us breakfast than I did. I was surprised to see a stack of pancakes sitting on the table when I came downstairs. She had set the table so perfectly, it never failed to make me smile. I rubbed my eyes and sat down, ready to dig in when she came back into the dining area from her room. She handed me some papers with a gleeful smile on her face.

“Dad, could you please sign these papers?” she asked me.

I raised an eyebrow as I looked at them, “volunteer work?”

She nodded, “yes, usually it’s a graduation requirement, but since I'm only a sophomore I need a parent’s permission to get it done early.”

Pulling a pen out of my pocket, I sighed, “Don’t you already have enough extracurriculars? Don’t spread yourself so thin, you’re only 14.”

She sat down on the chair across from me with a very stubborn look on her face. She wanted to be a surgeon so badly she was willing to waste so much of her youth on things that would look good on college applications.

“Dad, I'm about to be 15. I want to help people. Plus, if I volunteer for the hospital, they’ll know my face by the time I start medical school!” she seemed so excited for this opportunity. I put the pen to paper and signed. “just make sure your home enough to spend time with your old man.” I told her as I handed her the papers. She smiled at me, with a squeal of excitement escaping her lips. “thank you, dad!” she got up and hugged me.

I’d do anything to make my baby girl happy, even if it means I will see her just a little less.

Beth seemed to enjoy her time volunteering, coming home with a big smile every evening. She would tell me what she did in the day with a joyous look in her wide eyes. But as the weeks went by, those smiles turned to furrowed brows and worry in her eyes. She stopped telling me about her days. She would often shield me from her emotions, but I’ve never seen her this worked up about something.

“Beth, please. I-I know something is wrong.” I pleaded. We were seated at the kitchen table, after having a wordless dinner.

“Nothing is wrong, dad. I have a lot of homework,” she said, avoiding my gaze and my question. She began to gather the medical books she had placed on the table. I still pushed for an answer.

“Are you getting bullied? Are you concerned about your grades? Do you have too much on your plate?” I asked. My intention was to bombard her with questions to overwhelm her, to get her to spill. “is it a boy? It’s a boy, isn’t it? I could take care of him if you need me--”

“It’s not any of those,” Beth stated, her voice full of sorrow. She turned slowly and began heading up to her room.

I was at a loss for words. You could almost see how broken she was. It made me a bit insecure that she felt like she couldn’t talk to me about this issue that was clearly weighing heavy on her mind. Granted, since Diane passed away, I had thrown myself into my work, but I always thought I made enough time for Beth. Maybe not.

The next day I reached out to her teachers, and they shared the same concerns.

“Beth is an extremely good student. however, I have seen her slipping recently. I’m glad to see you’re reaching out, usually, I have to do all that.” her English teacher told me, then proceeded to complain about everything under the sun.

“She has seemed very depressed as of late. She’s been asking about sheet music for The Cure.” her band teacher informed me.

“She constantly carries a book about rare diseases and reads it during my lectures. We haven’t even reached that chapter yet!” her health teacher told me.

That last teacher made me raise an eyebrow. Rare diseases? Why would Beth need to know about rare diseases? I had a feeling and not a very good one.

The next day I took Beth to her volunteer hours, as she was about to get out of the car, I told her “I want to see what they got in store for you today. Mind if I tag along?”

She looked concerned, “I’m not sure if they’d let you…”

“I promise I won’t cause any suspicions," I said as I got out of the car, grunting a little. These bones sure aren’t what they used to be. As I followed her into the large beige building, the stale hospital smell hit my nostrils like a truck, as did the memories. This is the hospital Diane took her final breaths in. Beth may be too young to remember, but I sure as hell do. Some of the orderlies even look familiar, as they glance at us with what seem to be knowing eyes. They look at Beth’s dismal eyes, then look at mine—they just know something happened that shook our family.

We turned a maze of several corners which lead to a large orange elevator with the words ‘elevate your health!’ printed in big white letters. I rolled my eyes. Hospitals aren’t really places for much healing when it’s really needed. When we got in the spacious elevator, I got my first good look at Beth since we got out of the car. Worry as written all over her, she was desperately avoiding my gaze. Her small fingers twisting themselves in knots as she fidgeted. It was something here, it became blatantly clear. Her worry was contagious, as I suddenly felt a sharp stab of thoughts hit me.

The elevator dinged, I followed Beth toward a nurse’s station. The woman behind there smiled at us as we approached. Her red curls bounced as she got up from her rolling chair. Beth mustered a brave face, “Hello Nurse Bernice, this is my father, he wanted to see what I do here.”

The nurse looked at me, her deep amber eyes complimented her dark complexation, her smile lines very pronounced. She was probably late 30s, early 40s at the most. I almost forgot to introduce myself, “I’m Rick Sanchez. I just wanted to see what itinerary you have laid out for my daughter. She’s been coming home stressed recently.”

“Well, Mr. Sanchez, I don’t think we have too much on her sweet little shoulders,” she said as she grabbed a clipboard and handed it to Beth, who was smiling sheepishly. “Now Beth, you’re going to be checking in on your regulars this afternoon. Mr. Opiman got discharged this morning, so it’ll only be Mr. Marion and Ms. Doe.” Beth’s smile slowly faded, she nodded as she put on her badge. She looked up at me and motioned for me to follow her.

Her first ‘patient’, Mr. Marion, was fast asleep. “His chart mentions they upped his dosage of morphine as his surgical site had to be reopened today,” she said in a quiet voice, as not to wake him. She checked his vitals on the monitor next to his bed, and it suddenly became clear to me that she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what all these terms and numbers meant. I stood there almost slack-jawed because I never realized how much of a genius my daughter was. I also realized Mr. Marion was probably not what has gotten her so worked up. She made notes on her clipboard and even gently checked on his surgery site, which was on his right foot. The blood had appeared to seep through his bandages earlier, leaving a stain on his sheets. The bandage on his foot was now clean. We left the room without waking her patient up.

We headed to the next patient room, and I could see that Beth was walking much slower. She opened the door, and the sunlight hit our faces hard. The woman was sitting up on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the bright orange and purple sunset. Upon hearing us enter, she peered over her shoulder. Once she saw Beth, she turned toward us and beamed a big smile.

“Oh Beth, I’m so happy to see you!” Ms. Doe said cheerfully. Her voice was slightly deep and seemed very strained as though she had been screaming for hours. She had bruises all over her, including a black eye and what looked like handprints on her neck. She looked up at me and her mouth closed but kept a smile. Upon looking over at Beth, I was surprised. All those worries melted away, she seemed remarkably happy. “You must be Beth’s father. I’m Jane Doe, or at least that’s what they call me around here.”

I stood there entirely confused about what was going on.

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[maplecornia]

chapter 27

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1.39K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: so the continuous posting every day has now officially ended now that we have caught up in the story ^^ so be expecting updates every Saturday instead of every day lmao

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

The door opens before you have a chance to turn away.

You don't know why you're so scared, but you do know that being called in to meet the chairman of HYBE entertainment isn't necessarily a good thing. Especially when you haven't even started your first day yet.

Swallowing hard, you step forward, almost wanting to reach out and take Namjoon's hand. If you do, maybe then you have someone to lean on. Someone to help you not feel so afraid. However, his presence behind you offers you more than enough comfort and you take a breath, grateful that you have his moral support.

The door shutting tightly behind the two of you, you raise your eyes to find BangPD sitting at the head of the room, his chin resting on his hands. You pause in the doorway, waiting for his invitation to sit as he regards you with those small thoughtful eyes. Unable to stand the uncomfortable tension, you clear your throat.

"What's going on?" you murmur, your voice weak despite the attempt to strengthen it. BangPD smiles at your question and leans back in his chair, nodding slightly to Namjoon.

"Mrs. Lin, please take a seat." He requests, and Namjoon obliges, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you to a small sofa set amid the massive office. As he sits you down, he takes your hand in his own before resting on the cushion next to you. Inwardly, you smile, feeling a bit of the fear ebbing away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You inquire, peering up at him as BangPD rests on the cool gray couch opposite of you.

"Of course not." He chuckles at your innocent question before leaning back in the chair and resting his face on his hand. As though he were measuring you up, making sure you fit his standards. You squirm a bit under his gaze, and Namjoon glares at him, his hold on your hand growing subconsciously tighter. "I simply wanted to ask you a question, a proposal if you will."

You bite your lip in nervous anticipation, regarding him with wary eyes. At your silence, his smile grows, and it makes you uncomfortable. Somehow, you know that you are not in control of the situation. Feeling that slip away, you don't know if you'll be able to conduct yourself properly.

After a moment, he leans forward and picks up a remote. He presses a button and a small speaker on the table crackles to life. There's a few moments of static before a voice fills the voice, and your heart pummels to your stomach.

Your voice.

Your blood turning cold, you look up at BangPD with wide eyes.

What is he going to do? Am I fired? Will Jaejin lose his job?

Turning to Namjoon, you try to read his expression, but he's focused solely on the chairman, his expression unreadable.

What does he think? Is he upset with me?

It's not even your first day, and already you're in deeper water than you signed up for.

"I--" you begin, but BangPD pauses the track and leans forward towards you, cutting you off.

"Is this you?" he murmurs. You wonder why he's asking a question, he already knows the answer to. Stunned, you don't answer him, and he smiles once more, leaning back. There's a moment of silence, as the two of you regard each other. One in confusion, the other in amusement.

Biting your bottom lip, you can't help but feel a bit indignant. Why is he playing with you? Is this some kind of game? You don't want to be a piece on his little chessboard.

Before you can open your mouth to respond, Namjoon brushes your cheek, gathering your attention. You flinch before turning to him, but he doesn't look fazed. Instead, his hand tightens around yours, and those solemn eyes bore into yours, calming you without so much as a second glance.

"Yen, you're talented. BangPD thinks so as well."

When he says those words, you can't help but feel a taste of bile rising in your throat. You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating, but when you see his face pass over Namjoon's kind eyes, it's hard not to. Your hand tightens, nails digging into your palm, as you try to calm yourself down, erase toxic memories that refuse to let you free.

"What?" you murmur, your voice hoarse and terrified.

"Ms. Lin, what I'm about to offer you is something that could drastically affect your life and the future of our company." Turning to the renowned chairman, you can hear the pounding of your heartbeat reverberating in your ears. You don’t notice the flash of remorse across Namjoon’s eyes, nor the way he tightens his jaw as soon as BangPD speaks. "So I want you to seriously consider before responding."

"What are you talking about?" you nearly snap, but he doesn't say anything more, just places a file on the table. He pushes it towards you, and though reluctantly, you draw your hand out of Namjoon's grip, pulling the file into your lap.

You regard BangPD with wary eyes before opening the file.

"What is this?" you murmur, squinting at the neatly printed Korean.

"A contract."

You balk, nearly dropping the papers in your lap as you look up at him. You can feel the fear growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, his voice coming back to haunt you once more. BangPD smiles at your silence, his eyes softening.

"Ms. Lin, I would like to sign you as a trainee. Underneath BigHit entertainment."

Your hand tightening around the document, you swallow hard.

"What?"

Not again, oh God please don't let it happen again.

"Yen, this is your dream isn't it?" Namjoon asks from beside you, his hand resting on your knee, an attempt to calm you down. Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s saying this, shouldn’t he be stopping you? Shouldn’t he be finding reasons so you could say no? But inwardly, he cannot stand to see your face change that way. He can’t stand to see you afraid. His heart aches every time he sees that look in your eyes.

BangPD catches the exchange, his eyes calculating and silent.

Interesting.

"You don't have to make a decision right now." He sighs resting his head on his hand once more. You look up at him, your eyes bare and vulnerable and he squints, intrigued. You may seem like an open book, but Bang Sihyuk can tell that there is more behind your innocence. He wonders if he wants to know what secrets they keep. "I'll give you a week to think it over."

Your mouth turning dry, you try not to show your relief. Maybe after a week, he'll forget. Maybe after a week, you won't be so interesting.

After all, it's not that hard to forget about me.

You try not to be bitter about the thought, but you can't help it. After all, Namjoon was right.

This is your dream.

Looking down at the contract, you grit your teeth as though that would make the lump in your throat disappear.

This was your dream.

So why did he have to ruin it?

After a moment, BangPD nods to Namjoon, and he stands. Tapping you softly on the shoulder, he pulls you up with him, your hands clinging onto the contract as though it were a lifeline. Concerned about your current condition, RM peers into your face. You look up at him with a blank gaze, as though something inside you had been fractured.

His eyes are expectant, waiting for a sign that you won't break down. Smiling weakly, you nod to him, and he grins back before taking you by the arm and guiding you out of the office.

"I want you to know," BangPD calls after you just as Namjoon's hand rests on the doorknob. You turn back to him, confused. He looks up at you from his chair, his hand massaging his temple as he regards you with those small cold calculating eyes. "I believe you have a gift."

You swallow at the words, somehow feeling small and insignificant. At your demeanor, Sihyuk narrows his eyes before sighing and turning away, dismissing you with a final farewell.

"It would be a shame to waste it."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: what do you think she should do?

chapter 28 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[rose7420]

Best of Friends

Summary: Loki becomes curious about the whereabouts of a certain tiny Avenger reader. Lots of fluff and some angst

I know I have requests to do but I had this idea and had to make it come to life, Enjoy my friends!

Loki walked into the kitchen of the Avengers Tower. The smooth white counter shone with impeccable cleanliness. He had been here for about two and a half weeks now and had barely spoken to anyone. He was very lonely but took no offense to the shunning of the superheroes. During his attack in 2012, he knew he had caused a lot of pain and loss. He had sat in his jail cell on Asgard contemplating his actions, regretting many of them. Finally, after two miserable years that held the loss of his mother, Odin had thought it a brilliant idea to come back to the very planet he had nearly destroyed and ask that he live with the very people he had fought violently against.

He reached the cabinet that held snacks of various sorts, ones he usually stuck his nose up to, and opened it to find disappointment once again. All junk. Releasing a deep aggravated breath he went to the refrigerator. Cold air grazed his face as he opened the door and found nothing there either. He turned to the counter and searched for the basket of fruit that usually was placed there. Holding red apples, bananas, and oranges the colors made an ugly mix. He reached for an apple and shined it on his shirt. Taking a bite out of it then swallowing, he relished the feeling of having food in his stomach. Those awful times he spent in the cell, the guards would often forget to give him his meals, he winces at the awful memory of a truly empty stomach.

His attention is drawn down to a small object near the bowl. He plucks it up and inspects it to realize it is a minuscule black boot. His inspection is halted from the sound of footsteps belonging to the Black Widow who enters the kitchen, most likely for another cup of coffee. She nods her head in greeting and continues her process of making the warm drink. Although distant to him, Natasha holds no menace in her gaze when she looks upon him almost as if she understood the predicament he was in while terrorizing New York. She takes a sip of her freshly brewed coffee and turns around to look at him when she notices the tiny object pinched in his fingertips.

“That’s Y/N’s.” She says motioning with her head towards the tiny boot as if finding a tiny shoe is a normal occurrence.

Loki is astonished that someone could even wear this boot, it wouldn't be able to even slide onto his pinky finger.

“Who is this Y/N?” He asks curiously.

“She’s like us, goes on missions, fights the bad guys but just in a more secretive way. Maybe she’ll come out for you to see her one day, doesn't like the attention from us big guys much often.” Natasha says taking another sip.

“What do you mean by “big guys” agent?”He asks although he thinks he knows the answer already.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just leave the boot on the counter she’ll come back for it. Don’t bother keeping watch for her to come to get it, she’ll find a way to get past your sights.” She says walking out the door holding her cup. Loki is astonished to know that there is a tiny person living here with him, and he hadn’t even known. Not to mention that she goes on missions. He aches to find out more about this tiny being, but he will heed Natasha’s advice and not go searching for her. Something tells him that this little person is skilled enough to evade even the Trickster’s awareness.

True to Natasha’s word: The little boot was gone by the next morning

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

Two days later, Loki sits at a table in the grand library of Tony Stark’s. Books cover the walls and reach up to the tall ceiling. Before Loki had started occupying this space he had figured no one had used this library in years from the heavy coat of dust that had lied on every inch of the room. What a shame to waste such knowledge. Books were splayed out in front of Loki of all he could find on “tiny people”. He had read over the term "borrower" and "fairy" many times already. Perhaps this tiny being had been a borrower and gotten caught. His curiosity was practically burning holes in him. A faint huff and oomph draw his attention, his gaze leaving the printed paper. His emerald eyes go wide when a positively tiny person drags themselves upon the surface of the wooden table. They appear to stand at only a grand two and a half inches tall carrying a piece of paper fit to their size along with a pen.

“Whatcha starin’ at big boy?” The tiny girl asks Loki fearlessly.

Loki snaps his jaw up to close his wide-open mouth. He, for the first time in a while, is at a loss for words.

“You’re a talkative one, eh?” Heavens be, this little being is full of sass.

“My apologies, my name is Loki. I presume you to be Y/N?” Loki finally says.

“You would be correct Loki. So you like to read. Huh?” Y/N walks up to the books splayed open and smiles widely at the title, “All You Need to Know About Borrowers”

“Little people, yeah? Well, I hate to break it to ya, but I ain’t no borrower or fairy. Wasn’t born like this if that helps any at all.” Loki blushes when she reads the title but listens intently to what she’s saying. She wasn’t born like this, as she shrunk? He wisely chooses not to ask her that question.

“May I ask why you are here?” Loki says, inquisitive to how could she attempt to read these books that are five times her size.

Y/N holds up the little slip of paper she carries and shows it to him.

“Stark takes the books I want and shrinks them down to my size so they’re a bit more manageable. Ain’t much to do for a gal like me other than to read and eat.” She says with a hint of humor in her voice. She doesn’t seem affected by her situation; embracing it rather than hating it. An idea pops into Loki’s head.

“Perhaps I could shrink it for you? Less hassle than having to wait for Stark.” Loki offers.

“That's right you’re that wizard dude, gotta lot of magic tricks huh?”

Loki laughs and he watches her eyes lit up with excitement as she hands the paper to him after scribbling another title onto it.

“Are you sure you can read my writing? It’s awfully small for your eyes.” And indeed the print is. The paper slip barely covers the pad of his fingertip.

“No worries about that,” Loki reassures her. He grows the paper to his size and goes to retrieve the books written down. He sets them down lightly on the table, watching as Y/N stumbles from the heavy load of them all. He apologizes but she waves him off.

“Are these the right ones?” He asks to make sure.

She strides towards the novels and looks them over from the spines that show, and nods with affirmation. He shrinks them to her size, watching as she bends down to gather them in her arms. They cause significant distress in her tiny arms so he offers his assistance.

He watches her pause with concern. After a few moments, she accepts and places the now-tiny books into the palm of his hand, watching as they slide towards the natural dip his palm creates.

“Would you like me to carry you?” He asks imagining the trip to be longer for her than it is for himself.

“O-oh n-no! I’ll be fine, if you don’t mind you could just follow me?” Her voice is high-pitched with obvious anxiety. He agrees and assures her there is no problem, watching her movements with fascination when she scales down the table leg.

The trip to her room is long, one step of his equalling ten of hers. Not to mention his trepidation of stepping too close, and accidentally hurting her. He also notices how every footstep of his causes her to stumble minutely. After about twenty minutes they arrive at her door. Which is normal-sized and puzzles him until he notices the tiny door situated in the middle. She steps in through her door then calls out to him that he can come in. He does so opening the normal-sized door and steps into her room. He searches for her form, whipping his head around at the non-furnished room until he comes across a dollhouse that sits on the floor. She walks across the floor and motions for him to come nearer.

“Could you uh, put the house on the desk? So it’s easier for you to see.”

He nods and sets the books he has in his hands down on the table. Standing what feels like a hundred feet over a dollhouse no bigger than a medium-sized box he truly feels like a giant. He picks the house up and sets it up on the desk. Ready to offer a hand for Y/N on the floor, he is surprised to not see her there anymore. Instead, he hears a voice call his name from the desk.

“Thank ya for helping me out, I really appreciate the books!” She says.

Noticing the awe on his face from the miniaturized objects she explains: “Stark shrinks everything for me, that’s how I get by. Got everything I need in here so I never gotta come out unless I need more groceries.”

Loki assumed that a life like that could get very lonely, but he said nothing as he had before. He only kneeled to be level with her carrying on a conversation that actually held his interest.

Soon after that day Y/N and Loki started hanging around each other much more often. Finding themselves in the library together, watching a movie of the book they had both read, or simply eating together. Her small stature proved to be no hindrance in their friendship, other than Y/N purposely avoiding his hands. One night as they sat down in Loki’s room (since Loki couldn't fit in Y/N’s) ready to watch a movie on the television that Y/N had practically begged Loki to put in his quarters. She sat on the arm of the deep green couch he had placed in his room, looking a tad uncomfy. She munched on a shrunken-down bag of Goldfish. Earlier, while in the kitchen she had dragged the towering bag towards him with pleading eyes. She perched on the cushion every time they watched films together but this time she looked lonesome there all by herself. With gentleness in his voice, he asked Y/N casually if she would like to sit upon his shoulder.

Y/N’s posture became rigid. But surprisingly she agreed. He figured she would start scaling his shoulder but she waited as if expecting something.

His hand.

He realized it when her eyes flickered towards the one closest to her so he obliged. Slowly as if approaching a scared kitten his hand unfolded to display flattened fingers that she could step easily onto. She stood up slowly and neared his index finger. Her impossibly tiny hand on his digit made him twitch minutely. He cursed himself inwardly for such actions that he could not control. She sat in the dip of his palm weighing nothing more than a feather, and his breath caught in his throat at her fragility. He lifted his hand slowly to his right shoulder and waited patiently for her to dismount onto the broad platform. Tiny grunts of effort reached his ear as she situated herself nearer to his neck, her movements raising goosebumps on his skin. The small noises stopped as she finally found a comfortable spot.

“Are you comfortable?” Loki asked, making sure to keep his voice low.

“Y-yeah, I’ve never been on a shoulder before. You’re really warm.” Her voice was very clear and easy to hear when she was right next to his ear. Perhaps he should do this more often. Loki smiled at her comment, happy to provide comfort for his tiny friend.

Y/N and Loki had criticized the characters and plot the whole way through the film. Well maybe halfway for Y/N as she had fallen asleep upon his shoulder. Little breaths and snores escaped her mouth bringing a smile to Loki’s lips. Gently he brought her down from his shoulder into his cupped palms, trying to not wake her. Her little frame was dwarfed by the immensity of his hands. Despite the big-boss attitude she brought he was reminded of her delicateness. He walked to her room with a careful gait and came upon her house. There was no way his entire hand could fit through the door, and he wasn’t going to leave her there on the floor. So he turned around and headed to his own room once again.

Perhaps on a pillow, she would be comfortable, but he worried she’d become cold as she had mentioned before how sensitive she was to the elements. Out of pure instinct because it was a rather warm and soft place he placed her upon his chest. As he did so he realized how much his breathing could affect her and immediately tried to restrict his chest from rising and falling. That caused his heart to beat even harder and faster thumping rapidly under Y/N’s body causing her to slightly move. Eventually, he found a normal rhythm in both patterns of his normal body functions and drifted to sleep.

Y/N awoke to an unfamiliar but comforting rocking and thumping sensation. Blinking her eyes open tiredly she looked at the undulating expanse of black cotton fabric that surrounded her. Her gaze snapped up to Loki’s face. He slept soundly, not disturbed by her awakening. The puffs of air from the exhale he released faintly blew her face. How did he not have morning breath? She wondered how she had gotten up here on his chest, or even in his bed. She remembered falling asleep on his shoulder but couldn't he have woken her or set her in her bed in her house? Then she realized: His hand was probably too big and Loki cared much for her sleeping schedule, and he would feel guilty if he had awoken her from slumber. Loki soon awoke and greeted Y/N with a sleepy smile. He said nothing about the sleeping situation. In the nights to come, Y/N would find her bed less comfortable than Loki’s chest, his hand atop her warmer than her fluffiest blanket. An odd comfort, yet, soothing in its gentility and peacefulness.

Y/N had rarely been outside. With a grand height of two and a half inches, the world outside was a much more dangerous place than here in the tower. But with Loki, perhaps she could change that…

“Hey Loki,” Y/N climbs onto the book he currently reads, leaving little footprints of dust behind from her dirty boots. Loki notices this and pinches her waist lifting her so he can close the book allowing her to stand on the cover.

“Yes, little Y/N?” Loki has taken a liking to the nickname and to his surprise, Y/N hasn’t commented on it either.

“Do ya think we could maybe go outside on a walk or something?” She asks with nerves in her voice, she doesn’t want her request to be rejected.

“I see no problem with that as long as you stay on my person the entire time. You can even sit on my shoulder, I’ll be able to cast an illusion to make you unseen to others’ eyes.”

Y/N beams and her mood is immediately uplifted, all anxiety gone.

“Oh my goodness yes! Let me go get my sunglasses and my sandals. Oh!” Y/N keeps naming off things as she sprints back to her room excitement in every step.

Loki laughs loudly at her rambling, a blush rising to his cheeks.

The sun warms Y/N’s body as she perches on Loki’s shoulder, true to his word, no one spies the two-inch girl. Loki’s gait rocks her with every step and she clings to his shirt collar for support. The sky is blue with a gentle breeze in the air cooling the warmness around them. Loki wears his black hair in a low bun; before they had walked outside he insisted on wearing it up, worried the dark strands would get in Y/N’s way. They enjoy each other’s company in a comfortable silence until Loki asks her if she likes ice cream. It had been a while since she had tasted the delicacy and sweetness of the cold treat. After her run-in with the whole shrinking episode, she had been on her own for quite a bit. Scavenging for food when it came, she was not picky in the slightest. Ice cream was a dessert she came by not too often.

“What is your favorite flavor?” She asks Loki before they walk into the small shop.

Loki ponders for a moment wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue.

“I like vanilla.” He states, making Y/N turn towards him with astonishment.

“Vanilla! That’s like the plainest one yet! Come on, you gotta have a better one than that.” She exclaims.

Ignoring her disagreement with his choice, he asks: “What is your favorite?”

“Oh definitely, one hundred percent cotton candy.” She says without missing a beat.

“That’s terribly sweet don’t you think? I believe vanilla is the better choice here.”

“Hey! I like my choice very much, thank you!” She laughs lightly hitting his jaw, watching as his face lifts with a smile from their playful banter. The rest of the day played out nicely after they had both eaten their ice creams. Loki offered to shrink Y/N’s but she insisted she’d rather have more to eat. He had laughed a full belly laugh when she ended up falling into the mound of ice cream herself. He had used his magic to clean her up.

The next day Loki found out that Y/N and he were put on a mission together. Infiltrate an enemy base to get valuable information. Easy enough he thought. He was wrong. Turns out keeping an eye on a tiny person is harder than it sounds.

Halfway into the mission, Y/N’s voice went quiet on his headset. She had been tasked with exploring the vents for easier access to the archive room where the records they needed were kept. He had no way to physically reach her, because of his size. The best he could hope for was her voice to sound in his ear again through the headset. Anxiety pumped through him, his mind coming up with terrible scenarios that could’ve happened already. He tried to keep a clear head, focusing on the task at hand. He made it to a doorway held guard with two men carrying heavy guns. He simply illusioned himself as another soldier, using the keycard he had swiped off the soldier he was illusioned as of now. Making it into the security room he checked the cameras for any sign of Y/N. To his horror, he saw that they also had cameras in the air vents. Where Y/N had been previously.

He exited the room in a calm fashion while panicking immensely on the outside. Running his hands through his hair, he paced back and forth. He usually kept a clear head in stressful situations, but the thought of losing Y/N made him sick with worry and terror. That’s when he felt a weight hit his boot. He immediately looked down and saw Y/N’s panting, exhausted form sprawled out on the toe of his shoe. He knelt quickly scooping her up, bringing her to his eye level. She rolled over to meet his gaze.

“Are you alright, what happened? You worried me sick?” Loki blurted.

She held up a rectangular box showing it to Loki. The flash drive.

“Got it. But we gotta move, there are cameras in those vents, and I’m pretty positive they caught sight of a certain tiny person.”

Loki groaned with aggravation but was relieved to have his tiny friend back in his grasp.

He dropped Y/N into his pocket gently, he had asked that most of his clothes come with pockets from now on to hold Y/N safely with him.

“Remind me to never let you out of my sight again.” Loki jokes.

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

That night after hot showers and a good meal Loki and Y/N were ready to go to sleep. Y/N laid peacefully on Loki’s chest, rising with his every breath. Loki lay down with a hand over his eyes. But a certain nagging question still held his mind from sleep.

“Y/N, how did you get to be…” He can't finish the last word, worried he’ll bring up unwanted emotions and memories.

“How’d I get so small?” Y/N finishes for him.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” He reminds with a gentle fingertip rubbing circles onto her back.

“No, no...I need to tell someone. I’ve been keeping it under lock and key but I trust you Lokesters.”

He smiled at the new nickname she had given him watching as she turned towards him, sitting criss-cross. He propped his head with his hands to see her clearly.

“I didn’t have the best parents out there. They struggled with bills, because they were too worried about getting their drugs, So one night when I was ten years old they took me to a restaurant. We never went to restaurants, kind of a fancy thing for me you know? I was excited and had gotten my favorite blue dress on to go. I started to realize they had lied to me when we passed the restaurant and kept driving. They took me to a HYDRA base, but I didn't know that at the time, all because they wanted money. So they gave me up for experiments and left me for their high.”

Y/N took a deep breath to stop the tears from coming and continued.

“The scientists or whatever strapped me down to a table and stuck me with this needle. Well, I guess you know what happened and they kept me for three years in a cage with all types of different tests to measure my strengths. They were tortuous, so I had to escape and I did. But when I was about thirteen and a half I was able to sneak away. I lived in boxes on the streets, outside under rocks, trying to scavenge by. Even met a couple borrowers like you were reading bout’. They were awfully nice fellows but were barely getting by themselves so I couldn’t take off of them. But one day I was stealing or whatever you wanna call it and got caught by no other than Nick Fury himself. Told me he needed little guys like myself and offered me a place to stay, food to eat, and a job of my own. So I took it and here I am.”

Loki was astonished by the strength of this small girl, how she’d survived through such hardships and still had a good heart and kind soul. He hugged her closer to his chest, careful not to smother her.

“Well little one, you got me now and I'm not going anywhere.”

Y/N popped her head out from his grasp and eyed with scrutiny.

“Even for the Tesseract?” She asked.

Loki laughed and hugged her again, watching as she embraced him as well.

“Even for the Tesseract.”

———————————————————————

Please reblog if you liked it! Lots of love ❤️

[untilenglandisnomore]

PadMay 2021 – Day 2: How should Padmé be remembered?

(rocks up a week late with a chai latte) Played fast and loose with the word “should” here and ended up thinking a lot about Imperial propaganda.

Summary: Imperial Supreme Commander Darth Vader is sent to investigate accusations of a university lecturer spreading treasonous Rebel propaganda. A class on the life and work of Naboo’s former Queen Amidala brings back painful memories.

As far as punishments go, it would appear on the face of it that Darth Vader had lucked out. Being sent to assist the ISB might be painfully boring but at least it wasn’t painful. It seemed almost incongruous to the Emperor’s rage at his apprentice, once again, letting the Rebels slip through his fingers.

Vader knew better. Pain, he was used to. Pain, he could tolerate. Wasting his skills and time on pointless political suppression, investigating academics for spreading Rebel lies irked him immensely. The Emperor’s way of reminding him that he was replaceable, disposable.

And to rub salt in his wounds, he was commanded to investigate the faculty at the University of Theed. To be mere clicks away from his beloved’s final resting place was a pointed twist of the knife.

The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he could get back to hunting down the Rebels, so the Sith pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind.

Or at least, that was his intention. Begrudgingly, he followed the ISB Agent into the lecture hall. The Agent was to lead the interrogation, Vader was there to provide leverage.

The class had already started. Fifty pairs of eyes turned on them and the lecturer stopped abruptly.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a strong voice despite the fear spiking through her blood at the sight of Vader.

The Agent gave her shark-tooth smile. “Agent Elliot, ISB. We’ll just be sitting in your lecture today. Making sure everything is up the standards of our great Emperor.”

The way he cocked his head towards Vader made it clear it was not a request.

The lecturer stiffened. “What does education have to do with security?” she asked.

“Sedition,” said the Agent, “is a crime.”

She gave them a flat look. “Fine. Take a seat. Be sure to let us know when the truth runs up against the Emperor’s delicate sensibilities,” she snarked.

Vader felt a brief bit of surprise at her insolence and then almost amused. He really did not like Agent Elliot. There was something about the steel in her eye that made him wonder if all the Naboo were just like that.

They stood at the back of the hall, Elliot pointedly taking notes on his datapad, and Vader glowering, and the lecturer got back to her class.

“Okay hopefully you’ve all read chapters five, nine and ten on the Invasion of Naboo and the Clone Wars.”

There was some half-hearted murmuring across the room. The lecturer rolled her eyes.

“Come on guys. Fine. Does anyone in this room not know who Queen Amidala was?”

There was a smattering of laughter and snorts of disbelief.

Darth Vader didn’t hear the lecturer’s reply because what was left of his body went numb and a distant ringing filled up his ears. He stood frozen as the lecturer set up a holoprojector and suddenly it was her. Her face, lit up and larger than life before his eyes. Her voice breaking through the ringing in his ears and bouncing around his skull.

“Like so many of the people that we tell ourselves we're here to serve, Teckla lives in a district that rarely has electricity and running water as a result of the war.”

Vader could feel his heart stop in his chest. His mind went completely blank. He watched, as if from a very far distance, as the holoprojector floated up off the desk, crumpled up like a piece of flimsi, and then shattered into dust.

Stillness fell over the room as all the students and the lecturer stared at the spot where the holoprojector had sat seconds prior.

The lecturer seemed to recover first, giving herself a little shake and pointedly not looking at Vader.

“Well,” she said, “I’ve got printed copies of this speech on flimsi,” she handed out sheets for students to pass around while they started to whisper to each other, furtive glances in Vader’s direction.“So everyone take a couple of minutes to read the speech and take some notes.”

The students followed their instructions as the lecturer awkwardly scooped up the remains of her holoprojector and deposited them into a bin.

“Okay,” she said at last, “what does this speech tell us about the Clone Wars?”

A handful of students raised their hands, the lecturer pointed to a bothan girl, one of the few non-humans in the class.

“The war was causing lots of suffering and the Senate weren’t doing a good job stopping it. This is why the Emperor had to take over, to ensure peace.”

The lecturer glanced over at where Agent Elliot was standing and didn’t try to hide the roll of her eyes.

“I suppose it could be interpreted that way. Senator Amidala spoke out against corruption in the Senate many times.”

“She didn’t support the war,” said another student, a human boy, “doesn’t that make her a Separatist?”

“And she signed the bill asking the Emperor to hand power back to the Senate. Isn’t that treason?” added his friend.

Another disdainful eye roll in the ISB Agent’s direction as the lecturer trotted out the party line through gritted teeth.

“Senator Amidala was a close, personal friend of the Emperor. The Emperor supports democracy and free speech, but order had to be restored after the war. Senator Amidala was a great leader and surely would have supported the Empire had she lived long enough to see the excellent things it has achieved.”

“Professor?” another student put up her hand. “I was going to do my paper on Senator Amidala and the days around the rise of the Empire but there’s hardly any sources? Should I pick another topic? Do you know how she died?”

Genuine curiosity broke through the lecturer’s stony façade but as she opened her mouth to answer, she yelped and jumped back as her entire desk broke in half.

She stared at the desk. She stared at the rows of students gaping in shock. She stared at Vader.

Her eyes narrowed minutely at the Sith and then, apparently throwing all caution and good sense to the wind, she continued her answer.

“It’s a matter of some… contention,” she started slowly. “Senator Amidala was last seen at her home on Coruscant several hours after the formation of the Empire. She took her personal ship, and left Coruscant. There’s no further sources on where she was or what happened to her.”

The lecture hall felt very cold all of a sudden. Despite the ominous feeling in her gut, the lecturer continued.

“Official Imperial sources reported her death as an act of terrorism by a Jedi. They claim she died a martyr for the Empire.”

“And you don’t think that’s true?” asked a student. It was a fair question. The disbelief was clear in her tone.

The lecturer glanced over again to Vader and the Agent. She shrugged.

“Without any evidence to the contrary, it might as well be true. I think her actions as Queen and as Senator tell us exactly what Amidala would have thought of the Empire.” She ignored the twitch of the Agent’s brow at her tone, and pointed to a student. “Yes, Ilya.”

The class continued, moving on to discuss the boring, political, parts of the Clone Wars which Vader, for one, had no desire to relive.

None of it was new to him anyway, so he allowed himself to zone out the class, gingerly picking through the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Her. Somehow of all the days, of all the classes, they were discussing her.

He briefly mused on whether it was the Force, or his own cursed bad luck. Or, more cynically, if this was engineered by his Master, as part of his punishment.

They remembered her, quoted her speeches and still respected her as a leader, as Queen and as Senator. And yet they knew nothing about her.

They didn’t know that her laughter was musical when she was happy, and a graceless snigger when he made a particularly lewd joke. They didn’t know how the air in a room seemed to change when she walked into it, like all the atoms had ceased moving. Or how it changed again, when she spoke, always uncompromising and direct, like static electricity crackled between her sentences. They didn’t know all the good she could have done. Would have done.

He had robbed the galaxy of her blinding, beautiful presence. She was the only good thing left and he killed her and it was all his fault.

A blaring alarm shook him out of his reverie as students started to pack up their bags and awkwardly file out the door past him, shooting him apprehensive glances as they went.

The girl from before, who had asked… who had asked about that, was loitering behind to approach her teacher.

“Um,” she started, “so what should I do my paper on? So many of the books in the library have been taken out by the new censorship laws, it’s so hard to find good sources.”

The lecturer flashed her student a smile. “It just so happens that the Senator Amidala’s father used to work at this university, he’s an old friend and he dropped off some of the Senator’s old memoirs.”

She went to her bag and pulled out a datapad. “It’s all been copied to the holonet, and,” she rolled her eyes in Vader’s direction, once again demonstrating a remarkable lack of fear for her life, “edited to remove anything that could be interpreted as anti-Imperial. There’s lots of good anecdotes from her time as Senator, and a fair few political essays.”

They started to talk further about the student’s paper but Vader wasn’t listening, his legs moving before he was fully conscious of it, coming to a stop in front of the lecturer and snatching the datapad from her hand. She gave him an unimpressed glare and he was suddenly overcome with a need to explain himself.

“The ISB will need to review this,” he said stiffly, “for evidence.” He abruptly turned on his heel and walked out the room, nearly running over Agent Elliot in the corridor.

“Other than her having an attitude problem, there’s not much to go on here, she’s not distributing illegal material as far as we can see,” said the Agent. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the datapad in Vader’s hand.

“Nothing that concerns you,” replied Vader, and stalked away in a flurry of black fabric and disdain.

It wasn’t until he was back in his chambers aboard the Executor that he dared take out the datapad again, too often surrounded by nosy Imperial officials and gossipy stormtroopers.

He flicked it to a random page and at the first line he read, let out a snort of amusement, the sound odd and distorted through his vocoder.

“In a democracy, citizens have a duty to stand up against tyranny. In order to benefit from the rights and freedoms that democracy brings, citizens have an obligation to be vigilant against the rise of authoritarianism.”

This, thought Vader, was definitely not Imperial approved material. Distantly, he wondered if he should report it, this incendiary material was on the holonet, anyone could read it.

People would know what she thought. More would remember her as a traitor.

He preferred to imagine that he could have convinced her, that she would have come to see that the Empire was necessary. But. He quietly knew the truth. She was stalwart in her beliefs and a hell of a lot more stubborn than he was.

She would have been proud to be labelled a traitor by this Empire. She would hate to be remembered as a martyr for it.

She always did have the last word, Vader thought dryly, resolving to conveniently forget about the memoirs being on the holonet, and settled onto a chair to read every word she had written.

[ciggylungz]

Rivals. c2

Rivals: chapter 2

3.2k words

Summary: Y/n and Harry are both CEO’s of their parent’s companies since they inherited the businesses from them, they’ve been rivals since they were kids- now that they’re professional adults how will their rivalry affect them?

__

When Friday rolled around Y/n was excited, she’d had a grueling week and been working 18 hours a day for the past 6 days so she was more than thrilled to have a break. Friday’s were usually pretty tame in the office, but just her luck that day a new product design was dumped on her desk and she was tasked with going through the mountains of papers filled with advertisement ideas, promotion pictures and commercial ideas for the new line of clothes and perfumes coming out for the winter season since they were a few weeks away from December. Due to the time crunch she couldn’t really afford to push it off, so she sat at her desk and reviewed everything well past her normal hours.

It was around 7 in the evening when she pulled out the bottle of tequila she kept in her desk for late nights like this, grabbing some ice from the office kitchen and a tonic water from her own mini fridge stashed in the closet in her office. She kept the lighting low, her eyes already feeling the strain of the fluorescent bulbs and fine print papers after hours of reading and she’d like to save the headache for the next morning if possible.

She was a tad bit startled when a knock sounded at her office door, she glanced to the clock seeing it was nearing 10 at night and she knew her assistant left at 8 so she was a surprised by the interruption. Of course, he had to be the one knocking. Even through her mild intoxication she could tell that curly mop of hair as him, his face joining his locks a second later as he waltzes into her office. His lips were tugged in a small smile, hands holding a binder with a plastic bag cradled in his left one.

“Ah! Getting a bit wild in the office tonight? Tequila, you naughty girl!” he gave her a fake disapproving look companied with a stern finger pointing between her and the now half empty bottle. Y/n was always a bit looser after a drink, so she didn’t have her usual bitter comeback loaded she instead felt a strange shot of happiness? Relief? Fondness? She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was too foreign of a feeling to be associated with the man. The woman didn’t understand why she didn’t feel the sense of loathing tugging at her when he spoke, instead she let out a small laugh before flipping him off.

Harry was surprised yet pleased at her reaction. He always loved tipsy y/n, the booze seemed to soften her overly serious nature and make her a bit sweeter. They had some of their best moments together after they had a good buzz going, they’d even had a few instances of cuddling during their alcohol induced haze. He remembers those times fondly; he thinks back on them at times when they’re arguing or in the middle of a grudge holding session. Harry knew she’d never admit it, but deep down behind all her walls she really was a loving, sweet girl. She always had been yet her pride and fear of vulnerability would never let her admit it.

“Hello Harry, any reason you’ve broken into my place of work?” she tipped the glass back to her lips, taking another sip of her cocktail as she waited for his response. She watched him set his things down, shrugging his suit jacket off before rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “Saw you through the window, was workin’ late myself. Thought misery needed a bit of company, and knowing you I knew you’d probably need a designated driver for the night miss tequila.” He lifted his eyebrows in a slight teasing manner, a smile growing on her lips as she giggled quietly, raising her hands in surrender. “bad habits die hard, huh?” she retorted, the smile didn’t drop from her features and Harry loved it. She always had such a beautiful smile. Her plushy lips molded into the shape, her braces did their job giving her a perfect even smile. She had a genuine smile on, he could tell by the way it met her eyes that seemed to brighten when she was in a good mood. She was beautiful. He truly didn’t understand why she had always been so self-conscious. he hated when she’d talk negatively about her looks, weight, body etc. He’d always found her to be a very beautiful woman, and her strong personality amplified that even further.

“That they do miss Y/l/n, they do indeed.” He agreed with a nod, reaching his hand into the previously noted bag pulling out some bread, followed by small slices of cheese and finally a container of grapes. They both shared a love for the particular grouping of food, often having it for snack as kids or packing it when they went on little trips with their friends. It was their thing in a sense. He might amp it up a bit to feel a special bond with her in some way, even if it’s just over a love of the same foods.

“Brought some goodies, might share with you if you’re nice to m’.” Harry made himself comfortable on the couch, toeing off his shoes to leave him in his red dress socks. He liked to have accent colors when he dressed for work, often opting for pocket squares, socks or collar pins to tie together his outfits. He had decided early on just because he was in a work environment didn’t mean he had to dress boring, he worked in fashion for Christ sake so he enjoyed a bit of complimentary accessories. Tastefulness is key though, and he knew how to pick them right.

Y/n polished off her drink, reaching to pour herself another mixing it with a coffee straw she snagged from the kitchen during her original venture out. the woman shrugged slightly, taking a sip with a little smack of her lips at the strongness. She went a bit heavy on the tequila this time around.

“Eh, I’m on a diet anyway.” Her response amused Harry, chuckling lightly before popping a grape into his mouth. He always appreciated someone with a quick wit, and Y/n checked that box for him. He was starting to realize she checked most of his boxes regarding things he found attractive…and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

__

It was nearing midnight when Y/n started to show signs she was fully drunk. Her head bobbed slightly, body lightly swaying and Harry saw her eyes flutter every so often. He could read her like a book, he knew she was stressed, tired and wasted just from a single glance. The man found it quite cute, she looked so soft and cute when she was in this state. She radiated that type of energy that made you want to hug her; she wasn’t as guarded and flighty. She looked utterly trashed but relaxed and he didn’t mind the drunkenness if it meant she wasn’t as worked up as usual. She worked hard; the woman deserved to let loose once in a while.

“Hey, think it’s time to head out hmm?” Harry slowly sat up as he spoke, stretching with a few quiet pops of his joints. Y/n lifted her head slightly, giving him doe eyes and a pouty lip. “but I have work to do…” a hiccup sounded after she spoke, making her body jolt slightly. “It’ll be there on Monday, it’s late and you’re wasted love. C’mon time to go, hey don’t get all misty eyed on me it’s okay. Swear it’s alright, everything will get done.”

Harry frowned mid-way through his sentence seeing her eyes gloss with tears. She could be quite an emotional drunk, she bottled up her feelings 24/7 so in any sort of weakened state she began to crack. Harry had seen it only twice in the thirteen years of knowing her. The first time they were 15, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend at the time who was a total douche and he’d spent the six months the pair were together practically bullying the girl and mainly spending the time they had together fucking her. she had gotten absurdly drunk and walked to Harry’s home, sobbing and shaking only to spend the rest of the night cuddled into his chest. it was a toxic relationship and Harry always hated that guy; he gave the boy a few swift kicks to the ribs a few days after the incident. The second was during spring break, the pair were freshly 20 and someone had groped her at the club. Y/n had a panic attack on the bathroom floor and Harry sat with her the whole time, even though the filthy floor was sticky with booze and god knows what else he didn’t even think of leaving her behind.

Y/n took in a deep breath nodding her head slightly, letting Harry put the bottle back in it’s hiding spot and organize her papers before getting himself situated and heading to the car. With some episodes of tripping over her own feet and dizziness he’d managed to get her into the passenger seat, buckling her and joining her in the vehicle.

__

 “Y/n no, you can’t smash the window! Where are your house keys? Put the rock down”

Bargaining with someone who’s intoxicated was never easy, but he was worried about the woman chucking a random stone through her first-floor window instead of just unlocking the door. Drunk minds aren’t the soundest he supposed seeing as he was prying a rouge rock from y/ns hand.

Eventually the keys were located and used to forge entry into her modest town house. Unlike her parent’s y/n wasn’t into flashy mansions and cars. She didn’t see a purpose for such a large home when she was the only resident, plus it creeped her out knowing there would be more room for potential squatters if she had opted for an 8-bedroom 6-bath mansion like her parents had for the 3 of them. She was never someone who fancied showing off expensive thing, she found it tacky and risky because you’re flashing to people that you have expensive things to steal. So, when she purchased a home, she opted for a modest 2-bedroom town house and she really did love it.

Harry was greeted with a subtle scent of cedar and nutmeg, reminding him y/n always opted for fall themed candles and home fragrances. She felt it made places feel cozier and warmer. contrary to her guarded and sometimes cold personality, she always wanted her home to feel welcoming.

Her décor was nice, a large leather couch with some dark red throw pillows along with a fuzzy blanket folded and draped over the back of the furniture. Some arm chairs also filled the Livingroom, art hung evenly on the wall and a tv mounted right in the center of the adjacent wall. A nice area rug and coffee table really finished off the center room, it was an inviting set up and Harry had to resist the urge to sit on the large couch that seemed to be calling to him as he started walking her up the steps.

The bedframe groaned as she flopped herself down on her mattress, a content sigh leaving her lips as the woman kicked off her shoes. “mmmm love my bed, missed it.” The woman placed an affectionate pet to her pillow, Harry laughing slightly at her antics whilst searching her dresser for clothes to change her into. Pinching a pair of sleep shorts and a tshirt before tossing it on the bed making his way into her bathroom so she could change in private.

Once the girl was situated, he reappeared, picking up her dirty clothes and putting them in her hamper for her. everything was going well, they weren’t fighting and she seemed to really be enjoying his presence but because Harrys an idiot he had to ruin it.

“maybe if you weren’t such a raging bitch, I wouldn’t have to come take you home and you’d have a boyfriend who could huh?”

He intended it to be their playful teasing, how they usually pick on each other and make rude comments but it came across harsher than intended. He sounded utterly mean and spiteful, and after Y/n had spent the evening warming up to him and even enjoying his company that felt like a smack in the face. Just when she thought maybe he’d changed or wasn’t so bad he had to make a comment, picking a topic she was already very sensitive about because all her previous relationships were very abusive and put her in the position she was in now of being so guarded and cold she was left to a life of loneliness.

There was a beat of silence, Harry registering his tone and how he’d just switched the atmosphere entirely. There was no sense of playfulness anymore, just hurt and anger. He regretted ever opening his mouth, seeing the woman look away from him with veins visible on her neck from the restraint she was using to hold back her tears. She cursed herself for drinking, it always made her more sensitive and she felt like a fool for not seeing Harry was just waiting for her to become vulnerable so he could strike back even when truly it wasn’t his intention, his actions left her with only that theory to believe.

Y/n cleared her throat and shot him the best glare she could while her eyes burned with tears begging to escape. “You can see yourself out Harry.” The dismissal was curt and quiet, there was no option for bargaining or pleading because she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Harry knew when to pick his battles with her so he knew it was best he left, sighing slightly before leaving the bedroom making sure he locks her front door for her on his way out. he’s never wanted to beat his own ass so bad in his life.

__

 As much as Y/n tried to hide it under her cold, blunt exterior- she was extremely insecure and broken inside. She never learned how to express her emotions or hurt. Y/n never had parents there to guide her nor comfort her in her times of need. She’d never had anyone who cared about her to look out for her besides neglectful nannies who left her to her own devices most of her childhood. She was emotionally stunted, and it had made her vulnerable to shitty people her whole life. It led to her having a 17-year-old boyfriend when she was 13 that pressured her into losing her virginity and emotionally abused her the entirety of their year long illegal relationship. It put her in the position of having a revolving door of toxic abusive relationships with cruel boys who treated her poorly, her father was never around so she never had an example of a good man so she resorted to getting attention and validation in whatever form she could even when it was harmful and a façade to use her body and status. The woman was never taught how to handle her emotions and it led to her clawing for control in any way she could, any sort of distraction and turned her to dark, destructive behaviors in her teen years that still haunt her in the form of physical and mental scars now that she’s in her adult years. She’d practically had to raise herself, and now that she’s grown, she’s running the company that stole her parents from her. she can’t tell who she hates more, her parents or herself.

Harrys word seemed to pop the stitches on an internal wound she thought was close to healing. While he was joking, she couldn’t tell. It was said with such a bitter malice it made her skin crawl. Sure, they’ve been mean to each other for 13 years but in her vulnerable state and the knowledge he had of her past his words seemed deliberate and cruel for the sole purpose of hurting her. not a stupid joke like he’d intended.

She couldn’t get it out of her head, she spent the remainder of the weekend nursing her hangover and a wounded soul. Her mind was screaming self-hating words, cruel statements towards herself and pushing her to look for comfort in another person again even when she knew she was vulnerable to falling back into the arms of yet another man who wasn’t good for her but she couldn’t bring herself to care enough about herself to make the best choices for her. she felt like she had something to prove to Harry, herself and the universe that she wasn’t so horrible that no one could stand to be around her even if the person she chose only stuck around to leech off her. it was a stupid mindset, one that’s left her torn to shreds numerus times since her early teenage years but the spiral Harrys verbal bite sent her into had her internally turning back into 14-year-old y/n who just wanted to feel like she mattered. She was setting herself up for pain again, she knew it. But like she stated before, old habits die hard.

and y/n decided she must be a glutton for punishment when her fingers started typing in the familiar number of her ex.

[hayleysstark]

Anonymous

Words: 2749  Warnings: Swearing Summary: When Poppy was sixteen, she started getting anonymous love poems. When she is twenty-three, she finds them again.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3. 

The paper in Poppy's hand is white.

The paper in Poppy's hand is plain white—practical, sensible, no fuss, no frills, no bright colors or flashy patterns or shimmering glitter, not even a heart or a cupcake or a rainbow cut out and pasted in the corner—and Branch actually stops in her doorway to take a second look, to make sure it's not just a trick of the light, of the sun through her window.

Since when does Poppy use plain white paper? Hell, since when does any other troll in the entire town use plain white paper? As far as Branch can tell, he's the only one—even all the printed books in the village are alive with rainbow colors, with scented stickers and yellow smiley-faces and bright pictures—but it looks like he's wrong, it looks like Poppy does use plain white paper, here and there, because it's in her hands, and it's scattered all around her on the floor like snow, like a second carpet. Her bright eyes flick over the page, and her small, soft pink lips open and move as she reads, as she whispers the words, under her breath, to herself, that thing she does where she reads out loud but she doesn't actually read out loud—

God. It's such a small and stupid thing to focus on. It's such a small, and stupid thing to love about her, but Branch loves that about her—like he loves the tiny curl at the end of her bubblegum pink ponytail, like he loves the little dimple deep in her left cheek, like he loves when she bumps into doors or tables or chairs and says sorry and the way she wrinkles up her nose when she's irritated with him, because she still doesn't know how to scowl, and it's so goddamn adorable—

"Branch!" Poppy tosses the (plain, white) paper back down to the floor with all the rest, bounces up, and rushes over to him, flinging her arms around his neck. "Oh, my gosh, you're back! I missed you so much!"

"You saw me an hour ago," Branch points out, and he tells himself he's only breathless because she knocked into him like a damn hurricane. "Can't have missed me that much."

"I always miss you when you're gone!" Poppy pulls back to smile at him, and her eyes crinkle up at the corners and her left-side dimple shows, and the he's-only-breathless-because-she-knocked-into-him-like-a-damn-hurricane theory is complete bullshit.

And he doesn't even care. He just smiles back.

"I got Harper set up in Smidge's pod," he tells her. "I'll keep an eye on her for the next few days, but I don't think that bump on the head was anything to worry about. She was already feeling better when I left, she was joking around with Biggie and Guy. Looks like she's in the clear."

"Oh!" Poppy perks up even more if that's possible. "Gosh, that's great! I'm really glad she's okay. Thanks for taking care of her, Branch, you're a life-saver." She hugs him again, her breath warm on his collarbone, her nose deep in the hollow of his neck, and he has to actually remind himself to breathe.

"Uh," he says, very ineloquently, "no problem. Um." He clears his throat a little too loudly. "So, what's with all the—?" He pulls back to jerk his chin at the papers.

"Oh!" Poppy spins on her heel to look down at the stack on the floor, and Branch tries not to stare at the flare of her skirt around her long legs. "Just goin' down memory lane, you know?" She smiles, small and—sad, almost, slightly wistful, a tinge of bitter mixed in with all the sweet. "It's been a long time since I went through all my stuff, and I just—I found—" she glances over her shoulder again at the heap of papers strewn all over her fuzzy carpet, and a red tinge edges steadily into her pink cheeks, "—I found old love letters."

Branch's stomach drops. "Love letters?" His mouth goes so dry, he can hardly push the words past his numb, frozen lips. But that's ridiculous, because she's Poppy, and she's had strings of admirers at her heels as long as he can remember, because she's Poppy, she's—God, just look at her, of course she got love letters, and of course she still gets love letters, and she's probably gotten at least one love letter from every troll in the village at this point, because she's Poppy, so there is absolutely no need to freak out about this. Really, what are the odds, anyway? "Y-You—" he tries to swallow, but his throat is dry, too, and it sticks, "—you get plenty of those, though. Right?"

"I mean," Poppy bites her lip, and tucks a lock of bright hair behind one ear, "yeah, I guess I kinda do, now that I think about it, but—" she kneels down to pick through the pile again, "—but there was this one troll—" she riffles and rustles through the stack for a minute before she finally plucks out a single paper, and reads it over before she looks back up at Branch. "They never signed their name. Weird, huh?"

Branch is at least ninety-seven percent certain his chest has just tied itself in a particularly complex knot, because why else would he feel like maybe a Bergen has made itself at home on his chest? "Weird?" he echoes, and even in his own ears, it sounds too high, too sharp, too fast, and that's ridiculous, because there is absolutely no need to freak out over this, there is absolutely no need to blow this up, to turn this into a big deal, because it could be anyone, it could be anyone in the entire village, remember, she's Poppy, it's impossible to not fall a little bit in love with her, so there's no need to freak out, he doesn't need to freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, do not freak out. "Is that weird? Are they the only troll who never—?"

"Never signed their name? Yeah!" Poppy glances back down at the paper clutched in her pink fist. "Yeah, that's the thing! What kind of troll would write anonymous love letters? It's so weird!"

Oh.

Oh, no.

The paper in Poppy's hand is white, and all the rest of the paper in the stack is white, and Poppy never uses white paper and no one in the entire town uses white paper, and Branch is the only troll in the town who uses white paper and they never signed their name and can he freak out now, is he finally allowed to freak out now? Please?

"—really weird, though, they weren't actually 'letters', it was more like—" Poppy tips her pink head to the side, "—like poetry. You know?"

Holy fucking shit.

This is so bad.

"Um," Branch says, and slides down to the floor.

"Oh, but it was always so pretty!" Poppy gushes, with the page crushed to her chest and a soft little smile on her face. "I mean, it was always so sad, but it was always so pretty, they were so good at it, like—hang on—" she drops the sheet into her lap again, and smooths out the wrinkles and creases with the flat of her hand. "I know very well you'll never love me—only let me love you, let me live out my fate—to adore you, forever, from afar, let me burn for you until—"

"Okay!" Branch says, except it's actually a kind of, well, a squeak, maybe, a little bit—he sounds much, much higher than he usually does—but he cannot let her say the rest of that. His cheeks are already burning with the little bit she did get out. "Okay! That—that's enough. You shouldn't waste your time on this troll, Poppy. He never signed his name, and he's stopped writing to you. You'll never figure out who he is, so there's no point in talking about it."

Poppy frowns. She pushes her hair back again, and leans back a little. "Yeah," she says, with a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right, I just—I just always wondered—" she drops her chin in her own open pink palm, "—I guess I just worried about them, you know?"

Branch definitely does not know. "You don't even know who it was," he points out, as nicely as he can. "I mean, what if it turned out they were awful? What if it turned out they were someone you hate? What if it turned out he was—" he can't look at her, "—what if it turned out he was really mean? You shouldn't waste your time worrying about a troll like—"

"But they sounded sad!" Poppy bursts out. "They sounded so lonely, Branch! All the time! Every letter! They sounded like they didn't have any friends, and they sounded like they didn't think anyone loved them, and I just—!" She huffs out a heavy breath. "I just really wish I could have helped them."

Branch swallows. He looks down at his own hands in his lap—at his scarred-up, sky-blue skin, that vivid, vibrant burst of color, so bright against all the dark brown and deep green of his clothes, the color he hadn't thought would stick, the color he had thought would dim right back down to grey in a matter of days, in a matter of hours, even—before he flicks a glance back up at her. "I'm sure," he says, quietly, his heart in his throat, "that you did."

"I just—" she sits up again, with a little shake of her head, "—I just don't get why they wouldn't tell me. What kind of troll does that? What kind of troll goes to all this trouble, writes all these letters, all this poetry, says all this sweet stuff about me, and then doesn't even sign their—!"

Poppy stops dead. Right there in the middle of her sentence, with her lips still open, and her eyes blown wide, she grinds to a full halt—like she's frozen, like she's turned to stone, but it's not her I'm making a mental scrapbook complete with glitter and stickers face, and it's not her I'm planning a party complete with colored lights and full playlists face, either, because she hasn't got a smile on her face or a sparkle in her eyes, it's almost like a blank, dazed kind of shock—

"Branch," she says, sudden and sharp, and she snaps around to look at him, her bright eyes narrowed in her pretty, freckled face. "How do you know they stopped writing to me?"

"What?" Branch says, out loud, because it takes a solid two-point-five seconds to hit him, and it takes him an additional two-point-five seconds to think, oh, shit, this is it, isn't it, this is it, I'm fucked, I'm absolutely fucked. "Y-You told me. You were—you were talking about it in the past tense, you were all 'they sounded sad', and you said—you said you were 'going down memory lane', or—or something—"

"You said 'he'," Poppy cuts in, her voice like ice, cold and clear. "You said 'he never signed his name'. You said 'what if he was really mean'."

Can he freak out now? "I-I guessed," he says, but even he can hear the stammer in his voice, and raw panic claws its way up the back of his throat with long, sharp nails, "I guessed, Poppy, that's all, it was just a guess, I-I don't know any more about this troll than you do, I was just—"

"You came up with that poem," Poppy cuts him off again, but there's a—a twitch, almost, at the edge of her lip, like she wants to smile, but she won't let herself, and what the hell can she possibly find to be happy about? "In the skating rink. With Bridget and Gristle."

"B-Because the rest of you weren't coming up with anything!" But it's not enough, and he knows it's not enough, he's lost, and he knows he's lost, even as he says it, he knows he's lost. "I was talking off the top of my head, Poppy, I was tr-trying not to get us all eaten, I-I don't even remember what I—"

"'Your eyes'—" Poppy whispers, almost to herself, "—'like two pools so deep'—"

"No," Branch says, but it's over, it's all over, he's lost, he's fucked, because she knows, and she's not—she's not supposed to—she was never supposed to know— "no, that's—that's not—I wasn't—"

Poppy snatches up another paper off the top of the stack with a loud crinkle, and her mouth finally pulls up all the way, and a full smile blooms over her face, and it's like the sun, bright and warm and beautiful, and what the hell is she so happy about? Isn't she upset? Isn't she mad? Doesn't she know this is a bad thing?

"Do you think," she reads off, and every word comes out slow and steady and deliberate, "that your bright colors could bleed through my shades of grey?"

Teenage Branch really should have tried to be a little bit subtler.

The knot in his chest finally pulls tight enough to break, but he still can't breathe right around the pieces. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. She was never supposed to know, and all his—all his lies, all the times he held himself back, all the times he bit his tongue so he wouldn't say, God, I love you, it all meant nothing, it was all for nothing, because she found out anyway, and she knows, and—

Poppy lifts her head, and she looks up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and sunshine smile. "Oh, my gosh," she says, in a whisper, in a soft and shaky and almost ecstatic breath, and she leans in so close, he can count every single silver freckle on her cheek, every single bubblegum-pink hair on her forehead, "oh, my gosh, it's really you."

Branch is, admittedly, a little bit lost. She doesn't look upset. She doesn't look mad. She looks happy, and is there something to be happy about, is this something to be happy about, is this—? Is she happy about—? It hurts to hope, because he knows he's wrong, he knows he's made a mistake, he just knows there's a fatal dot he didn't connect, he just knows he's wrong about this, he just knows he shouldn't hope, but it's like he can't stop, and what if she's happy about this, what if she's really, actually happy that it's—that it's him—?

Poppy tips her head up, and she kisses him.

Oh.

Oh, she—her mouth, and she presses into him, warm and firm and steady, in a way he's never felt, in a way he's never been, and—and she tastes like her favorite strawberry lip gloss, and her hands—on his chest, on his cheek, tangled in his hair, and she kisses him, over and over and over again—

"You're—?" Branch murmurs, breathless, half into her open mouth, and he pulls back, even if it's the very last thing in the world he wants to do, because he has to—he has to be sure, he doesn't want to do this if she's not—if she doesn't— "You're—" he looks, almost desperately, for the unease or uncertainty or hesitance or—or revulsion, he looks for it, behind her eyes, but he—he doesn't see—"—you're—okay? With this? With You're okay with—" he bites down, too hard, on his bottom lip, and he can feel the skin break, "—with me? You're—you're happy—?"

Poppy laughs, and it's not her normal laugh—her normal laugh is bright and bubbly and loud, her normal laugh makes every troll around her turn to look—this laugh is too soft for that, but he thinks he might like this laugh even more. "I am," she says, and she sounds a little breathless, too, "completely happy with you."

And she kisses him again—warm and firm and steady and strawberry lip gloss and her hands on his chest on his cheek in his hair—and now he kisses back, his body tangled up with hers in a plain-white-paper pile of years-old letters, and he is completely happy.

[swiss-cheeze]

Tick-Tock, Hook’s Afraid of an Ordinary Clock! || Spencer Reid

Requested: YES/NO: gender neutral please! So my request. Y/n has been working at the BAU for a while, and never ever had feelings for Spencer but more for Derek. One night is spent at a hotel and Spencer gets wasted as all hell which the team found unusual. That’s really all! Do with that what you will! Smut is fine too! You can add your own personal touches if you wish. Also would love some fighting between Spencer and y/n

Gender: none, they/them.

Warnings: insults, alcohol, normal CM case talk, verbal fight dialogue taken from Hook (1991), crap music talk.

----

“Eat your heart out, you crinkled, wrinkled fat bag,” you mumbled under your breath as Spencer finished his rambling of some unknown subject. Spencer stiffened at your insult, as did the rest of the team. You had just gotten back from a pretty bad case involving a team of family annihilators and where sitting in the nearest bar; throughout the whole case Spencer had almost made it his mission to speak over you, correct you, flick things at you, ‘forget’ you’re there, bump into you and more. God it was so annoying, and now? Now you've had enough.

“That was very ill-mannered-” Spencer started.

“And you're a slug-eating worm,” you said with a little more force matter-of-factly, cutting off whatever it was Spencer was going to say.

“You can do better than that pretty boy!” Derek said quickly with a grin as he nudged Spencer; you almost pounced on that man for taking Spencer's side rather than yours; Derek had always taken your side.

“You're encouraging this?” Spencer questioned quickly.

“Show me your fastball, dust brain!” you started again, “you paunchy, sag-bottomed puke pot!” Spencer's eyes widened three times the size they normally would be as the rest of your table sat quiet and watched.

“Damn!” Emily said under her breath with a grin as her eyes darted between the two of you; it was like watching tennis.

“You're a very poor role model for your team, you know that right?” Spencer shook his as he took a mouthful of his drink before a sly grin overtook his face, “I bet you don't even have a fourth-grade reading level,” a few of your teammates let out a little blow of air.

“Hemorrhoidal sucknavel” you said quickly.

“Maybe a fifth-grade reading level.” Spencer said even quicker.

“Oil-dripping, beef-fart-sniffing bubble butt” you started to really get into it, leaning over the table a little with a smirk.

“Aye there we go (Y/n)!” Derek said quickly, now he was on your side? You looked to Hotch who was smiling thinking that maybe you had another on your side.

“Someone has a severe caca mouth, you know that?” Spencer cut off your gaze with his words, as if he was bored.

“You’re a fart factory. A slug-slime sack of rat guts and cat vomit, a cheesy scab picked pimple-squeezing finger bandage!” snickering came over the table; but you weren't done yet oh no, “a week-old maggot burger with everything on it and flies on the side!” you grinned; many many words in that one insult. Spencer went to open his mouth but you cut him off, “you’re really just a substitute chemistry teacher” you winked.

“Come on Spence, hit (Y/n) back!” J.J. quickly intervened.

“Mung tongue” Spencer fired.

“Math tutor,”

“Pinhead,”

“Mother lover,” that one was a low blow on your end but you couldn't help yourself.

“Nearsighted gynecologist,” ouch Spence, Hotch snorted at that one.

“In your face, camelcake!” you shot back.

“In your rear, cow derrière!” of course Spencer came back even faster.

“Lying, crying, spying, prying ultra-pig!” Emily snickered at yours.

“Lewd, crude bag of pre-chewed food!” Derek snickered at Spencers.

“Guys maybe settle down…” Hotch said softly, this was starting to get a little out of hand.

“You man! Stupid, stupid man!” That was all you could give back as your mind turned blank, forgetting every word in the dictionary.

“If I'm a maggot burger, why don't you just eat me?” Spencer shot back, “you zebra-headed, slime-coated, pimple-farming, paramecium brain, munching on your own mucus, suffering from Spencer Reid envy!” laughter ensued as your face contorted to confusion.

“What the hell is a ‘paramecium’?” your voice held the question as Spencer pointed to you.

“I'll tell you what a paramecium is! You’re a paramecium!” everyone on your table stared at Spencer as he elaborated; “It's a one-celled critter with no brain that can't think!” and with that, your table cheered for Spencer as you sat sulking.

“Oh come on (Y/n), you should have known you would lose,” Derek said with a grin before following Spencer to the bar.

“He's drinking a lot tonight isn't he?” Emily questioned.

“Who, Derek?” J.J. guessed with a furrowed brow.

“No! Spencer!” Emily quickly concluded.

“He was a little harsh on (Y/n)” Hotch cut in quickly, “I’m just glad Dave and Garcia weren’t here to witness that,” you slammed your drink on the table and sent a glare to the three left at the table.

“I'm going home, i'll see everyone on monday,” you grumbled out before stalking off, your shoes made loud thunking sounds as they hit the wood flooring, your anger getting the best of you as you passed Spencer and Derek.

“Yo (Y/n) you getting a drink too?” Derek was about to order your normal drink until you slapped both Spencer and Derek on the back of the head.

“OW! What the hell-!” Spencer's back was to you but as he turned and saw you his anger melted into elation, “come back for round 2 (Y/n)?” Spencer questioned, the poor boy tried to act cool and lean against the bar but missed entirely and almost fell onto a rather burly looking gentleman. You huffed slightly as you turned to Derek.

“Make sure the substitute chem teacher gets home safe,” and with that you threw open the bar doors and walked your way home, it was only a block and you had gotten a ride with Emily anyway.

-

When you finally slumped home, chucked off your shoes and threw yourself onto your mattress you couldn't help but make yourself angrier with the new insults suddenly bubbling in your head.

“Who does that piss brain even think he is,” you mumbled into the air, “paramecium my ass…” you continued your grumbling into the atmosphere as you twisted and turned on the mattress before sleep finally engulfed you.

------

The work week started up again and before you knew it yourself and the team where needed in New Orleans because of a new range of sudden murders.

“Lets review please,” Hotch mumbled.

“The bodies cross gender and racial lines” Rossi started.

“The throat is slit with something very sharp but also clean, I get a funny feeling it isnt a kitchen knife though,” you mumbled as you looked at the photos closer trying to get a good angle on a printed piece of paper.

“Butcher?” Derek questioned, you shrugged.

“Could these be blitz attacks?” you heard Spencer scoff at your suggestion.

“If this was a blitz attack there would be remorse and blunt force trauma somewhere on the head,” Spencer said looking directly at you.

“Oh, i'm so sorry Doctor i didn't know my input was unwanted, let me just keep my thoughts to myself,”

“Guys,” J.J. sighed, “Garcia is going through the victims lives that we have already, I can talk to the family and see if there are any enemies?” Hotch nodded.

“Derek, I want you to join J.J. with the families. Rossi, Emily go to the M.E. together and have a look over the bodies and tox screens. (L/n), Reid and I will go to the police station and start on a geographical and victim board,” everyone nodded in agreement to what Hotch said. Except for Spencer. He just stared at you with dangerous eyes. You rolled yours in return before putting your headphones into your phone and playing music to drown out Spencer's overbearingly loud thoughts.

-

“Okay my lovelies, these first three victims all had the same job at the same court; they’re all a part of a Jury audience” Garcia explained as her fingers tapped on her keyboard through the phone.

“Maybe someone just got out of prison that was wrongly convicted and wanting revenge?” you questioned.

“Maybe, it would have to be something pretty big for them to come back,” Derek said, you nodded in agreement, “baby girl can you see if there are any people that may have been convicted by a jury with our victims in it?”

“Sure can sugar, PG out” the phone clicked off.

“Did you find anything from the M.E.?” Hotch turned to Rossi and Emily as he spoke.

“The pathologist said it was a clean cut without hesitation marks or remorse,” Rossi said.

“No drugs, no blunt force trauma,” Emily shrugged as she talked, “it wasn't a blitz.”

“Maybe planned?” you butted in.

“That’s what it seems like,” Hotch said, “Reid? Have you got anything? J.J.?” Hotch questioned as he looked to the respective people.

“The victims were killed in different areas but its places they frequented; house, bar, bar” Spencer started, “they’re all over the place is all, completely different areas,”

“Yeah, and the families weren’t much help either. One of the victims' families, uh, Emil Gosten? His family said they didn't want anything to do with the investigation because he's had previous death threats and calls and stuff,” J.J. shrugged as the room went quiet.

“Reid, (L/n) I know you two dont like each other but I need two of my sharpest minds to go back to the crime scenes,” Hotch sighed, you groaned but complied as you stalked off with Reid following shortly behind.

-

“Everything looks the exact same as it was left,” you sighed out as you placed a blanket back down on the couch. Spencer scanned the books on the shelf before pulling one out and starting to read it; completely ignoring you.

“Reid,” nothing.

“Reid.” again, nothing.

“Spencer,” nope.

“SPENCE”

“What!” he finally turned to you and answered.

“You couldn't give me some complacency and at least answer me when i talk to you?” you asked annoyed.

“Why would i?” Spencer asked with a bored tone as he placed the book back on the shelf, except he finally talked to you, “The victim is atheist, believes in the justice system…” he sighed and shrugged, “did Hotch just put us together to fuck with us?”

“Maybe,” you flopped onto the couch with a sigh as you rest your head on the backrest. That was until something caught your eye, “Oi genius!” you called out, Spencer came to your side as you pointed to the roof; there, above your heads was a piece of paper taped to the ceiling, “you’re taller than me,” you said quickly as you got up and started moving the couch.

“Woah what- what’re you doing?” Spencer jumped back slightly as you pushed the couch backwards.

“Well we’re going to push this back and then put a chair down for you to stand on so you can reach that note because it can possibly help us get to the unsub,”

“What why me?” Spencer questioned as he helped you push the couch back.

“You’re taller than me and have longer arms,” you walked over to the dining table and came back with a chair, Spencer was reluctant at first but eventually stood on the chair and plucked down the taped note; letting out a breath as he finally stood on the ground again. You plucked the note from Spencer's hand and opened it.

“A music note?” Spencer mumbled.

“Something like that,” you mumbled back, “see it's in the second to bottom gap,” you pointed to the gap to show where it was, as if Spencer couldn't see it already, “um, it would sound something like...um, dmm” you vibrate your voice a little to help Spencer understand, he nodded, “the only problem is there isn’t any clef; normally with music you have a treble clef, alto clef or bass clef. They basically determine what instrument can be played and how the notes are determined” Spencer looked genuinely interested while you explained your thinking, “this...its a singular note, maybe there’s more around?” you looked around the room and tried to desifre if there were any opened drawers or cupboards.

“Maybe there’s another one at the other location?” Spencer questioned, you grinned.

“It might be the unsubs calling card; ‘hey, this is my kill’ type thing!” and with that, you made a break in the case.

-

Spencer called the rest of the team about the break as Hotch allowed the two of you to go to the other victims houses and search for more music notes; low and behold you now had 3 music notes placed under the corresponding victim heads.

“You keep staring at that board as if it's going to give you answers,” Derek said with a grin as he walked into the room; the rest of the team had been called out to another dead body.

“Hmm? Oh I just…” you shrugged, “i just get this feeling about the notes; they have to sound something but we just don't know what yet” before Derek could answer you the shrill of the phone went off.

“(Y/n)?” it was Spencer on loudspeaker; he never called you by your first name.

“Yeah what's up Reid?” you called back.

“We found another note; the round part is under the last line with the stem going up to the second line at the top,” you nodded in response (not that Spencer could see you) as you drew the note on a piece of paper with a sharpener and placed it on the victim board.

“Anything else? A clef at all anywhere?” you asked.

“Um i'm not- i don't think so?” it sounded like Spencer was shuffling around a few things to get a better look, “we have another piece of paper!” Spencer called out, moments later you got a photo on your phone. Sure enough there was a treble clef.

“Spence get everyone back here; i know what the notes mean”

-

“Our unsub is using something called the Dies Irae,” you played the first few notes on your phone over youtube, “you've all heard this song over time just not exactly in an orchestra setting; Star Wars, The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Corpse Bride, Sweeney Todd, The Shining, The Exorcist and many many more,” you played a few other videos of the notes from a few of the movies as everyone nodded.

“I can hear it,” J.J. mumbled.

“Same,” that was Emily.

“Right, so...it was originally used with catholic’s; they used the music in their Requiem services-”

“Requiem services are basically putting the dead to rest,” Spencer cut in quickly so the team could understand.

“Yeah, it's basically a song for the dead to stay dead in a way? I think our unsub is using the Sweeney Todd method; killing his victims with a razor. One slice across the neck while in a private area except this dude isn't a cannibal” you grinned at the remembrance of the film.

“Cannibal?” Derek and Emily questioned.

“In the movie Sweeney Todd is a barber, he comes back for revenge on the man who stole his wife and child and kills people in his barber shop which is also above a pie shop owned by a woman named Mrs Lovett; when Sweeney starts killing they come together in order to bring customers back to Mrs Lovett's pie shop. Because it's set in 1785 meat was expensive so instead they used the dead people as meat to sell to customers” you realised how long winded that explanation was and apologized, “sorry that was..i think our unsub is a barber” was your final statement. Hotch nodded and moved to press a button on the phone in the middle of the table, but the phone started ringing instead.

“Garcia?”

“I think i found our unsub; Chris Gevette, he filed for divorce after he gave evidence of spousal abuse but it seems like his wife had every piece of evidence that would be able to put him in jail rather than her so everything was blamed on him for the abuse and the jury ruled him unable to keep any stable relationship”

“Garcia do you have a work and home address?”

“Sent to your phones now; barber shop and home” the phone clicked off.

“(Y/n) i want you to go to the barber shop with Reid and Derek. Emily, J.J. and I will go to the house; Rossi stays here in case anything else happens.” and with that you all ran to the SUV’s.

-----

“CHRIS GEVETTE FBI!” Derek shouted through the door, your guns were drawn and ready for action as Derek kicked the door in. You moved swiftly through the shop, finding nothing but dust.

“Guys!” you were now out the back as your partners came running, “it's exactly like Sweeney Todd,” you motioned to the stairs in front of you before looking behind you, “there's stars that lead down as well; there may be bodies in there like the movie too, you go down there and i'll go up.”

“(Y/n) let me come with you,” that was Spencer, he looked genuinely concerned.

“I've got this Spence. Go” you started your ascent up the wooden stairs while trying to stay as quiet as you possibly could, “CHRIS GEVETTE,” you called out to the door once you got to it, you could hear the bustle of footsteps and made the split decision. The door was kicked in by you as you pointed your gun to Chris who was now holding a razor to a woman's neck.

“Get away!” Chris screamed, he was frantic; trembling and crying.

“Chris! Chris it's okay, i'm a good guy, okay?” you slowly let go of your gun, “im holstering my gun, okay?” you said as you're-holstered your gun, “Chris i know about the divorce-”

“No you dont!” Chris called, the woman under the razor trembled as the razor cut into her neck slightly.

“I do! Chris, I know you were abused! I know it wasn't you that did the abusing! If you let her go we can help you get custody and instead send that bitch to jail,” Chris looked almost relieved to hear that, he contemplated that for a moment before slowly letting the woman go. She ran over to you as Derek and Spencer finally came up the stairs and started handcuffing Chris.

“We’ve got two other bodies in the basement,” Spencer said to you while you held the trembling woman, “there's medic on the way now,” you nodded in affirmation before starting to help the women calm down and walk down the stairs.

------

The jet finally landed back at the bureau as the rest of your team started packing their things from their desks.

“Um (Y/n)” a voice called, you smiled as you looked up to see the person you least expected.

“Spence?” you questioned; your eyes darted around and couldn't see any other team member in sight, “everyone left already. Sorry. I've been in my own little world,” you gave a tight smile as you continued packing some extra files into your bag.

“It-it’s just me, but um, I just wanted to congratulate you on your break in the case,” the comment from Spencer's timid and small voice caught you off guard so much that you froze for a moment as you stared at him. It all seemed to go quiet, and slow; the clock on the wall seemed to tick at an atrociously slow pace.

Tick…

“(Y/n)?”

Tock…

“Hmm?”

“I uh, i was-”

“Oh, yeah um-”

Pause.

Quiet.

“Thank you,” smile.

Tick…

“I was...was wondering, (Y/n)...”

Tock…

“Yeah Spence?”

“Would you...would you like to go...on a date...with...me?”

Pause.

Quiet.

“With you?”

“Well, I did...I did say ‘me’ I hope- just, just forget it” and the world went back to normal as Spence started walking away.

“No Spence, wait!” you grabbed your things and quickly darted off after him; plunging your arm between the elevator doors and stepping in quickly before they shut behind you.

“Just forget it (Y/n); forget i ever asked and we can just go back to-”

“I would love to go on a date with you”

Tick…

“Really?”

“So long as you don't call me a paramecium again”

Tock…

“I won't; as long as you don't call me a substitute chemistry teacher”

Pause.

Quiet.

“I won't”

“Then it's settled.

Tick…

“Message me?”

“Of course”

Tock…

Smile.

[seokiloquy]

Stick Figures - Kozume Kenma

AU: Writing soulmate (kind of….) (it’s more like drawing….)  Whatever is drawn or written on your body appears on your soulmate's

Word Count: 1.6K +

Kenma tended to wear long sleeves. Most people questioned him about it, why would he wear long sleeves when his soulmate wouldn’t be able to see the drawings or writings on his skin? Almost everyone around him, or people he saw walking on the street, wore short sleeves in hope to catch a glimpse of an arm or hand with ink that would match theirs.  

At 16, the inked drawings would start appearing on your soulmate’s skin. If you had one, then the first thing that you drew would glow a light gold against the skin. If you didn’t have one, then it would turn red, but that was rare. It only happened if your soulmate had already died or if there were other individual circumstances. 

He only answered when his mom asked. 

“I only want them to see what I draw. I think that I will just know when I see them regardless of the drawings on their arms.” 

He would meet them when the time was right. He didn’t need to rush things and he didn’t mind waiting. 

Kenma was only nervous the first few weeks of his soulmate-ness. He would draw almost anything that he saw, books sitting on his desk, trees through the window of his classroom, everything and get nothing in return. That was the only time he really worried about it. 

He kept drawing, until one day a small happy face appeared on the corner of his wrist. His soulmate was seeing his drawings and that was the only thing that mattered. However, they wouldn’t draw much or often. Sometimes broken words or sentences would stay on his skin, but he couldn’t make out the messages the person was trying to say. 

The process was odd and convoluted. Most drawings appear on your soulmate's skin unless it was faces or something to give your location. Some words would go through, again nothing that could give yourself away. Sentences would get broken and mixed and only words of emotion would break through to the other side. 

Kenma would get messages like: sun — blossom— every — sad— place. 

He guessed the universe wanted everyone to struggle a bit before they found their soulmate. 

He could tell that his soulmate was more of a writer than a drawer. However, that only made the times when his soulmate drew something more special. He would wake up to stick figures with empty speech bubbles and half drawn butterflies on his arm. Those were the days where he started the day off with a smile. 

He took pictures of all of them, everything drawn onto his skin. 

The biggest surprise was when he woke up with a beautiful drawing on his left arm. Fully bloomed cherry blossoms wrapped around his forearm, drawn with sketchy lines, almost covering it up entirely with it. It started small at the wrist with the first flower and then the blossoms progressive got bigger as it curved down to his elbow. A branch held them all together and spiralled up to his shoulder, fading out just past it. 

He stared at it intently, it almost looked like a professional tattoo, but it couldn’t have been one. Drawings would only show up if they were hand drawn by someone. 

His mom knocked on his door. “You’re going to be late for school.” 

She looked down at his arm and walked closer towards him. “Yours?” 

Kenma shook his head. “No.” 

His mom took his arm carefully and turned it around. “It looks kind of familiar? Doesn’t it?” 

He could see his mom’s permanent mark below her wrist. It was small and he could never make out what it was supposed to be. Another side effect to soulmates, when you finally meet them, whatever was drawn or written on your arm would stay there. 

“Not really,” he said, looking at it more closely himself. “I see cherry blossoms every day when I walk to school. It could be those or they could have been copied from a picture.” 

“You know people draw really amazing things like this so that it could stand out.” His mom said, dropping his arm. “Maybe you should wear short sleeves today.” 

“I like wearing long sleeves.” 

His mom sighed. “Kenma, have you ever thought that your soulmate might want to find out who you are?” 

He shrugged and then heard the door close behind him. 

It would be a waste to wear short sleeves. He was only going to school and no one at school was his soulmate. The first week that he discovered that he had one, he purposely drew big things on his arms and tried to see if anyone would notice and come up to him, but no one did. Since then, he stopped looking at school. 

He ran his thumb over his forearm and smiled. Grabbing his phone, he took a quick photo of it before it washed off naturally. 

Somewhere out there was his soulmate. 

Sometimes Kenma despised Kuroo. In the middle of his video game, Kuroo barged into his room and dragged him outside. He was meeting his own soulmate at an art gallery that was showing work of local artists, including his soulmate and Kuroo wanted to go and support them. 

“I’ll buy you lunch and pay for the ticket! Come on.” Kuroo said, pulling on Kenma’s shirt, tugging it where the drawing was. “I don’t wanna go alone!” 

Kenma pulled away and glared. “Fine. Just don’t ditch me when we get there.” 

Kuroo nodded and smirked. “Promise.” 

Kuroo did not keep his promise. He left as soon as he spotted his soulmate. Kenma decided to not waste the ticket that Kuroo brought him, so he walked around the gallery. Not to mention that Kuroo offered him lunch and he wasn’t going to pass that up. 

He enjoyed looking at art even if some of the pieces were questionable. He took his time looking around. Maybe he could take some inspiration from some of the pieces to hint that he was at an art gallery to his soulmate. Most of his attention was on the paintings that had more detail and definition until he moved to a more quiet section of the local artwork and stumbled upon drawings. 

They weren’t the original drawings. They were photos of the artwork printed on large pieces of paper and put into frames to be hung on the wall. There were fewer people here and he could hear Kuroo a little bit away. 

Some of the drawings were better than the art pieces outside in the main gallery. He could tell that the drawings had a lot of care and thought put into them with every line, stroke and shading meticulously chosen. 

“They are really good right?” 

Kenma turned around. A person was standing behind him, their hands behind their back and was looking at the drawings behind him. 

“Yes. I’m surprised that they aren’t closer to the main gallery.” 

They smiled. “I know! If I didn’t know where I was going I probably wouldn’t have seen anything else. They are really amazing.” 

Kenma smiled. “I was trying to find my friend. I’m kind of glad I didn’t find him yet though.” 

The person took a step closer. “I’m (Y/N). Is your friend a part of the galley?” 

Kenma nodded. “I’m Kenma and no, he isn’t, but his soulmate is. Are you part of the gallery?” 

(Y/N) laughed and shook their head. “God no. I can’t draw to save my life. My brother has his corner over there. I’m here as a supporter.”

They pointed behind them. Their left sleeve curled into their arm showing a small part of their wrist. 

Kenma blinked. “What’s on your arm?” 

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows, but rolled up their sleeve anyway. Inch by inch, the drawing that Kenma had stared at on his own arm relieved itself on (Y/N)’s. They smiled and started talking again even though Kenma could barely do anything but look at their arm. “My brother usually does more tattoos and he wanted to try something on a real person that wasn’t himself.” 

After a moment of silence, (Y/N) chuckled nervously. “ Kenma? Are you okay?” 

He looked up and rolled up his own sleeve. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as their arm dropped to the side, staring at Kenma’s arm that displayed their brother’s drawing. He held back a small laugh forming in his chest, did he look like this in those moments of silence? 

“We didn’t know whether or not it would show up on my soul —on your arm,” (Y/N) whispered, still in awe. They threw up a hand to cover their eyes, a smile spreading across their lips. “Holy shit, you suffered through my stick fingers while you drew me amazing trees and flowers.” 

Kenma smiled and walked up to (Y/N). He pulled their hand away and gently held the arm that canvased the drawing. He took out his own arm again and held them together, they glowed a faint gold, marking its permanence. 

“I really liked your stick drawings,” Kenma said softly. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

His hand slowly fell into (Y/N)’s hand and held it tightly. “I would love anything you drew.”

Hello!! This is the first time in a bit at I 1) finished the one shot on time and 2) wrote something fluffy. I feel like I lost my touch with fluffiness though...As you could see if you're an advised reader/follower of this one shot book that I usually write more seriously? Sad? Ansty? Stuff So it’s kind of weird to not write those things….

Hopefully it’s okay? Maybe I’ll try writing more fluffy stuff to keep the skill! 

Also, this isn’t Ready. Aim. Fire? Part 3.. That’s going to be the week after next!!! 

Thank you for reading! - Kiwi

Posted: 11/07/2020

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (1/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 1191. Square filled: “Amnesia”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, memory-loss, sad, lonely Bucky. Mentions of cigarettes, smoking and smoking addiction. Mentions of torture, hunger, and pain.

A/N: I know I said I would post this on Monday, but I’ve decided to move it back a day because I can lol. I’ll post and update weekly on Sundays from here on out, and if you want to be notified when I post a chapter, please follow @ayeshaupdates​ and turn on notifications. I’m so excited about this story, and I’m really looking forward to sharing it with you guys. Thank you to everyone who reblogs and comments - your support and encouragement is so so helpful and much needed. 

He doesn’t trust her. The woman who sells plums at the farmer’s market - he doesn’t trust her at all. She smiles too bright, and seems to be making a point of acknowledging him by his name, week after week. “James” is as foreign to him as this country, as much of a stranger as these scavenged clothes he wears, but there’s something about the inflection of her voice that makes it sound like a gospel truth. It’s also why he approaches her stall with an appropriate modicum of caution.

“Good morning. How can I help you, James?” She asks in Romanian that is flawless but for the small pause between clauses, as she translates what she wants to say from her native tongue in her head. He watches her bite her lip while bagging the number of plums he has requested, his own voice smaller than it ought to be.

After paying for the fruit, he heads to the corner shop for cigarettes. A costly habit, one that he doesn’t strictly feel the addiction to maintain, it is only a reminder. One that he took up after seeing a picture of someone he used to look like standing alongside grinning comrades in a French forest, cigarette poking out of a younger mouth. A reminder that he used to be more than this, and, on the good days when he dares to hope, that image printed in smoky gray-scale is a reassurance, too. That he can be more than this, again.

Today is one of those days. A good one, that is. The kind that has him worrying about something as superficial as whether he’ll make it back to his apartment before the clouds overhead start pouring. He does. Makes it back followed by the ghost of the plum-seller’s smile, right up to the point where he steps across the threshold of the place he is trying to call home. 

He has had many hiding places over the course of the last couple of years, but this is the first that he has truly tried to make his own. Sparse furnishings and a pitiful lack of decor though it may have, it is sacred to him. Not clean in appearance, but at least his hands are. At least this place and everything in it - the secondhand dining table, the bare, mouldy mattress, the cheap journal he now picks up off the fridge and holds in his hands like it is made of sapphires the color of Captain America’s suit - weren’t earned by bloodshed and terror, but by a graveyard janitorial shift at a nearby hospital. Six nights a week.

Flipping past the images of the man museums tell him is his friend, he finds an empty page, and grabs a ballpoint from the table he sits down at. The grocery bags are blocking the already dim, cloudy light that permeates grimy windows to make his living space look even gloomier, but he squints and starts writing. Manages to put seven words on the paper, the same seven he was greeted with by a smiling face that morning, before he stops, blanks at the vast expanse of yellowing, water-damaged white, and wracks his brain thinking about how to describe the way his name in her mouth makes him feel. But he can’t. 

Eight consecutive weeks, almost two months in Bucharest - the longest he has stayed anywhere besides the childhood home he doesn’t remember and the frosty depths of Siberia that he distinctly does - and every time he attempts to put her into words, his hand cramps. Not because she is indescribable, but because he does not allow himself even this right to her, not even to expel her from his mind by means of ink.

And that frustrates him. Because that’s how he’s been exorcizing the rest of his demons, with varying degrees of failure, and isn’t she just another one, more unassuming than most? A schoolboy crush for someone who no longer as any claim to his childhood, he responds with the wary, jumpy attitude that a soldier does a tree-branch that moves too suddenly in wind behind enemy lines.

Now there’s an analogy he abhors, and scolds his mind for conjuring, while he gets up, closing the journal - it’s presently a lost cause - to start taking out the groceries. 

Mechanically, he starts with the items to be refrigerated; milk, eggs; vegetables, not great in number nor variety, but just as much of a luxury as he can get away with on minimum wage in a city centre. Putting the last of the greens in the fridge, he thinks a prayer of thanks. To whom, he isn’t certain, but he thinks it. Because whatever this is, it isn’t the Depression. Sensations of pain and ache seem to prevail in the chaos of his amnesiac memory, so his most vivid recollections, his primary ones if he’s being truthful, are of cryostasis and torture, mind-wipes and cruel scientists scrambling his brain. However, there are also a few images of a time before, and the feeling of an empty stomach, the sound of a small sister crying in hurt, is another.

It’s a red memory, that one. As red as the lone apple he pulls out next, followed by those plums. Seven of them, one for each day of the week. Small graces, that he’s thankful for. Gratitude is directly proportional to happiness, or so a one of the cheery, laminated quotes adorning the entrance of the local library would have him believe. The same library in which he located books about memory loss, with one telling him that plums can aid in reversing it, and that book, in turn, led him to her.

The fruit saleswoman with a smile as knowing as the Mona Lisa, but far too loud to fit in a portrait. Who sells plums with hands too soft for a farmer, who looks so out of place and yet eerily, perfectly in it at the same time. 

Leaving one plum on the counter, he hurries to put away the remaining groceries, and then washes the plum before going to eat it.

This routine of a plum a day is a sacred one, now, and he takes his place at the table with the round, red-purple fruit in his hand. A lifeline nobody is holding on the other end. A miracle he has ceased to have faith in, but repeats the ritual motions of regardless. 

The first bite washes over him like a summer rain, the taste of cool sunshine, sweet and syrupy, exploding on his tastebuds. Consumed in a matter of moments, this afternoon treat, this brief reprieve leaves him a touch softer, and a tad calmer. More sated. Never one to waste a drop of good, he licks the sugary, tangy juice off his sticky fingers, and resolves to try the journal again.

Perhaps he’s approaching it the wrong way. Perhaps she’s a guardian angel, albeit with a haunting presence. Perhaps she’s the one holding this lifeline at the other end. But then, when have the odds ever been so good to him?

[soudam-appreciation]

Study... date?

Gundam sighed, shrugging his overweight backpack over his shoulder. He had not planned for today to become a social one, though he supposed it was not quite unwelcome. The mortal known as Kazuichi, Tamer of Automatons, had requested his presence here, though for precisely what ritual, Gundam did not know.

Kazuichi leaned back in his chair and rested his legs atop of the table as he inhaled the overwhelming (and honestly, kinda gross) scent of old and new books as he waited for Gundam to hurry the fuck up and get to the library, because he really didn’t have all day. 

He perked up, though, when he saw a small flash of purple and black move by one of the bookshelves he sat next to. Souda stood, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to catch the goth boy’s attention, not wanting to call out and cause more of a scene than the literal highlighter waving his hands sporadically like he was at a concert.

The neon blur tugged at Gundam’s peripheral, and he crossed his arms before him. Facing the boy, he began a usual greeting. “At last, you have been found. Do you not fear this meeting, Fool?” His voice boomed and echoed through the stacks, inciting an annoyed rustle and collective whisper.

Kazuichi’s eyes went wide as he started rapidly shushing him, because if him basically jumping up and down trying to get Gundam to notice him didn’t draw attention to the two, Gundam basically shouting definitely did. Speaking as softly as he could considering how badly his heart rate spiked, he tried to get him to quiet down.

“D-dude! Shut- shut the- Don’t! Stop fuckin’....fuckin’ screaming like that! Jesus! Shudda’...shut the- shut the fuck up! Shhh!” 

Recollection of the location at hand hit Gundam with a hell-strength impact. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly glanced around, mumbling fractured apologies for his forgetfulness. If there was one thing that would make even the Dark Overlord himself bow, it would be intense embarrassment as a direct result of his own foolishness- not that he would even say such a thing. To allow enemies access to his weakness?! Preposterous. He whispered a short apology to Souda as well, for the mortal seemed far more distraught than he. 

Souda groaned softly, rubbing his face with his hands for a few moments before bouncing back almost as fast, a lazy grin plastered across his face. That didn’t stop the drop of malice and embarrassment showing through in his cheerful voice as he pushed out a chair next to the one he was leaning on before to invite Gundam to sit with him. 

There were a lot of books, papers, pens and one lone computer scattered across the table. Souda easily pushed these aside as he sat down to take a sip of his…something. 

Gundam followed suit, dropping his bag on the floor beside him as he took his seat. He was not entirely sure what they were to do on this day, although crawling deep underground was an option he prayed upon. Unzipping his backpack as soundlessly as he could, he retrieved a notepad and slid a simple message to his companion.

What, pray tell, have you summoned me for?

Kazuichi read it over before snatching the notepad from Gundam’s hand, as well as the fancy pen he had (despite there being many writing utensils of his own he could’ve used, he honestly just wanted to be a bit of a dick to his past rival). He scrawled something quickly on it and slid it back nervously, despite there being no teachers nor rules against slipping each other notes. 

ok, well, i asked u 2 come here bc i am fucking failing math and biology and there r these 2 tests cming up i need u 2 help me study for. i thought u’d know a lot abt biology and u seem smart ig so-

He ripped another blank note out to write on more.

-so i thought u could help with, math too. hinata won’t help me he’s mad i spilt monster on his laptop still even though that was a whole day ago :(

The writing was barely legible and Kazuichi seemed to shorten words as best as he could, since he also wrote very large on the small sheet of paper. He slid the second note to Tanaka for him to read.

Squinting, Gundam managed to make out Souda’s print. He sighed, briefly wondering how incompetent Souda actually was, and where to even begin studying. Retrieving his pen, albeit a bit forcefully, he turned to a new page and began his transmission.

Where should we begin? Is there a specific field in which you have little expertise?

As Souda read over the note in the pretty cursive handwriting, he let out a small giggle. He couldn’t help it, reading Gundam’s dumbass Overlord-victorian speak was somehow funnier than hearing it out loud. Snatching the pen and paper back, he started writing.

uh um well i never ever got algebra the little letters always confused me and in biology kind of everything. man i’m not good with that kinda shit like u i’ve seen ur grades you don’t know how 2 whisper when ur flaunting them to sonia lol

Gundham’s ears got hot, and he fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled out, I do no such thing. I simply share because I am asked, that should be a simple concept to grasp. His scrawl was messier, his haste blurring his senses. Deep breaths stilled his hostility, and he turned to a new page.

So shall we begin with variables, then? You may need to work exceptionally hard to recall these, as no doubt it will be of importance. 

Once again, Kazuichi laughed as he watched Gundam get a little pissed at the Sonia comment. Even when they were slowly getting closer, messing with the guy still yielded hilarious results.

come on man!!!! why r u getting so pissy i’m just teasing u. u know i know that u know we aren’t rivals anymore so calm down!!!!! >:3

anyways uhh ya sure we can start w, variables ig. i don’t remember a lot of this stupid ass math lingo so ur gonna need to remind me some of it.

Variables are those “little letters” you spoke of. If something I mention confuses you, alert me at once. 

Gundam chose to ignore all of Souda’s previous statement, focusing instead on the task at hand. There did not seem a logical reason to become so frustrated when Souda spoke of her. So why did it ignite a hellfire in his chest? 

He shook off the thought, selecting a standard textbook from his oversized backpack and placing it on the table with a thunk. Opening to a page about Variables, the most annoying of unknowns, he slid the book across for Souda’s viewing ease. 

We should begin here, page 28. Do you have a journal for notes?

yeah that’s fine also do u mind me keeping our notes or atleast yours please plz plsssss

Sure enough, the smaller boy was already making a pile of the discarded notes they had forgotten about. Mostly Gundams. It was the only neat thing on the table thus far.

Sighing again, Gundam ceded. He had no use for them, anyway. It caught his attention as slightly strange, but he chose to pay it no mind. Scratching out what information he could on such a small surface, he quickly realized that simply would not work. He slid a mostly-empty notebook from his bag and selected a blank page to share with Souda. It wasn’t as if he really needed the pages in this notebook either, so he added a small note at the top offering the torn-out pages for outside studying.

Souda took the page and studied it, before brightly grinning up at Gundam and quickly nodding. This was fancy shit, definitely not something extremely expensive (he knew Gundam definitely wouldn’t dare share that kind of paper, seeing the small slightly-faded stains of car oil on his hands that he just couldn’t scrub out) but Souda probably wouldn’t be buying these things, especially for every class, without at least a week of ramen dinners to make up for the waste of money working at his Dads mechanic shop.

Souda suddenly realized that ‘fancy shit’ to a slightly broke kid like him was definitely not ‘fancy shit’ to Gundam “I don’t know how to dress casually Ever” Tanaka.

Gundam continued to script line after line, attempting to explain these subjects in terms Souda would understand. The look in Souda’s eyes gnawed at him, such excitement on display over some math notes. He wasn’t certain what rubbed him wrong about it, so he brushed it aside. Reaching the bottom of the page, he printed a small question. 

Do you still understand thus far?

Souda finally grabbed one of his own pens that lay discarded on the table instead of stealing Gundams.

yeah i get it u explain it a lot better than the teachers or chiaki despite ur little demon talk r whatever lol. chiaki use to help me like all the time but she kept falling asleep on me we never got anything done

Reading Souda’s message tempted laughter, and Gundam bit his cheek to silence it. Nodding sagely, he scrawled, As likely as you are to bend truths pertaining to women, this account does seem trustworthy. He knew just as well as anyone how exhausted Chiaki constantly seemed. 

Tugging the newly completed page from its binds, Gundam offered it to Souda as well. 

Souda looked almost offended by the note (he still took it, because of course he did) and hastily scribbled another and shoved it in Gundams chest with a grin.

WOW DICK i’m not gonna go after every girl that falls asleep on me!!! sonia hasn’t fallen asleep on me yet and you know!!!!! >:(((((( 

Gundam stiffened, bandaged hand safely out of sight under the table. If it had been visible, Souda would have a clear view of numb fingers folding against his palm before stretching into claws, over and over. Another deep breath was necessitated by his pounding heart, and he stilled his mind. There was no reason for this feeling. What possible purpose could this rush of adrenaline serve? Certainly nothing pertaining to math. He cleared his throat again, which ended up sounding a bit more like a growl, and took up his pen.

You say “yet”, as if there is even the slightest chance of such an occurrence in the future. This, I do know. A smug smirk crossed his face, daring to settle on his lips.

Souda pouted as he read the note, a somehow adorable sight as he quickly snagged Gundams pen again (once again ignoring his own) and scrawled something on a new note and shoved it back to him. 

nuh-uh! u don’t know shit. unless u can see the future!!! tell me tell me tell me. maybe ur freaky demon shit is real after all ANYWAYS do i end up w miss sonia plz please tell me??!?? :3

Gundam tasted blood as he bit his lip hard. Why was Souda so insistent on her? No, he knew why. She was aesthetically pleasing to someone like him. This was not new information, but it still irked Gundam like hell. He pursed his lips. The last thing he was going to do was tell Souda his pathetic simpering dreams would come true in the end. Or perhaps, the last thing he wanted would be to admit to Souda that he cannot truly see the future? Grumbling, he snatched his pen back and tapped it against his knuckles. Neither option was preferred, though one was a clear admission of weakness…

He settled on a third choice. Of course not. I know precisely who you shall fall for in the end, although I cannot tell you. That is the Law of Causality.

actually it’s the law of cASSuaslity because ur an asshole who the fuck cares why can’t u just tell me!!! if i don’t get with miss sonia or whatever u say i don’t even know if i completely believe ur bonkers shit why can’t u just tell me their name or anything i just!!! want a hint. please 

Kazuichi’s handwriting grew sloppier as he grew more desperate. Why the fuck was Gundam hiding it? It’s not like he’s gonna get suspended for some random ‘law’ or whatever he probably made up. He didn’t even know what the word Causality meant but it sounded exactly like a freaky word Gundam would say.

All I may tell you is that… Gundam paused, wiggling his pen between thumb and forefinger to come up with an excuse. …you have likely already made their acquaintance. All trace of smugness had dropped from his features, now replaced with stale indifference. He locked his worry deep in his chest, buried it. The last thing he needed was Souda to call him out on such a ridiculously big lie.

Souda didn’t know why, but he grinned at that. He grinned at a lot of dumb shit, and Gundam telling him some vague dumbass answer like that was apparently dumb enough to get on his list of Dumb Shit That Made Him Grin. He flicked Gundams note into his ever growing pile and chugged the rest of his drink, his eyes blown wide with the sudden rush of, apparently, sugar. He tapped the textbook again, trying to remind them both to stay on task. His hands were starting to shake too much from the sugar high to make writing any good.

Gundam nodded. They needed to focus on the task at hand.. Which was math. Boring math. Another sigh settled in his chest, and he thought fleetingly on how he would much rather talk about silly magic business. Shaking dramatically dual-toned hair from his eyes, he set to scribbling some more numbers. Stupid, boring numbers. 

Kazuichi watched with interest as Gundam quickly drew out complex strings of numbers and occasional letters. However, his mind quickly drifted as well as his eyes. Higher and higher until he was watching Gundam’s facial expressions shift as he tried to help Souda. How he bit his lip as he hesitated before continuing to keep writing, how his eyes narrowed, Souda half-mindedly thought of how pretty Tanaka’s eyes were, he could get lost in them if he really wanted to, and he did. So he simply tuned out the sound of pen against pencil, rustling of paper and the occasional whisper between others in the library and just stared into his eyes.

Sliding another page across the table, Gundam glanced up at Souda’s face, before they quickly flicked away. On the quickly growing list of things he did Not Want to happen today, was for Souda to catch him staring. Or- he paused. To catch… Souda staring? He didn’t want to look again, even if he was right, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if he could feel Souda’s gaze. Ears growing red, he scripted a small note back, faltering slightly as nerves made his fingers stiff. 

Do you still understand well enough?

Kazuichi’s gaze didn’t move until he finally noticed Gundam actually wrote words down. He did a double take back at his face before he picked up his pen, his cheeks heating up. Shit, did Gundam catch him looking? His hands trembled slightly from the sugar and caffeine as he scribbled on the paper.

yeah i understand completely ur a good teacher  i already said that didn’t i sorry

He slid the note over, now doing his best to keep his eyes on the table and not on Gundam.

Do not fret, I am pleased you understand. 

Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he returned to numbers. Gundam really tried to focus, he did. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering… Muscle memory served him well, and he continued to write, but his mind’s eye strayed from questioning Souda’s gaze, to wondering why keeping their notes tidy was so important, to the way Souda tapped his fingers on the desk ever so slightly, the sugar and caffeine running rampant through his veins. It soon became impossible to focus, and he started mixing up numbers and crossing them out. He shook his head, hard, mumbling apologies for scrambling up his figures. 

Kazuichi easily picked up Gundams distraction and yanked an empty note from him to write on.

do u wanna stop for today

He slid it over, giving Gundam a small smile as he did. He wasn’t unfamiliar with his brain getting jumbled and melting into mush and before he knew it, the day was over and he hadn’t got shit done. So he didn’t mind giving up for today, starting again tomorrow or next week. He just liked being with Gundam, kinda. As weird as that was. 

Gundam nodded. 

My sincerest apologies, I seem to have lost my senses…

What the hell had gotten into him? This was highly unusual for him. Gundam mumbled another quiet sorry, sliding the incomplete and jumbled page across to Kazuichi just in case he needed it anyway. 

Souda tidied everything up on the desk, sliding his books, computer and the notes into his black backpack. As he stood, he bounced on his heels, the caffeine suddenly taking full effect as he finally got out of the chair and could move around to his heart's desire. He slid his backpack over one of his shoulders and didn’t hesitate to start playing with one of the enamel pins of a vocaloid character that hung from the zipper, needing something to occupy his hands with.

Gundam stood as well, fumbling as he slipped the last notebook into his bag. Offering a hand, he gestured towards the door. He whispered, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then? I swear I shall do better at my job.” 

Kazuichi laughed softly at that, nodding. His hands fiddled with his jumpsuit pockets as he made his way over to Tanaka, a small bounce in his step. He would definitely blame that and what he did next on the overload of caffeine in his system the next day. He put his hands on Gundams shoulders, slightly dragging him down as he stood on his tippy-toes, kissing him sweetly on the lips before he was already skipping towards the door, waving him bye as he exited, most likely to his dorm on campus.

Blood froze in his veins. Gundam’s heart pounded, throbbing in his ears. His face was beyond red, and his stiffened fingers twitched in surprise. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he could not even will his feet to carry him after the boy. What… What just… happened? His mind felt as slow and sluggish as if it was buffering through a torrented movie file. 

Finally gathering enough control of his own limbs, he pulled himself through the door. He wanted desperately to give chase, to pull Souda into his arms and kiss him back, but he knew there was no possible way he would keep his courage. So he settled, simply deciding upon returning to his own abode. He would have to speak to Souda at their meeting tomorrow. Just thinking about it gave him… butterflies? Oh dear, what an unpleasant sensation.

. . .

Thank you @kazudam for writing with me! This was so much fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do :’)