#does the paper getting more crinkled over time matter to anyone else but me?

[theerastour]

the other side of the door / august / getaway car surprise song mashup

[persphonesorchid]

Picking Peonies - KSJ

Summary: Roses are outdated, and overused. Bloomingdales even more so.

Genre: fluff

Pairing: COH!Seokjin x reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Seokjin's a bit jealous, that's about it.

Notes: Happy Valentine's to the she's the he's, the they's and the gays. No one asked for this, but lmaooo I am fully aware of the pain I caused with Cupid's on Holiday, so , a gift! For you! Happy valentine's my loves! Also! This is like....if rules hadn't mattered and Seokjin didn't leave like a 🤡. Love y'all ❤️

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There’s a quiet murmur when you step off the elevator. The heels of your shoes click softly as you walk down the hall and into the space your open office occupies.

The office had been decorated with only a few valentine’s decorations: a string of paper hearts lining every doorway and window pane, red twirling streamers hanging from the vents in the ceiling. It’s only a bit, but you pity the poor soul who would have to go around taking them down – other departments have done a way better job at decorating than yours has.

The soft murmur grows to a buzz and quiets when you step onto the floor and everyone’s head’s turn to you. You stand at the entrance for a minute, feeling a little put on the spot by the sudden attention and the fact that mostly everyone in today is standing around your desk.

Brinny’s head pops up from the gaggle of co-workers crowding your desk, a smile blooming on her face when she spots you.

“Alright you vultures, go away!” The shorter girl waves her hands at your Officemates, “Back to work, shoo.”

Quite aware of everyone’s eyes on you, you walk quickly over to your desk. Immediately, you see what’s got everyone’s attention and why you’re suddenly the star of the morning.

Laying in a pretty arrangement on your desk is a bouquet of flowers. An assortment of Ranunculi in pinks, reds and whites, wrapped delicately in red florist’s paper and tied with white ribbons at the stems. It’s not a large bouquet, but it’s bright enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“I think they’re Bloomingdales... Someone definitely likes you.” Brinny picks up the bouquet, the pretty red paper around it crinkling softly in her hold. “There’s no card...” she frowns, trying to peek into the bouquet.

You smile anyway, not needing a card because you already know who sent them. Seokjin had been busy since the weekend, complaining that Valentine’s Day would be the busiest for him and the other Cupids in the area. You’ve barely seen him for the past couple days, which doesn’t bother you—it does a bit—he has his job to do. The flowers are a pleasant surprise, though, he’d told you not to expect anything until tomorrow because he’d be too busy to do much else.

Even if you’re unsure that he would see it, you text him your thanks and settle down for work.

An hour later, the flowers are sitting in a nice glass vase Brinny found in the store room, and you’re halfway through your emails. You’re gossiping with Brinny about anything you missed while working from home, when your phone buzzes near your hand. The silly photo Seokjin set for his contact lights up on your screen.

“Hey, sweet girl,” It’s a bit noisy where he is when you answer, and for a moment you can hear him talking to someone else before it gets quieter. “That text was vague...what am I being thanked for?”

You make a confused sound in your throat, brows drawing together, “The...the flowers?”

“...what? I didn’t—send me a photo.” Seokjin’s gone quickly after that, line cutting off and you’re left blinking at your lock screen.

You stare at the bouquet for a moment, pondering, before sending a photo of it to Seokjin. You’re wondering who sent it to you. It’s a sweet gesture, that maybe would’ve worked on you three months ago before a certain Cupid came along.

It wasn’t until lunch time, when you’re out of the office. You’re sitting across from Brinny, in a deli close by, as she goes on about upcoming projects. You’re stuffing your face with the most amazing ham and cheese sandwich when Seokjin finally sends his reply.

[12:25] Sharpshooter 🏹: That’s the worst flower arrangement I’ve ever seen in my life.

[12:25] And I have lived.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, dusting your hands before picking the phone up.

[12:26] You: Idkk, I think it’s pretty cute.

The bell on the door of the deli jingles as it opens, a cold gust of February air disrupting the warmth of the deli. You and Brinny are sitting near the back, so you don’t see the person coming your way until they’re right in front of you and speaking.

“Cute?”

You startle at the sudden voice, as does Brinny, who’s gaze flickers between you and Seokjin – who looks like he ran here as fast as his legs could carry him—with raised brows.

“I can’t believe you’d call that assault on my eyes cute. Ranunculus.” He huffs, plopping himself down in the chair next to Brinny, who scoots her chair a little closer to the wall. She nudges your shoe with hers, eyes darting to Seokjin in question. You’ve never told Brinny about him, the only people who know are the boys. Which is — you now realize — why everyone at the office was buzzing around your desk this morning.

“You know what’s cute? Peonies. Roses are outdated and overused, Bloomingdales even more so. What is it, the 19th century?” Seokjin takes a breath, while you watch him, thoroughly amused. He turns his head, finally seeing Brinny next to him, “Hello.”

“Hi?” Brinny laughs out her response, still looking confused. “And you are...?”

Seokjin looks mildly offended, but gives a charming smile, “Seokjin.” He points a finger at you, “Boyfriend.”

Brinny looks confused, then shocked and then she reaches over the table to swat at your arm. “You have a boyfriend?”

There’s warmth flushing your cheeks and ears, but before you can answer, Seokjin is suddenly on his feet again. Saying that he only took a moment to come here, and that he’d see you later before he’s back out the door and out of your sight.

“Where’d you even find that guy? He doesn’t even look real!”

You hum softly to yourself, fitting your key into the lock of your door. Brinny had a bunch of questions you’d barely manage to answer, having to give her a watered down version of how you and Seokjin actually met.

When you enter your apartment, you’re almost sent sprawling to the floor. In your path was the biggest bouquet of peonies you’ve ever seen in your life. There’s a distinct aroma of steak cooking, and the underlying smell of vanilla scented candles.

“Jin?” You call, moving carefully around the bouquet to get out of your shoes. “Did you rob a florist?”

Seokjin pokes his head out of your kitchen, a smirk on his mouth. “No.” He waves you forward with a hand. When you reach him, he cups your cheeks with his hands and kisses you. You chuckle into it, running your fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“You have to admit that peonies are way better.” He says when he pulls away, taking your hand and leading you into the kitchen where he’s set up an early dinner of steak, potatoes and steamed vegetables.

“Just say you’re jealous and we can move on.” You laugh at his rapidly reddening ears.

“I’m not.”

Tags: @xpeachesncream @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @matchy6812 @eoieopda @luaspersona @allhobbitstoisengard @eren-fall @dontstoptime @euphoricfilter @mssukeyna @jinsquishes @minmin2022

[anguishedlurker]

A Twisted Situation

Phic Phight for @bellsandmischief / bellsandmischeif on ao3! Prompt "Board game night! The crazier the combination of characters, the better!"

I physically need you all to know that this just sort of happened in about two and a half hours. I didn't write, I was fucking posessed at 3.4k words. Here it is in Ao3 glory

Sam was gong to kill someone, actually.

Star’s lips peeled back in something that couldn’t be called a smile as she waited for Sam to make the first move, waving the hat menacingly.

“I will start a fight you can’t end. Don’t.”

Star’s eyes narrowed before sense washed over her expression, shaking rage off with a short jerk of the head, proper fake smile bouncing straight into place.

Dammit, Sam needed the excuse to leave. Even if it was in cuffs.

“Nothing?”

“Buy your school charity game night pass or leave. You’re gonna build a line, and I don’t care what your issue is, even if it’s really obvious.”

Sam was probably going to kill Tucker worse than she was going to kill Danny, this time.

Danny was… Danny. If box ghost showed up, then getting ditched wasn’t about her.

But Tucker?

“Not that you asked, but apparently the losers forgot to do their homework and now need to do it last minute.”

Sam was going to kill Tucker for not having a better excuse to ditch.

“They do homework?” Star asked, chipper as she watched carefully.

Case in point….

“That’s what I said.” Sam sighed, finally moving to pull out her wallet.

Stupid damn ghosts wrecking the stupid damn scoreboard and pieces of the football field, making Ishiyama panic to get a budget for fixing it now and not next year.

Begging on her knees to Vlad or Sam’s parents was not ideal, and Sam had to admit that this was a better option.

“You donating extra to add to the community ticket pool?” Star asked, leaning back in the shit chair in disinterest, shaking the hat in a taunt.

“Considering I only have a hundred on me, yes.”

Star’s eyebrows raised at that, but she ultimately didn’t remark on it as she put the hat down to unlock the register and shove the hundred in.

It was definitely a first class problem, but one of these days Sam was going to end up tearing out hair over trying to explain that hundred dollar bills are not appropriate amounts of cash to take to so much as an average middle class outing, let alone a charity event in the school gym.

It didn’t have to be her hair either. Violence on her mother sounded nice far too often.

Star absently tossed down four poker chips right behind a sign reading ‘DONATED EXTRA TICKETS’, and picked the hat back up. The crinkle of the numbered paper bits were a guise for the gods laughing at her, Sam was sure.

“Your move, Sam.”

And yeah, it sure was her move.

~

Group four. Japanese number of death, not that it mattered.

Group four, over on the left side of the gym. Wes and Ishiyama eyed her as she approached.

Nobody spoke as she held her paper piece for viewing.

“You know what, I think dad was right. This isn’t worth it.” Wes informed gravely, moving to stand.

“Sit. It’ll be fine, and you got half in advance.” Ishiyama informed, twice as grave.

“The hell does half in advance mean?” Sam accused, already looking to leave again.

Bite her, this was gonna go badly and she needed out.

“Wes has been hired to take some photo’s to help with paper coverage.” Ishiyama stated mildly, her expression warning that if Sam was anyone else the verbal abuse would be much more severe already.

“Okay. Can I ask why Stevie and-” Sam started, motioning to Wes as she spoke even as she made eye contact with Ishiyama.

“You know the butcher place?” Wes asked, cutting off her solicitation of a scathing remark. Ishiyama’s smile tightened, because Stevie and Logan probably were the original plan. Yet, she remained silent.

Dammit. Just this once, provoke her. Give her the excuse.

Bu yeah, fine. Sure. Whatever.

“The one down on-”

She could play ball. She could totally ace the polite conversation contest she and Wes were definitely having.

“They weren’t inside, technically, but like… it’ll be another week.”

Sam cringed in understanding. Lunch Lady and Skulker had both done their number on the joint.

“Well, everyone knows I don’t miss the place, but… Anyone made a card yet?”

They were an alarmingly destructive pair, and debris is rather dangerous to the average person.

“It’ll probably be the homeroom activity on Monday. Now smile, Manson.” Wes sighed, holding up the camera.

Sam immediately made the ugliest grimace she could, even as Wes scowled at her.

“Don’t give me that. I’m with Ishiyama for tonight, and Ishiyama is is in charge of group four. And like, I want to play! Part of my thing was free admission to play. What’s the point of a fight?”

“It just means I go down with you, idiot. And if I go down, I’d do it swinging anyways.”

“Take a seat and wait for the rest of the group.” Ishiyama finally growled, pointedly not looking at either of them.

~

“Ishiyama. I am begging you with no shame; You know, already, how this won’t work!”

Ishiyama was just as transfixed as Sam was on Paulina’s approach, Wes too distracted with taking photos to know the danger everyone was now in.

Ishiyama finally broke the trance to give Sam the most miserable look she could, right as Paulina looked up or long enough to see who she was heading for.

Wes continued to very narrowly evade losing the social politics required to keep from being punched by Dash over in group six, oblivious.

Paulina carefully looked at Sam, glancing at Ishiyama.

Paulina carefully looked at Ishiyama, glancing at Sam.

Sam grimaced and pointed at Wes, who was rapidly realizing that Dash might actually hit him this time.

Paulina immediately fixated on Wes, wide-eyed.

Wes, making his exit, turned to find out that paulina was staring at him, and Sam had swapped to pointing at Paulina.

Wes was now staring at Sam, and also pointing at Paulina.

Sam very slowly nodded.

Wes turned to Ishiyama, who was refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Paulina turned to look at the gym doors, clearly mentally calculating the danger and not coming to any favorable conclusions.

Before she could simply turn around and walk out however, Jack Fenton came bellowing in.

“Hey-o kiddo! You in group four too?” He asked, not waiting to loop an arm around Paulina and start dragging.

Wes looked like he was dreaming of the nearest breakable window, but there was money on the line. He began the miserable shuffle towards his doom..

Sam moved to stand, stopped by Ishiyama.

“God help us both child, if this has to be my night then it’s going to be yours too.” Ishiyama demanded, breathing just a little too hard.

“You and what blackmail?” Sam challenged.

“The glitter and glue spray bomb on the cheer team a month ago, straight to your parents.” Ishiyama hissed, just low enough Paulina wouldn’t catch it in her rapid forced approach.

Sam contemplated, and sat back down.

If she got Sam that meant she go Danny, and Danny was on some very thin tightropes right now. Tightropes apparently held by her parents monetary support, because even if Sam got punished they’d pull their next donation for being bothered with such lowly activities.

This was fine. This was going to be so fine. Why wouldn’t it be so fine?

~

“The first game, at least before we are free to chose…” Ishiyama started, taking a shuddering breath.

“Is however far we get in monopoly.”

There were multiple monopoly sets donated for this event, and no time limit on playing.

The limiting factor being potential assault charges was not mentioned as Wes clicked his tongue and Ishiyama and Paulina both plastered on smiles for the camera.

Sam was going to hate that tongue click by the end of the night.

“I love monopoly!” Jack sounded off, missing the sheer rage of the other four people tapped here with him.

~

“I…”

The silence of the third doubles in a row was deafening.

“I sit my little piece in the jail, and leave to go take a photo of group two in twister. Yell at me when someone rolls me out.” Wes huffed, borderline slamming the flatscreen TV token onto the board.

It was the second turn.

Ishiyama had made them take the Electronic Banking monopoly set, to hopefully discourage cheating as she now held the little device that could read their fake little cards. Ishiyama herself gave a faintly wistful look as Wes stomped off, likely dreaming of doing the same.

“Six, not a double.” Sam sighed, hauling her little coin case to the Mall Of America. Obviously she bought it.

Paulina glared at her, the purse token sitting innocently on the Saint Louis Arch. Her master plan of getting all of those spots was ruined, truly.

Might even have to buy it from Sam.

“Alright! My Turn! Two, woohoo baby! The airports are like train stations in this one, right? I’m taking it!” Jack hollered, deafening. Paulina cringed as she reassessed her plans yet again, watching Jack take his second roll straight into Sam’s MOA. Small blessings.

“So, Jack. What brings you, but not your wife.” Ishiyama asked mildly after fiddling with the stupid little device to transfer everyone’s money, picking up the dice and rolling.

She got herself another ten, and was sent straight to the parking lot. Where there was no pot to take.

“Oh, Mads is out chasing that box spook and the town menace!”

“Alone?” Paulina asked flatly, picking up the dice. Nine. Straight into a treasure chest, which she seemed pleased by.

She seemed modestly displeased by the card she pulled, but ultimately didn’t do anything as Ishiyama verified if she was supposed to do anything based on it. Clearly not.

“Mads is smart! And we promised we’d do something to help get the school in order, so I’m here!”

Ah, yes. Because they’re about ninety five percent of the reason the turf was ruined.

“Right then.” Ishiyama soothed, giving Paulina a flat look.

Paulina seemed unbothered at least. Ishiyama tossed the dice for Wes and came up with no doubles.

~

“Utilities are always good.” Jack hummed, getting his cards in order.

“What about your son?” Ishiyama asked, passive as ever.

“Hmmm…. Dunno. I don’t think this is his kinda thing, though.”

Sam was suddenly glad Wes wasn’t here, the doubles ever elusive.

By the way Paulina carefully eyed his position at team two, she was in agreement. Just because she thought he was nuts didn’t mean she was unaware the moment his little “theory” breached containment to Danny’s parents was the same moment secen kinds of hell broke loose.

“I see.” Ishiyama offered flatly, taking her question mark card.

~

“There’s no way none of you have rolled me doubles yet.”

“Tell you what, Wes… do you want us to just do a gentlemans agreement that you can come back in? I’m sure our lovely team here wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I… wouldn’t want to impose. And those photos-”

“No, truly. Sam? Jack? Paulie?”

“Really, no trouble at all Wes. It’d be mean to leave you there.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, sure thing kids! Come on, all in honor of having fun!”

“I… thank. You. Your generosity towards rule breaking is truly touching.”

“No problem.” Ishiyama hummed, faintly pleased with herself about dragging everyone down with her.

~

Jack Fenton was the luckiest man this side of Amity.

Sure, Sam had gotten both green spaces already, but this was…

“That’s the last airport, right?”

“I think we’re done.” Ishiyama decided. Wes didn’t take his face out of his hands, his TV token sitting in jail again.

Jacks face fell.

“Yeahhhh, it’s not fun when one person dominates. I know it’s like, luck, but we’ve also got other games to do.” Paulina absently remarked, examining her nails.

“It’s like you’ve forgotten you hate us. Where’s your fast exit?” Sam taunted.

“Samantha.”

“Haven’t. You’re just more invested than I am. And my brother drove me because my engine blew, so I’m stuck anyways because I’m not taking a ride from any of you.”

Jack seemed to contemplate before making his statement.

“I guess that’s fair. But do you two not really…”

“Worlds most open secret my man, not unlike-”

“Wes. I cannot stress enough that I will simply take the murder charge. Ishiyama is not capable of pulling me off in time.” Sam threatened.

“Principal, are you going to take that!?”

“Yes. Of all the people to antagonize, not him!”

“What?” Jack asked, befuddled.

“Not a problem. Cluedo, anyone? It’s open, now.” Paulina offered, the picture of innocence.

~

Jack really was the saving grace to the whole situation, honestly. Insane luck aside, nobody wanted to pull any social triggers with him around.

Sam because she really didn’t need Danny’s parents to hate her, Ishiyama because Jack was the frontline of a contactable defense in emergencies, Paulina had just mentally checked out, and Wes didn’t want to die by Sam’s hand and Ishiyama’s approval.

“I know I asked about Daniel earlier, but did Jasmine not want to come? Rope, Green, Spa.” Ishiyama prattled off.

Paulina was elbowed not so subtly as the player to the left, pretty much her whole pad at Ishiyama so she didn’t have to ask her to speak again.

“Oh, Jazzy’s out tutoring!”

What? Sam tended to have a pretty good idea of where Jazz was at, given she was backup, and… well...

“I didn’t know Spike was on the tutor list.” Sam prodded.

“Manson, who?” Wes asked, glaring.

“Uhhh. I think it’s Edward? Edward… something. I don’t know what his last name is, actually.”

“Edmund Cox. His parents are like, freaks about Narnia.” Paulina offered, realigning with reality as Ishiyama blatantly cheated off Paulinas notepad in the background.

Nobody said anything for a half beat.

“Why do you know that?” Wes finally bit out.

“Money hides in odd places, and I know many with money.” Paulia said, almost totally tranquil as she gave Sam the stink eye.

She could keep at it, nobody would ever believe her that Sam was rich.

“I dunno that Jazzy tutors any Edmunds… You sure she knows an Edmund?”

Ishiyama cleared her throat, and Wes tossed the dice down to move a few more spaces.

A grand total of two.

“Okay, well, I’m sure Jasmine is helping your son. You know, with his homework.” Wes hissed, trying to kill Sam with his eyes.

“Hell if I know, I’m stuck here with you all.”

Wes deflated as Jack finally made it to the kitchen.

“Green, knife, kitchen!” Jack cheered, pointing at Wes to fork over information.

~

Sam was starting to get the picture of the murder, but something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“You. Scarlett, living room, bat!”

“Nothing! You! Loser! Stop trying to catch me lying!” Paulina screamed, barely restraining herself from throwing the entire notepad at Sam’s skull.

“If he doesn’t have it, and you don’t have it, and SHE doesn’t have it, then who has the god damn-!”

“Peace, children.” Ishiyama warned, clearly not believing that peace would be achieved.

~

“I just find it all odd.” Ishiyama hummed, pressing Jack for answers about Danny.

“Yeah, well… It’s not like he really opens up to us anymore. Me and Mads chalk it up to teenager stuff, but…”

Wes wasn’t even focused on chewing mental glass over the secrets he wasn’t allowed to spill, that’s how fucked up this game of Clue was.

“So we’re just ignoring that nobody can narrow it down to one murderer?” He hissed, inching closer to Ishiyama. “We’re just having a super casual little conversation about the idiots school life?”

Ishiyama finally connected that she was only skating by a shitfit from her captive audience because everyone was in an old western style stalemate, and turned to the board again.

“It is very strange….”

“I give. I fucking give. I give up and I’m looking in the fucking packet and I’m taking the loss.” Paulina ranted, snatching up the little yellow envelope before Ishiyama could protest.

Everyone pretended they weren’t super pissed about it when four cards fell out instead of three.

“We have two murders. Green and Scarlett in the kitchen, with the bat.”

Nobody spoke.

“Well… what’s our next game, then?” Ishiyama asked, slightly strained. Even Jack looked mad at this twist.

~

“Left hand blue.” Wes called, exactly as miserable as the rest of them.

Why twister? Who decided that letting Jack Fenton pick was a good idea?

~

Sam crab shuffled between the apropiate colors for limbs so that her head was closer to Ishiyama’s. Wes gave her an unpleasant look for technically cheating, but remained silent. Taking limb detangling off the option list was lethal.

“Call it.”

“UGH! Right foot green.” Paulina wailed, twisting even worse to make it work.

“You know I can’t. I don’t want to plead with Vlad, and this already isn’t enough. Everyone needs to walk away with perfect opinions so they come to the next one, and how can they do that if the organizer won’t play?”

“What about Vladdie!?” Jack called, getting dangerously close to having to stick his head under Ishiyama’s ass.

“Bullshit.” Sam barked, calling bluff. “Not a damn person would seriously rail at you about it.”

“Yes. They would.”

“Left hand blue.” Paulina called miserably. Jack went stock still as he now had very critical choice about where his center of balance, and thusly his head, was going to start drastically leaning to.

~

“Move, loser!”

“I physically cannot! Get your ass off my back first!”

“Get your thigh off my fucking-”

Jack, having detangled from Ishiyama a bit ago, muttered something about him and his bad decisions.

“Right foot yellow.” Wes informed innocently from the safety of the losers seats, watching as Sam and Paulina tried to break each others spines without falling over.

~

They had a crowd for this lunacy. Wes, so safe and cozy from the chair, was busy imortalizing the event with pictures. Even Ishiyama was openly unamused about her humiliation, trapped under Jack’s massive rear, desperately trying not to get squished by his leg curing back underneath..

Sam didn’t have very appropriate thoughts about the way Paulina was twisted around her, and she really wasn’t trying to be crass about it but god if she could do this in twister then professional level gymnast routines would be a joke for her.

“I think you should like, get tested for joint issues. Before you maybe fuck them up permanently.”

“Suck it, Manson!”

Dash gave an extremely pleased look as the spinner stopped spinning, having taken the damn thing from Wes.

… No.

“Left”

No.

“Hand”

No!!!

“Blue.”

Wes coughed from laughter as all four of them started screaming.

First Ishiyama fell. There was nothing near her that didn’t tangle her worse in Jack’s leg than she already was.

But then Jack, who had to contort into the bridge position just to make it to a blue circle, got a short stocky principal to the leg.

The carnage was immense. You couldn’t see Ishiyama’s head underneath Jack’s ass.

But then, Sam.

Second place wasn’t too bad, she decided as her wrist gave. It just couldn’t do it anymore.

And Paulina, tangled around Sam like she was, came down with her.

Yeowch…

The whole gym cheered, reveling in the chaos.

Paulina stared at the ceiling from beside Sam, expression unintelligable.

“I’m done.” Was all she said, unmoving.

Which, fucking same.

Wes laughed even harder, taking photos of Jack rolling off Ishiyama.

“You can’t stop us from leaving, anymore, Ishiyama. This was it. Nothing can keep me here anymore.” Sam declared, doing her best to detangle from Paulina’s limbs.

“I, too, yield. It was fun while it lasted.” Ishiyama wheezed.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I think I should go check on Mads and the kids.” Jack decided, not moving from his side despite the declaration.

Wes was still too buy laughing as Sam did a four legged crawl off the twister board.

“You need a ride, kiddo?” Jack offered, still unmoving.

“Absolutely not.”

“I do.” Paulina decided.

But Sam was already heading for the door, trying to erase the whole night from her memories.

Tucker would never let this die once the news broke. Which meant she’d have to kill him even harder than before.

Still, that was a job for tomorrow. Right now? She sword to herself the entire school would burn before she could be coaxed into another charity game night.

[jadeee]

Shared Space

@prettymoonlightsworld {and other nanami fans} enjoy 💌

Although Nanami Kento didn't look forward to working alone with you, you were starting to grow on him.

Warnings: suggestive content

Word Count: 6.1k

You didn’t necessarily know Nanami Kento, despite spending the early months of your training together, but you did know one thing. He worked. A lot. Whenever the department needed someone to work overtime or weekends from time to time, he was there.

Your eyes darted across the office as you walked to your manager’s office. Kento’s eyes remained on his screen, oblivious to you and everyone else for that matter.

Your knuckles lightly tapped on the oak door.

“Come in.” 

He briefly glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, “What do you want?”

A lump formed in your throat at his tone.

“Sorry to bother you but I wanted to take on the monthly review this weekend.”

He froze with the papers in his hand and looked at you “Excuse me?”

“The monthly review. I want to –”

“Yeah, I heard you.” 

Whatever work he was doing became less important. The papers lightly landed on his mahogany desk as he looked at you with puzzled eyes.

“Y’know Nanami normally takes care of that right?”

“Yes sir.”

He raised a brow, “Why are you suddenly interested?”

“All due respect sir, my reasons are my own. Anyone can volunteer to take on the review but Kento has done every single review for the past six months.”

A dreaded silence filled the room until he nodded his head.

“Okay.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his quick approval.

“Thank you.” You nodded your head before leaving his office.

As you walked back to your desk, you saw Kento get up from his cubicle and head towards the manager’s office.

You hurriedly went back to your desk, careful to avoid any eye contact with him in fear of confrontation. 

Once you made it to your cubicle, you took a deep breath and your nerves soon eased after a few minutes of solitude in your second home.

Maybe it was the music you were playing in your earbuds as you skimmed documents and emails or the smell of the perfume on your wrist. The serenity of your safe haven was interrupted by a sudden voice. 

“(y/n)?”

You yanked the earbud from your ear and turned towards the sound.

Kento glared down at you.

You tried to hide your uneasiness “Yeah? I mean,” you closed your eyes and cursed yourself “Yes?”

His eyes briefly studied what you called your office space. ‘Messy’ would be the polite way of describing its current state. 

He focused on you again “You’re taking on the monthly review, is that right?”

You nodded your head.

“I see.” 

He looked at your cubicle once more, then pushed up his glasses.

“Be here on time, we have a lot of work to do.”

Without saying another word, he turned on his heels.

“Uh, wait!” You scrambled up from your chair and caught up with him. 

He looked over his shoulder at you.

“I don’t need your help. I’ll be fine on my own.”

He let out a dry chuckle “We start at 7 am, don’t be late.”

Your brows crinkled “7 am?!” You whined in a low whimper as he walked off.

~~~~~~

“Just who the hell does that guy think he is?!”

Your friend watched you relentlessly vent through the camera.

“I mean,” you licked the last of ice cream from your spoon “here I am just trynna be nice because I thought ‘oh you might actually have a life or want one’! But nooo,”

You waved the ice cream carton back and forth.

“He’s all ‘no one does the monthly review except me’.”

You frowned your face to match Kento’s solemn attitude earlier.

“Gimme a break.” 

“This guy must be a real pain.” Your friend, Adrienne, spoke in a muffled tone as they brushed their teeth.

“He is!” You plopped the spoon into the carton and set it on the table.

The colors from the tv illuminated your face as you pondered on the conversation you two had earlier. 

“He really is,” you muttered under your breath.

You remembered how close you stood to him when you tried to reassure him you could handle an empty office on a Saturday. That was the first time you’d seen him that close. His chiseled features started to etch their way into the corners of your mind. The noise from the tv became ambience as your anger morphed into something more dangerous. A small warmth began to spread throughout your abdomen. Just when your eyes glazed over, thinking of all the possibilities there was a sudden ringing in your ear.

“Helloo?!” Adrienne rapidly tapped their toothbrush against their faucet.

“Ouch!” You pressed your hands to your ears “I’m right here.”

“No you weren’t.” Adrienned set their toothbrush down and grabbed their phone, holding you closer to them.

“You were thinkin’ about him all pressed up close to you.”

You gasped “No I was not!” 

“Like hell you weren’t!”

They mimicked your impression of him earlier “Work starts at 7, don’t be late (y/n). I gotta review your work performance.” Adrienne plopped into their bed while biting their lip and nodding their head at you.

“Adrienne!” 

For a moment, you smiled at their antics. Only for a moment.

“You play too much.”

“Aw, sit on daddy’s lap and tell me all about it.” They wiggled their brows.

“ADRIENNE!”

“What?!” They spoke in their regular voice breaking character, “I’m just trynna make you feel better! You’re probably horny as f-”

“GOODNIGHT!” You yelled over them.

They pouted at the camera, “Oh, c’mon don’t be like that.”

You glanced at them briefly then turned away, crossing your arms.

“I was just kidding. Look, I’m sorry (y/n). You can’t go to sleep mad, then you won’t perform well tomorrow.”

You chuckled at their joke.

“There it is!” Adrienne light up at your smile. “You should go to bed. You’re gonna need all that energy for your after work activities.”

“Oh, piss off.” Still looking straight ahead with a smile, you flipped your middle finger at her.

“Love you too, bestie.” Adrienne laid their head onto their pillow.

“Tell me somethin’ though.”

You turned to face your camera, “Yeah what?”

“Do you like him?”

You thought of the encounter you had with him earlier and remembered when you met him for the first time during training. Although you were reluctant to admit it, you were drawn to him then. He was reserved but still managed to be polite. You recalled times you tried to catch him at lunch, which always failed seeing as you couldn’t find him. You did talk a few times before but being in different areas of the office always proved a challenge and made your pursuit harder each time you tried.

“I don’t know yet. It’s hard to read him.”

“Cryptic… sounds like your type.”

You dropped your head onto the plush fabric of the couch.

“Ughh,” you groaned. “I wish you were here.”

Adrienne pouted “Fairy godmother can’t solve everything but I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

You glanced up at her.

“Just get through tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright,” you sat up straight.

“I love youuu!” They kissed the camera.

You made a heart with your hands and gave them a pout “I love you too.”

Your call ended and your house was silent once more, except for the buzz of your tv. 

“After work activities.” You uttered Adrienne’s antics to yourself.

You entertained the idea briefly then shook your head. Your hands snatched the ice cream carton from the table and tossed it in the trash before getting ready for bed.

~~~~~~

Kento chopped the vegetables with care at first. Although he was following his usual routine, something was different. The music he played didn’t calm his nerves like it usually did. Instead of hearing the beautiful melodies he heard your voice, ‘I’ll be fine on my own.’

He shook his head and sneered “Who do you think you are?”

He slid the chopped vegetables into the pan on the stove and tried to get you out of his head. 

Funnily enough, you weighed heavy on his mind. He’d have to spend eight hours with you tomorrow. Alone. 

He’d been around you before when you two were in training but that was different. It only lasted a few months and you were essentially tossed on different ends of the office floor. Nonetheless, he remembered when he first saw you. Why is someone like that working at a place like this? Sure, he had a few stolen glances at you in secret but he never entertained any fantasies. Work was just that after all, work.

As he washed the dishes, he thought of your cubicle. Your wall reminded him of some unhinged college kid. Papers pinned here and a plethora of sticky notes there, an unsolved Rubik’s cube in the corner, pens and highlighters scattered about.

He scrubbed his plate until it squeaked clean.

God help me, he thought to himself.

~~~~~~

You reluctantly rolled over and hit snooze on your alarm. 

“God help me.” You muttered into your pillow.

After dragging yourself around the house you finally made yourself look decent and headed to work.

You didn’t have time to make breakfast so you grabbed some on the way. Somehow you found yourself in a good mood, and grabbed some extra for Kento.

You carefully placed the muffins and fruit into your passenger seat.

You thought of all the ways he’d reject your peace offering.

“‘I don’t eat muffins’, ‘I’m not hungry,’.” You said mockingly.

When you reached the office, you threw your car into park and slunked back into your seat. 

“Please let today be a good day.” 

Your quiet plea echoed beneath the sounds of your footsteps as you walked through the parking lot.

~~~~~~

He wasn’t used to others being here on Saturdays. As a matter of fact, he tried to forget that you would be accompanying him today but the small noise you’d made coming in reminded him of the reality. Peace and silence was now a distant memory.

“Morning.” You kept your greeting brief as you tried to read the energy in the room.

“Morning.” He returned your greeting with little emotion.

You loosened the muscles in your body as you walked towards him and he turned toward you.

“I don’t know if you ate yet but I grabbed some extra food,” you locked eyes with him as you held the small box up in the air. You took note of his brown eyes “just in case you haven’t yet.”

He glanced at the box as you placed it on the desk next to his.

“Thanks,”

You opened your mouth to reply but he cut you off.

“But I’m not hungry.”

You shut your lips and nodded your head, “Right.”

“Sit down for a minute.”

“Uh, okay.” 

You reached for the chair next to his and did as he said.

His eyes traced the buttons on your shirt.

“What’s up?”

You didn’t notice that his eyes were elsewhere since you were too busy trying to calm your nerves.

His eyes snapped back up at your face. He’d seen you before but you were just another face in a crowd. But that was then and this is now.

“Why are you here?”

Your gold necklace jerked as you chuckled in disbelief “I’m sorry?”

He watched the pendant move with your heartbeat as he spoke.

“For the monthly review. Why are you here?”

You studied his demeanor for a moment thinking of how to approach the situation. 

He maintained his cold composure.

“Because you shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk. You should be with your family or girlfriend or whoever.”

A slight shade of pink dashed across his cheeks.

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“You’re right, it’s not. So, are we done here?”

You rose from your seat, “Because if I recall correctly, we’ve got lots of work t –”

Kento lightly gripped your wrist and you looked down at him.

He maintained his steady gaze with you “Sit back down.”

Your cheeks heated up under his touch.

He could feel your pulse beating triple time as he continued to hold onto your wrist. Although his body didn’t show it, his own heart rate doubled under the feel of your skin.

You slowly sat back down and he, reluctantly, let go of you.

He tried not to smirk at how easy it was to make you flustered.

You watched him with a steady eye as he turned back to his desk.

“These are for you,”

You felt joy at those words but it was deflated when he handed you a stack of papers.

“I think you’re capable enough to handle these cases.”

You nodded your head and clasped the high stack of papers to your chest. 

“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

You quickly stood to your feet and strutted to your cubicle. As you walked off, Kento was left in a wave of your perfume. It was sweet and spicy, like a chai latte in early spring.

He took a deep inhale before getting back to work. 

You plopped into your office chair and finally let out the breath you’d been holding. Your hand traveled to your wrist which Kento grabbed earlier. Your mind went back to the fantasies you had last night but the sudden whir of a nearby printer interrupted your daydream. 

You saw the top of Kento’s head move across your cubicle and wondered what he was thinking.

~~~~~~

A few hours had passed since that morning and you’d wandered to Kento’s cubicle a few times to ask questions and such. Each time you eyed the pastry box you set on the desk nearby and everytime it looked untouched. 

Whenever you came by, he would take another mental picture of you. He noticed how you narrowed your brows when trying to understand something and that little smirk you’d get when you finally understood it.

You couldn’t look at him too long or you’d get lost in your thoughts. His sleeves were rolled up. His watch taut against his skin, a few veins prominent on his arm. Without thinking you leaned in close when he was showing you something on his desktop. You got a whiff of his cologne and tried to compose yourself.

“Does that make sense?”

“Perfect.”

“Pardon?” His brown eyes glanced up at you.

You kept looking at his screen “I mean, it makes perfect sense. Thanks for explaining it to me.” You gave him a small smile before going back to your sanctuary.

He allowed himself to indulge and watch you walk away. After you turned the corner, he readjusted himself in his seat seeing as his pants were getting smaller by the second.

You wouldn’t say you were at ease but your nerves were stable until Kento came over to your desk. You heard the rustle of his clothes as he approached you with his hands in his pockets “I’m going to lunch.”

You glanced up at him “Okay.”

He started to walk off but then turned back around “Y’know you can go too if you want?”

“Oh,” you perked up.

“It’s just us so it’s no problem.”

“Great!” 

Kento hovered by your cubicle while you locked your computer.

“You don’t have to wait for me.” 

You grabbed your phone and wallet.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He chided.

You laughed and he felt himself smile a bit.

“Hardly,” you stood to your feet and he followed you to the elevator.

The doors shut after he pressed the button for the lobby.

You tried not to fidget with your hands as you stood in silence. 

He loosened his tie an inch while thinking of how to fill the awkward silence. The vibration of your phone saved him.

You turned it over and saw that your mom was calling. Your thumb hovered between the answer and decline button. 

The call ended before you could make up your mind. Suddenly, the doors opened to the lobby of the office. Both of you stepped out across the marble tile.

“Where are you heading?”

Your phone vibrated again, “I’m not sure yet. I don’t really eat out much.”

You checked your phone once more and saw that your mom texted you. 

‘Did you eat lunch yet? Don’t work too hard!’

You quickly typed out a response: ‘At lunch now. Promise I’m ok and I swear I’ll call you back soon, love you.’

He watched your fingertips dance across your phone.

“I hope I’m not being rude.”

“No, not at all. It’s just my mom.” 

You pocketed your phone “She can get worried sometimes.”

You squinted your eyes at incoming sun as you prepared to step out onto the sidewalk.

He held the door open for you. 

You glanced back at him almost in shock at such a simple gesture.

“Thank you.”

Even though your words were nearly a whisper, he gave you a small nod.

At first, the two of you walked together without thinking. Then you realized you were essentially following him. 

Your body tensed up slightly.

“Do you have any recommendations for a cafe or something?”

“I normally go here,” he pointed at a small bakery up ahead “you can try it if you’d like.”

“Sure!”

As you approached the building he held the door open for you again. 

You tried to suppress the smile that followed, but you failed and he noticed.

“Welcome back!” A woman behind the counter waved in your direction. 

You looked behind you at Kento who greeted her like an old friend.

You watched how effortlessly the two of them interacted and almost forgot why you were there.

“How can I help you today?” The woman beamed at you.

Kento stood by as you approached the counter.

“I’ve actually never been here before. What do you recommend?”

“You could always try our casse croute!”

As the woman continued to recommend choices, Kento took this time to find a seat.

“Kenny’s had it a few times, I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it.”

You gushed at his pet name “Tell me about it! Y’know how Kenny is.”

You rolled your eyes and played along, the woman giggled at your display.

“Anyway, I’ll try that casse croute.” 

You paid and went to find the table Kento saved for the two of you while you waited for your food.

“So Kenny,” you stressed his newfound nickname as you sank into your chair.

His eyes widened a bit and a cherry blossom pink tinted his cheeks.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“It’s kinda cute.”

You looked at him with doe eyes as you sipped from your glass.

He found himself pulling at the fabric of his pants.

You watched him to study his reaction yet your phone vibrated again.

A sigh escaped from your lips as you reached for it. Adrienne texted you:

‘How’s office with the hottie??’

As you turned your phone on mute, she sent another text:

‘Are you bent over the desk yet?’

You choked for a moment then cleared your throat.

“You should really call her back if she’s that worried.” 

Kento chimed in.

“My mom’s fine. It’s someone else.”

You placed your phone face down onto the table and he straightened his posture.

You rested your hands in your lap as you looked at him.

“Here ya go!”

The waiter set your plates and utensils on the table, you thanked them before they left. As you focused on Kento again, the waiter looked at him and gave him a thumbs up then gestured at you.

He tried his best to ignore this display of approval and focused on you, which seemed to get easier by the minute.

“I don’t have anyone,” you opened your napkin “a boyfriend, girlfriend, goldfish.”

You chuckled to yourself before digging into your food “It’s just a friend.”

“I’m not jealous if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Not at all! Besides, you shouldn’t be. I see why you like it here, she’s pretty.” 

You gestured to the woman behind the counter.

He laughed like you’d just told an inside joke at a family dinner.

You glanced up at him questionably.

“She’s not my girlfriend,”

“Oh,” you laughed lightly “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be talking about this. I mean, you’re probably married or something anyway.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re husband material.”

You tried not to choke on your own words and how effortlessly they came out. You readjusted yourself in the chair and accidentally bumped knees with Kento.

“Sorry about that.”

He instinctively reached for your knee.

“It’s fine. Are you ok?”

You reached for his hand under the table.

“I’m fine.” You smiled and lightly squeezed his hand. 

For a moment, you thought his hand twitched from your touch.

As much as you hated awkward silence, you preferred it in this situation. You quickly ate your food in hopes of getting your shift over with sooner than later.

When you stepped out onto the sidewalk, Kento checked his watch.

“How much work do you have left?”

“I’m almost halfway done.”

 “I’ve only got a few more cases so maybe I can help you with the rest.”

You subtly took in a deep breath at his words.

He pressed his badge against the card reader to the office then held the door open for you.

“Maybe we can leave early.”

“Right” your chest tightened with each silent step to the elevator “about that,”

Kento briefly glanced at you before pressing the button to your shared floor.

“You don’t have to do that. You can just go once you’re finished. I can close up.”

He raised a brow then sighed subtly.

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

The elevator chimed as the doors opened to your floor.

“Excuse me?” You shot him a glare, “I’m just saying you don’t have to stick around.”

As you stormed off towards your desk, he was left in the wake of your scent again.

“I’m perfectly capable of handling this myself!” You shouted over your shoulder.

Your words trailed in front of Kento as he followed you, equally upset.

You threw your phone and wallet onto your desk before plopping into your chair. Then scooted your chair closer to your desktop to ignore the sight of him approaching your cubicle.

“Is there something you wanna tell me?” He pressed his hand onto your desk and leaned into your view.

“Yeah, go home.”

He stood upright at your comment.

You could feel your pulse beating in your ears. You hoped silence would drive him away but you felt a strong grip on the arm of your chair. Within seconds, he whipped you around to face him. He rested his hands on the armrests and looked you right in the eye.

“I highly doubt you like me enough to spend eight hours with me alone.”

“I didn’t say that.” You said meekly.

“What is it then?”

You pressed your lips together, holding it in. Nearly too afraid to say it out loud.

Your nimble fingers touched his tie. 

He held his gaze on you as you pulled him in close, close enough to feel your breath hit his lips. 

You glanced up at him.

“Your tie… it’s tacky.”

He slid a hand around your neck and you felt your necklace dance inbetween his fingers. 

He leaned in and said in your ear “You’d know all about tacky wouldn’t you?”

You scoffed at his comment.

He smirked to himself before pulling back to face you again.

You took note of how his mouth moved when he spoke but you weren’t paying any attention to what he was actually saying.

You replayed how his tie felt in your hand and wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled back. Maybe I shouldn’t … maybe his lips are softer than his tie?

“Finish your wor-”

You grabbed the tip of his tie and pulled him back down to you so you could test your theory.

He let out a small noise as you guided him towards you. He placed his hands on the arms of your chair to stabilize himself. His body was stiff from your sudden movement but when he felt your lips on his, he softened. With one hand still holding your chair, he cradled your head in his other hand pushing softly against you. Savoring your taste and your touch, how you put your mouth to use for something other than trash talking.

He slid his hand down to your shoulder and gently pushed you back.

You opened your eyes at the sudden absence of him.

He cast his eyes down to the floor and tried to compose himself.

You had this affect on him which made him act out of character, and as much as he liked it, he knew he should resist.

He wiped his bottom lip with his thumb then looked up at you “I don’t think we should –”

“No, right,” you let out a small nervous chuckle as he continued to fumble over his words.

“Company policy.” You both said in unison.

You bit your lip.

“I’m gonna wrap this up,” you gestured to the paperwork on your desk.

Kento nodded his head “I should get back to work too.”

You nodded and turned towards your computer.

There goes my job. 

You clicked away at random icons on your screen to look busy. 

I’m definitely gonna get reported to HR.

You took a deep breath through your nose.

“(y/n)?”

The tip of your ears burned when he said your name.

You turned your head and looked at him with pleading eyes, “Yes?”

He parted his lips but shut them after a moment. He walked towards you and you felt yourself freeze on the spot. He leaned down, placing his hands on the opposite sides of you.

“Do you want this?”

Your answer sat on the tip of you tongue but you could hardly speak. 

You placed your hand at the nape of his neck and brought his lips back to yours. He gave in to your touch, melting his lips with yours. With each second you spent in a liplock your desk chair moved back a few inches until it hit the edge of your desk. 

With every second that passed, the two of you enveloped yourself more and more in each other’s touch. He didn’t know how or when but he had lifted you onto the desk. Forget about the case reports. Now, it was only wandering hands, interlocked lips, and fumbling fingers. He couldn’t deny how he felt for you, it was evident, but he had known better.

“I should stop myself.” He confessed between hungry kisses.

“Why?”

“Because,” he kissed you one more time “because this isn’t right.”

You studied the small look of remorse on his face and pouted. You instinctively shrunk back. 

“I get it.” You planted your hands by your side and looked at the floor.

He rested his hand on top of yours “Usually, I’d ask if you’d want to have dinner first.”

He found himself blushing slightly at the thought. 

You saw how his eyes twinkled which made you smile a bit.

“Finish your work and we can pick up where we left off?”

You looked at him with incredulous eyes, feeling the anticipation and buildup slowly dissolve.

He traced your jaw with his fingertip “We can have a proper date like normal people,”

You chuckled at the phrase and he beamed at your smile.

“And a proper setting instead of,” he glanced around the office “this place.”

He said with a half hearted smile buried under a laugh.

You looked at him and took it all in. How his hair was toussled about, a blond strand dangling perfectly by his kind eyes. You cupped his cheek in your hand and admired his eyes like this. You were so used to seeing them as cold, seeing him as cold and calculated. 

He raised a brow, “Is that alright?”

You kissed his forehead and he silently gasped.

“That’s perfect.”

He gave you a grin after hearing those words.

“A week from today then?”

“Oh, you’re free on weekends now?” You chided.

“For you? Yes.”

A small smile spread across your face, “Saturday, it is.”

He placed his hand over yours with a smile and stood up straight. He helped you off the desk you two had made an even more mess of.

Being the gentleman he was, he helped you clean up the flurry of paperwork, pens, and sticky notes. Once it was back to normal, your verison that is, not his, you both readjusted your clothes and such.

“Do you think they caught that on CCTV?” You smoothed down your blouse.

Kento tucked his shirt back into his trousers, “No, a few of these cameras don’t work.”

“How do you know that?” Your hands smoothed the wrinkles out of your pants.

“I may or may not have checked.”

“I better keep my eye on you then.” 

  You noticed his tie was askew and saw fit to fix it yourself. 

He looked at you lovingly as you repositioned his tie for him.

“Is it still tacky?”

You giggled “I was kidding,” you looked him over once more to make sure he looked normal.

“Sort of.” You brushed his hair back and he gave you a small pout.

His fingers nabbed at the merlot colored fabric.

“What do you suggest?”

You noticed how his mood slightly changed and regretted saying anything about it. 

“Well,” you locked your arm in his and strolled down the aisle of cubicles as if you were walking down a tree lined street. “I would suggest something more you.”

You glanced at him and tried not to laugh at how serious he was. You maintained your demeanor as you two turned the corner arm in arm.

“I’ve seen about five different guys with this same tie and I’m sorry to inform you but you’re not like any of them.”

He put his hand in his pocket “What do you mean?”

“You’re,” you shrugged your shoulders and looked around the room “like a crab or a snail.”

He chuckled in disbelief and nearly pulled away from you “Excuse me?!”

“Noo, in a good way.” You reigned him in again.

His shoulders slumped a bit as you approached his desk.

“A lot of people wear their heart on their sleeve. Some get hurt and hide behind a wall and then, there’s you.”

You glanced over at him and gave him a brief smile.

“I don’t know your past, and I don’t want to but something changed you. You didn’t let it cut you off from the world though.”

“Hm,” your words played over in his head and he compared it with his life.

You stopped at his desk, still holding onto his arm “And that’s why you’re ‘katatsumuri’ from now on.”

“A snail??” He raised a brow.

“'Cause you've got this shell. You only let certain people in and you do everything at your own speed.”

“Have we started giving out nicknames already?”

You scrunched your brows “Is it too soon?”

As you waited for him to answer you bit the inside of your lip, hoping you didn’t ruin any chance you had with him.

“No,” the corner of his mouth turned up “I’ll have to think of something.”

He reluctanly uncoupled his arm from yours, “As soon as I’m finished I can help you out with whatever you have left. If you’ll let me help.”

You nodded your head “I would like that.”

“See you soon then?” His hand trailed down your arm until he reached your hand. His fingertips grazed against yours and you lightly held onto them.

“Yep.” You slowly took a step back and held onto his hand until the distance took over. The two of you held eye contact briefly before you turned away from him. Even then, he still watched you. When you walked back to your desk you felt lighthearted, like someone had just breathed new life into you.

~~~~~~

Kento placed the last of his work onto a neatly stacked pile. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the black, idle screen of his laptop. 

He stared at himself for a moment then straightened his tie with a gentle smile.

The smile remained on his face as he stood to his feet. When he started walking towards you, he noticed the pink box on the desk nearby. He stopped in his tracks to grab it and place it on his desk then resumed his walk back to you.

You smiled when you heard him approaching.

“Hey, I’ve only got a few more left.” 

He pulled up a chair next to you, “We can split the rest if you’d like.”

“Sure!”

You split the stack of your remaining work and handed him a pile.

It was a miracle the two of you could get any work done at all seeing as you were both smitten with each other. Each of you found yourself trying not to think about what happened moments ago at the very desk you were now working at. But when it was all said and done, you worked well together.

“Got everything?” Kento stood at the elevator door with you, holding his belongings.

“Yep, you?”

“Ye- oh wait,” he went to his desk and returned with the pink box you’d given him earlier.

A wide grin plastered across your face “How was it?”

“Surprisingly good,” he looked at you with a smile and held the door open for you.

A silence washed over the two of you but the kind of comforting silence between those who find joy in each other’s company, not the one between strangers, enemies, or distant friends.

“Please tell me our date won’t be at 7am.”

Kento laughed at your joke “I take it you’re not a morning person.”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay,” he pressed his back against the wall of the elevator and looked at you.

You glanced over at him then faced him “What?”

“How’s 10 am sound?”

You slowly nodded your head “Doable.”

The elevator doors opened up to the lobby and he followed out behind you.

“I almost forgot, can I see your phone?”

He held his hand out.

“Uh, sure, yeah.” You fished it out of your purse and handed it over to him.

His fingertips typed away on the black mirror.

“There,” he handed you your phone and you saw his number was saved into your contacts.

“Ah, you forgot somethin’.” 

You edited his contact name from ‘Nanami Kento’ to ‘Katatsumuri’.

“Or should it be ‘Kenny’?” You looked back at him with a wicked smile as you walked towards the parking lot.

“Hey!”

He matched your grin while going out to the parking lot with you.

“I’m just joking!”

Your laughter filled the empty lot and he took pleasure in hearing its echo. He caught up with you and walked by your side.

“So what do you do when you’re not here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hobbies, like reading or cooking.”

“Oh,” you scratched your head “does watching Netflix count?”

He chuckled as you continued.

“I hardly do much these days if I’m being honest. I used to be different.”

“How so?”

“I would read and draw a lot. Even go to flower fields from time to time. Now I’m lucky if I can even get out of bed.” 

You threw your head back and sighed “The adventures of adulting.”

“What about you?”

“I’m lucky if I can catch a break at all.”

“Hm,” you slowed your steps as you approached your car “we’re not that different after all.”

You leaned against your car door while maintaining your gaze with Kento.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone so dark.”

“It’s alright” you fiddled with your keys “everyone’s a little dark sometimes.”

He studied you for a moment then nodded. A smile started to spread across his face but he glanced at the pavement. The snail had enough of being vulnerable for today.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” 

He looked up at you.

“Alright, ‘Muri.”

He grinned at the nickname and watched you get into your car. Although he walked towards his own vehicle, he continued to watch you to make sure you’d made it out safely.

When he slid into the driver seat he carefully placed his belongings in the passenger seat. He started the car but paused when he noticed an unfamiliar scent in the air. A chai latte during spring. His hands gripped the steering wheel and he looked over his shoulder as he backed out of his parking space with a smile on his face. 

There are more important things after all.

⭐Bonus: He'd def take you to a flower garden for your first date, maybe the wisteria tunnel. He likes to bake and cook but he'd refrain from doing that on the first date. He strikes me as a 'let's not get our hopes up too soon' kinda guy but the more he got to know you, he'd spoil you over time.

[dottore-appreciation-club]

Your post got me thinking about somewhat fluffy Dottore x reader; reader checking up on the Harbinger after he’s been noticeably absent for a few days, working in a fervor and wearing himself out. Feel free to do what you’d like, format-wise (hc/short fic/what have you)!!!

THIS, I LIKE THIS. THANK YOU <33

I ended up mixing short story and hcs in there though not sure how to feel about to end result 🏃

All in all, it's not as great as I'd hoped for a first fic, Dottore may or may not be a little ooc since it's my first time writing for him (and writing in general 💀) but I hope you liked this regardless <3

- - - - -

𝑴𝒂 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕é 𝑨𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒆

| fluff ☁︎ |

| no warnings, just soft times

with a very stubborn doctor |

pairing ; il dottore x gn ! reader

basically ; with his projects going

wrong and his research coming to

a standstill, dottore has resorted

to burying himself in his work,

desperate for at least a fraction of

success.

yeah no you weren't having it.

⊱─── {⋅. �� .⋅} ───⊰

Il Dottore is committed to his work.

Some might even go as far as to argue that he's practically married to it.

The man has no sleep schedule, especially not on days when inspiration struck hard, so it wasn't uncommon to never find the doctor anywhere else but in his personal lab (the only one he'd never dream of abandoning no matter how bored he may be), tinkering and experimenting away as mechanical whirs, ticks, and other ominous creaky noises echoed through the empty forest around it from behind the heavy metal doors. However, lately all the noises coming from there have gotten louder, more machinery seem to be operating all at once, and if someone were bold enough to step closer to the doors, they might even catch the faintest tuts of annoyance, frantic scribbling, or on rare occasions; incoherent cursing in some foreign language that definitely isn't Snezhnayan.

At first, the others and his assistants assumed it was just him having an off day, maybe something happened during one of his recent missions- but eventually, he stopped leaving the confines of his laboratory altogether. Should anyone dare to disturb him, well... They can only hope the Tsaritsa answers their prayers. Anyone but you, at least- you technically have a free pass.

And you decided you were going to use it to make sure Dottore gets the break he deserves, work be damned you have a stubborn doctor to convince.

- - - - -

You haven't really seen him in a while, the last thing he told you before heading off was something about making more progress

You weren't surprised when he didn't come back during the next day

So you decided to visit your lover, armed with nothing but packed lunch and affection, because Celestia knows this man isn't going to be doing any self-checks while he's in the state he's in

His lab is a wreck.

No seriously, papers were scattered all over the place along with spare parts and some random machinery- normally he'd be seething if he found any of his equipment on the ground

He's even worse 🗿

I'm talking unruly dishevelled hair, his usually pristine dress shirt crinkled while some of the buttons are left open, his scowl just looks more hostile, and if you squint hard enough you'll even notice the bags under his tired eyes

The moment you're in front of him, he's wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

He doesn't care about what you're going to say, he just- he just needs to hold you for a second

Wrap an arm around him, card your other hand through his fluffy hair and he will absolutely melt

Allow him to vent for a little while and press gentle kisses against his face and he'll be a changed man (for 10 minutes)

Yes, he appreciates the face kisses even if the mask is there- you know he'll take it off around you when he's comfortable but until then, you're fine with just this

It takes some time to convince him to let you go, but he does (although with some hesitance) so he can eat the lunch you brought for him

You'd think it'll take even more time to convince him to take a break, but he folds almost immediately after you wrap your arms around him once he's finished eating

He's not proud of how quickly he's succumbing to all this but he relishes the attention

Right after it, he's going to try to jump back into work 💀

Oh, you wanted him to take a couple days off?

He brushes the suggestion off but the expectant look in his eyes tells you he just wants some sort of incentive

Just hold him again, he's too tired to save face

He ends up taking those day offs anyway 🚶

You always help him feel better, so maybe he'll find a spark of inspiration during his little break with you.

— CEO of the Dottore Appreciation Club

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

feat. Kita Shinsuke

Previously: Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. 

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Any other characters you’d like to see? Send me an ask! 

You knew of Kita Shinsuke, certainly - at least from your gigging girlfriends.

He’s known for his stellar grades (second only to your own) and his reserve position as the keeper on the Hufflepuff team. 

You found him serious and studious when you partnered with him once or twice in class.

But otherwise, you weren’t well acquainted with him. 

That all changed when you were appointed head boy and head girl respectively, and had to share an office for prefectorial duties. 

‘Shall I get started on the disciplinary reports due this week, or draft the allocation of duties for the month?’ You ask him when you met him to split up the work for the first time. 

‘Neither, I’ve done them both’, he replies curtly. A stack of reports in his neat, square handwriting drops in your lap.  

‘Oh’, you say lamely, feeling a little redundant. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with then?’ 

He shakes his head, a clear dismissal as he turns back to his work. 

He’s too high-handed, you complain to your friends. He takes charge of all briefings, tries to refuse your help for most tasks, only accepting when you archly remind him that you’re his peer, not his subordinate. 

He’s infuriating, you continue to complain. He doesn’t have a spark of humour in his eyes when you try to joke around with him, he’s stern and harsh with the other prefects, who all end up protesting to you. And worst of all - his grades are catching up to yours, slowly, steadily - your pride doesn’t appreciate him nipping at your heels. 

 You don’t dislike him. But you don’t like him either. 

That is - until you’re two months into your final year, and you’re off on a solo round one night. 

Your mind was full of the entrance requirements for the Healer course that was just released this evening that you completely forgot where you were (the side staircase between the ground floor and the second floor is tricky, even the first years know that) and stuck your foot right into the vanishing stair.  

It’s a full moon tonight. Your foot is stuck in the stair. All incontrovertible facts. It’s so late that you’ve long given up hope of anyone rescuing you until dawn, so you crouch on the stairs, head huddled in your arms, prepared to camp here until dawn. 

Anyone, that is - save for one Kita Shinsuke. 

He clears his throat, rousing you from your nap, and though you glance up with hope, you end up deflating when you realise it’s him. 

‘You didn’t report back after your round’, he says, the faintest shadow of a smile on his face as he looks down on you, uniform rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. 

‘I kinda got stuck’, you admit, letting him pull you up, and you mutter a resentful thanks when he frees you from the accursed stairs. 

‘I can see that’, he chuckles, and you blink owlishly. 

Kita Shinsuke, laughing? You must be hallucinating. 

Still, for all his flaws, he’s a gentleman, insisting on walking you back to Ravenclaw tower. It’s such a shock to your system to find that he’s actually human that you find the courage to voice out your long held complaint that he’s not letting you do enough work, that it makes you feel redundant. 

He apologises earnestly. ‘I didn’t mean to do that - I’ve been so used to just tryin’ to do everythin’ by myself that I forget I’ve a partner to help me with this’. 

You accept his apology with a laugh, wishing him farewell and goodnight. 

As you get ready for bed, your face heats up for some reason when you think about him referring to you as his partner. You’re glad he didn't pick up on it.  

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

That marks a turning point in your relationship with him. 

True to his word, Kita starts to treat you like his partner in all prefectorial tasks, splitting all tasks equally with you, seeking your counsel when he needs to. And you start to see why your friends giggled helplessly when you told them that he would be head boy, and would share an office with you. 

‘He’s hot!’ They protested, when you scolded them for being silly twits. 

And now, you have to agree - staring shamelessly at the sight of his broad shoulders filling out his quidditch uniform, his light grey hair tousled in the wind as he glides gracefully down on his broom towards you. 

‘Yachi-san forgot to get you to sign the report’, you tell him, waving the sheaf of papers at him. ‘And don’t scold her, she’s still terrified of you’. 

The younger girl still shakes whenever Kita speaks to her, and she even begged you on her knees to seek him out in her stead. You should be the one thanking her, you think amusedly, appreciating the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the proud curve of his neck as he signs the documents, giving you a wave as he returns back to practice. 

Then you discover he’s not as heartless as his demeanor led you to believe. 

‘Kita, what are on earth are you doing?’ You gasp at the sight before you. 

You heard some rustling in an empty classroom, and assuming it to be another amorous couple getting frisky (you would turn a blind eye, really but you’ve had to clean up after them far too many times for you to have lost your patience by now), you kicked the door open, only to be greeted by the absolutely adorable sight Kita Shinsuke surrounded by a whole gaggle of younger students seated in a circle around him. The younger kids giggle, and even Kita breaks into a smile. 

It turns out he’s been tutoring the weakest students in his downtime because, as he says - magic is hard for those not born into it, like him. Refusing to be left out, you join him in these tutoring sessions, cajoling him to hold it in your office, magicking up beanbags and cushions to make the entire tutoring session a much more comfortable affair. 

‘Well done!’ he exclaims in excitement as the shyest first year succeeds in casting a wingardium leviosa for the first time. 

‘Good work!’ he tells another second year approvingly, as she shows him her top marks for her transfiguration essay. 

Watching him take the whole brood of younger kids under his wing makes you look at him in a different light - a softer light, for the first time. 

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

‘Would you like to go to Hogsmeade together?’ you ask him after a prefects’ meeting, as you walk back to your office together to gather your things. You’ve practised far too long in front of the mirror to channel your inner Gryffindor (even though you’re at heart, a studious Ravenclaw) to mess this up. 

‘Sure’, he responds without skipping a beat, and you grin, fist pumping behind his back. 

But when you turn up at Hogsmeade, the entire batch of final year prefects is there too. 

‘It was a good idea to have a batch outing’, Kita says, as he turns around to chat with Kiyoko from Gryffindor. 

Kuroo from Slytherin, who you hear would’ve been head boy if Kita didn’t beat him out, grins knowingly as he notices the lip gloss you used specially for this occasion, and even kind, funny Aran from Gryffindor bumps your shoulder sympathetically as you look utterly downcast for the rest of the afternoon. 

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

You’re a Ravenclaw, for Merlin’s sake, so you take a hint, lick your injured pride, and stop any further romantic overtures towards one Kita Shinsuke. 

But when you notice his eyes growing tired, his hand faltering over another report he should’ve delegated to someone else, you shoo him stubbornly out of the office, pertly telling him it’s time to take his own advice and rest - or you’ll write to his grandma, and see if she doesn’t send him a howler to take care of himself. When he’s gone, you promptly take over the report, and in complete defiance of your own words to him, you keep yourself up all night finishing not just that report, but the rest of the reports on his plate for the week. 

It’s what a friend would do, you tell yourself, gritting your teeth and setting your quill viciously on an accounting report that bloody Daishou managed to push off to Kita instead of doing it himself. 

It’s dawn by the time you faceplant into the stack of reports you managed to plow through. 

‘Et tu, brutus’, he mutters when he finds you asleep on the desk the next morning, head still pillowed on the mountain of reports. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he gazes down at you, laughing softly when you shy away from his attempts to wake you.

‘Kita?’ you mumble, when he finally takes hold of your shoulder and gently shakes you awake. ‘Didn’t I tell you to go to sleep?’ 

Wait a minute. Is it morning already? 

You jolt awake, swiping the drool collecting at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing red in embarrassment at cool, collected Kita catching you like this. This is a bloody nightmare - you grab at your things, making hurried excuses to leave the room when he catches your wrist. 

‘Would ya want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?’ 

‘With the rest of the prefects?’ you mumble shamefacedly, not even noticing that he doesn’t let go of your hand. ‘Sure, I guess.’

Kita laughs again. Twice in a day, you note distractedly. Did you miss something in Astronomy class about the stars aligning with Jupiter or something? 

‘Nope, just with me.’ He tugs you towards him, standing so close your ears flame bright red. You’re sure that if he takes a step closer, your ears might explode. 

‘Kita?’ you stammer, unsure if you’re awake or lost in your dreams. 

‘I owe you an apology’, he says, eyes trained on your lips. 

It definitely isn’t a dream because oh Merlin you can feel his breath fan against your lips. 

‘I only realised you were askin’ me on a date the last time after Aran set me straight. And I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment to ask you out to set matters straight.’

‘You don’t have to - ‘ you squeak, but your words are swallowed by his mouth slanting hungrily against yours and oh gods you’re one of those couples you have to book for making out in school, aren’t you - but does it count if you’re doing it in the head prefects’ office - and wait, does this mean you have to book yourself -  

Then you lose all train of thought when Kita swipes his tongue into the seam of your mouth. Clinging to him for dear life, you tangle your fingers in his hair. 

‘I want to’, he promises, when you separate for breath. 

Your mind is still blank as you nod dumbly, agreeing to meet him at the Great Hall next weekend. You’re still touching your swollen lips, completely distracted that you don’t even notice the squeals and whispers in the corridors when he walks you to class, hand in hand. 

[saturnsummer]

sunbae.

Sol meets into a familiar someone. This time, she’s not letting her chance pass again. 

ao3 link

notes: prompted by @thenerdywriter ! taking place a few years after the gang has graduated and started their jobs. it’s been such a joy writing this! (editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me.) if anyone else has prompts, do ask them in the submission box and i’ll get to you when i can! 

thank you @thenerdywriter​ for this!! i thought of many scenarios, like them being famous prosecutors, or getting married. but i felt that this would be an interesting twist. i hope you like it! thank you for this opportunity! 

words: 2256 words

Sol loves being a lawyer. Like, she really does.

Well, besides having to hustle in notes, write reports, follow her bosses to meetings where she just sits and listens, she loves it. 

After graduating with her grades just skimming the pass, she landed a job at a small law firm. She acts more like a secretary than a lawyer there, to be honest. But money is money. Her mother is getting older, and with Byeol expressing her interest in dancing, she couldn’t say no. 

Thus, she sucks it up and sends out other resumes. She still works part time on weekends at the book shop back in Hankuk University, so she guesses she’s managing well. She still lives in that dangerous alley, but it’s much safer now that she returns home every night. 

She tried to stay in contact with her study group. Jiho landed himself in a big law firm, and SolB (despite her mother’s wishes) is at another giant law firm. BokGi got picked up by a firm mostly doing human rights, and Yebeom is working at the company next to BokGi. (So much for besties.) Yeseul is at a small firm, doing mostly cases on women rights. 

Joon Hwi, on the other hand...

He was picked up by a law firm in the States. Immediately after graduation, he left for the States. Everyone stayed in contact, but with life catching up, weekly drinks slowed to a meeting every other month. Yeseul and Sol still meet fairly regularly, but Sol can’t help but to feel empty when she notices Joon Hwi is missing. 

Everyone feels it, but she feels it the most.

-----

Sol can’t deny her feelings. When she saw him in Professor Yang’s lecture as he picked up her highlighter and gave her a sweet smile, she felt time freeze. Later on, as they became study buddies, she couldn’t help but sneak glances to observe his face when he taught her. She would always hitch her breath whenever he would lean towards her, or tease her with that smirk.

She has always thought that he returned her feelings. The way he would walk her home some nights. How he would always send her a good morning and night text, and place cans of coffees on her table at the library. It didn’t take her long to realise that he stuck post its on her table in their third year every week. (His handwriting was too uniformed, and only he owned circular shaped ones.)

But on the day of Yeseul’s trial, Sol knew that Joon Hwi probably didn’t like her. That he wasn’t protecting her, but her roommate. Of course he would. He was offered to privately tutor her, and they were always top ranking students. She vaguely remembers international events where they both would represent Hankuk in conferences.

Sol didn’t mind it. She was never good enough for him anyways. On graduation, as they took photos and promised to keep in touch, Sol found her mouth dry when it came to Joon Hwi. She had no reason to. (After all, it was just Joon Hwi.) But she felt even more nervous than the time she took her exam.

She planned it out. She wrote a script and memorised it in her head. She wanted to let Joon Hwi know about how she felt, even if he didn’t feel the same. She wanted to thank him for being her friend, for being a support that she will always be grateful for. That wherever he goes, she will always support him in life.

But as they threw their caps in the air and took one last group photo, Joon Hwi slipped away, never to be seen in person again.

-----

Sol found out a week later about his job in the States. They kept in contact by messages and the occasional video calls with the group. But with the time difference, Joon Hwi started texting lesser. Sol was no less busier, managing Byeol and her mom’s age and slowly taking on her responsibilities as the breadwinner of the family.

She used to come home after work and sit outside at the wall, wondering if Joon Hwi could see her in the States at night from the security camera. She would put on her headphones and sit there, watching as people pass late at night. Sometimes, she would speak aloud, as if Joon Hwi could hear her through the camera.

Many days, she would sit outside with a bottle of soju and two cups. She would only drink from one, and the other would just be there as reminder of her good days, when she was a study and drunk regularly with her best confidante. She often ended those nights half-drunk, murmuring her troubles out loud. (As if Joon Hwi was there to listen.)

When Yebeom spilled the beans that Jiho and SolB were dating a year later, she couldn’t believe it. It was a total twist. Does Joon Hwi know? He must be hurt, she thinks. She wanted to text him, call even. But she decided against it. He’s probably too busy for her. 

And so Sol went about her mundane routine. She drank with an extra soju cup alone. Used circular post its. Ate ramyeon like her life depended on it.

And it went on.

-----

“Yah, kid!” Gollum smacks Sol’s arm with a freshly printed set of notes.

“You really had to?!” Sol barks back, soothing her arm and organising the copy room.

“When are you gonna stop working? You’re an adult! You’ve got your degree!” Gollum asks, shoving another stack of papers in the copier machine. Sol sighs.

“Till I get out of this job and move on to a better one. God, I’m still pathetic, aren’t I?” She cries out as she carries a stack of books to the door.

“When were you ever pathetic?” A gentle voice rings as Sol stops dead in her tracks. That voice. The voice that she can’t help but miss. The voice that lectured to her about law and her health every other day. Raising her eyes, she meets his familiar handsome face with his hair pushed back out of the way, different from the bangs he once had in school. His brown eyes crinkle. 

“Joon…?” She asks breathlessly, still taking in his presence.

“Hello, sunbae.” He smirks. The same exact smirk she still remembers. Sol drops her stack of books to the table nearby and without warning, throws her arms around his neck. He stumbles backwards, but his hands rest gently on her waist, hugging the shorter woman closer to him. She inhaled his musky cologne, feeling his warmth wrap her body.

“I… I don’t get how you’re here. Aren’t you in the States?” She says softly, pulling away from the hug.

“Well, I was. I just got back.” He tells her. Peeking his head over, he waved to Gollum.

“Long time no see, Gollum! Mind you dismiss your staff early?” He cheekily asks, earning a swat from Sol. Gollum, to Sol’s surprise, nods and waves them away. Joon Hwi grins and takes her hand into his and grabs her purse in another before leading her out of school. (Gollum, meanwhile only grins. They better get together this time round, he thinks.)

-----

Joon gives her time to catch up with him and they take a stroll to the park nearby. He shares about his adventures in the States and the different cases he’s gotten. Some difficult, some interesting.

“So, what’s been going on?” Joon asks Sol.

Sol begins retelling about how the group has been doing. She retells BokGi’s and Yebeom’s offer and how they have lunch every other day. How Yeseul decided to want to fend for women abuse victims as well. However, she leaves Jiho and SolB dating for the last.

“Oh, um… I’m not sure if SolB has told you, but…” Sol trails off. Joon Hwi only tilts his head in confusion. Her eyes are uncertain and almost awkward.

“…That her and Jiho are dating?” Joon Hwi completes the sentence for her with enthusiasm.

“Wait, how did you know?”

“Jiho told me. Well, I encouraged Jiho.” He says, leaning back on the benches they sat on.

Now Sol was confused. Didn’t he like SolB? Why on earth is he encouraging Jiho? Her face contorts into a stage of loss and confusion. Joon Hwi only lets out a light chuckle.

“I don’t like SolB. I never did.” He answers her, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Sol freezes. So for years… he never had feelings for her? She feels like she’s back in law school, sitting with him in the empty study room when he leans in closer to look at her notes, closing the distance between. Her heart beats fast and she feels a sense of warmth rising to her face.

“Why? You thought I liked her, didn’t you?” Joon Hwi teases. She turns her face away, knowing that he can see her face blushing red.

“Whatever.” She grumbles just loud enough. Laughter fills her ears as she turns back around to pout at him. Soon enough, she’s suppressing a small smile as they lie back and look in the distance to their alma mater.

Sol sits in her thoughts for a few moments. She now knows that Joon Hwi doesn’t like her ex-roommate. He’s right next to her. He’s in Korea. He still remembers her. He still cares. 

But does he feel the same?

“Come, it’s getting late.” He says, taking her hand in his and pulling her up. 

Sol doesn’t notice the way his fingers are intertwined with hers. 

-----

Joon Hwi leads her down a familiar road, before getting three popsicles. Sol knows this road like routine, and can walk it blindfolded. But she lets him lead her. The entire time, she takes in his tall figure. His broad shoulders. How so many years later, she’s still in love with this very man. No matter how many men tried to flirt and confessed to her, she couldn’t return her feelings.

Because Han Joon Hwi had stolen hers to begin with. 

“Is Byeol home?” Joon Hwi asks, as they stop at her front door. As if on cue, a much taller girl emerges from the door, dressed in a simple shirt and shorts, hair pulled back with a large clip. 

“Oppa!” Byeol’s face lights up as Joon Hwi slightly bends to give her a warm hug. Byeol crashes into his arms and Joon Hwi swings her in a circle as Sol just laughs at their childishness. 

“You’ve grown taller, haven’t you, you cookie? And gotten so much prettier, like your sister.” He laughs, ruffling her hair. Handling her a popsicle, she flashes a grateful smile. Sol swats his arm, trying to not burn from embarrassment. 

“Unnie is still the prettiest to you, isn’t she?” Byeol asks as she opens her popsicle. Sol swerves around and is ready to smack Byeol for spouting nonsense, but Joon Hwi only laughs and pats her head. 

“You’re right. Your unnie is still the prettiest and smartest to me.” He says, his eyes locked on Sol, his smile still sweetly there. Sol is transported back in time to when she would catch Joon Hwi stare at her while eating her pickles and only smile at her as she happily eats. The days, that she’s now certain showed that he had feelings for her. Byeol looks at her sister, eyes locked on Joon Hwi and silently retreats back home with her half eaten popsicle.

“Joon, there’s something I need to say.” Sol mutters out loud. She has to do it now. She lost her chance years ago, and she's not losing it again. 

“Me too.” Joon Hwi says, his hands burying into his pockets, the way it does when he’s nervous. 

“No, please. I’ve waited years to tell you this. And I don’t want to screw this up because I know you probably think I’m still hung over old memories. And I don’t know when you are going to return to the States, cause I may never see you again. And then I’m gonna-” Sol is rambling as she feels the same nervousness every time she’s alone with him. 

But Joon Hwi’s lips cut her off. His hands cup her cheeks as he brings her face nearer to him, feeling her soft lips on his. Sol is too shocked to react, but she kisses him back, her hands by her side unclenching from her balled up fists. They pull away, as Joon Hwi leans his forehead against hers. Their noses brush each other and their lips brush one another. 

“I love you, Han Joon Hwi. I have been, for the past years.” Sol whispers breathlessly.

“I know. And I love you too, Kang Sol.” He replies, before crashing against her lips once more. Sol feels the fireworks, as she finally feels her heart open.

Han Joon Hwi is here.

Han Joon Hwi loves her. 

-----

Joon Hwi leaves for the States a week later. A month later, he appears at Sol’s house, announcing that he will be shifting back home. He reconnects with everyone else in the group and the meetings become more frequent. Sol now drinks with another cup, filled by the person she loves. Instead of circular post its, she gets morning love messages. 

And at dinners, when she leans her head against Joon Hwi’s shoulder and looks at her intertwined fingers, she can’t help but feel her heart explode in so many emotions. 

She’s finally whole.

[c-optimistic]

for your happy prompts ask, perhaps kara is a documentary film maker who follows ceo lena around for a doc and ends up falling in love with her by learning a bunch of little things she finds out during filming? also p.s. i absolutely adore your writing even when it tugs at the heartstrings. thank you for writing what you do! it makes my day everytime i see an update or get an email

She wasn’t allowed to see Lena Luthor until she’d signed so many papers that, if stacked together, would be taller than she was. She wasn’t even allowed to touch her camera around Lena Luthor until the woman herself, CEO extraordinaire, had personally vetted Kara out.

“You know,” Kara said as casually as she could, finding herself nervously adjusting her glasses when Lena’s cold gaze fell on her, “I usually have a whole team with me when I do this.”

“And I agreed to this on the condition that only one nosy filmmaker follows me around, not a whole team.” Lena’s reply was like everything else Kara had learned about the CEO thus far: she was blunt, a little harsh, tone and eyes cold and emotionless. She gave nothing away, not in her walk, in her mannerisms, in the ridiculously healthy food she ate, in the way she spoke to her employees or board members. She was cool, detached, wickedly smart, and utterly composed. “And I must approve the final result,” she added, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork Kara signed.

(Kara sighed internally, a tiny part of her sure Lena was a robot.)

“But it’s everything, right?” Kara clarified. “A total look into your life, no holding back?”

“You may follow me around to your heart’s content,” Lena said, leaning back in her desk chair, studying Kara intently.

“May I ask, Ms. Luthor, what made you agree to this, when you’re usually so distrustful of the media?”

Lena gave Kara a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “What made you ask to do this when you know I distrust the media?”

Lena hadn’t answered, so Kara knew she didn’t have to either, but she felt it was important to establish some kind of rapport with the woman she’d be following around for the next few weeks. “I’m of the opinion that things are rarely as simple as they seem from the outside, that’s all.”

“Well,” Lena said, looking pleasantly surprised and offering Kara a grin (a real one, one that touched her eyes and transformed her face), “perhaps that’s why I agreed to you doing this.”

x

“You’re one of Ms. Luthor’s closest friends, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Since before your daughter was born?”

“Yup.”

“So would you say you know her quite well?”

“Sure.”

“Do you plan on answering any of my questions with more than one word?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. So, in one word I suppose, how would you describe Ms. Luthor to a stranger?”

“Flawless.”

x

The rules of her arrangement with Lena were rather simple. For the next several weeks, Lena consented to having Kara around from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep. In return, Kara was not allowed in certain meetings at L-Corp, was not allowed to bring her camera with her at all when Lena went down to R&D, and if Lena asked for her to stop filming at any point, Kara was bound to immediately do so and erase any footage she may have inadvertently captured.

For the first two days of the arrangement, it was actually rather boring. Lena was awake before the crack of dawn, she didn’t acknowledge Kara’s presence as she made coffee and toast (though she did push a cup and a plate towards Kara), and then spent the next fifteen or so hours in her office, sifting through papers, answering phone calls and responding to emails, and forgetting meals. It wasn’t until the third day that Lena’s routine changed slightly.

She received a phone call at breakfast, and whoever it was caused a bright red blush to bloom on her cheeks. Kara zoomed in slightly on Lena’s face as she answered the call. “Now’s not really a good time, Sam,” she began, falling silent at whatever this Sam was saying on the other end. Lena’s eyes flitted over towards Kara, but to her surprise, she didn’t ask for Kara to shut off the camera. “That sounds terrible,” she said, sounding truly apologetic, something about her countenance changing. She seemed softer, more open, calmer than Kara had seen her yet. “And Ruby was so excited too.” Lena fell silent once more, nodding almost as if unaware of it. “I agree with her,” Lena suddenly laughed, still nodding, “it’s not fair at all. But there’s no way I’m not going to visit. Do you want me to bring anything?” Lena laughed again, and Kara wondered if her camera was capturing the change she was witnessing with her own eyes. “As if I could forget Ruby’s chocolate.” A pause. “Give her all my love.” Another pause, a tiny smile on Lena’s lips. “All right, I will. Bye.”  As she hung up, she looked over at Kara, as if daring her to comment, everything about her shuttering at once.

“Who was that?” Kara asked, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, however, Lena’s eyes flitted to the camera and she let out a soft, resigned sigh.

“That was my CFO, Sam Arias,” she answered, her tone a complete 180 from what she was using on the phone. She studied Kara for a moment and must have read something on her face, because her shoulders deflated and she motioned towards her phone. “Sam is my best friend. Her daughter, Ruby, is my goddaughter. We were supposed to go to the animal shelter today.” Lena smiled softly, almost as if unaware of it. “She’s finally convinced Sam she’s responsible enough for a pet. It’s actually—” Lena stopped suddenly, her eyes shifting to the camera once more, any warmth that had managed to leak out dissipating at once. “In any case, she’s sick. So we’ll have to reschedule.” She waved her hand towards the camera. “Can you turn that off, please?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Kara said quickly, making a show of turning the Camcorder off and setting it aside. “Is something wrong?”

Lena shook her head, leaning against her kitchen counter as she eyed Kara with something like curiosity. “You know, I’ve seen all of your other work,” she said after a moment, frowning at Kara like she was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out.

(Had she? Seen all of Kara’s work? A part of Kara was curious as to how, after all, most of her stuff was tucked away in a closet back in Midvale, waiting to be opened up and viewed during Christmas, when Alex would laugh at the films she’d made in high school about how the boys’ sports teams were unfairly given more attention than the girls’. The others were projects for her degree and one or two failed attempts to get a real production company to take the risk on her.

In fact, if not for Cat Grant’s decision as ‘The Queen of All Media’ to get involved in filmmaking, funding a project from a no-name creator, Kara wasn’t even sure she’d have the film she was making now.)

“Oh,” she said inarticulately, not quite sure how to word what she was really thinking. How rich did you have to be to be able to bribe anyone into giving you anything?

Lena nodded carefully, her face a perfect mask. If not for the way her eyes followed Kara’s every movement, Kara would’ve even thought that Lena was bored. “You’re very fond of certain themes. Hope. Love. Endless optimism in the best of humanity.” She said it like it was a bad thing. And it was suddenly Kara’s turn to lean forward on the opposite end of the counter, feeling her head tilt to the side questioningly.

“Is that what you got from my films?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Lena seemed wary of the question, standing up straight and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Isn’t that what you intended?”

“You know,” Kara said slowly, “I don’t actually believe in all that creator’s intent nonsense. I think we search for parts of ourselves when we consume art. So if that’s what you got from my films, that says more about you than it does about me.”

If anything, this seemed to offend Lena. “So you’d deny having any sort of intent with your work? What about making something with meaning?”

Kara laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not what I mean, and besides, who says art has to mean anything?”

“Of course art means something,” Lena argued, narrowing her eyes at Kara. “What’s the point of doing it if it doesn’t mean anything?”

Kara shrugged easily, giving Lena a small smile. “I disagree. I think art says something. But meaning is up to the people who consume it.” She picked up her camera and pointed it at Lena without turning it on. “Doesn’t matter what I intended to say with my films, you got meaning from it. So I’d say there was a point in making it, don’t you think?”

Lena eyed her for a moment, apparently not liking that Kara wasn’t giving her an answer, wasn’t telling her what she was trying to say with her work. But then, after several long seconds, she relented, letting out a chuckle and shaking her head. “Well, fine,” she said, her smile touching her eyes. “As long as you don’t try to say anything silly like hope, love, or endless optimism in the best of humanity with this film.”

“I’m afraid I can’t change who you are, Ms. Luthor,” Kara said softly, turning her camera on and effectively cutting off any response Lena may have had.

(And when she looks at the footage weeks later, she’ll freeze that frame, breath catching at the look on Lena’s face: the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows.)

x

“Do you spend a lot of time with your godmother?”

“Oh yeah, loads! She’s great.”

“What sort of things do you do with her?”

“I mean, normal stuff? She takes me to get ice cream all the time. The other day, she rented that new horror movie that came out and watched it with me when I stayed over. My mom went nuts when she found out.”

“So you like her?”

“No, of course not. I love Lena. She’s my aunt, you know? She’s family.”

“And if you had the chance, what would you want the world to know about her?”

“That she cares, so much. And that she’s funny and super smart and helps me with homework and after my mom she’s the very best person I know.”

x

The visit to Luthor Children’s Hospital was, as far as Kara was aware, unplanned and in fact gave Jess a great deal of anxiety. For her part, Kara was mostly frustrated and annoyed, wondering if this film was worth it at all. Because Lena Luthor seemed to be asking Kara to turn off the camera more and more, especially when her day deviated at all and she was forced to leave her office.

(Walks in the park, lunches with her goddaughter, a touching moment with the child of one of her employees...all locked away somewhere in Kara’s memory, but destined to remain there instead of on film, where it should be.)

She huffed a little bit as she leaned against the wall, watching Lena walk quickly towards the group of nurses and doctors. She didn’t say anything when Jess joined her, a contemplative look on her face. “She always does this,” Jess told Kara after a long silence, rolling her eyes fondly. “She’ll cancel meetings last minute because she heard one of the kids in the hemoc ward has finished treatment or that they’re out of toys to give to the new patients.”

“Why isn’t there any press if she does this often?” Kara asked, turning to Jess but watching Lena out of the corner of her eye. She was talking to one of the doctors now, looking comically out of place with her designer clothes while surrounded by colorful artwork by kids that littered the walls of the Children’s Hospital.

Jess fixed Kara with an unimpressed look. “You’ve met her, right?” she asked rhetorically. “She goes out of her way to hide these visits. She says that she has to keep it under wraps because she wants to keep it about the kids and not her. But I think the truth is she’s just worried people would mistreat the kids and their families for allowing a ‘Luthor’ within ten feet of them.”

“Oh,” Kara said dumbly, a little stunned by the new information, and feeling guilty for her thoughts earlier. “That’s...awful.”

“I’m not telling you this for nothing, you know,” Jess continued, frowning at Kara. ��She’s been avoiding lots of her usual charitable work since you’ve been around. The whole point of this was to get everyone else to see the real Lena Luthor, but she’s ruining it by being humble and noble.”

(Kara wanted to groan, roll her eyes, or better yet go over to Lena herself and shake her until she understood what Kara’s job was.

How was she supposed to make a documentary about Lena Luthor if Lena Luthor was so determined to hide herself away from the world?)

“What would you have me do?” she asked, not voicing her frustration, though it seeped into her tone anyway. “We have a deal, and she doesn’t want me to film these things.”

Jess shook her head, looking terribly unimpressed by the answer. “Don’t you have artistic integrity? Would you allow anyone else to boss you around and tell you what you could and couldn’t film?”

Kara looked over at Lena, who was now smiling at a young boy who had ambled up to her with his mother and infusion pump stand in tow. She watched as Lena actually dropped to her knees to talk to the boy, nodding vigorously at whatever he was saying. After a long moment, she turned back to Jess and shook her head. “No,” she said finally. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

And after Jess had given her another significant look before walking off, Kara raised her camera and began to film.

x

“Mr. Spheer, you’re an ex of Lena Luthor’s, right?”

“Ah, I see this documentary is quite personal. Are you sure that Lena is okay with this sort of thing going into her movie?”

“Well, it’s my movie. But she’s free to ask me to take things out.”

“Fascinating. Yes, I am Lena’s ex. I was quite brokenhearted when she broke it off to move to National City.”

“Oh, she broke it off?”

“So curious, Ms. Danvers. Perhaps you’re interested in something beyond a mere film?”

“W-what? No, that’s—please be serious, Mr. Spheer—”

“It’s Jack to you, my dear. What else do you need to know about Lena? Her favorite flowers are plumerias, her favorite food is—”

“—oh that’s really not necessary. If we could just focus on who Lena is as a person. A friend. A former girlfriend?”

“Hmm, yes. Well, just imagine your perfect woman, Ms. Danvers.”

“Oh, um, I—”

“—exactly, you see Lena. That’s an universal experience, I’m afraid. Lena is simply...too good for this world.”

“So you’d say the treatment she gets by the public is unfair?”

“It’s unfair how much people attack pineapple on pizza, Ms. Danvers. The way they speak of Lena without knowing her? That’s a pure travesty.”

x

They were about ten days into filming when Kara saw Lena relax for the first time.

She was using the word ‘relax’ rather loosely, of course. Lena didn’t do what Kara did after a long week—put on a pair of sweatpants, order loads of junk food, and watch so much Netflix that it eventually felt the need to ask her if she was still watching. In fact, Lena’s idea of relaxing was more work. Just, fun work.

She was dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, knees pulled up to her chest as she sat at her desk, mumbling under her breath as she did whatever she was doing. (She hadn’t bothered to explain to Kara, had just sighed and acquiesced to the presence of the camera in her home office.) Perched precariously at the tip of her nose were a thick black pair of glasses, her hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves.

She looked different. Softer, somehow. Gone was all the trappings of a badass CEO, and all that was left was a clever (and beautiful) young woman, working on the things she loved in her spare time.

Kara zoomed in slightly, focusing on Lena’s face, on the furrow between her brows, her lips twisted in concentration. There was something there, something different, and Kara just wanted to—

“Is that camera heavy?” Lena asked, looking up suddenly, a curious expression on her face. She was good at that, the polite looks, gently asking for more information. Tiny eyebrow raises, nearly imperceptible softening of her eyes, lips quirked the slightest bit, all intended to disarm her quarry, making them drop their guard long enough that they give everything held close to their chest away.

“Not really,” Kara answered, grinning at Lena. This made the other woman blink in surprise, clearly not the response she was looking for, that expression on her face shifting suddenly, becoming more calculating. “I work out,” Kara went on to explain, shrugging easily, careful not to jostle the camera. “Besides, it’s not that heavy, I think about five pounds.”

“What kind of camera do you use?”

“Oh, it’s a Panasonic AG-HVX—” she cut herself off. “It’s not that interesting.” Kara adjusted her glasses and made sure Lena’s face was still in focus. Somehow, this made Lena’s tiny smile reappear. She stood up and circled her desk, and Kara was forced to back away to maintain focus.

“You love filming, don’t you?” Lena asked, and Kara blinked, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“Ms. Luthor, as I’m sure you’re aware, this film is about you.”

If she thought this would in any way cow Lena, she was wrong. Lena just grinned, looking like she’d somehow won something.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” she said with faux casualness, crossing her arms and tapping a finger against her elbow. “Why would you, someone Cat Grant speaks so highly of, be willing to agree to this assignment? Something most people wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.”

Kara frowned, not thinking as she responded. “It wasn’t assigned, Ms. Luthor. I pitched the idea. I wanted to do this.” Lena’s words sank in a moment later. “Wait. Cat Grant spoke highly of me?”

“Why?” Lena asked, no longer smiling.

Kara blinked at the change in tone. “Why what?” she asked, genuinely confused. This was, apparently, the wrong answer, because Lena chose that moment to begin pacing in front of her desk, looking more than a little bothered.

“I don’t get it,” she said as she paced. “I tried to figure it out, looked into you, into your work. I thought maybe you were doing this to build fame, but I’ve seen your work and even without a movie about the last Luthor, I have no doubt you’ll be very popular—”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, thank y—”

“—then I thought maybe you have a vendetta against my family and just want me to look bad,” Lena continued, barreling over Kara’s words and ignoring her entirely, “but the only connection between you and my family is your cousin, Clark Kent, and he’s the journalist who broke the story on my brother, so if anything I should dislike you—”

“That’s not exactly...Clark and I aren’t—”

“—so I really need you to explain it to me. Why did you want to make this film?” She paused her brisk pacing as she asked the question, meeting Kara’s eyes with a fierce look, one Kara was infinitely glad she was capturing on film. Because this, this glint in Lena’s eyes, was why Kara wanted to do this.

“Do you remember the speech you gave when you came to National City?” Kara asked, and judging from the way Lena’s eyebrows rose in response, she was rather thrown by the question. “Because I do. I watched it maybe a few dozen times. All those horrible questions, all the absolute certainty that you were like your brother, and you kept your head up and you promised to prove them all wrong, to make up for what he did.” Kara sighed, shutting off the camera and setting it aside gently. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I was...interested. I wanted to see more.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did I meet your expectations? Disappoint you? What?”

Kara smiled, unable to help it. “Does my opinion on you really matter?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?” Lena shot back, eyes narrowing.

Kara’s smile just widened and she began to gather her things, preparing to leave for the night. Impressively, Lena didn’t question her further, just watched her then followed her to the door, looking rather cross. Pausing briefly to adjust her glasses and the strap of her bag, Kara turned suddenly and met Lena’s eyes. “You exceeded them. My expectations, that is,” Kara added when Lena offered only a quizzical look in response.

For a moment, Lena didn’t react, then that same look from her office—the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows—overtook her expression, and she let out a laugh.

“Well, good then.”

x

“You went to boarding school with Ms. Luthor?”

“I don’t think that’s public knowledge, how do you know that?”

“Um, Ms. Arias told me about you. She mentioned your relationship with Ms. Luthor is unique.”

“Well, Sam would know, wouldn’t she?”

“Ms. Rojas, if you don’t want to speak to me, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Look, Lena and I have been estranged for a while now. I...I did something to break her trust.”

“So would you say that Ms. Luthor is difficult to get along with?”

“No, I’d say that Lena values things like honesty and trust, and—you know that Austen novel? With the man who says that once you lose his good opinion, it’s gone forever?”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

“Exactly. Lena is like that.”

“Ms. Luthor is like Mr. Darcy?”

“No, she’s classic. No matter what’s going on, she’ll endure.”

“So...you were the one difficult to get along with?”

“Have you ever thought about taking your work to a whole new level, Kara? How do you feel about virtual reality?”

“Oh, um, I don’t have particular thoughts? But I’d love to know yours about Ms. Luthor. For the film.”

“She won’t believe this, or that I’m saying it coercion free, but Lena is...a visionary. More than that, she’s just a decent person. Which is more than most of us can say, don’t you think?”

x

After their conversation, Lena opened up dramatically.

(Well, dramatically was a stretch, but considering how closed off she’d been before, the difference was rather drastic.)

Kara filmed Lena’s visit to an animal shelter, capturing the way her fingers gently ran over the fur of the dog that immediately trotted over to her, placing its head in her lap. Lena had then explained that she went to shelters often, just to volunteer, as she was unable to adopt for fear of not having time to give the dog the attention it deserved.

Later that week, Lena let Kara stay later than usual, putting on some music as she got to cooking, going as far as to teach Kara the basics of the dish, laughing when Kara admitted that her skill in the kitchen was limited to making sandwiches. At one point she grabbed the camera and set it aside, dragging Kara into the kitchen, giving instructions and lessons as she swayed her hips to the music.

(It was silly, it was lighthearted, it was fun, and Kara couldn’t help it.

She forgot she was there to make a film.)

And as the days and weeks dragged on, when Lena showed off her skills at the piano—apologetically explaining she hadn’t had time to really play in months—or when she told Kara about her very ‘nerdy’ stamp collection or even when Lena seemed to ignore there was a camera between them and she began to talk about her day and her hopes for the weekend, Kara forgot that it was a job. She forgot that she was supposed to be making something, paying attention to more than Lena’s smile or the way her eyes lit up whenever she mentioned work she was particularly passionate about.

Somewhere along the way, Kara cared more about the opportunity to spend time with Lena than she did the film itself.

More worryingly, that realization didn’t even bother her.

x

“Why filmmaking?” Lena asked one morning, pushing coffee and toast towards Kara with a tiny smile. The camera was still in its bag, untouched since Kara had arrived nearly an hour earlier. “Why not journalism like your cousin?”

“My cousin and I,” Kara began awkwardly, adjusting her glasses, “well, our relationship is a little strained, I guess.” She didn’t need the slight tilt of Lena’s head to know that Lena wanted her to keep going, to explain further. She let out a soft chuckle and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Um, so my parents died when I was twelve. And Clark sort of...left me? I went to live with the Danvers instead, and they bought me a camera for my birthday.” Kara grinned at the very memory, still able to feel its weight in her hand, the eyepiece against her eye. “It was one of those old camcorders, do you remember? The ones with the tapes? I drove them nuts, filming literally everything. I don’t think they ever saw my face for the first few months I was with them, it was constantly behind the camera.” She didn’t explain why she wanted to document every moment with her new family, but judging from the way Lena’s eyes softened, she understood anyway. “From there it became serious. I started making films. School projects, etc. Now I’m here.”

“Why documentaries? Why not something like...oh, I don’t know, action movies?” Lena prodded, looking curious, looking interested, looking like the answer mattered.

Kara just shrugged, suddenly not able to look Lena in the eye. “I guess there’s a part of me that wanted to take after Clark.”

x

“How long have you been working for Ms. Luthor?”

“Um, this December will make seven years.”

“As her assistant, you have remarkable access to her. What’s she like?”

“Driven, ambitious, works way too hard. I don’t think she’s ever taken a holiday or even a break...but um, maybe don’t say that in the film.”

“Artistic integrity, remember? She works hard, that’s clear. But what about personally? Her relationship with you and the other employees? What kind of boss is she?”

“She cares a lot. A few years ago, before Lex Luthor, well. You know. Before all that, LuthorCorp was facing serious losses. Mr. Luthor wanted to just get rid of entire departments, but Ms. Luthor said the research was vital, and more than that, the researchers were important. She convinced her brother to keep them on—she won’t admit it, but it was more than being persuasive. She paid for it out of her own pocket.”

“So you’d say she’s charitable?”

“No, she’s passionate. And she fights for the things she believes in. Ms. Luthor likes to say that charity implies pity, and she doesn’t do anything out of pity. She just does what’s right by people.”

“Some would disagree, they’d argue that LuthorCorp, and by extension its new iteration, L-Corp, don’t care about people, but about profits. Do you think that’s a fair assessment of the company you’ve devoted seven years to?”

“Look. I get it, people are suspicious of L-Corp because it used to be LuthorCorp. But it’s not just a name change. When Lena took over, she gutted her company. There’s not a single program left from Mr. Luthor’s time as CEO. L-Corp is all Ms. Luthor.”

“So if L-Corp is Ms. Luthor, who is Ms. Luthor?”

“She’s a woman who’s been hurt all her life, Kara Danvers, and whose only goal is to keep as many people as she can from hurting too. Sometimes I just wish she realized she doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore either.”

“Oh.”

“Also, I don’t care about your artistic integrity, that last bit does not go in the film.”

x  

One afternoon, when Kara was dangerously close to dozing off on the couch in Lena’s office—camera turned off and set aside, not really needing more footage of Lena working at her desk—Lena suddenly jumped to her feet, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“They’ve done it,” she said, the smile forming on her lips so wide that Kara found herself smiling back.

“Done what?” Kara asked, fairly sure this would lead to Lena’s refrain of ‘that’s company business and I’m afraid you’re not privy to that information’ but instead, Lena looked at her appraisingly, then rolled her eyes.

“If I allow you to bring your camera in R&D, do you swear not to film my ongoing projects?”

“You’re going to let me film in R&D?” Kara said excitedly, jumping to her feet and grabbing her camera.

“Kara, do you swear?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Ms. Luthor. I absolutely swear.”

And the next thing Kara knew, she was filming in the one place she’d been told was off-limits, capturing the lab and Lena talking to her researchers animatedly about the advancement they’d made in gene therapy, not entirely surprised when Lena shoved the scientists towards Kara and urged them to brag about their achievement—while also warning them to be as vague as possible—and then sank into the background, clearly thrilled to have her scientists as the center of attention.  

And later, when Lena decided to actually take a lunch hour as a ‘reward’ for the great strides L-Corp had made, she took Kara along, bought three different appetizers, and smiled her wide smile before she said, “It’s Lena, by the way. Just Lena.”

Mouth still bulging with the three potstickers she’d practically inhaled, Kara couldn’t manage much more than a nod, but later—when she was alone—she tried saying the name aloud, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

x

“Mrs. Luthor—”

“It’s doctor, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. Luthor. You adopted Ms. Luthor when she was four, is that correct?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for this nonsense. I consented to this interview only to say one thing: Lena was always the more clever of my children, but she’s foolish and soft, and this silly film is yet another example of that.”

“You agreed to meet with me to just say...that. Okay. That’s um. Fine.”

x

As the weeks dragged on, Kara had little reason to continue filming. Her deadline with Cat Grant was fast approaching, and she had more than enough footage. All that really remained was editing, of putting the final pieces together. But she found herself filming anyway.

Every day, she’d make her way to Lena’s apartment, making flimsy excuses about how certain footage was no good, or had been corrupted, and that she needed retakes of Lena doing ordinary things (like reading the paper, cooking dinner, or talking about her day). She knew that Lena could tell her excuses were just that, but mercifully, Lena didn’t seem to want to call her out on it, merely gave soft reminders not to stay up so late every night to edit (the ‘you could just as easily stop wasting your time here and be editing during normal hours’ going unsaid).

(Jess had rolled her eyes when Kara came by L-Corp and Lena mentioned offhandedly that Kara somehow hadn’t gotten a shot of Lena entering her building in all the time she’d shadowed the CEO, and wasn’t that odd?)

But what Kara knew, what made her stretch out these moments as long as she possibly could, was that once the final product popped into existence, once she showed Lena and got her okay to send off to Cat Grant, that was it.

No more Lena.

And that terrified her.

(So she gathered more footage, fruitlessly hoping that the final product would never be ready, dragging her feet at every step.

She edited, studying Lena’s every expression, tried to pinpoint the exact moment she’d started to fall for the not-so-detached CEO extraordinaire, and wished it didn’t all have to come to an end.)

x

Two days after Kara had sent Lena the finished film, she got a curt email from the CEO herself with only three words: come see me.

Jess gave no indication about how her boss was feeling when Kara arrived, merely stared evenly at Kara and gestured with her head for her to just go on in. When Kara tried to ask her, Jess shook her head, pointed at the door to Lena’s office, and made a shooing gesture.

“It’s odd to see you without a camera,” Lena said when Kara sat down across from her, trying to keep her hands from fidgeting.

“It’s odd to be in here without a camera.” Kara took a deep breath. “Did you watch it?” she blurted, unable to keep it in. “What did you think?”

“You’re really fond of certain themes,” Lena said, then she raised her eyebrow. “You also filmed quite a bit when I had asked you not to.”

“Artistic integrity?” Kara tried, and Lena...laughed.

“I don’t know if I agree with the way you portrayed me,” she said slowly as her amusement faded. “You took a lot of liberties.”

“I was very faithful to the subject of the film, Lena.”

“What do you think you were trying to say?” Lena asked, waving off Kara’s comment.

“What meaning did you get from it?”

Lena studied her for a moment, as if she was trying to read Kara’s mind. “I’m not some selfless genius, Kara.”

“Is that what you think the film is saying?” Kara asked her, not rising to the obvious bait. “Like I said, Lena. I was very faithful to the subject of the film.” For a long moment, Lena didn’t respond, and Kara felt the worry she’d managed to push away since sending the film to Lena creep back in. “Does this mean you don’t approve of the film?”

“Hmm?” Lena said, distracted. “No, I’ve already sent it along to Cat Grant, giving my okay. Even though you broke our agreement, I can’t deny the final result was very favorable to me.”

“I wouldn’t have made something that wasn’t completely true,” Kara said, somewhat hotly, most of her irritation bleeding away with the knowledge that Cat Grant was in possession of the final product, that the rest was up to her.

Lena smiled, eyes soft, and she nodded her head almost incredulously. “No, you wouldn’t. I know that.” She cleared her throat, seeming a bit nervous. “But I was thinking. I’ve been missing our talks about your work, and I know you don’t like talking about what you’ve made, but perhaps you’d make an exception for me. Would you be willing to give me a private showing of your film? Give me all the insider secrets? I know your subject quite well, it would be a fun exercise.”

Kara’s heart slammed to a stop, the jump-started at the sight of Lena’s amused eyes, that tiny curve of her lips. “A private showing, huh?” Kara mumbled, feeling a little dazed. “I still won’t tell you what I was trying to say.”

“That’s completely fair.”

“But I suppose I could give you some insight on my thoughts.”

“Only if you wanted.”

“It may have to be more than one session,” Kara said, trying and failing to stop the spread of her smile. “There’s a lot of footage you know.”

“So it’s a date?” Lena asked, and Kara couldn’t help her eager nod.

“It’s definitely a date.”

[bestofbucky]

The Signal (1/2)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Angst, death, blood, canon level violence, swearing.

Summary:  You go on a mission with Bucky.

A/N: Part 2 will hopefully be up sometime soon.

“You ready doll?” Bucky asked as you were nearing your drop off point. 

You nod back, not trusting your voice. No matter how many times you have had to parachute from a quinjet it will never get easier. Of course, Bucky can tell how nervous you are by the way you avoid eye contact and start tugging at the straps of your harness. He pulls your hands away replacing them with his own as he safety checks your parachute.

You know that you have done it all correctly but having him double check it is the reassurance you need. You watch him, his slightly furrowed brow and tongue poking out giving away how concentrated he is. 

He finishes his final check and looks up at you, “What are you smiling about?” He can’t stop his own grin from spreading across his face. Bucky didn’t just smile with his mouth, he smiled through the crinkles in the outer corners of his eyes, he smiled through the scrunch of his nose and he smiled through the relaxation of his whole body.

“You.” The contentment you feel, that comes from simply being near Bucky, is obvious in your body language and voice. His eyes glimmer as he leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Bucky had joined the team about two years ago. For one of his first missions you were paired up, you worked so seamlessly together that it would be silly not to put you with each other for more missions. This resulted in the two of you becoming close friends, he trusted and confided in you and you felt the same. 

It would be normal for the two of you to be holed up together after a tough mission, looking after the other but not wanting any social interaction with anyone else. You were both extremely similar like that, tending to fall inwards but you both became experts at drawing the other one out.

It was a natural transition from friendship to romantic relationship. You had just come back from mission and you were cuddled up in Bucky’s bed watching a film. Bucky had turned to you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to go on a date with him to which you immediately agreed. The feelings were already there from the bond you had formed, it was just the physical side that was needed.

This wasn’t a difficult thing to develop for either of you. Bucky had never met someone who completely overwhelmed his thoughts and feelings as much as you did. You were always on his mind whether it was a comment Sam made that he knew you would be on the floor laughing at or a mental picture of you sleeping, the morning light making your skin glow softly. He thought you always looked like an angel but especially in those moments.

You had never met anyone who's laughter was so infectious, it had become addicting to be the one to pull those noises from him, to lose yourself in his lopsided grins and crinkled eyes. He drew you in like a butterfly to nectar. You couldn’t get enough of him. His voice, his hands, his kisses.

This mission, on paper, was a simple one. Apart from jumping out of a quinjet and landing onto a moving train, all you and Bucky had to do was stop an illegal trade. That’s it. The mission file didn’t cover who the parties involved in the deal were. From your experience, being trained at the Academy and moving up the ranks of SHIELD before finally becoming an Avenger, you know that illegal trades are normally between civilians who are in over their heads in some kind of criminal group. However, not long into the mission you realised it wasn’t simple at all.

It turns out that one of the ‘unknown parties’ is Hydra, never a good sign. The weapons they are dealing are enhanced with alien technology and they somehow knew that you and Bucky were coming. The only reason the mission didn’t get pulled is because the rest of the team was on standby, ready to step in at any moment.

In fact, the job got so complicated, so quickly, that you and Bucky found yourselves at the back of the train, severely outnumbered and being pushed closer and closer to the edge of the train where the back wall had been blown to pieces by the very weapons involved in the trade.

It was loud, the sounds of fighting were drowned out by the noises of the wheels on the tracks. The train was moving fast and the wind was whirling around the carriage meaning just one misstep could send you flying off the train and landing on the tracks below.

There was a moment when you thought you were a goner, but Bucky managed to haul you back into the carriage, putting himself between you and the edge of the train. A move that warmed your heart, knowing his history with trains was not a good one.

“I fucking hate trains.” You remember him saying when you had first got the mission brief. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You had laughed back then, but there was nothing funny about the situation you were in now.

The next ten seconds seemed to happen so quickly. One of the attackers yelled something in what you assumed to be German, he was holding the weapon you recognised to be the same as the one that blew out the back wall of the carriage. Next thing you knew Bucky had wrapped his arm around you and was launching you both off the train. 

Time slowed and you seemed to float mid-air as you watched the carriage go up in flames, shrapnel flying everywhere, the heat burning your eyes and forcing them closed. Then came the impact of the fall, quite luckily Bucky had managed to aim for the snow on the sides of the train tracks and not in the train tracks themselves.

Bucky immediately sits up and sends the signal for extraction, he then starts checking himself for injuries. You are lying on your side facing him, half your body concealed by the snow, the other half just poking out. His eyes travel to you as he looks over your body.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The concern was clear in his voice.

“No, I think I’m ok.” You try to move yourself but wince slightly. “I think I landed funny though because my side hurts.” You manoeuvre yourself onto your back. As soon as you get your right side out of the snow a gasp causes you to snap your head towards Bucky who is just staring in shock at your stomach.

His eyes are wide, eyebrows slanted upwards and mouth open slightly. You know whatever it is can’t be good. Gathering up the courage to look down at your stomach, you lift up onto your forearms. Finally looking down, the sight causes bile to rise and you have to stop yourself from gagging. A piece of shrapnel about the size of an A5 piece of paper is sticking out of your side. There is so much blood around it that it is hard to tell what it is and how deep it has gone.

It’s as if looking at it made it real because the pain suddenly hits you. Out of instinct your hand flies towards the wound to try and hold it or soothe it but Bucky quickly catches your hand stopping you. It’s like a flip switched in his mind. He suddenly starts stripping off his clothing. He takes his shirt and undershirt off before putting the rest of his gear back on. He moves behind you, placing his legs either side of you and lifting your upper body carefully, so you are now leaning on him. He manages to wrap your wound, careful to go around the shrapnel to try to stop the bleeding, but not push it in anymore. He continues to do the same with as much of his clothing as he can afford to lose in the snow. He takes your left hand and puts it over the clothing, then places his hand on top, telling you to press down as hard as you can, as he does the same.

You start to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side only getting stronger.

“Stay with me doll, backup is on its way. They’ll find us.” Bucky is practically begging and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open.

“You were right.” You say after a while and Bucky gives you a puzzled look. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You chuckle at your own joke but quickly stop when it causes shooting pains to fly through your body.

Bucky lets out a sharp breath from his nose. “When you get through this you will be able to join my ‘I survived a fall from a train’ club.” He jokes smiling down at you.

“I can’t imagine there are very many members of that club.” You smile back at him and he laughs, you can tell he is trying to distract you but you let him anyway.

“No, at the moment it’s just me. The events the club holds are very fun though!” His eyes light up as he continues to look down at you. “We’ve had freight night, that was watching scary movies that have a train in at some point. There’s train reaction, which is like the telephone game, that one was quite difficult with one person.” He laughs at himself which makes you giggle, trying not to contract your stomach. It doesn’t work and the shooting pains are back. The smile is still clear on your face and Bucky reaches his free hand up to push a bit of hair behind your ear.

“Bucky.” You whisper to get his attention, the words you want to speak are clear in the look of longing in your eyes. 

“No, baby please I don’t want to hear you say whatever you are going to say. You fight through this and you can tell me whatever it is when you’re better.” A frown is clear on his face.

“But I-“

“Please doll. You want to tell me whatever it is so badly, then use it as a reason to fight this. To come out the other side.” You scan his face and from the crease lines in his brow and the desperation in his eyes you can tell he already knows what you want to say.

You both fall into a comfortable silence. You realise being in Bucky’s arms is probably your favourite place to be. Feeling his chest steadily rise and fall, your head gently moving with it. You feel so protected, cherished, peaceful.

That is until Bucky looks down at your stomach to see that all the clothing he tried to use to wrap the wound has been completely soaked in your blood, he visibly winces. You move your head slightly to try and get a look but Bucky uses his free hand to tilt your chin up so you are looking at him instead. He holds the eye contact as he takes his jacket off and drapes it over you, covering your wound from your sight and warming you up as much as he can.

As secretively as he could, he sent the signal out to the team. The signal only used in extreme emergencies. Three long holds. The signal to say an agent doesn’t have long left to live.

The sharp sting of the cold has faded into exhaustion as the pain retreats from your body leaving behind a numbness you have never experienced before.

“I always thought I’d be alone.” You say pensively, “I never thought about death too much. I just always assumed I’d be alone when it happened.” You were slurring your words. If you were more aware of your surroundings you would have felt Bucky tense up at your words. Looking up into his blue eyes you wondered if death would be as serene as them.

“You’re not alone. I’m here.” Bucky’s once motivational words, convincing you to hold on, shift to words intended to comfort you, to draw out the fear of your final moments and replace them with solace. You had closed your eyes, his reassuring whispers gradually fading away as he cradled you close to his chest. You wanted to be able to hear his heartbeat but all you could hear was the erratic beating of your own heart pounding in your head. 

In the far distance you felt commotion around you so you used what was left of your energy to open your eyes one final time. The sight you were greeted with sent a wave of emotion through you. Your team members, your friends, they were all gathered around you, kneeling or standing in the snow.

“My family is here.” You smile to yourself as you let the tiredness overtake you. The last thing you feel is an ice cold tear rolling down your cheek. An overwhelming sense of calm consumes your body and your worries and fears simply fade to nothingness. 

Bucky knew even before the Avengers turned up that your chances of surviving this were slim. You were bleeding out fast and it was showing no sign of slowing. It killed Bucky to know that all he could do was make you as comfortable and reassure you as much as possible in your final moments of life.

When the team got Bucky’s first signal, the plan was for just Tony to go down and retrieve you both. Then the second signal came in. They all silently agreed they would land the quinjet and all go together, maybe to say goodbye if they had enough time. If not, just to be with you when you take your last breath. They all knew that there was nothing any of them could do.

What none of them could have predicted was Helen Cho and a SHIELD team transporting the cradle from one base to another. The flight path directly over your current location. Their quinjet picked up Bucky’s radio signal and they made the choice to land to see if they could help.

Upon arrival Helen rushed straight to you, checking for signs of life, she must have felt something because she ordered for you to be put in the cradle as quickly as possible.

Bucky was frozen, no he wasn’t cold, he was a super soldier, the cold barely affected him. He was simply in a state of daze, unable to move himself to get you into the cradle. Steve could see this and swiftly took you into his arms carrying you onto the other quinjet and placing you down in the cradle. As soon as you were secure Helen was directing a team of people to all do different things. Steve stepped out of the jet, not wanting to get in the way.

No one spoke, they all had their hopes that you would be ok, but no one was particularly optimistic. 

“We’ll take her to my lab, she’s not in a good condition and this jet can only sustain the cradle for so long, we can take one or two of you in this jet with us, but feel free to follow in yours.” Helen had stepped out and as soon as she finished her sentence it was like a flip switched inside everyone.

The team made their way back onto the quinjet but Bucky hadn’t moved, he was bathed in your blood, a ring of red surrounding him a stark contrast to the blinding white of the snow. Bucky gratefully accepted Steve’s hand helping him onto his shaky legs. He looked down at where he had just been. The red crater left in the snow told the story of what had happened but Bucky still couldn’t quite believe it.

Steve’s hand on Bucky’s shoulder guided him to the quinjet you were in. He sat there staring ahead unable to do anything more, Steve stayed close by his side but knew not to push anything.

“She wanted to tell me something.” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence but his gaze stays fixed ahead. “She wanted to tell me something and I couldn’t let her finish because I wanted to stay strong for her.” Steve stays silent knowing he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t let her say anything because I knew I would have broken down in front of her.” He continues as tears start to fall from his eyes. He feels everything, guilt, regret, pain, loss, hope but at the same time feels nothing at all. His body numb and still in shock.

“What if it was her dying wish to say whatever it was and I took that away from her.” A crack in Bucky’s voice causes Steve’s heart to contract. He pulls his friend into a hug, Bucky gladly accepting the comfort.

“We both know what she was going to say Buck,” Steve takes a deep breath to try to stop himself from crying, “and we know how she is. If she thought for one second you didn’t know what she was going to say, then she wouldn’t have let you stop her from saying it.” 

Of course Bucky knew what you were going to say because he felt it too. He knew, because to kill you both only one of you actually had to die.

Taglist: @vampirewithbedsidemanners @townwitchbitch @velvetcardiganbucky

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-Damaged

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of rape, murder, and cheating. Canon-typical violence. 

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: and so we begin our descent into the world of slow-burn! this piece begins at the end of season 3 episode 13 & carries into seasons 3 episode 14. thank you to everyone who has interacted with my stories, commenting and reposting helps creators so much! enjoy this installment :)

The Purest Things Masterlist

Gif Credit: @hqtchner

january 2008

Bookend: “We are all damaged. We have all been hurt. We have all had to learn painful lessons. We are all recovering from some mistake, loss, betrayal, abuse, injustice or misfortune. All of life is a process of recovery that never ends. We each must find ways to accept and move through the pain and to pick ourselves back up....Each tragedy is an announcement that some good will indeed come in time. Be patient with yourself.” ― Bryant McGill

Another day, another murderer locked away. This case proved that sometimes, the so-called "good guys" can be just as selfish as the "bad guys." The special agent who recruited the BAU's help, Jill Morris, used this case to obtain personal fame and grow her career.

You sit next to Rossi aboard the plane. He had a more personal interaction with Morris throughout the case, and you can tell her actions have left him more than disappointed.

Looking out the window at the sun setting behind the clouds, you mumble to yourself, "What's the difference?"

"Did you say something?" Dave speaks up.

Looking to him, you brush it off, "Oh. Nothing. I was just talking to myself."

He crosses his legs and smiles a warm smile at you, "Penny, for your thoughts then."

"I guess...I just don't understand how Jill Morris's motives can be any different from Jeremy Andrus's. Of course, Jill didn't murder or rape anyone. But, she exploited this case for her own personal benefit. She didn't just use the unsub; she exploited the victims as well. How is that any different than Jeremy using women for his own gratification?"

David sighs, "Aristotle said, 'Every practical pursuit or undertaking seems to aim at some good.' Our brains are wired for love and solidarity. Greed forms to undermine that wiring and trick others into believing that their means to an end is done for "good." People believe that to maintain that myth, any and all costs to others are simply casualties in the long run."

"There is all the difference in the world between helping another soul and exploiting their hardship for your own gain and deceiving yourself that they are the same," he continues, "I tried to show Jill that. But, I think she's already determined that the reason she does this job is not for the same reasons that we do. The rush of catching a suspect comes second to the excitement she gets when being praised for her achievement."

"What happened to her empathy," you wonder, "Empathy is a natural foundation in each of our lives, and our society functions on it! How could that not overpower her desire for recognition? I mean, for Christ's sake, her friend just died!"

"Unfortunately," he solemnly says, "It is harder to understand the motives of our peers than it is to profile a serial killer."

+++++

You wake as if there is an emergency, like sleeping had become a deadly thing, your heart pounds, and thoughts jumble throughout your brain. Shooting up from your seat, you crawl over a sleeping Rossi and stumble your way to the bathroom.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the edge of the sink. Looking cautiously into the mirror, as if you are uncertain of what you'll see, you take in your ghostly appearance. Sweat beads drip down your forehead. Unable to comprehend the blurry remnants of your dream, you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you notice everyone is sound asleep. Thank goodness no one noticed your state of panic. You notice that one overhead reading light is on and look to see Hotch awake and blankly staring out the window.

"Can't sleep either?" You ask, sitting across from him.

"Are you alright?" He asks, trying to deflect your attention.

You squint at him, unwilling to back down, "Are you?"

He looks at you intently, taking the sight of you in inch-by-inch. No one has asked him that over the past few weeks. In fact, everyone has seemingly been avoiding him since he was served his divorce papers. Perhaps they are doing it because they are unsure how to support him or genuinely feel that what he needs right now is space.

However, you know that being alone is the last thing he needs right now. "Hotch, I know it isn't my place, and I--I'm sorry if this is overstepping. But that expression on your face that you've worn for the past few weeks isn't foreign to me. Perhaps to everyone else, it is. They don't know what to do or say. You're their unit chief, and they are used to you being strong and keeping it together for the sake of everyone else."

He straightens his posture, his attention centered on you.

"I witnessed firsthand the ways that divorce can torment people. My parents got a sudden divorce when I was 14. It was unexpected to all of us. My father was unfaithful, and although my mom was willing to forgive him, he didn't want to put in the work anymore. He found a new outlet for his frustrations. I watched my mother and father waste away for years," you lament.

Hotch sits on the edge of his seat, his eyes trained keenly on you. It was odd for him to make a connection so quick, to give his trust so easily. In fact, he hardly trusts at all. Dave and Haley are the only ones who have really been given an insider's peek into the mind and heart of Aaron Hotchner. There was something in the way he listens so actively to what you are saying. You would be lying if you said you didn't notice his gaze aimed at your lips.

There is a sympathetic and heartfelt concern he shows for you, one second only to your own regard for him. He listens like he is absorbing your words. The longer you spend in each other's presence, the more you both realize that this is the kind of friendship you both have needed for far too long. Even if the words go unspoken, you share an empathetic understanding of one another, and you are sure it has been there since the day you met. Hotch has been fascinated by you since he watched your interview with Strauss over and over again, though he would never let it be known.

+++++

February 2008

Today is the day that you get to accompany Hotch and Reid on the Criminal Personality Research Project to interview Chester Hardwick before his execution. Hardwick's case is one you know inside and out. You wrote a research report on it that was awarded the Graduate Student Ethics Writing Competition winner for the American Psychological Association and was published in their Ethics and Behavior journal. Agent Hotchner suggested that you tag along, considering you know just as much about the case as Spencer does.

You and Spencer absentmindedly fiddle with the knickknacks that rest upon the desk as you wait to be escorted to see Chester Hardwick.

Hotch's phone begins to ring, and he answers it, "Yeah, J.J... Um, no, it's--It's a personal matter. Yes, thank you. I will take care of it when I get back."

"Everything okay?" You ask softly.

"Yeah, fine." He says abruptly.

"We can do this interview another time," Reid offers.

Aaron huffs, "Well, he is scheduled to be executed next week."

"I can take the lead on the interview if you w-" Reid unintentionally pushes.

You cut him off, "Reid."

Hotch shoots you an appreciative look.

Anytime sir.

"Agent Hotchner?" A relatively short man wearing freakishly petite glasses comes to the door.

The Unit Chief shakes the man's hand and introduces you and Spencer.

"You're here to see our infamous inmate Hardwick," the warden exclaims.

"Yes," you say, "He agreed to meet with us as part of our Criminal Personality Research Project before his execution."

The man smiles widely, "I've read your research on Hardwick many times. I must say, seeing your perspective on the mind of such a prolific killer was very enlightening."

You beam with pride at his commendation. Instinctively you look to Hotch, who appears to have the slight trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You wonder, how can he go from scowling and frustrated one minute to fighting back the urge to smile at the mention of your achievements? You bite your lip to suppress any further needless excitement.

The warden continues to ramble, "Serial killers are kind of a hobby of mine. Chester is the only one I've ever met in person, though. I bet you've met quite a few."

"Sir," Hotch interjects, "We'd very much like to get started as soon as we can."

Time to put our serious pants back on.

You can visibly see your superior's annoyance, and you stifle a chuckle.

The warden quickly composes himself and apologizes for his enthusiasm, touching his hand to Hotch's shoulder in the process. Hotch's mouth falls agape, and his sights shoot to you. A small snort escapes you, and you cover your mouth, attempting to conceal it as a cough. He squints at you as if he is mentally murdering you. You crinkle your nose at him.

Don't mentally murder me when we are about to interview one of the most prolific killers of our time.

The warden leads you into the small cell that you will convert into a makeshift interrogation room. Soon enough, you hear the clanking of chains echoing in the hallway. Everyone's eyesight is fixed on the door.

A silver-haired man dressed in a yellow jumpsuit walks in with an air of arrogance and determination. He glares at Agent Hotchner, who mirrors the prisoner's actions exactly. Hotch states that keeping the prisoner chained will not be necessary, a call that both you and Spencer are unsure of.

Hardwick sits across from you and leans into the table, "I know you."

"And I know you. Too well, I think," you respond.

A menacing grin sweeps across his face, "Oh, I like you already. How about you send these two away so the grown-ups can talk."

You can hear your boss scoff from behind you.

"Chester, it's time to get serious."

"You were born April 4, 1950?" Spencer asks.

"Does my birthday really matter?"

"It's customary for us to start at the beginning. We want to know as much as we can about your childhood," Reid continues.

"There's nothing to know. It was average. I lived in a nice house on a quiet street. I ate cereal, went to school, watched cartoons."

"I don't have time for this," Hotch raises his voice, causing you to jump slightly, "You grew up in a series of projects, each one worse than the last. You spent your teenage years peeping into your female neighbors' windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance. You set 100 small fires for which you spent 2 years in juvenile detention."

You glance at Reid from the corner of your eye; you are both uncomfortable with the direction Hotch is taking this.

"We've done extensive research, Mr. Hardwick," you say, gently trying to soften the blow and appeal to the man's ego. If Hotch is taking the bad cop role, you need to be this psychopath's ally.

"We've talked to almost everyone you've ever known," you continue, "including your mother."

Chester swivels on the balls of his feet, "Good ol' Jean? I'll bet she was a real treat."

"At this point, lying to us isn't really possible or helpful," Spencer offers a slight smirk to the man.

"Y/N, right?" the prisoner turns his attention to you, "They're wrong. They're all wrong."

"About what, Chester?" You implore him.

"I started a lot more than one hundred fires," he peers out the window.

You look up at Hotch, and he sighs in surrender.

Chester antagonizes you three, stating that no one care's whether or not they hear the truth. In between his jabs, he strays to various different series of thoughts. Most are meaningless, but it is his way of trying to get under your skin. For you and Spencer, it is relatively easy to maintain your composure. For Hotch, however, Hardwick's digs do nothing but add fuel to the already lit flame under the special agent.

"Let's talk about the specifics of this case, Chester," you interrupt his rant, "Why did you choose Sheila O'Neal?"

He shakes his head, "You gotta show me a picture. I don't know their names."

As if you can feel Hotch's anger radiating off of his body, you brace yourself for the oncoming strike.

"Is that what this is all about," he says disgustedly, "Some chance for you to relive all of this?"

"I have an excellent memory," Chester brags.

You tune his impassionate speech out and focus your observance on your boss. His scalding stare at Hardwick can only translate one way, 'I have initiated my emotional indifference. I could kill you and not care one bit. So proceed with caution.'

"They were toys, a diversion," you hear Hardwick chant as you tune back into the present. Hotch looks anywhere but at the killer in front of him, his gaze eventually landing you. You are some kind of shelter to him that neither of you has yet acknowledged or come to understand.

Your stomach churns at Chester's descriptions of his victims. He describes them as useless objects that, once their purpose was served, were discarded like garbage.

"Why did you ask us here?" Hotch charges.

The wicked man looks at you, his eyes void of a soul and his stare sending a chill down your veins. 

"I wanted to speak to her." 

Your breath catches at the back of your throat.

With that, Hotch straightens up and fervently positions himself between Chester and you. "Reid, pack it up," he commands.

Reid looks to you, "Are you sure?"

"No, now." Your superior repeats himself with even more fervor. He presses the buzzer to signal the guards to release us and says, "Have a nice trip. You're going where you belong." Hotch makes sure to put as much distance between you and Hardwick as possible. He buzzes the ringer again. No response.

"It's 5:17," Hardwick chuckles.

You close your eyes, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Reaching out for Hotch's arm, you lower his hand from the buzzer. "The evening yard begins at 5 o'clock. No one is going to come open that door for-"

"At least thirteen minutes," Chester disrupts. He waltzes over the table and takes one of the images of his victims into his hand. Holding it up as if to brag to us about it, he says, "And it took me less than five minutes to do this."

You push aside your worry. Instead, you choose to focus on all of the information you have accumulated over the years about Chester Hardwick. There has to be something you can use to your advantage to diffuse this situation.

"Perhaps in all of your research, you should have familiarized yourselves with the guard tones," Hardwick jeers.

"I heard the tones," Hotch counters in a monotone voice.

"So you planned to be locked inside with me, with no guns or weapons."

Hotch shakes his head, his voice more natural than before, "I won't need a gun."

Spencer places his hand on your arm and begins to guide you to the other side of the room.

"There's no way I am going to be executed next week," Chester taunts, kneading his hands together. "Not after I kill three FBI agents. You saved my life by coming here." His venomous words ring in your ears.

Hotch's tone deepens, "Unfortunately for you, I am not a five-foot-one-hundred-pound girl."

Your pulse quickens at Hotch's threat, and your attention is rapt by his display of dominance. He begins to shed his jacket. You feel yourself flushing; attraction suddenly entangles you as if it were an invisible rope.

Now is the worst possible time to be feeling this. Calm down.

"All of your life, you've gone after victims who couldn't fight back," he fiercely says, "and the rest of the time you spent looking over your shoulder." You understand the intensity in his tone and sense a great deal of emotion behind his words.

He rips his tie from his collar, and your breathing hitches in the back of your throat. Hopefully, Spencer doesn't notice, and if he does, he chalks it up to the deadly situation you find yourself in.

"You were always worried about the knock on the door," Hotch doesn't back down, "Scared that somebody like me would be on the other side waiting to put you away."

Well, if you keep ripping your tie off like th--no. Not gonna go there right now. Focus on the pyshco-killer threatening to kill you.  

Now, Hotch intimidatingly points his finger directly at Hardwick.

If only I were on the receiving end of tha--no! Now. Is. Not. The. Time.

"At your core, you are a coward," Hotch fires.  

You have to do something. Hardwick is enraged, and Hotch has nothing left to lose.

Without even giving it a second thought, you blurt out, "Chester, do you want to know why you killed those women?"

"What?" The prisoner hisses.

Spencer speaks up, "Earlier, you said you wished you were different. We can tell you why you are...what you are."

He begins moving towards you, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice your boss carefully making equal strides. You motion for him to stop.

"You can tell me why I did what I did?"

"I think so," you nod, "Don't you, Dr. Reid?"

"I do. Your mother is bipolar. And almost certainly an undifferentiated schizophrenic. Your father suffered severe shell shock in the war, what we now refer to as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. As far as I can tell, he remained clinically depressed the rest of his life."

"Exactly," you say, giving Spencer a chance to gather his thoughts after having thrown him under the bus.

"53% of all serial killers have some form of mental illness inherent to their families. Chester, in your case, both of your parents suffered from psychological disorders, which they essentially took out on each other as much as they beat you. So, violence sort of became a normal expression of love in your household," you say, eager to have some kind of breakthrough with him while subliminally directing Spencer's string of thoughts to follow yours.

Allowing Reid to pick up where you leave off, he takes charge of the conversation and explains how a portion of one's brain wants what it wants without conscience or judgment. A part of the brain that no doubt took over Hotch's reasoning powers moments ago, though you do not blame him.

"Earlier, you said your victims never had a chance. I think you know deep down that it was you that never really had a chance," he concludes. And with that victorious resolution, the guards unlock the door. Hotch storms out, and Reid follows behind.

"Is that true that I never had the chance?" Hardwick calls out after you both.

You stop in your tracks, "I don't know."

"Maybe," Spencer nudges you out the door.

++++

In the car, Hotch looks at you in the rearview mirror, "That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back."

You pat Spencer's shoulder, "I give all the credit to boy wonder and his beautiful statistic-filled brain. I'm sorry for all of the times I said you were running out of storage with all of that useless data."

"I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror," he declares, "Wait. Useless data? When did you say that?"

You pinch him softly and chuckle, "I'm kidding."

"I'm sorry," Hotch sighs.

You meet his gaze in the mirror once again, "For what?"

His chestnut eyes reveal pangs of remorse and guilt, but something tells you there's more to those feelings than what occurred at the prison.

"I antagonized the situation."

"No, you didn't," Spencer states.

"I certainly didn't help."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," you kid.

His piercing eyes suddenly twinkle, causing you to blush slightly. You quickly look down at your feet until your cheeks cool down.

Hotch sighs in defeat, "So Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested so that nobody wastes money on lawyers."

That statement is all too familiar to you. Yet again, your heart shatters for the Hotchners.

"You don't want to?" Spencer asks innocently.

He means well, but you know from experience that such a question only unleashes a tidal wave of painful emotions for the one fighting for his family.

"What I want, I'm not going to get," Hotch laments.

His eyes, once filled with depth, now distant and empty.

++++

Glancing up from your paperwork and into your supervisor's office, you take note of his gravity-drawn shoulders that carry the weight of the world on them. He repeatedly picks up a stack of papers and then drops them back down atop his desk, covering his face with his hands.

"What do you think is going on up there?" Derek asks, pointing his pen in the direction of the office.

"I might have an idea. I'm going to go take my report; anyone else's done?" They all hand you their paperwork for you to deliver to the boss.

You hesitate to knock on his door but apprehensively do so anyways.

He invites you in. Your heart sinks as you approach his desk, able to get a closer look at his beaten expression. You always knew he was hiding pain behind his tough exterior, but now he wears it on the surface, most likely unintentionally.

Placing the paperwork on his desk, you notice the heading on the papers he was gripping tightly.

SUPREME COURT STATE OF VIRGINIA: MARITAL SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT

Hotch's eyes move slowly, laboriously, to look at you as if it takes a concentrated effort to do so.

"Heartache is a real thing," you sympathize with him, "In fact, Reid even told me that a broken heart can show up on medical scans. When a heart breaks, your body and brain need time to recuperate. There's no set amount of time or remedy that will heal you. Don't set your expectations of yourself too high, and surround yourself with the people who love you."

His chin trembles, and his eyes flutter as he blinks back tears.

You turn to leave the room but look over your shoulder one last time, "We are all here for you, Hotch."

Just as you are about to shut the door, you hear him call out to you, "Y/L/N!"

His stare reveals a vulnerability you have had yet to see in him.

"Call me Aaron."

Tag List 🏷

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[gukyi]

that’s the spirit! | myg

summary: min yoongi hates halloween. as his best friend and resident halloween-lover, that is simply unacceptable. but when halloween night rolls around and you and min yoongi feel farther apart than ever before, you discover that what’s come between you is more than just a bad trick, and that no matter what day it is, loving him is the sweetest treat of all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au, halloween!au}

pairing: min yoongi x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, a little angst? (a little i promise) word count: 8k (woohoo! i did it!) warnings: alcohol consumption, underage drunkenness in flashbacks, misunderstandings, helpless but mutual pining, halloween parties, this is halloween during college, what else do you expect a/n: some scenes inspired by love, rosie, my absolute favorite rom-com! happy halloween, and i hope this brings some joy to your life before armageddon i mean election day rolls around! much love 🎃💜

Min Yoongi hates Halloween. 

Which is ridiculous, because you assume that there must have been at least one time in his life where he liked it. Halloween is a universally-liked holiday. It was the one day of the year where he, an unbridled child rebelling against authority, got to dress up as his favorite book character, superhero, or movie star, hang out with his friends past sunset, and solicit strangers for free candy. Free candy! How could anyone hate that?

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter what Min Yoongi was like in his youth. Ever since you met him, he has hated Halloween. For reasons completely unbeknownst to you. 

Unfortunately for Min Yoongi, just because he hates Halloween doesn’t mean that he gets to spend his October pretending that it doesn’t exist. Because, unlike him, you do not hate Halloween. In fact, you rather like it. So much so that Min Yoongi has to deal with the holiday no matter what. For better… 

“Ah! What the fuck!”

Or for worse.

You pop your head out of your bedroom to find Yoongi about to throw down with the fake skeleton you’ve propped up by the door, one of those cheesy ones from Spirit Halloween that make a zombie sound whenever its artificial brain can sense someone near it. He’s got this wide-eyed look on his face, fists up in front of him like he’s going to beat the damn thing senseless, even though Min Yoongi is barely five-feet-ten and has a body that functions exclusively on iced coffee and could probably get taken down by the average third-grader. 

Min Yoongi does not have a flight instinct. He only knows how to fight. 

He’s muttering to himself by the time you emerge completely from your bedroom, grumbling about how he nearly wet himself at the sight of the thing, fingers glossing over the plastic bones as he inspects them. There he stands in the doorway of your apartment, curled-up fists tucked inside the too-long sleeves of his too-big hoodie, pink lips parted in innocent confusion as he blinks at your apartment’s new resident. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” You chide from where you stand in your room, watching as Yoongi jerks his head up. The sound of your voice seems to catch him off guard for a minute, eyes wide in shock before he realizes that it’s you and his whole body relaxes. “Was that you I just heard screaming outside my apartment, Min Yoongi?”

“No,” Yoongi deadpans, fully aware that the both of you know that it was him. “Must have been someone else.”

“Yes, of course, my mistake,” you tease, coming up behind him to rub his upper arm, the palm of your hand pressing against the worn fabric of his hoodie sleeve as he sighs. “You don’t have a problem with my festive decorations at all, do you?”

“Not those,” Yoongi frowns, pointing to the orange and black streamers hanging above your apartment window, to the mini pumpkins sitting in the center of your dinky kitchen table, to the construction paper cutouts of black cats decorating your walls. He rounds on the skeleton, propped up right next to the door with the sole purpose of scaring whatever visitors you have. “This, I have a problem with. What is this thing?”

You smile proudly. “Reginald.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Yoongi looks at you, positively flabbergasted. “You named it?”

You scoff. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I bought him, he’s mine now, and he needed a name. So I named him Reginald. What’s the issue here?” You weren’t about to buy a twenty-five dollar plastic skeleton, set him up to be your personal doorman, and not give him a name. 

“The issue is that this—” he motions to Reginald’s face, “—is the first thing I see when I walk into your apartment, instead of—oh, I don’t know—you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Aw, I’m touched,” you say, pressing a hand to your heart. “Didn’t know you always wanted to see my face first thing when you come over.”

Yoongi’s gaze drifts down towards the floor, thumbs twiddling. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, words barely audible. “Why else would I come over?”

“I don’t know, for the ambience, maybe?” You say with a shrug, watching him slide his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the floor by the couch. “Anyway, maybe if you had come with me to Spirit Halloween when I went shopping for decorations, you wouldn’t be so surprised.”

“I had two midterms that week! Two!” Yoongi reminds you.”

“I’m just saying,” you tell him, hands up defensively as you make your way to the kitchen, fishing out two teabags from the cabinet as you set the kettle to boil. You never used to like tea, but a year ago Yoongi convinced you to try this jasmine flower one from the Asian supermarket downtown and you haven’t looked back. Now there’s always at least three spare boxes in your kitchen cupboards, for you and for him. “No time is a bad time to get into the Halloween spirit.”

Yoongi sighs, loud and obvious, because this is the third year in a row you’ve brought up this conversation and it’s not any more convincing than it was the last two times. “Do we have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we just pretend it’s November Eve?”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you plead, because he’s never given you a good explanation as to why he refuses to spend Halloween with you, and you just want to know why. “Won’t you just celebrate this one stupid holiday with me?”

“So you admit it’s stupid?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You frown at him, crossing your arms as the kettle starts whistling. 

Yoongi exhales, reaching over you to pour the boiling water into your teacups, matching His and Hers ones you bought from the sale section of Target last year for Valentine’s Day. “It’s just not my thing. You know that.”

“But we’re college students,” you exclaim. “Halloween is the best when you’re a college student! You get to dress up as whatever you want and go to five different parties and spend the night with your friends without your parents chaperoning you.”

Yoongi purses his lips, unconvinced. “So… basically an opportunity to get piss drunk in a frat house? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“You know that I wouldn’t care what we did if you celebrated Halloween with me,” you say, leaning against the counter as you hold your mug in your hands, the heat warming your palms and steam brushing against the skin of your cheeks. “Even if we just stayed in and watched a movie. Or played one of those horror video games Jungkook’s always talking about.”

“That sounds worse,” Yoongi admits with a helpless laugh. It really does. Neither you nor Yoongi have ever been huge fans of the horror genre Jungkook loves so much. 

You chuckle. “Honestly, yeah, forget I said anything about that.”

“You know I just don’t care for Halloween that much,” Yoongi says, gazing down into the swirling brown of his mug, the steam from the water making his glasses fog up. “It’s nothing personal.”

You sigh. That’s about as good of an answer you’re going to be getting out of him. No matter what you suggest, whether it be a house party, a night in, or even just a candy feast, he has always declined, citing his unexplainable dislike for the festivities. The only reason he deals with the holiday in the first place is because you love it so much. 

“Will you at least help me carve some pumpkins please?” You ask, a last ditch effort to get him to participate. “The supermarket on Fifteenth Street is having a sale on them, and I wanted to decorate the windowsill. It’s easier with two people, you know.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, looking hesitant. 

“Oh, please, Yoongi? Just this once? It’s not even, like, a strictly Halloween thing. It’s just a fall thing! Plus, we can roast the pumpkin seeds after for a snack,” you plead, placing your cup down on the counter so you can tug on his arms, hands wrapped around his wrists as you stare into his eyes, positively desperate. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yoongi says with a huff, that resigned tone to his voice that signifies that he’s caving in. “Yes, we can carve pumpkins together. That I will do.”

“Oh my God, really? Yes! Yay, thank you so much!” In a fit of excitement, surprise, and joy, you pull Yoongi in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tilts back in shock, tea spilling out over the edge of his mug and onto the linoleum floor beneath your feet, drops of it splashing against your skin. 

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Yoongi says, taken aback. Still nestled tightly within your arms, he carefully sets his mug down onto the counter so as to avoid more spilling, his other hand pressing against the small of your back. “I didn’t know pumpkin carving was so important to you.”

You laugh, pulling away as you look into his eyes, crinkled up into fond little crescents. “It’s not. But you are.”

“So cheesy,” Yoongi chides.

“You love it,” you remind him, pressing the side of your body against his as you lean against the counter together. Instinctively, you let your head flop onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. “Thanks for doing this for me,” you say softly. 

“Of course,” Yoongi says. “Anything for you.”

“Look how festive campus is!”

Yoongi chuckles as he watches you skip down the main walkway, the one that winds right from the west to the east side of campus, relishing in the feeling of autumn. Yoongi always forgets that it’s fall until it hits him like a brick to the head, and suddenly it’s getting dark at five-thirty and he can’t go outside without a proper jacket anymore. It’s a week until November, and Yoongi still refuses to wear anything heavier than a denim jacket, no matter how cold it gets. It can’t be winter yet, right?

“Wow, all the tones really fit the spooky mood,” you tell him, leaves crinkling as your feet step on the fallen foliage, brown and orange and yellow and red.

“How convenient it is that orange happens to be one of Halloween’s signature colors,” Yoongi chides with a roll of his eyes. “Is the Castle still hosting that party next week?”

“The costume one? Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him with a nod. “We’re still going, right?”

“Only because it’s our first year,” Yoongi reminds you pointedly. “And since you wanna celebrate together so badly.”

You scoff. “Don’t act like it’s such a drag. I know you want to spend time with me.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, casual and cool. He knows you’re just teasing him but quite frankly, if Yoongi could spend every day of the rest of his life with you, then he would. If he could turn himself into a witch and cast a spell to keep you by his side for the rest of time, then he would. From the moment the two of you met in your dingy dorm, you clicked. And Yoongi knew, in that moment. He just knew. 

“Oh my God, look at the pumpkins!” 

Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, your finger pointing excitedly at the carved pumpkins outside of the dormitories that line the walkway, lit candles nestled safely inside. They’ve got everything from the college logo to video game characters to the face of your lovable-but-memeable university president carved into them, decorating the street with a little more personality than normal. 

“They’re so cute, holy shit,” you tell Yoongi fondly, all endeared and heart-eyed, the same way you get when someone walks their dog through campus or a professor sends out an update email with a picture of their newborn grandchild. Yoongi’s only known you a couple of months, but already he’s starting to figure out what makes you tick. “I love them. Don’t you love them, Yoongi?”

You turn around to meet Yoongi’s eyes, and when he looks back at you it feels like his whole heart is lighter. He sees your smile and it makes his body fill with warmth, like someone’s wrapping a blanket around him, like a warm cup of hot cocoa on a cool autumn afternoon. He looks back at you, and it feels like everything is right. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, grinning. “I do.”

The lopsided legs of your creaky kitchen table tremble as the pumpkin hits it. 

“Damn, is this thing heavy or am I just getting weaker?” You ask, smoothing out the newspaper spread out on the flat surface of the table, two college students’ best attempt to avoid a mess. They’re old student copies with headlines like Brand New Cafeteria, but is the Food Even Any Good? and New Semester, New Me! sprawled across the front. You care about your school news, you really do, but the members of the newspaper team that hand out the papers practically stuff them down your throat whenever there’s a new issue, which is three times a week and at every street intersection on campus. So you’ve had extras lying around. 

“Nope, they’re definitely heavy,” Yoongi agrees as he plops his pumpkin onto the table next to yours with a thud. “Though it’s not like I go to the gym much anyway.”

“Didn’t we say we were gonna try and be healthier this year, since we’re graduating?” You ask. 

“That was before that new doughnut place opened up next to the ramen restaurant three streets up,” Yoongi reminds you. 

“Maybe grad school?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, reaching over the table to grab the pumpkin carving kits the two of you bought from the drugstore down the road. “Caution. Keep out of reach of children ages three and under,” he reads. “Welp, guess I can’t do this then…”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you say with a deadpan frown, grabbing onto his wrist. “Hold on a minute, Mr. I Promised I Would Do This For My Best Friend.” Yoongi exhales dramatically as you pull him back towards the table, though it’s not as if there was much resistance from him in the first place.

You pry open the plastic wrapping that surrounds the kit, the orange tools eventually popping out of their casing and onto your newspaper-ed table. Sure, you could have probably pulled out two knives from your kitchen drawer and it wouldn’t make a difference, but spending ten dollars each on these two little pumpkin carving kits didn’t seem like a waste of money. For the sake of Halloween spirit, right?

“What do you want to carve?” You ask, handing Yoongi your open kit as you gaze at the instruction manual. Pumpkin carving shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? You cut open the top, pull out all the gunk from the inside, and then carve a face, or something. 

“I’m not a very good artist,” Yoongi admits, looking hesitant. 

“Well, the good thing about pumpkin carving is that no one expects them to look nice,” you point out. “I think I want to do that anime eyes face emoji. You know the one. Let’s see…”

You grab a hold of the plastic knife that came with the kit, hover the tip over the top of the pumpkin, and stab. It sinks into the squash up to the hilt. That’s the good part. 

The bad part is that, because you’re holding onto a knife made out of non-recyclable plastic, moving it once it’s inside the pumpkin is exceedingly difficult. You pull it right and left fruitlessly, watching as the knife sits firmly in place, the handle bending with the curve of your fingers if you tug on it too hard. 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Yoongi says with another sigh, abandoning his own pumpkin, which he has already de-stalked in the minutes you weren’t looking his way. “Let me help you.”

Suddenly, you feel a warmth wrap around you. A figure presses against your back, this musky, coffee-laden scent surrounding you, and you watch as Yoongi’s calloused hands slowly envelop yours, fingertips pressing firmly against your skin. It makes you freeze up instinctively, jumping at the sensation of his body around yours, of his torso pressed against your back, of his breath tickling your ear. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, voice calm and gentle. He brings your hands to the knife, lets his palms rest against them as your fingers slowly wrap around the handle. You can feel him breathing, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against you, the heat of his mouth just inches away from your cheek. “It’s just me.”

You force a chuckle. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

You feel Yoongi pause behind you. 

“Seriously, I’m fine. Help me,” you insist. 

Steadily, albeit a little bit tentatively, Yoongi does. His hand wrapped around yours, together the two of you carve out the top of the pumpkin, his chest pressed firmly against your back, body engulfing you. He feels so close, so goddamn close, like there is barely an inch of space in between the two of you, like if he were to bend down right there and if you were shift yourself around you would see nothing but his face right in front of yours, his hazy brown eyes looking back at you, twinkling in the white light of your kitchen. 

It almost makes you want to turn around and look. 

“There we go,” Yoongi says, voice suddenly soft, quiet like there’s something else weighing on his tongue. “What are you thinking of carving?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, lips upturned. “Maybe you?”

“I don’t make for a very attractive pumpkin picture,” Yoongi says with a shake of his head, even though that’s total bullshit for a number of reasons. 

First of all, a pumpkin portrait is by no means meant to be an attractive portrayal of you, unless you’re Keanu Reeves and you look photogenic no matter what. Second of all, there has never been a time where Yoongi has not looked good. He always does. He did during finals week when his body was made of nothing but iced coffee, he did in freshman year when the two of you would stay awake until the early morning getting vodka spilled all over you in frat houses, and he does now, tired eyes and soft skin, dark hair and pink lips, standing in your apartment like he belongs here, like this is where he was meant to be. 

“I think you would,” you tell him honestly. “You’d look good no matter what.”

Yoongi’s silent at that, but you can tell from the way his cheeks are turning red he’s taken the compliment to heart. It makes you want to shower him in them. It makes you want to freeze this moment in time, suspended in reality, and stay like that forever. 

“Then I’ll do you,” he says with a grin, because what else would he say? Who else would he choose? You are going to put two matching pumpkins on your windowsill, and they will be of you and him. Messy, Picasso-style portraits carved into the orange skin. Two best friends, together even as fucking pumpkins. 

You will carve out a picture of him, and he will carve out a picture of you, and isn’t that what this is really all about?

“Do you think people are gonna get the wrong idea about us?” 

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi turns around to face you where you stand in front of your dorm mirror, this giant plastic one hanging on two hooks that you’ve latched onto the door of your room. He knows that you can see him in the mirror, staring back at you with a black mask over his face and a cape draped over his shoulders, the giant yellow emblem printed out on a piece of paper and taped onto his chest. It’s a last minute costume, for sure, but it gets the job done nicely. 

“I mean,” you say, fixing the cat ears that sit atop your head. “Do you think people are gonna think we’re a couple, or something?”

Yoongi grins nervously and hopes that you don’t notice. “I mean, we’re just going to a frat party. I doubt it’s going to be light enough to see anything at all. Why?”

“Well, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us,” you say, adjusting the mask over your eyes. Yoongi, unabashedly, rakes his eyes up and down your figure. Your black turtleneck and skintight leather leggings don’t leave very much to the imagination. You’re definitely much more in costume than he is, to say the least. 

“We’re freshmen, people already have the wrong idea about us,” Yoongi scoffs. 

You turn around just so you can shoot a frown his way. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Why are you so worried about people getting the wrong idea about us?” Yoongi asks you, an eyebrow raised. This does not exactly bode well for him. “We can be Batman and Catwoman together no matter what people think.”

“I don’t know, I guess I just—” You stop in your tracks, letting the words fall off your lips and crash to the floor. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What? You can tell me,” Yoongi says, concern lacing his voice. He rushes over to you, the two of you staring at your reflections in the mirror. Two friends, clad in black, wearing matching costumes. If Yoongi wasn’t sober right now, maybe he would actually do it. 

Maybe. 

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” you shrug it off with a shake of your head. “I’m happy to be doing this with you. Even if your costume totally sucks.”

“Hey!” Yoongi exclaims defensively. “It is not my fault you came up with this idea last minute even though you already owned everything. I had to pay twenty-five cents to print this in color, you know.”

“A Twenty-five cent costume and you still look good.”

You and Yoongi smile at each other in the mirror, lips turned up as you stare at yourselves, wondering if this is all you will ever be, or if there is something more. 

Yoongi sure hopes it’s the latter. 

And he’s determined to find out, once and for all, tonight. 

You’ve just lit the candles that sit inside yours and Yoongi’s pumpkins when you hear the knock at your door. 

You’re sure that Yoongi can hear you from a mile away as you scurry towards the door, white platform heels clapping against the floorboards with every step you take. You’re going to have to practice walking in these a bit more. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought them only a week before Halloween, and maybe you should have at least tried to break them in a little bit. 

“Hello?” You swing open the door. 

“He—whoa,” Yoongi begins before his eyes widen to the size of the moon as he fully takes in the sight in front of him. “What’s with the—uh, the… dress?” He’s scratching at the nape of his neck, eyes sweeping up and down your body. 

You hold out the skirt of your sequined, bedazzled dress as best you can, and grin. “I’m a gogo dancer! What do you think?”

“Wow, I—” Yoongi starts, a little speechless. “I don’t know. Wow. You look… you look nice, Y/N.”

You smile, thankful for the compliment. Yoongi seems weirdly breathless, blinking more often than usual, like he’s trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing is real. Although, you will admit that this dress is much more sparkly than anything else you have in your closet. You reckon a few disco balls were sacrificed to make this costume. 

“Why—uh, why did you call me over? Did you need something from me?”

“Actually, yes,” you say, ushering Yoongi into your apartment. 

As he’s walking inside, Yoongi notices the pumpkins sitting on your windowsill. “Hey, those look cute together.”

“Don’t they?” You say proudly. Nobody else has commented on them, but then again, you live on the fifth floor of your apartment, so you don’t imagine many people can even see them from ground level. But it’s nice to know that they’re there, and that they mean something. Not to a whole lot of people, but to you. And to him. “But that’s not why I asked you to come over.”

“Why, what’s up?”

You freeze when he looks up at you, like you can hardly will the next few words to come out of your mouth. They’re stuck at the dam of your lips, refusing to budge, because there is this tiny, this little part of you that doesn’t even have the courage to ask. To say it. Because you know already. 

“Hoseok’s throwing a party tonight—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“But I know what you’re going to say,” Yoongi says like it’s obvious, because it is. “You’re going to ask me to come with you. And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I am not going to go. I’m just not.”

“But it’s not a shitty frat party or anything!” You exclaim, desperately trying to dig yourself out of a hole you’re already six-feet in. “It’s at his place, an apartment across campus, with just some friends of his. There won’t be crazy music and sleazy guys and jungle juice. It’s just going to be a house party.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to go,” Yoongi tells you. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

“Why? Why won’t you go?” You demand, because the least your best friend of nearly four years could do is give you a real reason. A real reason as to why he hates Halloween, why he never wants to celebrate it with you, why he never wants to go out with you on your favorite night of the year. 

“Because I just don’t want to! Why can’t you just accept that? I don’t want to go!”

Silence. It’s almost as if Yoongi’s shocked he was even speaking so loudly in the first place. 

Next to you, the candles flicker. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, resigned. “I don’t understand. This is our very last year to celebrate Halloween as college students, as best friends, and you can’t even give me a real excuse as to why you won’t come with me.”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean, ‘a real excuse’?”

“Exactly that,” you say sharply. “A real excuse. Even when I offer for us to just stay in and eat KitKats and watch a shiity movie you refuse. All because it’s Halloween. I don’t get it. It’s not the crowds, and it’s not the drinks, and it’s not even the other stuff, like the pumpkins and the decorations. Is it me? Am I the reason you don’t want to celebrate Halloween?”

“No, what the fuck, it’s not you!”

“Then what is it, Yoongi?” You plead, not even making an attempt to lower your voice. Can’t he hear the sheer desperation in your voice? The hopelessness? “Why won’t you just tell me why you don’t ever want to celebrate this goddamn holiday with me? Is it my fault?”

“I just don’t!” 

The sound of Yoongi’s shouts echoes throughout your living space, bouncing off of the walls. You look back at him, feeling helpless, but he doesn’t look angry, or enraged. He looks exhausted. Like this conversation has knocked the wind right out of him, stolen the breath from his lungs. Like suddenly the pot has boiled over, only it’s extinguished the flames that kept it burning. 

“I just don’t,” Yoongi repeats, fists clenched tightly by his side. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

He gives you one last tired look, matching your own defeated expression, before turning around and walking out of your apartment. The door shuts firmly behind him, neither a slam nor a gentle stop, leaving you stranded in the middle of your living space, watching his silhouette disappear. 

You sigh. You don’t think Yoongi will ever tell you why he hates Halloween. And while that may be no fault of your own, you can’t help but feel like it has something to do with you. 

Yoongi could probably count the amount of times he’s gone to a frat party on one hand, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t already know everything there is to know about them. In his eyes, once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. 

Still, he supposes that it being Halloween makes this one a little different. Everyone’s in some sort of costume, whether it be good or bad or just plain old lazy, and there are at least a few orange and black decorations lining the walls of the Castle, and they’ve curated a playlist with Halloween songs as well as rap songs Yoongi has heard plenty of times before, so for once, Yoongi will give the fraternity a bit of credit when it comes to their Halloween party-planning. 

Beside him, you take another giant chug of your drink from the orange solo cup in your hand, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat on the way down. 

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” He says, though he doubts you can even hear him over the music, loud in the kind of way that his ears are going to be ringing far into tomorrow morning. 

“I’m fine!” You shout back, even though you are definitely not. The entire room reeks of a mixture of vodka and sickly sweet soda. 

“I just want to make sure you’re not overdoing it!” He tells you as the two of you get shoved together from some massive guy pushing past Yoongi and sending him crashing towards you. He catches a glimpse of the contents of your cup, eyebrows raising when he sees that it’s almost empty. You just got that drink five minutes ago. 

You smile. “I’m not!”

The song changes, and Yoongi swears that he can feel the entire house shake as everyone screams, cheering as they bounce up and down, dancing to the beat. Next to him, you are finishing the last few drops of whatever’s in your cup, finding an empty ledge to place it down on when you’re done, and pulling him in close to you. 

“Let’s dance!” You shriek excitedly. 

And who is Yoongi to resist?

He lets you take your hand in his own and parade him around the tiny little space the two of you share, a couple square feet of freedom in this crowded room, chock full of sweaty bodies just like his. Yoongi may not have had as much to drink as you, but the little bit of alcohol in his system is already shutting down normal mental processes like not-staring-at-you-constantly and pretending-that-he-likes-you-just-as-a-friend, sending him into a tizzy whenever he meets your starstruck eyes.

Even in this dingy, sweaty, unventilated fraternity living room, you are beautiful. You are beautiful here, and you are beautiful at three in the morning after twelve straight hours of studying, and you are beautiful after spilling the dining hall’s chicken noodle soup all over yourself. 

God, you’re the only person Yoongi is looking at in this room. You’re the only person he sees. 

Shaking his head, Yoongi abandons those thoughts as the song comes to an end, a hand wrapped around your wrist as he leans into your ear. “Do you wanna go outside? It’s hot in here!”

“Okay, whatever!” You agree easily, too easygoing after you’ve got a few drinks in you. 

Yoongi grabs a hold of your sweaty hand and tugs you towards the back door, one that he thinks leads to a fenced in backyard. You squeeze through the crowd, getting a couple of drinks spilled on your shoes on the way until you reach the back door and Yoongi fumbles with the knob, shaking it a couple of times before it gets loose. Eventually, the two of you stumble outside into the backyard, where a couple of people are playing beer pong and a couple of others look like they’re making out. 

It’s a frat party. What else did Yoongi expect?

It’s the end of October, and Yoongi doesn’t even have on a jacket, but the chill of the night has little effect on him after being in a room that’s felt like one hundred degrees for an hour. Out here, Yoongi feels like he can finally breathe. 

“It’s kinda cold out here, don’t you think?”

Yoongi doesn’t even have time to respond before you’re wrapping yourself up in him, curling into his body and placing his arm around your figure, letting the heat from his frame radiate onto your skin. 

“Better than being in there,” Yoongi reasons. 

“But aren’t you having fun?” 

He looks down to see you looking up with him with big, wide eyes, like you’re afraid that he isn’t having fun, or afraid that you’re enjoying this night more than he is. It makes him smile. “With you, I am.”

You grin at that, turning back to face forward, head pressing into the crook of his neck. “That’s good to hear,” you tell him. “It seemed like you were kinda nervous.”

“Nervous?” His voice cracks as he says it. Fuck. 

“Yeah, is there something you wanna tell me? It looks like you’ve been dying to say something all night,” you comment mindlessly, clearly much more observant now than you are when you’re sober. Or perhaps, Yoongi’s just more obvious. 

He takes a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut tightly. This is his chance. He knows it. 

“Actually, yes, there is,” he says, and it feels like he has to force the words out of his mouth because they’re refusing to come out on their own, pausing at the edge of his lips. It feels like he has to overcome his own mind in order to tell you, feels like every word is a sucker punch to his lungs. 

You pull away from him, looking up at Yoongi with big, blinking eyes. It’s a clear night, and Yoongi knows because he can see the fucking stars reflected in your pupils, see them twinkling as your glossy eyes gaze back up at him. You look up at Yoongi and God, you are just so beautiful. You are beautiful, and Yoongi wonders, then, if you know. If you know how Yoongi looks at you. If you know how he feels about you. He is so in love. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. You are beautiful and he is so in love, and he’s been dying to tell you that and this might be his only opportunity to do so, because tomorrow will be a new day and Yoongi won’t have the guts tomorrow. This is his only chance. 

You deserve to know. 

“Well?” You ask him. “What is it?”

Yoongi wraps his arm around the small of your back, pulls you into him, and presses his lips to yours. 

Hoseok’s party is fun. It’s definitely one of the better ones you’ve been to in your four years of university so far. There aren’t too many people, and the drinks are actually good instead of just burning your throat, and his music taste is impeccable. 

And yet, you don’t think you’ve ever been so unenthused at a party in your whole life. Thriller by Michael Jackson blares from Hoseok’s television speakers, chatter fills the room, and Hoseok’s girlfriend, Haebin, is constantly checking up on you, but never has one place felt so empty. 

It’s not really very difficult for you to wonder why. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

You whip your head around to find Haein standing by the kitchen table, gesturing towards Hoseok as he’s looking up the recipe for a drink he wants to try. 

“You want one? Hoseok’s trying to make Long Island Iced Tea,” Haebin asks. Next to her, Hoseok is struggling to get the measurements right. At least he’s making an attempt. 

You stare down at your nearly-full cup of strawberry daiquiri. You took one sip when Haebin first handed it to you thirty minutes ago, and haven’t touched it since. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Haebin sighs, patting Hoseok on the back encouragingly before she makes her way over to where you’re sitting on their couch, pressed up against the arm of the sofa as you mindlessly swirl the drink around in your cup, eyes zoning into the whirlpool you’re creating. She sits down next to you with a smile, with the kind of look on her face that makes you simultaneously thankful for and dread the conversation you’re about to have.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You don’t even believe yourself when you say it. 

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me. I just know that Halloween is your favorite holiday and I was wondering if there was something getting you down tonight,” Haebin says in that comforting, gentle sort of way, like an old friend who knows all your tells. 

“It’s not a big deal, really. I think I’m just out of it tonight,” you say, not drunk enough to divulge more information but also not sober enough to keep your mouth completely shut. 

Haebin smiles at you, lips pursed. “Alright then. If everything’s alright.” She pushes her hands onto her thighs as she gets off of the couch, heading back towards the kitchen to help Hoseok figure out how to mix drinks. But before she leaves you alone, she turns around and says one more thing. “You know, I don’t know why Yoongi’s not here or anything, but I wish that he was. You always look so much happier whenever he’s around.”

And that just sends your mind into meltdown. 

Defeated, alone, and best friend-less, you place your cup down on the end table to your left and get up off of the couch, beginning to gather your belongings, your coat and your shoes and your bag, tugging your arms through the sleeves as you storm towards the door, eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed.

“Hey, where are you going—?”

“I gotta go, Haebin. I just—” You pull on a shoe, tugging at the boot as it slips over your heel, “—I gotta go. Thank Hoseok for me, okay? I have to go.”

You only have time to catch Haebin nod, wordless, before you tug open the door to Hoseok’s apartment and stomp outside.

This is the worst Halloween of your life, bar none. The time when you were four and you tripped over a curb on the sidewalk, spraining your ankle doesn’t even come close. It’s your very last year to celebrate Halloween as a college student, to celebrate it by getting dressed up in a low-effort costume and spending time with your friends, and your best friend isn’t even here. He refused. 

He refused and you still don’t know why, but worst of all he refused and you still wish he was here. You wish you could have spent time with him tonight. More than anything else. You wish you could have spent the night wrapped up together on your couch, or on your bed, watching your favorite television shows and enjoying each other’s company. You wish you could have curled into his body as the television blared, pressed your head against his shoulder and felt the warmth of his skin on yours. God, you wish you could have. 

You wish you could have told him. 

You wish you had the guts to. 

Twenty minutes later finds you outside one of the dozens of frat parties likely occurring on campus right now, the bass from the music so loud that you can feel it in your eardrums even outside of the building. No part of you wants to go inside something like that, but at this point you start to wonder if maybe hopping different frats is actually your best idea. Get a drink, get drunk, and then move onto the next one. Rinse and repeat until you don’t remember a thing about this terrible, awful night. 

As you walk along the sidewalk, you spot another student sitting on the curb underneath a leaf-less tree, a cheap black drugstore masquerade mask covering the top half of his face. He doesn’t seem to be having a particularly enjoyable night either. 

Normally, the last thing you’d want to do is sit down next to a stranger whose face is disguised, because who knows what could happen to you if you do, but there are at least twenty people surrounding the two of you, loitering outside the frat house in the hopes that they can eventually get inside. And honestly, you could use a fucking break. 

As casually as you can possibly manage, you take a seat next to the boy, a few inches apart from him as he looks up at you. You can’t make out too much in the dim light of the frat house, but he’s illuminated just enough for you to see his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” You ask. 

He shakes his head. 

You smile in thanks, shifting around where you’re seated on the cold cement, eyes drifting all over the place, from the houses across the street to the road to the people standing around, anything to avoid turning back towards the boy and initiating an even more awkward conversation. Sitting down, the world stops spinning, just a little bit. You didn’t have too much to drink at Hoseok’s, but it was enough to loosen your mind. 

“Can I say something?” You say loudly, turning towards the boy. 

It was enough to loosen your lips too, apparently. 

The boy stares back at you, silent. 

“I’m sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.” You close your eyes, breathing in and breathing out, feeling your chest rise and fall. “I am not having a great night. And I wish I was out here with another friend of mine, instead. He’s my best friend, actually. He just… didn’t want to come out tonight with me. But I wish he was here, because I love spending time with him, and I miss him.”

The words spill off of your tongue like lava from a volcano, bursting from your lips completely unfiltered. It surprises you, a little, how much you actually have to say. How much has been weighing on your chest.

You don’t expect him to respond. Truthfully, you can’t even believe you’re unloading all of your baggage onto him in the first place. Since when are you the type of person to tell other people about the tragedies of your life?

But then, he says, “You do?”

And it makes you wonder what else you’ve been keeping hidden. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you realize. “I love spending time with him. He makes every day brighter, turns everything he touches into laughter. And I wanted to spend time with him tonight because I actually thought he would want to. You know, we carved pumpkins together a few days ago. Of each other’s faces.” You force out a laugh. “We carved each other’s faces into pumpkins and he still isn’t here tonight. I wanted him to be here because he’s my best friend, and because he makes me so happy, and even other people are noticing what effect he has on me. Noticing how fucking happy he makes me. Because he does. I feel like I’m a better person with him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him and he’s not here and instead of going to look for him I’m sitting here telling you the sob story that is my life and I just wish—”

“Does that mean you love him?” The boy asks softly. 

“What?”

“Does that mean you love him?”

You turn to look at the boy, eyebrows raised, almost ready to deny such a thing, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. 

How could you say you don’t love Yoongi? Of course you do. He is your best friend. You never want to live a day when he’s not by your side. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. He makes you smile and laugh like it’s nobody’s business, brightens your day without even trying. Just seeing him is enough to lift your spirits. Seeing his face on the other side of your apartment door, all ripped jeans and Converse sneakers, hands wrapped in the sleeves of his hoodie, dark brown eyes blinking back at you, pink lips parted in a grin. That image you have of him in your head—it’s one you don’t ever want to forget. He is standing in your apartment, lips upturned, eyes crushed into crescents, smiling at you. He is mid-laugh, grinning from ear to ear at something you said. He is right there. 

“Well, yeah,” you say, because what else are you supposed to do? “I guess I do.”

Suddenly, your chest feels a whole lot lighter. 

The boy next to you smiles, the dim light barely illuminating his features, but when you look at him there is something so strangely familiar about him, about the way he blinks at you, about the peak of his Cupid’s bow, about how his lips are stretched into a grin. It couldn’t be him… could it?

But before you have time to ask, he is leaning towards you and pressing his lips atop yours, crashing your mouths together in a desperate, messy kiss. His palm presses against your cheek and you can’t help but sink into it, sink into the way his other hand curls around to rest on the small of your back, let yourself be engulfed by him. 

You’ve never kissed Yoongi before, but you know that this is what it must be like. 

You know, from the way your blood starts to sizzle, sparks rushing through your veins. From the way your heart is pumping, loud and clear in your ears, like it’s been jolted to life. Like a shock is running through your body. Like a warmth is filling you up, from the inside out. 

When you part, as Yoongi takes off his mask, he can’t keep the smile off of his face. “I knew it. I knew you loved me.”

“What are you doing out here?” You ask, positively shocked. “I thought you hated Halloween.”

“I do,” Yoongi confirms. “Or, well, I did, I guess.”

“Then what changed?”

“You. Us. We changed,” Yoongi says, motioning between your bodies. “I hated Halloween because it had bad memories for me. Nothing crazy, but, yeah. You don’t remember?”

“What?” Your mouth drops open. “What should I remember?”

“We kissed that night.” Yoongi begins, eyes shifting down towards the ground. Clearly recalling this is awkward for him. “Halloween, freshman year. Outside of the Castle.”

You don’t remember this at all. 

“Well, I kissed you and you kissed me, and I thought that we had established then and there that we liked each other. You know, like, really liked each other. But you were so drunk that night. I don’t know what you had, but you could hardly walk by the time I got you back to your dorm. Your roommate was furious with me.” He shakes his head at the memory, replaying in his mind like a movie. “And I thought, okay, we’ll just talk about this tomorrow. But you must have had a wicked headache or something, because I saw you the next day and you said—”

“God, whatever happened last night, I don’t want to know.”

It’s the middle of the day, the sun high in the crisp November sky, but you have been cradling your forehead ever since Yoongi last dropped you off, back at your dorm, when you were slowly starting to crash. 

“What?” His voice is hollow, empty. 

“Last night fucked me up real good,” you say with a huff, shaking your head. “I’m glad I don’t remember what happened last night.”

As Yoongi traipses back to square one, his heart shakes in its cage. 

“I guess you just didn’t remember,” Yoongi tries to explain, much to your horror as you realize that you and Yoongi have been crushing on each other hopelessly for three years extra without you even realizing it. “So, uh, yeah. That’s why I didn’t like Halloween.”

“You kissed me that night?”

“What?”

“You kissed me that night? Outside of the Castle?” 

A tingling on your lips. A faint feeling of warmth. You remember bits of that night. It was cold, and you were freezing in your costume. And you and Yoongi had gone outside to escape the crowd, and he said something, and then you said something, and then he—!

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “I did.”

“And I didn’t remember?”

“I mean, you were really drunk.”

Your shoulders sink, the thought of Yoongi, helplessly pining after you for three more years because he thought you didn’t like him like that, because he thought that the love you shared was one-sided, still sticking by your side as your best friend. At the thought of him deciding it was better to be best friends and keep that love hidden than tell you and risk it all over again. At the thought of him accepting what he thought was his fate. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. What else is there to tell him? If you had remembered, if you just didn’t say those words, if you had just told him how you felt, this would have all been so much easier. 

“It’s okay now,” Yoongi says, expression growing fond as he pulls you in for a hug, sad to see you so gloomy. “You love me and I love you. What more could I want?”

A realization dawns on you. 

Pulling apart from him ever so slightly, you quirk an eyebrow. “You know, you could have just kissed me again the next day, and then we wouldn’t have had to deal with all of this. Plus, you would have still liked Halloween.”

Yoongi scoffs, pressing a kiss to your icy cheek. “So what? I like it now, how about that? I fucking love Halloween now. It turned my best friend into my girlfriend. She’s the love of my life. We can celebrate every Halloween together from now on until the end of time.”

You grin, pressing a kiss back on his little button nose, pink from the cold. Finally. “That’s the spirit.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[shokobuns]

something sweet

maybe having someone to help you out in the stockroom wasn't so bad after all.

PAIRING: itadori yuuji x reader

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: almost stabbed, mentions of sharp things (boxcutters and broken glass), making out

it’s not like you had a problem with the same menial tasks everyday.

in fact, you would even say that it was a fun way to spend your free period. it was better than doing some complicated assignment or even having to talk to people with your lack of sleep and patience. coffee never allowed for a proper nap no matter how exhausted you were and your teacher wouldn’t allow that anyways.

it was an easy job that you could do with minimal help. all you had to do was put the beakers away, clean up the floor once in awhile, maybe pop some bubble wrap when new packages arrived. being alone in the stockroom was nice because you were able to turn on some music on your headphones, do whatever dances you felt like doing as long as you were still doing your job. no help was needed or wanted.

“where should i put this?”

you jump, nearly stabbing the blonde haired boy behind you with a boxcutter. luckily, he was quick, jumping backwards with a yelp as you took a deep breath in to process the situation. you didn’t accidentally hurt the boy in front of you, did you? your face falls and the initial rush of fear turns into guilt. “i’m sorry! i didn’t know you were there!”

“it’s okay,’ he responds with a smile, unphased by the fact his shirt had almost been slashed, ‘i understand. you’re probably here alone most of the time, right?”

“yeah, i wasn’t expecting for anyone else to be here,” you sigh before realizing what he had probably walked in on before the whole ordeal, “wait.. did you see me doing anything?”

“you’re a pretty good dancer if that’s what you’re asking.”

embarrassment. your cheeks feel unbelievably hot and your stomach turns while embarrassment settles in your body. this period was your alone time, your chance to flail about and having someone else witness it? definitely not preferable. although, he does seem nice and he hasn’t made fun of you. not yet, at least.

his voice brings you out of your train of thought. “so, where should i put that thing?”

he carries on as if nothing happened. thank god. “the flask goes in that cabinet, bottom shelf. you’ll see more just like it.” you reply, pointing to the space.

he mumbles a quick thank you before doing unloading more of the new flasks onto the cabinet. you work on your own, choosing to count the new magnets on the other side of the room, doing your best to avoid him considering you just embarrassed yourself in front of the stranger by nearly injuring him for asking a simple question. though, he looks slightly familiar, he’ll probably be gone tomorrow and that’s all that matters.

behind you, yuji takes small glances while he puts away the flasks, waiting for you to turn around and ask for his name. hell, he’s waiting for any type of question. after all, who sees a random boy in their work space and doesn’t question it at all?

when the next day comes, you’re proven wrong because he sits in the chair, awaiting another order from you. you curse under your breath before putting on a faux smile. “do you need help with anything?”

“do you need help with anything?”

“no, thanks. i’m good on my own. you can go back to whatever you do in this period.”

he scratches his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “i thought you needed help. that’s what my math teacher told me when he sent me here.”

“not really? i can usually get a lot done on my own. who told you i needed help?”

“gojo. i’m his teacher assistant, but i don’t know how to do the math he’s teaching, so i can’t really help anyone.” he explains

“oh, yeah! i had him for calculus last semester,” your eyes light up at the mention of your favorite white haired mentor, “weird guy. good teacher.”

wait. gojo’s teacher assistant?

you’ve heard your friends talk about him, given that they were in that exact class the blonde haired boy was supposed to be in right now. the one guy that pe teachers fawn over and coaches try to recruit? why did they put him in the math department instead of pe? what’s his name again? yuki? yugi?

“you’re yuji itadori?”

“yuji itadori.” he confirms and you’re relieved. good thing you didn’t mess up his name.

no wonder he looked familiar. miwa was fascinated by his physical ability, you distinctly remember her pointing him out during lunch and telling you about how he was ‘scarily fast’ and could probably ‘lift ten of her at a time.’ although, it was from far away and he was partially blocked by a girl with short brown hair and megumi, the intimidating spikey haired quiet boy in some of your classes.

but yuji didn’t look like someone who could lift ten miwas up close. maybe he was hiding behind the oversized hoodie he wore, but he was a kind looking boy with wide eyes and messy tufts of strawberry blonde hair. throughout the short time you’ve seen him up close, he always had a slight smile on his resting face. in short, he looked approachable and was seemingly friendly.

“so, do you need help with anything?” he asks again and you decide that maybe he can be of use to you. especially if he has the strength that miwa had described.

“actually, yeah. can you lift those boxes over there and bring them to the other side of the room? they’re kind of heavy-”

she was correct because he lifts the box, which is supposedly about thirty kilograms according to your teacher, with ease. now, you don’t have to constantly go back and forth around the room just to put the packaged metal away in a farther cabinet and he can probably just put them away himself, too. it goes that way for the next hour and a half, both of you staying in your respective sides of the room, putting away your own respective items.

“thanks, itadori.”

“call me yuji.”

“will do.”

over the next two weeks, you two don’t talk as much as yuji had hoped.

he still remembers gojo’s words of encouragement, his push to get his favorite student to talk to the person who drops off notes to the teacher across the hallway from time to time. he’s never talked to you and he doubts you would even know that he existed in the first place. in fact, he was perfectly content with just stapling the papers that gojo would give him, maybe getting his own homework done in the period, but he was insistent.

“i’ve seen you staring outside the window whenever they pass by, yuji. just talk to them.”

“it’s okay.’

“no it’s not. get to know her. what if they’re nice? hmmmmm?”

“i’ll talk to her myself at some point.”

that was all it took for gojo to leave him alone, not that he didn’t like gojo or anything, especially with gojo being his second favorite teacher in the first place, but he’s content with his little crush. and again, he doubted that you would remember him in your history class and from the looks of it, he was right.

he just didn’t expect to be sent at the very stockroom that you would be in. for the rest of the semester. gojo had definitely set him up for something.

yuji was in that conflicting position in which he didn’t know whether to start a conversation or not because he didn’t want to bother you. but he also wanted to get to know you up close. of course he can sense your exhaustion himself through droopy eyelids that threaten to close and your dependence on caffeine, something he had learned about you so far in these few weeks. the only thing, it seems like.

as for you, a short talk with your science teacher confirmed that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon and though you will miss dancing around the stockroom by yourself, he wasn’t bad company. he mostly kept to himself, often being more rigid when you barely spared him a glance. at the times you would speak to him, he seemed more excitable and easygoing, listening to every word you say.

“yuji?”

“hmm?”

“come help me by unboxing these beakers, alright?” you patted the spot next to you before sliding the blade down the tape, “don’t worry. i’m not gonna stab you.”

“i guess i’ll help,” he snorts, “don’t you usually do these by yourself?”

“yeah, but since you’re spending the semester with me in here, we might as well get to know each other right?”

the whirring of the fan, the sound of your voice — it all seemed to fade into the background as his heart thumped hard in his chest. a million thoughts, both good and bad, race through his head as he formulated different questions, answers, and scenarios in his mind, all of them being a jumble of fantasy and panic.

you wave a hand in front of his face in an attempt to catch his attention. he seemed completely frozen, staring at you with dead eyes and it’s now that you realize you haven’t seen him up this close. honey brown eyes, the soft curve of his nose, and were those crinkles under his eyes, too? up until now, you only knew him as the ‘athletic man who was bad at math’, but he was also undeniably beautiful with his carved face and strawberry blonde hair.

“yuuuuuuuji?”

“oh! i’m sorry! did you say you wanted to get to know me?”

“yeah, we’re kind of stuck in this room everyday for an hour and a half together. i might as well find out what your favorite color is or something.”

“red! my turn! what were you listening to when you almost stabbed me?”

“hey! it was an accident!” he giggles, slicing the tape seal down the middle and opening up the package and pointing right at it. “you see that? that could have been me. i should at least know what i’m being stabbed to.”

“meg thee stallion..”

“nevermind. she’s beautiful and i wouldn’t mind dying to her music.”

you snort, thinking up another question. maybe you should ask him about why that megumi guy was so gloomy? nope, might get too personal. what about the reason he’s here? nope, you already know.

“why don’t you do any sports even though you’re literally physically gifted?” you ask curiously. there’s still a smile on his face, but his expression becomes more wistful. you didn’t accidentally hit a spot, did you?

“my grandpa is in the hospital,” oh shit, you think, “i visit him everyday and if i was on a team, i would have to go to practice at the same time.”

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hit a sensitive topic, but that’s sweet of you.’

“i don’t mind. and i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable.”

“no, it’s alright. let’s just keep asking questions then, okay?”

he nods.

in one hour, you learn that yuji itadori also likes karaoke, rice bowls, and that he’s just as bad at science than math. ironic. and yuji enjoys getting to know more about you, falling into easy conversation, becoming less of a nervous wreck. the more you speak, the deeper he falls into the trance and he silently thanks gojo for letting him get a closer look because you’re even better than what he could have imagined.

but the period is coming to an end and it’s time for him to carry off the last box of beakers to his side of the room. at least there’s time for another question and it’s his turn to ask.

“what’s your type?”

you place your fingers on your chin as you think for a moment, finding a common trait in every crush for a proper answer.

“i guess my type would be sweet boys. with pretty faces, like you, i guess.”

the response is nonchalant and you don’t think twice about it. maybe you were a little too tired to process how he’d interpret it or maybe a little too tired to filter yourself, but it slips out of your mouth like butter and you’re completely unphased. shameless, even.

meanwhile, the box drops to the ground and like before, every other noise besides his own heartbeat fades into the background, even the sound of shattering glass. heat creeps of his neck into his cheeks until his face is burning, his feet stuck in their place and his palms becoming uncomfortably sweaty. his mouth is wide open, but no words come out.

“yuji! we need to clean this, hurry up!”

your voice brings him out of his thoughts as he realizes what’s been done and immediately snaps back to carefully, but quickly, picking up the shards of glass and placing them in this box. “i-i’m sorry!”

“don’t worry. just leave the box on the counter and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

maybe you didn’t quite realize what you had said or what effect you had on him during that time in the stockroom because you continue everyday as if nothing happened.

it’s been, what? a little over a three weeks? and sitting next to you still causes his mind to go to odd places, ones with you. he starts to notice little things about you, too. how your tongue peaks out of your mouth when you’re peeling another sheet of bubble wrap off of some glassware, how you only count in even numbers when you take inventory of the containers.

god, you were adorable.

“yuji?”

“yeah?”

“did gojo ever tell you that there’s no cameras in here?”

“no? i thought they had security cameras everywhere.”

“that’s only hallways and classrooms. there’s none of them here. do you know what that means?”

“what?”

his head is already turned in your direction, the perfect opportunity to lean in and catch his lips. it’s small and he’s hesitant at first, but before you know it, your hands tangle in his hair, bringing him closer to you. he tastes like something sweet, like cherries, and his lips are warm. one hand rests on your cheek, his thumb brushing against it endearingly. when he pulls away, both of you are panting for air, the packages long forgotten.

“this sounds bad, but i’m glad that you’re terrible at math.”

“thanks.” he laughs and admires the look of your heated cheeks and swollen lips before pulling you back in for another searing kiss.

sure. being in that room by yourself could be fun, a perfect break with menial tasks lacking human interaction. you were far too tired to be patient with other people. but there was an exception.

© this is a work of @crybabygumi, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, copy, or repost.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Twelve: Family

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: THE FINAL CHAPTER! very emotional, new beginnings, bullying mention, poverty mention, abuse mention, allusions to pregnancy.

Word count: 3000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Twelve - Epilogue [coming soon!]

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Maxwell sighed, pacing around in anxious circles. He looked different, in his denim jeans and khaki-green cable knit sweater. It made a change from the oversized powersuits he once donned. Alistair was sat at the dining room table, colouring in, and Max was having a nervous breakdown about getting his haircut. “I’ve had the blonde in for so long.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his shaggy and unstyled hair. When it wasn’t perfectly coiffed, it was wavy and glossy, and smelled distinctly like the freshest green apples. “It’ll be okay. Think of it as washing away all the terrible things that went on in the past and starting anew. Like… turning over a new leaf.” 

You made a very good point. Maxwell knew he had to suck it up and just do it. It would be okay. He didn’t have to be Max Lord anymore, and he didn’t have this television persona to live up to. His main focus now was just being a father, and that’s all that mattered. All he needed to be, was himself. Maxwell Lorenzano.

“Daddy look!” Alistair smiled, waving around the piece of paper he’d spent the morning drawing on. It was stained slightly from his breakfast, and crinkled in the corners for where he’d applied slightly too much pressure when colouring, but all-in-all, it was perfect. Maxwell took the artwork and looked closely at it. Another typical family portrait of you, Alistair and Max. But this time, Maxwell was doting brown hair, and it reminded him of his younger days when he was first starting out as a businessman. “This is how you’ll look when you come home from the salon!”

“Wow Alistair, I love it!” Maxwell praised, unable to contain his grin. He held the portrait to his face and showed it off. “What do you think?” he asked you. “Do you think I’ll look good with the brown hair?” 

You giggled and nodded your head, before pressing the palm of your hand flat against Maxwell’s chest and brushing your lips against his. “You’ll look so handsome, I’m sure.”

“Ew!” Alistair cried, pulling the paper from his father’s hand as you kissed him softly on the lips. The curve of Max’s nose nudged against yours and he laughed at his son’s reaction.

“Alright,” you said, pointing your finger. “You better go. Don’t want to miss your appointment.”

Maxwell nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” he announced.

The second Maxwell left the house, your stomach began to twist. You’d been living at Lord manor for a month now but truthfully, it felt like a lifetime. It felt like you had always been there. You were adjusting to your new life pretty well, but this morning sickness that you had started to get was an unwelcome experience. Amazon’s never got ill, so this was brand new to you, and you weren’t enjoying it one bit.

You rubbed your stomach and took a sip of the glass of water that you’d been nursing. Sliding down to sit next to Alistair, you watched as he finished his drawing, adding a few final perfections. Once it was done, you hung it to the refrigerator and praised him for his hard work.

“Ali, why don’t you grab your shoes and we’ll have a walk down to the Smithsonian?” you smiled, grabbing your jacket that was hanging over the kitchen door.

“Ooh! Is there a new exhibition?” He enquired curiously, hopping onto his feet and fastening his shoe laces.

“I don’t think so,” you admitted sheepishly. “I have to go meet with some friends.”

Taking the bus was a new experience for both you and Alistair. Joe, Maxwell’s driver, would normally drive Alistair around to and from places. But not today. The bus was slightly smelly and the seats were sticky, but by the looks of it, Alistair was having the time of his life. He pointed out the window, grinning, and talked to you about all the different D.C. landmarks the both of you passed as you were driven into the city centre. He might have only been six years old, but that was six years of living in the world of man. You’d only been here for a month, and so Alistair could teach you a lot. 

Driving past the park, Alistair gasped, and shuffled into your body. “That’s the park where we first met,” Alistair pointed. You narrowed your eyes as you took in the sight of tall green trees and shrubbery. He was right. “Do you remember that day? You were wearing an awesome superhero costume like something out of my comic books. And you wore a tiara, and I asked if you were a princess. And you scared my bullies away, and helped me look for dad.”

“I remember.” you smiled, ruffling Alistair’s dark hair.

You remembered asking Alistair what his father looked like, and the only thing the boy could say was ‘strong, cool, and the best dad in the world’. Counting your lucky stars, you were so thankful you had found your forever family. You had come so far from that moment.

“Did you ever tell daddy… about those bullies in the park?” Alistair asked you hesitantly, his voice suddenly small and timid.

You pulled off him and looked him in the eyes. “No. Why?”

Alistair paused for a moment and glanced back out the window. “I was afraid he’d be disappointed in me.”

Your heart shattered in your chest. “Ali,” you said quietly, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Your father could never, ever be disappointed in you. You know that, yes?”

Alistair nodded his head silently.

“He loves you so much,” you continued. “And the whole bullying thing… I think he’d understand better than anyone else.”

You remembered all the visions you had of Maxwell, even seeing him as a child at one point. You remembered him wearing rugged clothes that were too small for him and how he was picked on for his broken shoes. 

“Really? You think so?” Alistair asked.

“I know so,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss into Alistair’s hair. “Those bullies will never amount to anything if they continue doing what they’re doing. But you are so much better than them. Stronger. Your power lies in your heart, and in the truth, and in love.”

Alistair smiled. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”

“We’re all heroes.”

————

Yourself, Maxwell and Alistair loved trips to the Smithsonian. Diana always organised special access for the three of you, to go after hours when the entire museum was empty. Alistair was admiring the fish in the aquarium, when you noticed Barbara and Diana, and waved them over.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Diana smiled.  

“It was sort of an impulse thing,” you explained. “Uhm, actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

You pulled Diana to one side and left Barbara with Alistair. “Remember how you said ‘I owe you one’, since I like… got your girlfriend to renounce her wish and kinda helped you save the world by destroying the second dreamstone?” you grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.

Diana rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “What are you plotting?”

“Max has been… worried, to say the least. We’re going to have to sell Black Gold and it’s a real shame because-- he worked so hard on it. We have some money and well, I haven’t exactly ran this by him yet but I was thinking about investing what we do have into the Smithsonian. Just like what Maxwell promised to do in the first place.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Diana sighed. “The gemology department is doing just fine.”

You shook your head, your smile only growing. “No Di, that’s not what I was getting at. How would you feel about… expanding the gemology department?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow…”

“I’ve heard Barbara talk about how there’s a lack of space to facilitate all the rocks and stones the Smithsonian keeps bringing in. She has a real fear that the entire paleontology department could be shut down and replaced with something else.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“That’s true…”

“So what if we use the Black Gold building as an extension for the Smithsonian, and have it specialise in all these fancy rocks and gems and stones. We could transport everything over and then we could utilize the leftover funds that Maxwell has, to keep all the palaeontologists and geologists employed. Hell, with a whole new building, we could even create more jobs for people. It would also mean that we wouldn’t have to fire Max’s old employees and-- Oh Di, I just know Max would love it. He really does have a passion for gemology. And his son, Ali… he has an interest too.”

“So I heard,” Diana rolled her eyes, but, to be frank, she liked what you were getting at. An expansion wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing… “It’s a big responsibility though, and it seems you haven’t even spoken to Maxwell about it. You would get funding from the Smithsonian as an institution, yes, but… it would still be Max’s business. Do you really think he could handle that? After what happened to his last business?”

“He’s smart,” you assured her. “And he’s a good businessman. He knows all these things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Last time he just got unlucky. But this, this could really be something great. We have the building, and the passion, and enough money to get started. Please Diana… I know you could make this happen. Please.”

Diana spent a moment pondering the possibilities before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Alright,” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You grinned and squealed excitedly, wrapping your arms around your half sister and squeezing her tight. “Thank you Di!” She laughed and rubbed your back before you pulled off her. “Oh, and Di… there’s one more thing.”

Diana tilted her head and gazed at you with fresh bewilderment. Looking around the museum to make sure no one was around to hear what you had to say, you leaned into the Amazon and whispered a confession you’d been keeping to yourself for the past month. 

————

Maxwell sat in the chair and frowned upon seeing his reflection in the mirror. “What can I do for you?” asked the stylist as she smacked her lips on a piece of gum. Max wasn’t sure if he could really bring himself to do this, until he remembered your words. This was ‘turning over a new leaf’-- a new start and fresh beginnings. 

“Uh, a trim please,” Maxwell requested before taking a shaky exhale. It was now or never, he just had to take the leap. “No, that’s not everything,” he sighed. “Could you perhaps take the blonde… out of my hair?” The question left his lips with an air of unsurity. Could one even do that? Take the colour out of hair?

“You want the colour stripped?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Maxwell supposed that was one way of putting it.

“Yes, I do.” he confirmed.

The stylist processed Maxwell’s words for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “As you wish.”

As the stylist wrapped Max’s shaggy golden locks into foil, he closed his eyes. He’d come so far since the whole dreamstone debacle. His whole life had been a rollercoaster of up and down events but now, finally, things were evening out for him -- in the best way possible. He’d fallen in love and secured his family and home. The only thing he was mildly worried about, was the issue with Black Gold. But he knew that he’d somehow figure it out, especially now that he had you by his side to help him.

He’d always seen himself as an independent man. He fought hard to be as successful. He escaped his hometown, his abusive father, he ran away from poverty and was discriminated against by upper class white businessmen who told him he could never amount to anything. He proved all of them wrong. Because now, he had everything he could ever want. He didn’t need stacks of money or material possessions when he had you and Alistair. Maybe he wasn’t as independent as he once thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, he liked the company of others. He liked having you and his son around.

In his fight for wealth and success, he’d lost everything that mattered the most. But most importantly, he had lost himself. Maxwell swore that he’d never let that happen again.

As the stylist removed the silver foil from his hair, Maxwell nervously anticipated the result. His once bottle blonde hair was now a chocolate brown colour, and it reminded him distinctly of his youth. Max couldn’t help but feel like he looked younger, and he wasn’t going to complain about that. 

He just hoped you liked it as much as he did.

————

“I just don’t understand why mommy is taking so long,” Alistair grumbled as he and Barbara waited outside the ladies restroom. “And why did auntie Diana have to go into the toilet with her?”

Barbara stifled a laugh. “You’re inpatient, just like your dad.”

Impatience must’ve run in the family because you were sitting on the toilet seat, tapping your food as anxiety flooded your body. You didn’t expect to be this nervous. You’d wanted a child for so long -- in fact, your whole life to be exact. But now that there was a chance of it actually happening, you were beyond terrified. Maybe it was the fact Maxwell didn’t know about your symptoms, but you knew better than to feel alone. You were never going to be alone.

“How long left?” you asked Diana, who checked her wristwatch. It was an antique from the early 1900’s, something very special and something she kept very close to her heart.

“It should be ready now.” she told you, handing you the stick you had just peed on.

“I don’t want to look.” you squirmed, covering your face with your hands.

“Wow,” Diana hummed, her jaw parting slightly when she took in the results. 

“Wh-- what is it?” you asked, nervously.

“You’re pregnant.”

————

When Maxwell came home, you were shocked to say the least. His brown hair was absolutely gorgeous, and it suited him better than you’d expected. The deep shade was identical to the colour in his sparkling eyes. Jokingly, he tossed his hair and you let out a laugh.

“I was right,” you giggled, running your fingers through his locks. “So handsome.”

“I love it daddy!” Alistair cheered.

“Thanks buddy,” Maxwell grinned. “I like it too.”

Taking a deep breath, you took Max’s hand and pulled him into the living room, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet in there -- the perfect place to tell Maxwell your news. It had been a nostalgic day, and even standing in the living room reminded you of the time Max first brought you home. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked you, slightly concerned. But your warm smile soon eased him. You felt the need to wrap your arms around him and envelop him into a hug. Max had taken a big step today, and you were proud of him, but now it was your moment. It was now or never.

Harnessing every ounce of confidence within you, you took his hands and looked him in the eye. “Max, I’m pregnant.”

Max’s brown eyes widened and he was completely lost for words. “I-- you-- you’re--”

“Yes.” you smiled, taking his hands and placing them on your stomach.

His shocked expression turned into an elated grin as he processed the good news. “You’re really--”

“I am.” you confirmed.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Maxwell so happy in your life. He wrapped his arms around you and held you so tight, like he was afraid to let you go. He swore in that moment he would never leave you, or his growing family, ever again.

This was it for him.

This was the start of Maxwell Lorenzano’s new life.

————

THE END.

————

Author’s Note: “I won’t cry” she says while sobbing into her Google Docs document. Thank you all for reading I Believe In Love. It’s a story I have wanted to share with you since I saw WW84 in the theatre, and I just can’t believe it’s finally over. This fic will always have a special place in my heart. The themes and plot points mean so much to me, but not only that, I’ve had the most amazing feedback on this fic and I will honestly cherish that for the rest of my life. I poured my heart and soul into writing I Believe In Love and it honestly one of my biggest comforts. I want you all to know that an epilogue is coming and if you have any requests for these characters I have created, feel free to send them my way. I adore my Amazon Goddess!Reader and I would absolutely love to continue their story at some point in the future. If you’ve followed me on this journey over the past four months, all I can really say is thank you. I love you so so much.

————

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[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

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[cafeacademia]

Guardian | Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!Reader Soulmate AU

Chapter Summary: After months of no contact with your soulmate, you begin to finally act on your suspicions, only to learn a difficult truth about your close friend, Draco.

Warnings: Sadness, some fluff, mention of abusive environments (Draco being involved with his father, Voldy and death eaters).

Word count: Approx 3200

Masterlist

NOTE: This story is following a slightly altered AU, in which Fred and George are still at school and Harry does not go for Draco after Katie Bell’s possession.

A/N: Hi loves! Here’s the next chapter! I did struggle a little with this one, but I’m really happy with it. I hope you enjoy this part and I promise there is some fluff coming for these two soon, enjoy! 💖

Flashbacks are separated using *** and use of the soulmate book is highlighted in italics

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Was it ever enough? The spilled ink, the black stained fingertips having spent hours writing with a quill. The way the pages crinkled under the heavy use, words that did not spell out a work of fiction, but that of the tale of two souls meant to be.

Was it enough to bring back what was lost by writing to him often? You couldn't know, but all you could do was try.

It was well beyond the start of your first term in your sixth year and as the leaves fell and the seasons changed, the forest surrounding the grounds with deep red and orange hues, you wondered where he could have gone, what had happened to him?

But as you wandered through the grounds, the clouds drew in, bringing a sudden downpour with them. Being quite far from the castle, the closest spot for shelter in the heavy rain was the owlery and quickly, you tugged your jacket over your head and sprinted across the wet grass towards the stone tower.

Taking care not to slip on the steps on your way up, you heaved out a sigh when you finally got yourself through the doorway. It wasn’t much warmer in the enclosed space, but it was at least dry.

It was a particularly odd Sunday, the weather had been changing all day, though you knew as winter drew in that this time of year was often very rainy and ever changing, just like autumn itself.

 Backing further into the owlery, you shivered, trying to warm yourself up a little bit, but as the strong winds blew across the grounds and swept through the openings between the stones in the owlery walls, you chilled even more.

 Suddenly, without even a whisper, having seemingly appeared out of no where, You felt something being draped around your shoulders and you jumped, looking over your shoulder to see yourself face to face with a Slytherin. “Draco?” It came out as a gasp. All he could do was meet your gaze with the cold blue hues of his eyes, barely managing a small smile, one that did not reach his eyes, one that appeared forced and perhaps even painful. His eyes were deep with the weight of his emotions, things he wish he could tell someone, but he had to keep them locked away as far down in himself as he could.

The ashen haired boy had barely even looked at you since the end of the last school year and a few weeks after your return to Hogwarts, it was increasingly obvious that he didn’t want to be around you.

“Harry is under the impression Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater.” Hermione had said it as if even she herself could not believe it to be true and you weren’t sure if you were lucky, or terribly placed at the wrong place at the wrong time to hear something that, despite your better judgement, caused your heart to ache.

What had he been pulled into? You couldn’t know for certain, but even now as you looked up at him and met his soft gaze, you knew that whatever he was taking part in was not through choice.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly, pulling the jacket he had draped over your shoulders around you a little more, only receiving a small nod from him. “Draco.” You reached out for him, your hand catching his wrist before he had a chance to turn away from you. And for a moment, Draco allowed himself to be touched, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of your gentle touch, but as he met your eyes, he slowly slipped his wrist out of your grasp and took a step back. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” He said, attempting a smile before ducking out of the doorway and disappearing down the steps into the heavy downpour.

Your heart ached at the way he had pulled away, at the deep regret he had held in his eyes as he had turned away from you. Pulling his coat around you even more, you were thankful at least, that returning his coat to him would allow you a moment to speak to him soon and you hoped you could get a moment alone with your friend soon.

Having made your way back to the castle after a ten minute wait for the downpour of cease, you headed back up to your dormitory to dry off and warm up. And as you perched on your bed with a blanket wrapped around yourself, you sighed, leaning down to gently take the small leather bound book out of the top of your school bag. Flicking through the pages, you turned to the last one that had been written on, only your handwriting occupying the crinkled, slightly yellowed paper and you sighed, your eyes landing on the words you had last written to him, drawing in a breath to speak them out loud. “Where are you?”

Draco hated it. He hated that every time he closed his eyes, all he saw, all he heard were things that haunted him. It was as if his mind could not truly allow him to rest, not without being reminded what dreadful things were happening and what were to come. But it was the worst when what he saw when he closed his eyes was the way his father had snatched the book from him, his voice full of opportunity.

***

“Do you know who this soulmate of yours is, Draco?” Lucius had asked. “No, father.” Draco lied, keeping his features neutral, his eyes passing over the book that was clutched in his father’s strong grip. Lucius cast a lingering stare at his son, judgement in his eyes as he considered his answer.

Draco knew he could not give away that he did, in fact know who his soulmate was, because surely someone might want to use you against him and he certainly did not put it past those around him to do so. Even if his father were to not use that information, he was sure someone else might, especially as motivation to carry out tasks. He knew already that anyone knowing about his soulmate even existing was bad enough, because even without knowing who you were, people could still use it as leverage. “Now, now, don’t look so miserable. You may have this back once you’ve tended to your duties.” Lucius had told him.

***

Draco looking down, pulling up his shirt sleeve to look at the image of the dark mark imprinted in his skin. Following the curve of the snake as it trailed over the veins in his wrist, Draco felt sick to his stomach. His eyes glanced up to land on the book. It was scratched up, dented and damaged, the golden gilding worn and scuffed off some of the edges, one of the metal corner protectors had gone missing and a few of the gold painted page edges were folded and ripped. It made his heart ache. It made Draco feel a uncontrollable, seething anger, a want to cry and scream and protect what was his with everything he had. But he could not.

They had all ridiculed him, used the book as a way to force him closer to the same lifestyle that they followed and Draco hated it. He resented everything they had used his book to make him do. Because it wasn’t just a book they were using, they had used you. And even though the book was now back in his possession after being confiscated more than once, thrown about and damaged on purpose to taunt him, despite the fact that he now held it as close to him as possible, he refused to use it.

What if someone were take his memories and view them? What if someone found out what he talked about? Or more importantly who he talked to. But with each passing day, his eyes landing on the old, tattered book, simultaneously a symbol of both hope and pain, Draco longer to open the cover and read the contents.

His aunt Bellatrix had tried to force him to read it out, but as if the book had known what was happening to both him and itself, it appeared blank no matter what they did, no matter how they tried to strip it of it’s concealment charms. Draco just could not bring himself to read your words, to see what you might have written in his absence, to see what his silence might have done.

“Soulmates? You can’t be serious, that’s all a bunch of old fairy tales.” Ron brushed it off. “Don’t be ridiculous Ronald.” Hermione sighed, about to curb his argument. “It’s not!” Neville suddenly burst into the argument, having seen you looking rather out of depth from the reaction you’d gotten from Ron. “My parents are soulmates too.” Neville said in a softer tone that time, giving you a kind smile as he looked across at you.

“With a book too?” You asked, now intrigued while Ron gave you both a look of confusion, having genuinely thought you had been pulling his leg when Fred and George had pestered it out of you. “No, they can hear each other’s thoughts.” Neville explained. “Do you know who yours is?” Harry asked, leaning over in his seat to join the conversation. “I can’t be sure, but I have a couple of theories.” You replied, leaning forwards and resting your chin on your hand. “Well, who is it then?” Fred asked with a big grin on his face at the idea of some brilliant gossip. “None of you would believe me even if I told you.”

“I would.” Luna smiled sweetly at you as she approached the bench, Neville almost immediately shuffling up and accidentally bumping George a little to give her some space to sit between you and him. “I believe in soulmates too, they are fascinating, don’t you think?” She asked. ”I just wish mine would talk to me again, he’s been quiet for months.” You sighed as Ron, Hermione and Ginny began to discuss something else with the twins. “You really don’t know who it is?” Luna asked. “My grandmother told me that soulmates are often much closer than you expect them to be, maybe there’s someone hiding in plain sight, waiting for you to realise that it’s them.” She told you, giving you a sweet little smile before she turned away to talk to Neville.

Perhaps Luna was right and perhaps, despite feeling a bit silly for thinking it might be someone you already knew, she was right and if your soulmate, whoever he really was, was very much absent and maybe it was time to really find out for sure.

Ron had suggested the use of Felix Felicis, but it felt wrong to use a potion in an attempt to cheat your way  into knowing who your soulmate was, but as the weeks passed and you left the falling leaves behind, along with the events that took place and had shaken everyone who had seen Katie Bell tragically possessed, you began to wonder if the idea wasn’t so bad after all. The year seemed more bleak as time passed and even as you passed into spring, it felt as if the tension in the castle was ready to snap at any moment.

Despite the tempting idea of brewing liquid luck and using it to find him, another part of you was reluctant, not because you felt it was wrong or like it was cheating at something you obviously should see through to the end, but because you had a feeling you already knew who it was.

But just as you feared his sudden coldness being the only worry and the fact that you had not found a single moment in which Draco would take his coat back from you from months ago, you feared the reasons he might not be speaking to you at all. Why was he so cold to you? The chill hurt. Walking into the great hall, the chatter between the trio as you passed them seemed to only be of one thing and it shook you as deeply as it had everyone else who had witnessed it. The horrifying way she had moved in such an unnatural way, how she had contorted and her face had been taken over by something terrible. Katie Bell’s possession.

“It was Malfoy, I’m sure of it.” Harry was adamant and the conviction in his voice was enough to chill everyone in earshot. And when you had swept passed the trio, looking for a seat elsewhere, you turned to see Draco standing in the middle of the hall, his face riddled with regret, shame and something that swam deep in his eyes as he looked at you. He held your gaze for a moment, your movements still as you stood in front of a bench, your eyes not leaving his. It was as if he was silently pleading you, as if he was asking you to help him, reaching out for something, for someone.

But just as you slowly moved a step in his direction, he turned and fled, Harry leaping up from his seat, but being yanked back by Hermione as you rushed after the Slytherin.

You tried to keep up with his quick pace, Draco weaving around corners and slipping through half open doors so quickly that if you hadn’t been paying enough attention, you might have lost him.

Finally, you rounded the doorway into the bathroom, seeing Draco hunched over a sink, his hair messed up and out of place, sobs shaking his body as he tried to wash the pain away with water.

“Draco,” It was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to startle him and he turned to look at you with fear in his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Your heart broke, your throat clenching tight at the sight of him in such a state. “I had to do it.” He sobbed, backing against the wall and sliding down onto the cold stone below. “He made me do it.”

Slowly, you crossed the bathroom, carefully kneeling down in front of him and reaching out, tentatively at first to brush his hair from his face. “I tried so hard to protect-.” He stopped himself, a sob interrupting mid sentence and Draco heaved for breath as he reached for you. And just as he had done for you, when he had held you so many times when you felt nothing but pain and hurt and everything in between, you held him in your arms too. The beating of your heart soothed him as he cried against your shoulder, his hands holding you with a weak grip and slowly, his sobs softened as you held him tightly, softly stroking his hair.

“He made me do it.” Draco repeated, parting from you for a moment, pulling his sleeve up to show you, but he would not meet your eyes. The dark mark was like binding seal on his wrist, one that bound him to a life he did not want and you knew that the Draco his father was trying to make him be, was not the Draco you knew.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, pulling him back against you and hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” You felt the tears well up in your eyes, seeing someone you cared so deeply for, someone who you had secretly bonded with for years was being torn apart and put back together as someone he was not meant to be and you hated to see it happen.

“I can’t be around you, I can’t look at you, he’ll know.” Draco whispered, hugging you tightly around the middle. “You don’t deserve this pain, you deserve something more, something better.” You told him. Draco didn’t feel like he did, he didn’t feel like he deserved anything better and he certainly didn’t feel like he deserved you either.

“I’m sorry.” Draco cried, pulling away and wiping harshly at his tears. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” He said, moving to get up, but you reached out and grabbed his hand before he could go. “Then talk to me by paper and quill. Like we used to.” You told him, and while your words could have implied your little notes during class or the letters during the summer, both of you knew what that had really meant. “Okay.” He nodded, trying to move away again, but you stopped him once more.

“Hold on, take this.” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks, sniffling as you reached into your robe pocket to pull out the beautiful green handkerchief he had given you three years prior. “You still have it.” He whispered. “Of course.” You nodded, reaching up to wipe your tears away. “I can’t take it, love. You keep it.” Draco said, gently using his fingers to close your own around the handkerchief and pushing it back against your chest.

“I still have your coat.” You added as you felt his touch linger on your hand. “You’ll keep it safe for me, won’t you?” He asked. “Of course.” You nodded. “Why, are you going somewhere?” You asked. Draco paused, almost daring himself to look up at you, to meet your eyes one last time, but he resisted and sighed. “It might be a while before you see me again.” He told you, gently trailing his fingertips over the back of your hand. “But… I will see you again, won’t I?” You asked. “I promise, we will.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” Draco whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before he left you alone in the bathroom, walking away to prepare to carry out his biggest and most dreaded task. And he wondered as he descended into the dungeons, how you could ever love him after he had performed the things he must do.

But Draco had been right, because only months later, with no communication with each other aside from the odd glance here and there, he disappeared completely.

Promise me, you will not come looking for me. It was scrawled quickly onto a page and for the first time in nearly a year, you saw his writing join yours again on the paper of your book. You sighed as you read those words, sitting in your dormitory amidst the horrible realisation of what had taken place, that death eaters had killed Albus Dumbledore.

Leaping up from your bed, you grabbed a quill from your bag and opened the inkwell at your desk before writing your reply. I promise, but you must promise to find me when it’s safe. You wrote back.

Minutes passed and not a single drop of ink came through. Minutes turned into hours and while you thought he might not write back at all, you cast a quick glance at the page before you finally decided to try and sleep to see his words amongst yours again.

I promise.

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Guardian Taglist (OPEN):

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