#don’t ask me how long I spent scrolling through all of their galleries today and last night

[arolesbianism]

Don’t look at me (not a vent dw)

Yukina looking exactly like her siblings compilation (<- is so normal and not deranged (<- lying))

[selarina]

True Blue

→ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader (Series Masterlist)

Chapter 2: The Green Light

Content Warnings: college bf!gojo, long-distance, fluff, smut, established relationship, summer, phone sex, nudes, light angst, emotional tension, insecurities, gojo is rich and clingy! Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.6k words

Author's Note: had "Good Looking" by Suki Waterhouse on repeat as i wrote this. can you tell?

You had thought coming home for the holidays would mean endless days spent with Gojo, caught up in each other with nothing else to do in this sleepy town. Here, time moved differently, like honey trickling from a spoon.

Time spent in college had been different— there were classes, assignments, and the whole college thing — but now, time with him would be luxurious, unhurried, just the two of you, without the world pulling you apart.

But it had been two weeks since you last saw him.

To start with, your mother, in that peculiar way mothers are, still treated you as if high school had just ended yesterday. And then there was the summer ritual – three weeks spent with your grandmother, a tradition that pulled you three states away, leaving Gojo behind in all his boredom. The first week of summer had been his, or at least partially, for even then half of it was lost to the tournament that kept him longer on campus. Now, only a single constrained week and a month remained, 

“So, you’ll be back by then?” he asks, a kind of hope edging in his voice. You almost feel bad.

“I don’t know—” you speak up. “I always spend three weeks. I don’t want to leave earlier.”

“It’s only a week early and it’s my birthday, baby,” he whined, his plea childish, like a boy who doesn’t understand why he can’t have everything he wants.

“I know, but we can always celebrate later,” you offered, knowing full well it wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“Okay,” he says, and you hear it, his voice is thin and worn. It’s not the first time he’s asked you to come back earlier, nor would it be the last. “How’s it going in Midsommar-land anyway? You need to start sending me more pictures or I’ll forget how you look.”

You scoffed, but there was a smile in it. It was the least you could do. “I promise, I will.”

You chat on about things, meandering through familiar territories. And when you finally ran out of things to say, Satoru started asking you about colors, shapes, chickens, and just about anything he could think of to keep the conversation going. 

Four hours had passed, and the weariness in his voice was clear.

“Satoru.”

He hummed in response, his voice soft, almost dreamy.

“Go to bed,” you say gently.

“But I don’t want to,” he mumbled, the resistance fading even as he spoke.

“Yeah,” you said, understanding. “I know. I’ll call you tomorrow anyway.”

“Mmkay,” you hear him yawn through the crackles of the phone. “Don’t forget — pictures.”

You hummed in agreement, ending the call.

You fell back onto the bed, feeling the dull ache in your elbow from holding your head up for so long as you spoke. 

The ceiling, plain and blue, stared back at you as you tried to think of what you would do today. And then it struck you — pictures first.

Your fingers moved quickly, perusing through the squares in your phone’s gallery, searching. But the images were all wrong— food, your grandmother, endless trees, and greens, but not a single one centering you.

You frowned, scrolling back to the last picture of you —a simple mirror selfie. The first week of summer, it dated. You were standing clad in Gojo’s tournament jacket and shorts. The memory brought a smile to your face.

You got up then, moving with purpose — like a mad scientist, you started to dig through your suitcase until you found it. You took your top off, as you pulled the jacket on. The heat was far too horrendous for both items layered on top of one another.

You fell back onto the bed again, the pillow soft beneath your head. You held the camera up — your hair spreading around your white pillow covers, with your face in focus.

You realized you looked tired, dark circles blooming like dark mold under your eyes, but your grandparents would return soon and you wanted to get this over with now and for all. 

Click.

You drew your hands back a bit more, making sure the jacket engulfing you was visible.

Click.

Your eyes caught a glint— a silver shine at your neck. Of course. You reached for it, a delicate gold necklace with a blue jewel at its center, Gojo’s 6-month anniversary gift to you. You remembered the guilt you felt then, for you had given him a silly joke of a book in return.

It now lay over your — his hoodie — sitting against the hoodie, a small, almost hidden detail.

Click.

The phone was warm in your hand, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. One more, you decided. The last one.

You listened, straining for any sounds in the silence—footsteps, voices—but there was nothing, just the quiet of the empty house.

You pulled off the jacket, your movements quick but deliberate, and you lifted the phone above you, adjusting the camera before snapping a shot of you with your bare chest. Bare, but not entirely so — the gold necklace still graced your neck. 

The moment passed as quickly as it came, as you pulled the jacket back on in haste.

You selected the last two photos, sending them in quick succession. The order mattered, after all. 

—

The next morning, you had risen a bit too late in the afternoon. The light of the afternoon sun already slicing harshly through the curtain. The evening yesterday was eventful with the bonfires you helped build, and food you helped grill. It had been lovely. Exhausting. Glorious.

You immediately reach for your phone. Almost giddy with anticipation. 

But when you opened the screen, there was only one message from Satoru.

Satoru <3: Pretty 

The text specifically replied to the first picture you had sent, conveniently leaving the second unacknowledged. Your brows knitted together. 

You tapped his contact and pressed the phone to your ear, the silence of the room amplifying each drawn-out ring.

Once. Twice. Then, the line crackled, and his voice came through, light and smooth.

“Afternoon,” he drawled. “Did you just wake up? It’s late.”

“Pretty?” you ask, agitated. 

“I am? Thank you,” he says, you can almost hear the grin form on his mouth. 

“Satoru,” you reply, it was your turn to whine now.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, feigning innocence. Oh, he was loving this, wasn’t he?

“Just pretty?” you asked, your patience stretched thin but still intact. You felt small, however, in an odd way you couldn’t explain.

“You’ll get more than that,” he said, “if you say you’ll come to my birthday.”

A groan escaped you. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered. “No more pictures for you. Ever again.”

And you only smile when you hear him fumble — words overlapping one another as though he’s finding one that’s appropriate enough to satiate you — to convince you to do both. 

“I just want you here,” he said finally, the simplicity of the statement catching you off guard. “I really do.”

“You’ll see me two days later,” you countered. “You don’t even care about your birthday.”

“I don’t,” he admitted easily. “But everyone else does. You know my mother will make a whole thing out of it — the birthday will be loud. And annoying. I need you with me. Please—”

“You only want me there because it’ll be annoying,” you replied, your frown deepening, though a certain softness crept into your tone later. “It’s only two days. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, how? you’ll send me more pictures?” he asks, his voice lithe.

“I don’t know,” you teased, the earlier irritation melting away, as it does. “You didn’t seem to like the last one.”

Silence. 

“I liked it,” he finally said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “I did.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your voice lower, mirroring his. “What did you like about it?”

“I liked you,” he said. “You’re pretty.”

“I am?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Very.”

“Why thank you,” you said, the gratitude in your voice genuine, yet playful.

“I’m looking at it right now,” he continued, his voice taking on a breathy quality as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “Pretty,” he murmured, devout.

“What’s pretty about it?” you prompted, curious and engaged now.

“You —” he says. “Want you here with me, so bad.”

“You want me there with you?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m— I’m in my bed.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Where are you?” he asks then.

“Well, I just woke up,” you replied.

“So, you’re in your bed too,” he surmised.

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling the cover up to your chest. “Hey,” you decided to add. “And guess what?”

“What?” he asks, chewing on his lips. “I’m wearing your hoodie too,” you said, and though he could not see you, you could almost sense his reaction.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the word barely more than a breath. "And, what else?"

“Um—” you start to feel a bit awkward. “Shorts. Black shorts.” Do specifics matter, you start to wonder?

“Bra?”

You glanced down, though you already knew the answer. "No," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it before you could hide behind something safer. You cleared your throat, speaking up, clearer this time. "No."

“Fuck,” he says again. The mental image of you wearing his sweatshirt without any bra was driving him a bit hazy. 

You rushed to break the tension, "Your turn."

"Huh," he responded as if he had lost track of the conversation, of where this had started.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Well, just sweatpants and a t-shirt,” his voice casual. 

“Take them off.”

He chuckled, the sound soft, surprised. "As my lady pleases."

You heard rustling sounds, and you let your imagination wander to an image of him in his room. You’ve never seen his room, save for some hints in the many pictures he loves to send you, but you haven’t been to his place. Yet. 

Based on what his dorm looks like, he’s such a boy. It doesn’t have a theme, just a mixture of things he’s collected erratically placed in places he could if you get the gist. 

You wonder what color his room is. 

You realize you’ve wandered too far, the tension that first filled the space between you two as he speaks is gone, as you’ve indulged your mind.

"They’re off," he stated, his voice bringing you back, grounding you in the present moment. "Now take yours—wait! Take only your shorts off. I like you in my hoodie."

You smiled at that, and just as you’re about to take it off, your hand lingering at the waistband, ready to comply when—

“Hey, sweetheart,” your grandmother’s voice cut through with the sound of your door hinging open, bringing you to notice that there is a world beyond the two of you.

"Grandma, what—" you stammered, your heart racing as you scrambled, about to cover yourself, though you realized a second later that you didn’t need to. You were still fully clothed, still just talking on the phone. You sighed. "What happened?"

“Oh, nothing, dear but if you’re not too busy… could you help Yuuji with the birds? He hurt his wrist this winter, poor thing, and I think he could use your hand.”

“Of course,” you sighed with a smile, a small and reluctant thing, forcing its way to your lips. “Just let me get dressed, and I’ll be down.”

“Tell that friend of yours you’re always talking to that I said hi,” she added, a warm smile in her voice.

You nodded, almost absently, the phone still pressed to your ear as she left the room, the door closing with a soft click.

“Grandma says hi,” you relayed.

"Tell her your friend says hi back," he responded, his voice carrying an edge now, a note of irritation that was impossible to ignore.

There were too many things left unsaid, too many disappointments lining up on the horizon—birthdays you wouldn’t be there for, a family you hadn’t yet told him about.

You felt the fairness of it, just a bit. There are many things at play right now — you hadn’t told your family about him, you wouldn’t be coming in time for his birthday — too many things disappointing a boy who’s used to having it all. "I’m sorry," you said, the words sincere. "I’ll call you in the evening. Same as yesterday.”

He made a sound that was neither agreement nor refusal, just a noncommittal hum. "Have a nice day," he muttered, and the line went dead, leaving you alone in the silence.

—

It was warm, and windy as you drove back home to see Satoru Gojo. You drove alone, aside from your backseat companions – jars and jars of condiments from Grandma.

His house was even more elaborate than you had first expected – a whopping red and white brick mansion. It was a mansion you thought one would only see in their extravagant imaginations but there it stood, just beyond the long stretch of a well-furnished garden. 

As you pulled up – a man appeared. He was middle-aged, and greying at the temples. His manner was brisk, so formal, as he offered to park your car, and you simply let him. You assumed he was a chauffeur for the estate. 

Standing before the entrance, you feel as though the mansion seemed bigger than when you first laid your eyes on it from afar. Looming. Its sheer size made you a bit dizzy and small as you stared up at it. 

You walked up, your hand reaching to press the small buzzer on the side of the ornate door.

“Oh!” The voice belonged to a woman with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. “You must be here for the young master’s party?”

Young master. Satoru. You nodded, stepping inside.

And then you walked and you walked, and you started to wonder if they should invest in a vehicle for an inside the house. 

Walking through a high hallway, you finally made your way into what seemed to be a living room or just a big room where there were a bunch of people pacing and talking about with drinks and sticks with food in their hands. 

You assumed you finally arrived at the party, as the bright-eyed woman nodded at you as she left you to find your own steps now.

A breeze flew through the room just as you walked in, blowing the curtains in at one end and out like flags as you walked into where the concentration of the room lay.

The only seemingly still object in the room, amidst the whipping of the curtains and the moving guests, was the enormous white couch in the middle. And that’s where you saw him, Satoru, lounging, with a glass perched on the bridge of his nose as he spoke to a boy. The boy you barely glanced at — he was of no consequence just yet. 

You approached, your eyes noticing the lines of his black shirt as it ruffled with the breeze. With each step closer, your courage grew, pushing to make your presence known to him, and the guests that surrounded him. 

A sudden boom echoed through the room, and you turned just in time to see the same bright-eyed woman from earlier closing the long windows with a decisive motion. When you looked back, you noticed Satoru’s gaze had already fixed itself on you.

His brows, you could see, even through the glasses, emerged upward, in surprise.

Without thinking, you reached for his glasses, slipping them off as you spoke. “Hi,” you said. A giggle, a nervous giggle following you.

“You came,” he murmured, almost in a daze. 

“Yeah,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday. What do you make of me?”

[elisysd]

48. Knew we would crash at the speed that we were going

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Dangerously - Charlie Puth

The following weeks after the boat discussion had been a mix between trying to mend her broken heart and her new journey to recovery. She had spent a lot of time with her family, enjoying their presence without trying to talk about work, and long conversations on the phone with her best friend. She was slowly feeling her old self coming back and it felt nice. She was still sometimes thinking about Ethan and it would have been a lie to say that she had never tried to gather information on his whereabouts through Romy but the German driver had not once answered her unspoken questions. She was also sometimes finding herself scrolling through her gallery photo to look at some of the pictures of her and Ethan and often she was scolding herself to stop. She still had to make the transfer but she was dreading it. It was the only link she still had with Ethan and the idea to cut it was something she had a hard time coming to terms with.

An unexpected friendship had also been formed between her and Martin, something she had never thought would have taken such a place in her life. He was there anytime she needed someone to talk to about her deepest fears or when she needed to talk about Ethan. He was there. Never judging her, trying to understand the best he could and giving her advice she was not willing to follow even though she knew it would be best for her. He was a comforting presence in her life. The fact that he was always there while she had her session with his physiotherapist had also brought them closer. She was making progress really fast and even if it was painful and tough, she was doing her best and she was proud of herself. It was something that was happening a lot more these past few weeks. She was trying to find something she could be proud of on a daily basis, whether it was that she managed to get out of the bed in the morning at a decent hour or that she was able to hold a pen and write despite her stiff wrist. It was probably the only advice from Martin she was willingly following. He had told her it had helped him a lot after Cecile’s death, to find joy in the most mundane things. It seemed futile at first but she had to admit it had been a good idea.

And today she would need all the positive things she could find. She was finally getting rid of her crutches, and it was time for her to learn how to find her balance without them. It was stressing her out, she felt like she was not ready. It was too soon, what if she fell and was breaking her leg again.  It was with thousands of questions that she left the house to find Martin’s Ferrari in the driveway. As usual, he helped her get in the car and put on her favorite playlist on the speakers before finally driving to the gym.

“How do you feel about walking all by yourself again?” he asked, seeing her tense.

“Anxious as hell. I’m scared to fall, I’m scared of hurting myself, I’m scared of not knowing how to walk and I feel stupid.”

“Enrico asked me to help you. I’ll be there to support you. Physically and mentally.”

“I don’t want you to miss your training because of me. I don’t want to be…”

“If you say, burden, I’m dropping you here and there and you walk alone to the gym.” he cut her and she sighed.

“I was not about to say burden.”

“Sure, you weren’t. Remind me the three things I asked you to tell yourself every day?”

“Martin…” she moaned in annoyance.

“Julia…” he replied in the same tone.

“Fine. I’m worthy. I’m important. I’m loved.” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Good. Now, a little bit more convinced, please.”

“You won’t give up, right?”

“I’m doing that for you. Go on. Speak, Leclerc.”

She breathed in and out, closed her eyes and repeated a few times her new mantra  until Martin finally stopped annoying her. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it felt nice to say it. Maybe he was right, if she was repeating it enough she would start to believe it. They parked in front of the gym and Julia felt a little frightened when a few people approached Martin to ask for pictures which he gladly took. She didn’t dare to get out of the car, trying to hide herself from them. The last thing she wanted was to spark dating rumors with Martin. When the little group left, Martin rushed to the car to help her get out and guided her inside. Enrico was finishing preparing everything and smiled when he saw Julia.

“Martin, I wrote you a list of exercises today, mainly cardio and neck training . It's in the room next door. Julia, today is the day, can I have these? You won’t need them after today.” Enrico explained as Martin nodded and kissed Julia’s cheek, wishing her good luck before leaving.

Julia handed him her crutches and sat down on the bench as he left her so she could change and put her shorts on. When he came back she was laying on the medical table. He talked to her, trying to understand how she was feeling as he was massaging her leg and stretching it. She clenched her jaw, trying to not complain and to not focus on the pain. It lasted a good hour and half before Enrico deemed it okay to take the next step.

“Time to walk, little miss.”

She sat on the edge of the table and gulped. It was time. She felt the panic rising in her and her head throbbing as she contemplated the ground.

“It’s just a few steps.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready.” she said.

“You are. I wouldn’t make you walk if I didn’t think you were not able to do it.”

“But I don’t feel ready. My leg is not strong enough, I will just fall and…”

“Your leg isn’t strong enough because you don’t use it. All the stretching and massages of the past weeks were meant to prepare this moment. So stand up, Julia.”

She hated the way he was talking to her, as if she was a spoiled kid. She closed her eyes and slowly stood on her leg, hanging to the table as if it was her lifebuoy. And, when she tried to move, she felt herself being paralyzed by fear. She couldn’t. It was a bad idea. She shook her head and sat back on the table. She heard Enrico sighing and leaving the room and she felt guilty to disappoint him. He came back a moment later with Martin who was sweaty and out of breath from having spent almost an hour and half training non-stop.

“Martin will help you. I’ll leave you with him.  I’m giving you an hour and when I come back I want you to have done one hundred steps. Do it the way you want to but that is the result I want to have by the end of our session. Are we clear?”

She nodded, fighting back tears of frustration.

“I didn’t hear you. I expect an answer when I’m asking a question, Julia. I said, are we clear?”

“Very, Enrico.” she replied.

“Good.”

When he left, the room was silent. Only both of their respiration could be heard until she felt Marin taking a chair and sitting in front of her.

“I’m right by your side. We are going to do it. Together. I won’t let you fall, Juls.”

“Why is it so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard! It’s just walking!” she was getting angry at herself.

“It’s not supposed to be easy either. But I’ll help you. I promise. So, let’s go?”

She gulped but took his hand, standing once again. She straightened herself, trying to ignore the pain she could feel in her leg. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to meet Martin’s.

“It’s great Julia, see you are standing. Now we are going to take a step forward. I’m not letting go of your hand, I promise, not until you tell me I can.”

And slowly she did. One step after the other, trying to find her balance. She almost fell a few times but Martin was always there to catch her. Soon they arrived on the other side of the room. It had only been twenty steps but she felt as if she had run a marathon. She was exhausted.

“Now I’m going to take a few steps back without holding your hands, okay? I’m not far.”

It took her a few minutes to stop touching the wall to keep her steady and slowly, focusing on Martin’s voice and on her breathing she managed to make her way to him. The more she was walking, the more confident she was feeling to the point she asked Martin to stand to the opposite side of the room. It was a lot of steps to take but she could do it. She was strong enough. She kept her eyes on him and slowly moved. It was hard, it was hurting but she felt so damn proud of herself, she was walking, she was doing it and she could see how Martin was equally proud of her. He opened his arms to her and as she was about to rush in, she could feel her ankle twist and soon she felt the cold floor underneath her. She didn’t move, trying to register what had happened. The pain was not there anymore, replaced by the anger and frustration against herself. She wasn’t even able to stand on her own. She was feeling pathetic. And she only had herself to blame. If only she hadn’t been such a coward with Ethan, if only she wasn’t so attached to please everyone so no one would get hurt because of her, if only she hadn’t been such a control freak when it came to feelings, if only she had been more open with him, if only she hadn’t been selfish, she wouldn’t be in this position. The accident wouldn’t have happened and she would be happy with Ethan.

She felt a warm hand on her cheek and when she opened her eyes it was the two green orbs instead of the ice blue one she had pictured in her mind that were in front of her.

“Julia! Are you hurt?”

“Not physically.” she mumbled.

“Come on, I’ll help you get up.”

“No. I don’t want to. I’m useless, I’m pathetic, you’re wasting your time with me, leave me alone.”

“Self pity won’t lead you anywhere.”

“It’s not self-pity, it’s called being realistic.” she said, looking away and she felt Martin’s other hand on her other cheek, forcing her to focus on him.

“I won’t let you go back to whatever dark place your mind is crawling to.” he whispered.

She couldn’t help the few tears to roll down her cheeks, quickly caught by Martin.

“I’m sick of crying.” she confessed.

“I prefer to see you cry in front of me than for you to do it all alone.”

She looked at him sadly, her eyes boring into his. He was so close she could see the different nuances of green in his eyes. They were looking at her with calm, peacefulness when she knew she was looking at him tormented. His breathing was slow when hers was erratic. His body felt warm when hers was cold. She put a shaking hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast. She slowly fumbled with the thin material as his hands were still slowly caressing her cheeks, unconsciously. She didn’t know if she was the one who got closer or if it was him or it was both of them but she could now feel his breath on her lips and when she inclined her face, bumping his nose with hers she was sure she felt his heart missing a beat. She leaned in a bit, unsure of what she was doing. She just knew he made her feel safe, good about herself. And finally her lips found his. He didn’t move at first, too stunned to react. And as he was about to pull away, Julia tried to hold onto him, throwing her arms around his neck. It felt wrong, so wrong she knew that but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Julia…” he breathed against her lips. “We can’t. You’re not in the right stand of mind… you’re hurting and Ethan…”

“Please… I just want to forget. Forget the pain and forget him.” she whispered, a lump in her throat.

“You’re not fair.”

“I know.” she admitted.

She felt him trying to pull back, trying to resist but it didn’t last long as soon she felt his hands around her waist and his lips back on hers, making her gasp. He let his hands wander along her body, as light as a feather, trying to be careful, attentive to each one of her moves and sounds. She let him explore her mouth, letting him take what he wanted to take from her. She felt his mouth on her jaw, moving up her cheek to her nose to her forehead before coming back to her lips. He was so delicate as if she was about to break. And right when she thought she was ready to abandon herself to his embrace, blond hair and piercing blue eyes came to her mind and made her choke. Suddenly the kisses were not as feverish as Ethan’s, Martin’s hands were not as rough as him, the warmth of his body was not making her feel as safe as Ethan’s. She pulled away and crawled to the other side of the room. Martin was about to say something when Enrico came back, oblivious to what had just happened and Julia had never been this happy to see him.

The ride back home felt awkward. She had been ready to take the bus but she knew Martin wouldn’t have let her, instead she sat back in the car and focused on the outside. She could see, from the corner of her eyes, his knuckles clinging to the steering wheel and she swore he had been about to say something a few times before stopping himself. When he parked in front of her house, he didn’t unlock the door straight away.

“Julia, we should talk about what happened back then.”

“It shouldn’t have happened. That was stupid and in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Julia…” he said, looking straight in front of him.

“Do what?”

“Be your friend. I thought I could, and I genuinely wanted to be that for you. But I can’t. Because when you look at me the way you looked at me in this freaking gym, the feelings and thoughts I had were everything but friendly. And I don’t want to mess with you. You still love Ethan and…”

“Then help me to unlove him.” she almost begged him.

“I don’t want to be a pawn in whatever game you are playing, Julia.”

“It’s just…I want to forget him.I want to stop being hurt and when I’m with you I…I feel nice. I don’t know what it means, I just know that I don’t want to lose what you make me feel.”

“I feel weak because when you look at me like that I can’t say no to you. That’s how down bad I am for you.”

“Is it a bad thing?” she slowly asked.

“I don’t know. It depends on you.”

“Can we take it slow? If we decide to explore this, I want to take it slow. And I want Ethan to know first. I don’t want him to learn it from someone or through social media.”

“Your pace is mine.”

She nodded, fidgeting with her red bracelet. She didn’t know if it was a good idea but the only thing she was sure about was that she was willing to do anything to move on and try to forget Ethan.

“We have to go to Maranello tomorrow to work on the sim… do you still want us to go together?”

“Yeah, of course.” she replied.

“Okay, then I’ll come here tomorrow to get you and maybe we can have dinner at my place after the session? Like… a first date? Officially.” he told her, unsure of how she would react.

She simply nodded before finally getting out of the car, his time without his help. Her mom quickly picked up that something must have happened as she barely ate and spoke at the table, and as soon as he stood up to go to her room, her mom was quick to follow her.

“What is wrong with you?” Lyanna asked as her daughter was throwing her crutches away and fell on her bed, face against her pillow.

Julia looked at her mom, her face emotionless and Lyanna knew straight away that her daughter was falling into past unhealthy habits that she thought were far behind her. When Lyanna was faced with a deafening silence, she felt powerless. She sat next to her daughter who slowly turned around to crawl to her mother’s arms.

“I hate myself, mom.” she simply answered.

“Talk to me, sweetheart… please, I don’t like to see you like that.”

“I just want the pain to go away. I don’t want to feel anything, anymore.”

Lyanna didn’t know what else to do but to hug her even more.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Everything you want, Ju’.”

“I need to see Ethan. I need to tell him something important.”

She was in such emotional distress that Lyanna feared it would make things even worse. But Julia looked at her, almost begging her and she couldn’t refuse it. It seemed like an urgent matter. So in silence, she drove her to Ethan’s place. She could see the light coming from his flat and she swore she had seen a silhouette at the window. She took the elevator and knocked. He almost immediately opened with a huge smile on his face that fell the moment he saw her. He was wearing a nice white shirt and his hair was not as messy as usual.

“Julia?” he said, confused about her presence.

“I needed to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Is it about Louis? Did something happen?”

She shook her head and as she was looking at him she saw he wasn’t alone. A young blond woman that she had never seen before was sitting at the table. She quickly noticed the two plates and the bottle of red wine opened as well as the softly lit atmosphere of the room. He was on a date, he was moving on. Ethan saw her turning pale and quickly guided her to the living-room to make her sit.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your date.” she told him, trying to not show how it hurt her and when she didn’t hear him deny it she thought she was about to break down. And she felt awful to have these thoughts when she was about to tell him she was going to do the same as him. “I needed to tell you something because I feel like I owe it to you and I don’t want you to learn it from anyone else but me…”

“You don’t owe me shit, Julia.”

“I… don’t want to hurt you and I know I will and I know you will have every right to get mad at me.”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

“I kissed Martin.”

He didn’t say anything and that was what scared her the most. He turned his head to the elegantly dressed woman and asked her if she could wait for him in his bedroom and when she was out of sight he slowly turned to Julia.

“What do you want me to say? Congrats? I would love to say that I’m shocked by the news, that it was the last thing I would expect but that would be lying. I’m only surprised it took so much time. It’s been two weeks since that boat dinner, four weeks since I confessed to you and you already moved on. Some might wonder if you ever felt just an ounce of what I feel for you, Julia.”

“You know I did. I still do.”

“Sure… you never said it.” he replied, a little harshly.

“What good would it make anyway! What would it change?”

“Everything!” he screamed.

“Fine! I loved you! I really did! And it hurts so freaking bad to love you, you have no idea! Because now it feels like I’m perpetually stuck in one place, watching the world move on when I can’t! Because you’re everywhere. Everything’s reminding me of you!”

“Apparently not Martin’s sheets.” he laughed, getting a hold of his glass and emptying it in one gulp.

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s not fair? Do you know what is not fair? Seeing the one girl I’ve ever loved telling me she kissed the guy who was supposedly not a threat to me! So don’t say you love me. You don’t. I’m not sure you even know what love is.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who's getting girls after girls in his bed after our break up!”

She jumped when she saw him throwing the glass on the floor. Pure rage could be seen in his eyes and for the first time since a long time, she was scared of him.

“At least I’m true to myself. I can’t say the same about you. You’re a liar. And you don’t even lie to me, you lie to yourself. You’re a coward. And I still fell for you when all I got in return was a broken heart. But at least I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning and know who I am. You can’t say the same. So go away, be happy with fucking Martin. You both deserve each other. I’m out.”

When he finally closed the door behind her, Ethan fell on the floor right when Sofia came out of the bedroom. It was supposed to be an eventful evening, just a dinner to talk about her contract as his new mental coach. He didn’t plan for Julia to come and he knew she had jumped to conclusions. He should have taken the opportunity to introduce Sofia, to clear the air. But he didn’t owe her anything, especially not now that she had made her choice and that Martin had won.

“So, this is a famous Julia.” she said, sitting on the floor next to him.

“The one and only.”

“She has a new boyfriend from what I heard. It was hard to not listen, I have to admit. You were both pretty loud.”

“Yeah… I would have been okay with it if it hadn't been the guy I tried to kill.”

“Oh gosh… I think we have a lot to unpack there.” Sofia sighed.

“Yep. And you’re in for a ride, doc.”

Author's note: And now, I'm going to hide... What do you think will happen next? Let me know your theories, I love to read them.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

Taglist:

@herondalism @aundercover @musingsbyshreya @karmabyfernando @reengard @mycenterfold @smoooothoperator

[wonderful-wells-writing]

Fanclub; Chapter 1

EoWells x Reader

Some of the STAR Labs employees have a secret fanclub where they discuss Harrison Wells and share pictures they take when they think he isn't looking. Problem is it's not quite as secret as they think it is. The man himself seems to have taken an interest in the the little group, finding it to be the perfect place to find willing partners to satisfy his needs. And you're his next pick.

Work is dying down for the evening at STAR Labs. Chemists are checking that all the storage units are set to the proper temperatures. Engineers are making sure that everything that needs to be powered down is. Lab techs are cleaning up their stations. But nearly everybody is discussing their plans for the weekend.

There is one worker who is not engaging in such conversations. You are currently crammed between two sections of machinery, determined to get this wiring finished before leaving for the day. That way, Monday, bright and early your team can start doing test runs.

You are not engaging in conversation with others but rather are talking to yourself as you work. “Some red over here, blue wire over there.” Your grin would light up the room if anybody could see it. “I just love when a color-coded array comes together.” There’s a buzz on your right butt-cheek, and you squeal in surprise.

“Everything alright in there?” One of the other scientists looks up from the desk.

“Yeah, Bri,” you extract yourself from the machine parts. “My phone just went off, and I thought something shocked me.”

“Girl, I can not tell you how often that happens to me,” Bri takes her purse from a drawer and a jacket off the chair. “So, what are your plans for the weekend. More number crunching?”

You pull your phone from your back pocket. “Actually my college roommate is having a bachelorette party tonight. So I said I would swing by the bar for a bit.”

“Sounds fun,” Bri gives a wave before heading to the door. “Don’t party too hard.”

She returns the wave before opening a group chat app on her phone to see what the notification is about.

KittyCat42; O.M.G did you see Dr. Wells today? a shirt THAT tight can not be workplace appropriate!!!

Attached is a photo taken from a smartphone at an angle in which the subject does not seem to be aware their picture is being taken. Dr. Harrison Wells is leaning over a desk, examining something on a monitor. Kitty is right; his shirt is very tight, his biceps bulge through the long black sleeves.

You grin, considering sending a reply, but another message comes in first.

YummyBitch73; Think he’s got plans? Looking that good, he’s got to be going out tonight.

Your thumbs move across the screen to type a quick response.

BabyDoll14; Maybe he has a date tonight?

KittyCat42; wonder who the lucky girl is?

You lean against a nearby workbench, smirking at the screen.

---

On the other side of the lab, somebody picks up their phone to check the barrage of notifications coming in. They chuckle before adding their own two cents.

Speedy22: Hey, who knows, it could be a lucky guy.

YummyBitch73: Oh you wish, he is a lady killer through and through

BabyDoll14: I mean, who are we to judge if it’s a lucky lady or gent. Maybe he swings one way, maybe he swings both ways. Who cares, we’re just here to talk about his ass behind his back.

“Speedy’ nods, almost respecting the woman on the other side of the screen for staying objective about objectifying her boss.

Speedy22: Speaking of ass, I got this one yesterday

He opens his gallery and scrolls until an ‘appropriate picture is found. A nice shot of Dr. Wells from behind; the quality is incredible for a smartphone shot. The man’s shirt is riding up, showing a nice strip of the skin of his back, even a bit of where his boxers rise above the waistband of his hands.

YummyBitch73: Damn Speedy, you always get the good ones. You’ll have to teach me some photography lessons sometime.

KittyCat42: what kind of camera are you using? The quality is so gooooood.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice draws his attention away from his device. “Are you staying late again tonight?”

Harrison Wells takes a breath to look her up and down, mentally running through his mind all the employees to try and remember who it is at his office door. “I’ll be headed out soon; I just have to wrap some things up.”

He recalls who she is when he sees the look she’s giving him. Brianna Masters, a specialist working down in Lab C. She would have had to go out of her way to get to his office before leaving. Self-proclaimed president of the Dr. Wells Fanclub, he had just been interacting with the group chat of; after the former president left with a job offer at Mercury Labs. She had been making goo-goo eyes at him since her interview three months ago.

“Well,” Bri twirls a curl of her hair, fluttering her eyelashes. “Harrison, you know I was wondering if you might like to take me out to get some drinks tonight?”

Dr. Wells tries to hide his displeasure at the thought. She wasn’t his type, physically, mentally, emotionally, “I have plans in the morning that require a clear head. Miss. Masters. Now is there anything of importance that you need?” The man was not adverse to flights of fancy to pass the time; he wouldn’t be keeping an eye on the little Fanclub of his if he wasn’t willing to look for ‘interested parties,’ but this particular woman has been of no real interest to him.

For reasons such as how she pouts at his response, “Well, having fun is important.” She mutters before wandering off down the hall, turning her attention to her phone.

YummyBitch73; holy Shit! He just asked me out for drinks. It sucks so much that I have to drive out to Coast City; I”d have taken him up in a heartbeat otherwise.

----

Back in Lab C, you finally finish with the maintenance on the machine. You check your phone once more while heading over to the desk and nearly cackle at what you’re reading. Everybody knows that Bri is full of shit, but there’s no point in calling it out and causing discourse.

You mute the phone to focus on your computer. While humming a quiet tune, you work on moving files to the USB stick plugged into the monitor.

“Fuck,” you whisper, seeing the download time in comparison to the clock on the screen. Of course, you could just leave it be, take the weekend off. It’s not like you get paid extra to run calculations at home.

17 minutes later

“Nonononono, wait, please!” You’re half running to the street as the bus pulls away, leaving you in the illuminated circle of a streetlamp, cursing yourself. That was going to be the last bus coming this way for the night. If you walk home, you’ll never make it in time to change for the party. You might not even make the event at all. You pace up and down the sidewalk, contemplating your options.

A car pulls up beside you, tinted window rolling down, “Need a lift?”

You stop, shocked, “Oh, no I…” you pause, looking through the window, “Dr. Wells, hi...hey.” You swallow your pride. “I would really love to get a ride on-with, with you.” Internally you cringe at how that came out, but figure he probably wouldn’t have heard such a minor slip.

The lock clicks open, and you reach for the door.

“Maple Apartments on South 11th street, right?” Harrison glances at you as you get in the car.

You pause before shutting the door, “do I want to know how you know that?”

He laughs, and you jump a bit at it, “I can see how that would sound a little suspicious.” His smile is reassuring, and his blue eyes are kind behind his glasses. “It was on your registration forms when you started. I enter new employee data myself. Total recall can be useful even for small matters.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, shutting the door and buckling in. “I really appreciate this Dr. Wells, I would have been so late tonight if I didn’t get home to change soon.”

“Bit plans tonight?” Harrison asks as he starts driving. Truth is he had suspected you’d be missing her bus. He had seen you running after the last bus or driven past you walking home numerous times out his way out. You had quite the habit of working until the absolute last moment.

You smile, twiddling your thumbs to keep your hands occupied. “Yeah, I’m meeting a friend at the new bar that opened down the street from my place. She’s getting married soon, and since I can’t make the wedding, I promised I would spend at least a couple hours at her bachelorette party.” You aren’t exactly sure why you’re volunteering this information to your boss. It would be inappropriate to be so casual with him; then again, it’s also inappropriate to be part of a Fanclub that secretly takes pictures of him and talks about how great his ass looks.

Harrison ‘hmms’ in thought. “Why can’t you make it to the wedding?” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, taking a moment to take in the way you sit, act, look, before returning his eyes to the road.

“Oh, they scheduled it for a Wednesday, so,” you look towards him just moments after he looks away. The first thing you notice is his hair; whenever you’ve seen him in the morning, it’s perfectly combed and straight, but it seems like as the day went on, it began to take on a life of its own. While the back is still nice and neat, the front is sticking out in all kinds of directions.

“You could have asked for the day off,” Dr. Wells offers, “Am I such a terrible boss that you think I”d deny you some vacation after all your hard work?”

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks at what seems to be a compliment to her work ethic, “Oh no, I don’t think that at all. It’s just that, well, we have so much work to do. Every day we get a little closer to your dreams of the particle accelerator, and I want to contribute absolutely everything I can to that dream.” You smile. “You’re going to do such incredible things for the world of science Dr. Wells, and I don’t want to waste any time that could be spent helping you.”

The man is somewhat stunned by this. He’d attributed her long hours and determination to personal ambition. “What about you? Do you want history to remember you for your achievements?”

You bite your lower lip in thought at the question, “I mean sure, it would be nice to be recognized for my contribution, but,” she takes a deep breath, “I’m more concerned about how my work will impact the world, not so much if I’m remembered for it. Anyways you’re the true genius. I can tell that STAR Labs will make big changes and put humanity on a path towards the future. As long as I get to be a part of that, it’s all I really need.”

Harrison does a low chuckle at your sentiment, amused by the naivety. You speak with such hope and wonder and admiration. If you knew the truth, how horrified would you be? The realization of the end goal of the particle accelerator, the effects across history that your determination would wreak.

He grins, “Well, I am glad to have such a dedicated employee, but I do believe that one off day is not going to hurt our progress.”

You purse your lips, “You don’t come down to Lab C very often; you’d be surprised how off the rails things can go when I’m not there. Anyways I would rather work than go to a wedding. It’s not my kind of scene.”

He can sense that you are holding something back but doesn’t press the issue any further. He’s reached your apartment building anyways.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be more than happy to give you the time off,” he says as he parks.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reach for the door handle, “oh, and thank you so much for the ride. I really owe you one.”

Dr. Wells makes a mental note about cashing in that favor later. “You just stay safe and enjoy yourself tonight.” He smiles warmly at you as you wave goodbye, but when the door shuts, his grin turns a bit darker. He watches you walk away, eyes tracing the curve of your figure, resting on the beautiful shape of your rear, right up until you disappear into your building.

As he begins to drive away, he catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror. There is something about this form of his that seems to drive the ladies crazy, and he wasn’t opposed to taking advantage of that. While pulling back into the street and driving away, he thinks on his situation.

For 13 years now, Eobard Thawne has been trapped in this god-forsaken time period. For a while, he had focused solely on his mission, rarely interacting with others unless it served a greater purpose. But he was still a man, subject to desire. At first, it was almost enough to make him regret allowing Harrison Well’s wife to die, she could have filled his needs easily. But that woman had been intelligent; she’d have discovered his identity eventually, so allowing her to die had been for the best.

Still, after a few years of isolation, Thawne had found the need unbearable and began seeing ways to fill the hole that was forming in his chest. Little flings, one-off nights where he indulged his carnal side, allowed himself the pleasure of another’s body before quickly parting ways with them, when he discovered that a fanclub devoted to him had been formed amongst his employees, that made the whole thing easier.

Joining the group chat under a false name was easy enough. It inflated his ego every time he read them discussing how great they thought he looked, and he was more than happy to provide material for them to gush over. And with that, it was like he had been given a list of women who would fuck him with no questions asked. All he had to do was choose. Of course, he has to be wary of those who might get too clingy or go off telling other people. But it’s not that hard to week those types out of the pack.

Thawne notices magenta neon as he’s driving. A club with a grand opening sign out front. He smiles, knowing that now not only does he have a new prey lure in, but the perfect hunting ground as well.

[tomuras-doormat]

Liar - Keigo Takami x F!Reader

Sorry about being a little inactive, so to make up for it I’ll give you some angst. Personal issues have been kicking me lately and also I don’t have many good ideas, but I hope I’ll get some more ideas soon! I might make a part 2 depending on the response of this fic/how I feel.  Word Count: 1.8K Warning: Cheating Part 2  Part 3

“Hey baby, I have to stay late at the office again tonight, could we take a rain check on that date?″ You sighed at the text and set your phone down. This is the third time this week your boyfriend had canceled on you. That’s what you get for dating a Pro Hero right? Walking to your bedroom you unzip your dress and slide it down. It was a new dress you had bought for your next date with Keigo, you bought the dress 5 weeks ago. 

You grabbed a hanger for your dress and hung it back in the closet with your other fancy dresses. You bought the dresses to wear when you were with Keigo, but you’ve only worn 3 of the dresses. You frown at the luxurious material and unclasp your heels, placing them in the closet and closing the door. You walked over to the bathroom and turned on the water at the sink. Grabbing a small towel and makeup remover you started to wipe the makeup from your face. You looked in the mirror and looked at your features. Did Keigo not like something about me? Was he embarrassed to be with me? Is he falling out of love..? Thoughts filled your head you started to tremble at the thought of Keigo leaving you. You turned the water off and set the towel down, your gaze reaching the sink. Keigo doesn’t tend to eat if he works late shifts like this, maybe I should bring him a little something to eat.. You smiled at the thought and ran to your closet grabbing some casual clothes and putting them on. You walked down stairs and grabbed your purse from the couch. You walked over to the door and put on some white sneakers and a light jacket. It wasn’t too cold out but just in case. You grabbed the key to the house and walked out, closing the door behind you. Walking down the sidewalk you made your way to a chicken place where you and Keigo had met. Ever since then you both declared it as your favorite place to get a bite to eat. Keigo’s agency wasn’t far from the restaurant either so it was a win win. You hadn’t been to his agency in awhile so you wondered if any changes have been made to it. Did they update the lobby? Maybe Keigo had his office redone Did they get a new receptionist? The last one was kind of a jerk. Making your way to the restaurant the cashier smiled at you, being here plenty of times you know just about all the workers. “Hello Mrs. Takami!” said the girl. You blushed at the name and flashed her a small smile. You and Keigo weren’t married yet and you never introduced yourself as being married so you figured Keigo introduced you as that. “Are you here for the usual?” asked the girl. You nodded your head and pulled out your wallet. “That’ll be $12.58 ma’am” she said with a smile. You handed her your card and she scanned it. The girl started to hum and handed you back the card along with a receipt. She continued to hum and walked to the back kitchen to help prepare the meal. You stepped away from the counter and pulled out your phone, making your way to a game that had just come out, Genshin Impact. Keigo always nagged you about playing the game without him because he got upset whenever your level was higher than his. When you two did have time together it was mostly spent playing Impact. It helped Keigo relax and you got to spend time with him, a win win situation.  You’re snapped out of your thoughts as the girl calls your name. You put you phone away and walked over to the counter. You took the bag and smiled. “Have a great day ma’am!” said the girl cheerfully. You waved her a goodbye and walked out, making your way to Keigo’s Agency. The chicken smelled good and you couldn’t wait to sink your teeth into it.  Making your way to the building you walked inside to be greeted by a new receptionist. You smiled and walked over to the desk. “Hello Miss. How can I help you today?” asked the receptionist. “I’m here to deliver some dinner to my boyfriend, Keigo.” you said softly. The man nodded, “I’ll let him know.” You shook your head and said, “Actually I want this to be a surprise. He’s been working hard lately so I figured this could cheer him up a little.” The man nodded again and smiled.  You walked over to the elevator and waited for it to open. You looked around a bit and noticed that small updates were made to the lobby. The reception desk was different and they added different plants to the lobby. The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped inside, looking at the panel of buttons. You hit the highest number and watched as the door closed. You weren’t a fan of elevators, the way they moved made you a little sick. Being in one alone scares you a little too. You looked around the elevator to try and distract yourself from the moving box. Another generic elevator. Another horror box as you would call it. Keigo would always tease you about your small fear. Thinking about it brought a soft smile to your face, looking up when the elevator dings. Your smile brightens as the doors open, you step out and make your way to his office door. You knock softly on his door and wait for a response. A couple seconds went by and you knocked again, a little louder this time. You opened grabbed the door handle and opened the door as quietly as you could, poking your head through the small opening you made.  Your eyes widened and you started to shake. Some girl was laid across his desk and Keigo was pounding into her. You bit your lip and closed the door as quietly as you could and made your way back to the elevator. You held your chest and hit the L button.  Who was she.. Is this why Keigo wasn’t coming home..? Is this why he always canceled our dates..? You looked down as you eyes threatened to release the salty water. You wiped your eyes quickly and bit your lip again. You couldn’t cry now, not in public, not when so many people could see you. The elevator dinged and you quickly walked out of the elevator and made your way out the main entrance, ignoring the receptionist. You shivered as the cool wind hit your skin, but it helped to keep your tears in place. You held the warm dinner close to your chest and made your way back to the house.  Walking up to the door you pulled out your key and unlocked the door. You rushed inside and closed the door behind you, kicking your shoes off and walking to the kitchen. You sniffled and set the bag of food down. You bit your bottom lip and pulled out your phone. You went to messages and opened up yours and Keigo’s messages.  “Hey babe, I went to your office today but you didn’t answer when I knocked on the door so I figured you were busy, I bought you some chicken from our favorite restaurant. It’s in the kitchen for when you get home.”

You look at the text and whimper. You shook you head and deleted the message. What did she have that you didn’t? You turned the light off and made you way to the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You walked over to your closet and pulled out your pajamas. With it becoming colder at night and no one to keep you warm you started to wear your winter pajamas earlier this year. They were cute festive fuzzy pants with a matching long sleeve shirt. You stripped yourself of your clothes and put your pajamas on, looking at yourself in the mirror. You frowned at your figure and wrapped your arms around your stomach.  “She was so pretty.. No wonder Keigo was with her..” You sniffled and bit your lip as you felt the hot tears start to form in your eyes again.  “What did I do to make him do this to me..? Is this my fault..?” You walked over to the bed and crawled onto it, carefully pulling the sheets down. You lay on your side and bring your phone up to your face. Unlocking the device you went to your gallery and started to scroll through photos you and Keigo took together. As tears spilled from your eyes you tightened your grip on your phone, unable to stop yourself from the cries escaping your throat.

* * *

Walking out of the elevator, Keigo waves to the receptionist in a ‘goodbye’ gesture. “Oh Mr. Takami, sir, your girlfriend stopped by earlier.” He looked at the man and raised an eyebrow. “She did?” Keigo asked. The man nodded and said, “Yeah, she stopped by about an hour ago with a bag of food and said she was gonna surprise you with it for working so hard, but when she came back down she still had the food..” Keigo’s hand twitched and he took a deep breath. “I must’ve been too busy to hear her come up, thank you for telling me.” The man nodded and Keigo walked out of the lobby and headed home as fast as he could, opting to fly then walk.  Walking up to the door he growled when he noticed the door was unlocked. Usually you left the door unlocked for him but this time it made him upset. Walking into the house he closed the door behind him and looked around. Keigo noticed the bag of food on the table and he rolled his eyes. “There’s no way she saw. She couldn’t have saw.” Keigo mumbled.  Making his way to the bedroom he opened the door to see you laying on the bed, the glow from your phone illuminating your face. He stripped himself down to his boxers and walked over to the bed to examine your face.  Tear stained and dry Keigo looked at your phone and looked back at you again. He grabbed your phone and sighed when it was opened to a picture of you two. Keigo rubbed his eyes and turned the phone off. “God damnit baby bird, why did you have to go to the office? Why couldn’t you just stay here like you’re suppose to?” Keigo laid down next to you and pulled you close to his chest. “You’re not leaving me, no matter how hard you try..”

. . * . * . . * .✰☾ Tags ☽ ✰. * * . . * . * . . 

@darkbonklightkid

​

[pikemoreno]

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter VI: Violets

a/n: and we’re back! so excited to finish this story in 2021! we’re about halfway through now! really appreciate you all for sticking with me through hiatus! happy new year!

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst :), nothing is solved, like one bad word, this burn is so slow :)

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist | series masterlist

“There’s nothing going on here, there never will be anything going on here, alright?” your words rang in his skull like awful, thunderous aftershocks.

In truth, he really had been just trying to leave. He and Adrian had received a message that they had a new case for the morning. It’d come in after hours.

Hennigan Gallery robbery. John Hennigan killed.

The group responsible was one they’d been chasing for a while, but their heists had never ended in a murder. Marcus had never been on *any* case that ended in murder. As such, Marcus quickly excused himself from sitting with Adrian to head home a bit early and get through some prep work. He waltzed towards the front door only to find that the foyer was where Wendy had dragged you off to. He didn’t mean to listen in, really. It was very obviously a private conversation that he wanted no part of, but in waiting for a break in conversation to try to sneak by he had heard the last of it. 

It was enough to know that you were talking about him. Enough to know that he should’ve interrupted and thereby saved himself the ache of hearing how you actually felt about your relationship to him. 

Nothing?

You certainly weren’t “nothing” to him. You were, well, not quite everything. Not yet, he hadn’t let himself go that far, but you were certainly something.

He felt your eyes drilling into him as he slipped past. What exactly did you want him to say? He thought as he gritted his teeth, letting the door fall closed behind him a little too loudly.

In that moment he felt the most uneasy mixture of heartbreak and anger. He wasn’t a generally angry person, but the flippancy of your “nothing” cut deep. It was like you were giving Wendy an obvious answer. It flowed so naturally from your lips. 

He’d once again gone too far, assumed he meant more, assumed this would turn out any different from any other relationship he’d found himself in. How did he go so wrong a third time? He’d really tried to take it so slowly, but still show that he did have some kind of intention with you. It had seemed at the time that you’d picked up on the good-natured flirting. Had it been too much? Not enough? Was he really that hard to love? He couldn’t afford to try to decipher it all. What hurt the most is that he had to hear it like this. It wasn’t because he took a chance and it wasn’t because you wanted to be honest with him. No, it was something he was never supposed to hear in the first place. Fate’s cruel trick. Though he guessed it was better to know than to continue being blissfully unaware.

But was it really better?

The Tuesday morning alarm was a rude awakening for Marcus, mostly because it wasn’t much of an awakening. Sleep had evaded him, just as he had expected it to after the events of the evening. He got up quickly-- better to keep busy than sit around, lost in miserable thinking. He didn’t work that way anymore. If he spent every day of heartbreak wallowing instead of pushing forward, well, it’d be a pretty significant chunk of his life at this point. 

After all, this shouldn’t be all that depressing right? It’s not like you two really were anything. Or that you’d even known each other for all that long. It’d been a matter of weeks. What were you to him anyway? You’d helped each other with a problem, that problem seemed to now be solved. The deal was done. You didn’t owe him anything. You could, and should, part ways in peace, go back to being work acquaintances that nodded at each other in the hallway and made small talk at the water cooler. 

That’s what people with “nothing going on” do, right?

Nothing.

But then what was all of that? 

Just… nothing.

He left his place without eating breakfast. 

Time to get to work-- and pray he didn’t see you.

--

The air in the office felt different the moment you stepped inside, but you decided that might’ve just been your impression. It felt like everyone you passed was staring at you. It was like they knew you’d inadvertently broken the heart of everyone’s best work friend last night. 

You guessed you deserved the cold treatment in that case-- even if it was only an imagined one.

The words had been out of your mouth before you could even recognize what you were saying. You were frustrated and felt cornered by Wendy’s questions that hit at too deep of a truth. You didn’t even mean them, but you knew it would take more than an excuse like that to explain the situation to Marcus. If you told him you didn’t mean it, then you’d have to tell him what you did mean, and that was a conversation you found yourself reluctant to have. 

Over the past twelve hours or so you’d taken the time to process what you actually meant, to understand it for yourself. In truth? You did like Marcus. It’d been a matter of weeks, but he had completely wormed his way into your guarded affection. He was caring and intentional and kind, with the goofiest sense of humor and the biggest love for breakfast food you’d ever seen. You truly couldn’t believe how anyone could’ve let him go. 

But of course, now you were doing the same. You didn’t like the way that realization sat in your chest. You let him go before you ever really had him, refusing to even bring him in in the first place out of fear. This had to be remedied, and quickly. The office felt different now without him in your corner. 

You looked regretfully at your schedule filled to the brim with interrogations. Interrogations that were originally supposed to be with Marcus by your side. Now he was reassigned to the Hennigan Gallery case and Wendy had taken his place with you. Probably for the best anyway, but damn, it would be good to see his face right about now. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t made his usual trip by your desk this morning to say hello. 

A tap on your desk ripped you from your thinking and a split second of hope burned in your chest as you looked up.

No, not Marcus. Of course not. It was Wendy, eyes filled with compassion. Her voice was soft and sympathetic as she asked if you were ready to go downstairs and question the first person. You nodded simply, quietly gathering your things and standing to walk beside her. The silence didn’t break until the elevator doors closed behind you both.

“I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday and my part in it. Don’t get me wrong, that was a conversation you needed to have, but I should’ve waited to have that conversation with you,” Wendy pleaded. You sighed.

“It’s alright, Wendy. It’s not really your fault. It’s mine. If I would’ve told you the truth, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did.” Your confession was met with a confused silence, so you clarified after a beat. “These past few weeks I’ve really started to,” you mentally scrolled through the possible words you could use and found they all choked you before you could even begin to utter them. 

Like. 

Need.

Want.

Fall for.

“F-feel what you think i’m feeling… For Marcus. And the thought of that-- being asked about it-- just really freaked me out.”

In your peripheral you could see Wendy shake her head and you heard her breathe out the smallest laugh. 

“What?” you groaned, both of you continuing to stare straight ahead as the elevator doors parted open.

“You are the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met.”

“Shut up.” 

You stepped out together, taking an immediate right to greet the first of the Elizabet Ney Museum employees you had to question.

--

You couldn’t stop your foot from bouncing as you now sat back at your desk, wracking your brain over the notes you’d taken over the past few hours of interrogations. The Elizabet Ney heist was proving itself more and more as a tough nut to crack. There was too little information, too small of a suspect pool, and absolutely no evident motivation. Today you’d questioned every volunteer and employee that’d stuck even a toe in the museum in the past year and all of them seemed just as lost as you were.

Jane Meran, a 70 year-old retiree volunteer and avid art fan couldn’t imagine any reason why anyone would want the stolen goods. They couldn’t have been worth much, she laughed. Her alibi for the day of the crime was as honest and clear as the look in her incredulous eyes as she heard about the theft for what was apparently the first time.

The three sixteen year old volunteers who had been there that day-- Jeremy, Etta, and Leslie-- all snorted at the mere thought of any of them being the culprit. 

“Who cares about all of that junk?” they’d remarked. Their alibis were solid: they’d left their required community service hours for school and went and got high at a friend’s house. Etta had smacked Jeremy for that admission. 

“This is the FBI dumbass. You’re gonna get us in trouble.” Her whisper was loud enough for you to still hear. You sighed. 

Tony Berrara, an assistant manager of sorts and one of two people who’d brought in the artifacts-- the other of which was Mrs. Moa-- sang the very same tune. He had heard the endless nagging of the surviving family members who brought the heirloom and the bust all day while unloading it. They had told him over and over to be extremely careful lest he break either one, but he didn’t think they seemed all that special, not compared to some of the other items that had been procured for the museum. His alibi for later that evening was equally as airtight.

And that was it for the initial suspects. As you had already figured out, there was absolutely no motivation here, and that fact was now exacerbated by the alibis, all confirmable by outside sources. Back to the drawing board. You bit the end of your pen as you thought, looking out the windows at the panoramic view of the surrounding city. 

This case was going to require a little more intensive research. You wondered regretfully if Marcus had done any research before getting moved to the new case. He probably had; he always seemed to be prepared for anything-- obnoxiously so. Your glance fell back to your desk, dropping your pen as you rested your forehead in your hands. 

You could always just ask him.

Or you could do it yourself.

Or you could ask him.

That’d be a good way to talk to him, you reasoned. While you were at it you could clear the air. 

With a gulping breath, you stood up and headed to the elevator.

--

Marcus had had a very very weird morning.

It started off by him being so lost in his head that he had forgotten that he was supposed to go to the Special Crimes offices for the week. He was met with caution tape strung across the entrance to his usual floor and quickly hit the button to take him back down to the 5th floor. Of course it was too late by the time he punched the number and the elevator descended all the way back down to the lobby. 

There was a woman waiting at the bottom and the moment of confusion as she waited for him to get off was more embarrassment than he felt that he could handle at 8am.

“It’s ok. I’m going back up,” Marcus said sheepishly as the brunette finally stepped in. She noddly simply, but smiled at him as she replied.

“We’ve all been there.” 

The way she kindly tried to ease his embarrassment made him feel about fifty pounds lighter. He grinned back. She had a harsh face, but her smile was infectious.

The elevator dinged as it approached the 5th floor and he and the woman bumped shoulders as they attempted to get off at the same time. 

Marcus mentally smacked himself for not paying better attention. He was always the “after you” guy on elevators.

“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, please,” he recovered, stepping back into place. Her look was quizzical, as if she wanted to ask him something, but she seemed to let it go as she stepped through the doors and turned the opposite direction from where Marcus was headed.

He was beyond grateful for that.

He made it into the glass conference room right on time for the team’s meeting with the distraught Mrs. Hennigan. That was the most normal part of the morning, that is, until a particularly brash blond man by the name of Patrick Jane waltzed into the room like he owned the place and somehow managed to take over the case. Marcus had allowed it for the simple fact that he felt way out of his depth in dealing with a murder case, but he couldn’t say he was particularly excited about working with the irritating man whose reputation proceeded him.

Next thing Marcus knew, he was briefing an entire room of Art Squad and Special Crimes Agents on this theft-murder case that’d become so much more than he had initially signed up for. 

Then he saw her.

The woman from the elevator, walking into the meeting. He locked eyes with her for just a moment before checking himself and getting back to business.

She listened intently throughout the whole thing, looking him directly in the eye as he spoke, making the occasional comment. And soon he was finding he could only look at her.

Oh no.

Not again.

It was too soon.

But didn’t everyone deserve a rebound?

And it’s not like you’d even been together, right?  

There was no harm in taking interest in a woman that was more and more obviously interested in him by the second…

Right?

He attached to her side the moment the meeting ended. She was bright-eyed and curious, asking him all sorts of questions about art and specifically about the confiscated art storage in the basement. 

“Do you wanna go see it?” he beamed, revealing the dimple on his cheek. 

In that moment, he’d felt more important than he had in days-- weeks, even. Last night’s events had colored the past few weeks in such a way that he looked at them with a totally new perspective.

He hadn’t really mattered to you. He was a means to an end. A way to get your boss off your back. At best, he was an acquaintance.

But here? In this moment? He was important. Someone cared about him-- or at least what he had to say. That was a start.

The oddest moment of the day, though, came as he walked the woman-- Teresa, he’d discovered her name was-- out of the conference room to take her down to see the Art Squad’s “Aladdin” area in the basement. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of a distinct multi-colored cardigan disappear around the corner. In his peripheral, it looked just like the one he’d seen you wear almost every day for the past week. But that didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon, at least not because you were purposefully on his floor. 

He’d probably imagined it.

Just ghosts of the past.

The elevator dinged, signaling it was time to go down.

[tiramisiyu]

Tears of Themis: Lu Jinghe’s Birthday - 6.13 “Decision to Compete”

Translation Masterlist

Event Story: 6.13 Decision to Compete | 6.15 Personal Instruction | 6.17 Building Block Dolls | 6.19 Participating in the Competition | 6.21 Birthday Celebration

Event Story Interviews: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Art Gallery Boss: Young miss, all pieces displayed at the Rembrandt exhibition this time are priceless authentic versions. Your request is very…

MC: But he really is my very special friend. Just like you, boss, Rembrandt is also the artist that he holds in highest esteem.

Not long ago, I found out that June 21 was Lu Jinghe’s birthday. To give him a birthday surprise, I came to Stellis City’s antique art gallery, where they were about to hold an exhibition on authentic Rembrandt works. 

With Lu Jinghe’s current identity, if he were suddenly appear in a well-known art exhibition, aside from garnering attention, it might also cause additional problems. So, letting him enjoy the works of the artist he so admired without disturbances should be an excellent idea. After a sincere, long conversation, the boss finally agreed to rent out the venue for me before the exhibition opened.

Art Gallery Boss: You absolutely must be careful – do not bump into or damage them.

MC: I will be careful, don’t worry.

After confirming the venue, I opened my notes, checking over the other things I needed to prepare.

MC: Cake… I’ll order taro mousse, but what should I give as a gift? Watches, leather belts, ties? Lu Jinghe definitely isn’t lacking on these.

I logged into the shopping app, and “Today’s Main Recommendations” on the gift recommendation page caught my attention.

MC: These are… building blocks?

On the product pictures, hundreds of building block components piled together, creating a flowing, miniature city. In an instant, the scenes of what happened at the Lu Mansion played in my head…

--

Three days ago.

 Lu Mansion

Lu Jinghe: Careful!

In the Lu Mansion, gift boxes of all sizes were piled up, making it easy to trip if one weren’t careful. Good thing Lu Jinghe caught me in time.

Lu Jinghe: Jiejie, you’re too careless.

MC: It’s clearly because you have way too many gifts here. So is it almost your birthday? Otherwise, why would so many people give you gifts?

Lu Jinghe: Sure enough, I can’t hide anything from you. There’s still over half a month until my birthday, so those people came running over in a rush.

MC: “Those people” are…?

Lu Jinghe: Past business targets, children of other major families, plus some entertainment stars. Lots of people want to get in on the Lu family’s good graces.

MC: (As expected of Lu Jinghe – even his birthday’s got to shake up all of Stellis City.)

Seeming like Lu Jinghe had seen through my thoughts, he laughed quietly.

Lu Jinghe: So… shouldn’t you also send me a gift?

MC: Lu Jinghe, you’re not lacking on gifts, are you?

Lu Jinghe: For those sent by others, of course I’m not lacking on them. But ones sent by you…

MC: Ahem ahem.

After receiving Lu Jinghe’s hint, I faked a cough. Turning my head around, I saw the “main offender” that had just tripped me. This was a meticulously-wrapped box of building blocks, with modern-looking buildings printed on top, with “limited edition” written on in conspicuous text.

MC: Lu Jinghe, you play with building blocks?

Building blocks were a toy invented by the Austin family. They became popular worldwide as soon as they were launched, and now have nearly a hundred years’ worth of history. If they didn’t suit someone’s tastes here, toys like this would not appear here.

Lu Jinghe: I have played with them before – someone probably remembered that up until now. Although, I haven’t played with them in a long time.

MC: Why?

Lu Jinghe started to speak, then stopped, a troubled look emerging in his clear eyes.

--

Building Blocks Room

MC: So many… did you build them all?

Lu Jinghe took me to a room on the second floor of the Lu Mansion. What appeared before my eyes were innumerable building blocks models. From rich, colourful flower fields to the little roads of a foreign country’s streetscapes – there was even a proportionate reconstruction of Stellis University.

MC: Amazing! You must have spent a lot of time to make so many works, right? You’re so talented, so why didn’t you continue?

Lu Jinghe: Because…

Lu Jinghe walked to the French windows, sinking into a short silence. Golden sunlight shone on his side profile, creating a dappled light effect.

Lu Jinghe: On certain levels, I can no longer continue creating with building blocks…

MC: (What… Certain levels means…)

Lu Jinghe: My mother passed away right after I was born.

Lu Jinghe slowly began to speak, his voice quiet. I suddenly regretted asking a little.

MC: If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t need to force yourself. Everyone has their own secrets.

Lu Jinghe: It’s fine. I have no secrets in front of you.

Lu Jinghe’s words were indescribably gentle, but my heart felt like a little like it had been yanked.

Lu Jinghe: Though I lost my mother, my father and older brother loved me dearly. Compared to others, I’ve never been lacking in anything. I even had more than them. Until I noticed that for both oil paintings or building blocks, I couldn’t create anything related to “family”…

MC: (How could that be… Speaking of which, “Z” has indeed never made anything related to “family”.)

Lu Jinghe: Are you feeling sympathetic? Looks like not being able to create “family” is no big deal, because it’ll at least make you sympathize for me.

MC: … Lu! Jing! He!

I faked anger, but my sad feelings had been swept away by Lu Jinghe’s seemingly joking words.

Lu Jinghe: Alright alright, don’t be sad. I thought about it after – perhaps I can’t create anything with a “family” theme because I’ve never had a major female figure around me, ever since I was little. If…

MC: If what?

Lu Jinghe: Ahem ahem… nothing.

MC: …

--

After coming back to my senses, my fingers slid over the screen.

MC: Since Lu Jinghe likes building blocks, I’ll send him a building blocks set as a gift. Although… which set should I send?

--

Home

To find a suitable gift set, I looked up lots of information online related to building blocks after getting home. Among them, an article titled “The first Stellis Building Blocks Competition will be held soon” caught my attention.

MC: Building blocks creator Mr. Austin’s out-of-print posthumous work – the “Future” series’ first public reveal; only one set worldwide. Cabin in the woods, a glass flower room, and an open-air art studio that faces the mountains. This work is called… “Future Home”?

Note: “Home” and “Family” are the same word in Chinese.

MC: (This set… looks like one that Lu Jinghe would like.)

I couldn’t help thinking of joining the competition, but I froze after scrolling to the next article.

MC: “Z” will appear at the building blocks competition as an evaluator, and many fans have signed up… “The Shepherd Girl” may become a competition topic.

MC: (Lu Jinghe’s going?!)

The theme of this competition was “World-Famous Artworks”, where people were to reconstruct world-famous artworks using building blocks. With Z’s works being so famous, becoming a topic of the competition wasn’t out of the question.

MC: (If he really is an evaluator, my participation will definitely be exposed, and I won’t be able to give him a birthday present.)

But would Lu Jinghe really appear in public under Z’s identity? Though this might be something made up by the hosts, I still decided to call and ask Lu Jinghe, just in case.

Lu Jinghe: Hello?

MC: I-it’s me.

Lu Jinghe: What’s the matter, did something happen?

MC: Nothing, I just wanted to ask – do you know about the building blocks competition being held next month? I heard that “Z” was going to be a competition evaluator.

Lu Jinghe: There’s actually this sort of news, huh. The host probably was probably afraid of being low on hype and let out fake news. If you’re suddenly asking this… did you want to participate? Then I can teach you for free.

MC: (Since Lu Jinghe’s not going, getting taught by him is indeed the best introductory method.)

MC: Is that alright?

Lu Jinghe: Of course. If you need it, I always have time. Besides, after today… Z’s appearances may become very rare.

MC: ?!

MC: I-is it because of Pax?

I brought up the guess I had. Sure enough, Lu Jinghe signed almost inaudibly on the other side of the phone.

Lu Jinghe: Yeah, balancing studies and Pax already expends too much of my energy. After graduating, similar impediments will only continue to increase. To an artist, it’s really easy for these sorts of conditions to cut off creativity, so…

Lu Jinghe’s voice had an exhaustion in it that was impossible to ignore.

MC: Lu Jinghe, if you’re working too hard, you can stop for a bit and rest.

Lu Jinghe: … I understand. But unfortunately, no one will give me time to rest. Before being “Z”, I am first and foremost Lu Jinghe of Pax.

--

After hanging up, Lu Jinghe’s words echoed in my head.

MC: So many people clearly like “Z”. Can Lu Jinghe really give it up?

MC: Right! It just so happens that lots of “Z” fans will be participating at the building blocks competition. I should gather some things that they want to say to “Z” and give them to Lu Jinghe! Even if he really can no longer create in the future, the fans’ encouragement would be memories worth treasuring.

--

That night, I submitted a registration form on the building blocks competition official site, as well as an application to interview the participants to the hosts. After registering, a participant list, including methods of contact, was sent to my inbox.

MC: (Next, I’ll practice building blocks as I interview people for what they want to say to “Z”.)

[silverarmedassassin]

Come Back to Me // Part Three

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 2020

warnings: mentions of a car accident, traumatic brain injury, and memory loss. this is going to be pretty angst heavy throughout.

a/n: Thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome :)

come back to me masterlist // masterlist

It’s the early morning sun that wakes Bucky up. Not his alarm, not Steve, not F.R.I.D.A.Y. He’d warned, no threatened everyone in the compound with an inch of their lives if they woke him up. His girl was finally here and nothing and no one was going to get him out of bed before noon.

Bucky shifts just enough so that he can see you cuddled up to his side, face gently lit by the morning glow. He can’t resist reaching out and running his metal thumb - the thumb on the hand he never thought could be so delicate, could hold anything as soft and beautiful as you - across the peaks and valleys of your features.

It’d only been a week since he’d seen you last, but it felt like a lifetime. Between your schedule and his chaotic lifestyle, the only time the two of you have recently been able to spend together was on the weekends. Bucky made a mental note to talk to Steve about easing up on the training and amount of missions he was required to go on. The agents on his strike team would be fine without him. He was the one that trained them, after all.

You stir slightly and, if you hadn’t crinkled your nose in the way he loves, Bucky would feel bad about waking you. Any inkling of regret disappears when your eyes slowly flutter open to reveal your sleepy eyes - bright and love-filled despite the lingering dream-filled haze.

“Good morning,” you croak as you nestle into Bucky’s neck. He gently runs his flesh hand over the back of your head as you snuggle in closer. While there was very little he was thankful for about the bastard serum Hydra had pumped through him, his elevated body temperature was not one of them, especially on mornings like this. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know,” Bucky says. “Don’t care.”

You laugh at his disregard, know that he’s blowing off something or other to spend extra time with you. You know Bucky so well, took the time to get to know him in and out in the seven short months you’ve been together. Knew his morning routines with Steve, how he took his coffee and the right amount of syrup to put on his pancakes. Your attention to detail, his details, was one of the many things he loved about you.

Bucky paused at that thought. Loved. He’s not sure why he hadn’t realized it before, or if you felt the same, but he loved you. As cheesy as it sounds, he knew from the moment he met you, flustered and a little shy at one of the ridiculous Stark parties half of New York had been invited to, that you were going to be special to him. And each day he spent with you, you proved him right over and over.

“How are you doing, pal?” Steve interrupts Bucky’s memory with a firm grasp to the shoulder as the duo board the elevator that will take them to the Compound’s residential areas.

Bucky shrugged his best friend’s hand away with a grumble. He knew this was coming, he’d been too quiet during their morning run and had barely said anything on the way back to the ultra-modern building. But he was in a mood.

Bucky had barely seen you since that first night in the kitchen. Whenever he was around, you were not, and he knew that wasn’t a coincidence. Even after the team returned two days later, you barely left the refuge of your room with the exception to go see Banner. The only reason he still knew you were here was that Wanda often took meals to your room for you.

It hurt, knowing you were around and not being able to see you, but everyone had been telling him to give you space, give time the chance to do its job. Bruce was still hopeful your head would go back to normal, but with each day that passed, Bucky was losing both hope and patience.

“Steve, just don’t,” Bucky replied, shoving out of the elevator as the doors pushed open. He didn’t want to talk about it, about the fact you still, even after a week of being out of medical, didn’t remember him. He especially didn’t want to talk to Steve about it, because as much as he loved his best friend, he was terrible with relationship pep-talks.

“Buck, come on you can’t just-”

Before they can turn the corner into the communal living area, Bucky stops, placing an arm across Steve’s chest to get him to stop. Echoing through the hall, Bucky can hear your laughter, sweet and vibrant, just on the verge of hysterics. A twinge in his chest reminds him just how much he’s missed that laugh the past few weeks.

The super-soldier duo shares a look before Steve shoves around Bucky and into the living area. Bucky is quick to follow. The scene in front of them simultaneously warms Bucky’s heart and breaks it. You’re sitting next to Sam on the sectional in the middle of the room, mug in hand and blanket wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. Whatever the two of you had been watching on T.V. is long forgotten. Your face is beet red from laughing so hard at whatever Sam was saying.

“Speak of the devil!” Sam says his attention is drawn to the men. Your smile is quick to falter when you catch a glimpse of the men but recovers as he goes on. “I was just telling Y/N about the time you got your ass handed to you during recruit training.”

“It wasn’t that funny. I was going easy on them.” You start giggling as Steve crosses his arms and makes his way to the fridge. “At least my defeat was by a trained agent. Remember when Y/N got Bucky in a headlock the first time they sparred together?”

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably as the energy in the room grows uncomfortable. Steve immediately swirls around and looks right at Bucky, realizing his mistake.

From your spot on the couch, you look between the three men, the smile quickly falling as your mind catches up with what was just said. “What?” you ask with a nervous laugh, looking to Sam for some kind of explanation.

“Man, what the hell?” Sam says as he throws his hands up in exasperation as he stands from the couch. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve grits out, “but we can’t keep her in the dark forever. I mean, it’s been two weeks and no one is saying anything to her?”

“She’s still confused,” Bucky growls. It’s his turn to throw his arms in the air. “Maybe if you listened to Banner from time to time, you’d know he strongly suggested to not tell her anything for the time being.”

“Uh, guys?” you ask quietly from where you’re kneeling on the couch. The three men pointedly ignore you, continuing to argue with one another about your own health like you weren’t in the room. “Steve?” you try again, but to no avail.

It all becomes a little too much, the raised voices hitting you like a break wall and instantly causing the headache that’d started to grow when you were watching T.V. with Sam to get even worse. You quickly decide it’s been enough time away from your room for today and quickly make your way down the hall.

>>>

You spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up to collect meal deliveries from Wanda. You didn’t even let her stay to eat with you. The argument between the men earlier took an emotional toll on you, and your headache was refusing to cease its attack.

It’s around one in the morning when you sigh and turn over. You spot your laptop Steve had picked up from your apartment sitting on the desk and decide you’ve spent too much time moping over your condition. It was time to find some answers since no one would supply them for you.

You run a quick Google search on yourself, find that you have, in fact, graduated college - with honors nonetheless - without even knowing. You’d interned at quite a few places around the city during the last years of your education, and wound up working at the NYC office of Stark Industries. No wonder they’re being so nice to me, you think as you scroll.

There are pictures from your graduation, from public events with the various organizations you’ve been with, and an interesting gallery of a Stark party gallery that you appear in quite a bit. It’s not until you reach the pictures of you and Bucky, arm slung casually around your waist and a love-drunk, dopey smile on his face that you’re really taken aback.

“What the…” You fully sit up in bed and scroll through the pictures of you and Bucky. There are about half a dozen more like the one you’d first saw, a handful from what seems like a photo booth, and then a few of the both of you with various members of the Avengers team.

Even though it’s your own smiling face looking back at you, your mind can’t comprehend what you’re seeing.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you ask timidly into the dark, empty room. Speaking to the AI still feels awkward for you. “Where is Bucky’s room at?”

“Sergeant Barnes’ is located just down the hall from you. Do you need anything?”

You stand, then sit, then stand again. You want to go to him, ask your questions and maybe, maybe get some answers. But you’re unsure if that’s a good idea. If he’s even open to talking to you.

“I, uh. I don’t know,” you say quietly.

“I can alert him that you’re awake and seem to be under stress.”

“No!” you say quickly. You don’t want him to come to you. You don’t want to bother him. “I, just...Is he awake?”

“Yes Miss Y/L/N. I can ask him to open his door, in case you would like to speak to him?”

For an AI, you’re impressed with how emotive F.R.I.D.A.Y sounds. She sounds caring, paternal almost, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your chest for the tech.

“Yes, please. But only if he’s okay with that.”

You sit for a few minutes, brewing on your thoughts and trying to figure out what questions you want to ask. The tiny voice in the back of your mind is yelling at you to not go anywhere near him alone, but he can’t be too dangerous, right? They wouldn’t let him live here if he was a liability. Plus, he hadn’t tried to harm you when you were alone in the kitchen the other night.

You stand and sigh, mind made up. You peak out your door and see a small sea of dim light flooding from a cracked door just two doors down. You hadn’t realized you were staying so close to Bucky. With a deep breath, you tiptoe down the hall before you can change your mind.

You peak through the ajar door and find Bucky sitting on his bed, book in hand. You can’t help but notice how soft he looks, sitting there seemingly lost in a world other than your own. You feel bad disturbing him, and almost turn back to your room when he looks up and smiles.

“You can come in if you’d like,” he says quietly.

You step fully into the light and push the door open the rest of the way. Bucky sets his book down on his lap and looks at you fully. He has a concerned look on his face, and his eyes are searching yours for some kind of explanation for your late-night visit. You make yourself step into the threshold, but stop short of getting any closer to him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but, can we talk?”

>>>

Tags: @tricksterwinchester​ @themarveledwriter​ @numwoon44​ @wonderlandmind4​ @basicjetsetter​ @igothroughphasesalot​ @candy-and-writing​

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us Chapter 5

5.Settling In

Previous Chapter : Here 

Sloane awoke slightly surprised to be in a strange bed before she remembered where she was,  that this was home now. Tyreen was notably absent though the sounds of the television coming from the other room was enough of a reassurance that the other siren was still close by.  

She walked into the living room and found that Troy was sitting on the sofa scrolling through his echo-feed. She noted that he looked a little rough around the edges, well rougher, but he didn’t seem like a morning person to her anyway. Tyreen on the other hand clearly was, as she was in the kitchenette working away on breakfast.

“Morning Sloane, glad you decided to take us up on our offer. We were a little worried you just might decide to dash.” Troy purred as he set down his echophone to give her his full attention. “ C’mon sit down, Ty’ll be done with breakfast in a second and we can go over the plans for today.”  He patted the cushion next to him and smiled, his augmented canine teeth glinted as they caught the light making the smile seem more like a warning than a welcome.  

“Thank you, Troy...err...Father Troy…I um, how do you two want me to address you?” Sloane squeaked as she slid into the spot on the couch next to Troy.

“Just Troy and Tyreen are fine at least in private. You’re not one of the followers out there. You’re here with us.” The way he spoke about their followers made it seem like he sorted people into two groups, the people like them and the outsiders. Sloane was just  pleased to find herself included in the us.  

Tyreen finally stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tray with breakfast and coffee on it. Sloane noticed that two cups were marked with a specific symbol on each, one with the crown design that was painted on Tyreens door and the other the now familiar twin snakes that decorated all of Troy’s things, the other of course was just a blank mug.

“I’ll have your mug customized once Troy designs you an insignia, we all have one it just makes life easier when you're doing the dishes and laundry and whatever else needs doing around here.” Tyreen remarked, taking a seat on the other side of Troy.  

Sloane glanced at the plate that sat in front of her, a waffle and some eggs. She had been slightly nervous that the self styled twin gods would only be fond of eating foods she’d never heard of but the simplicity of the food in front of her put her at ease.

“You read the report about the fancy new tech Maliwan put out?” Tyreen asked her twin. Sloane noticed that while Tyreen was drinking coffee she notably was not eating anything. She filed that away under an ever growing list of questions she had towards the twins.

“Yeah, looks like some quality stuff, I’d like to get my hands on a gun and take it apart, see if I can’t learn anything.”  

“You like engineering then?” Sloane asked as she recalled what Tyreen had said about the ship being Troy’s baby.

Troy turned to look at her and quirked a brow pointing to his prosthetic arm. “Built this myself, and before we picked up the crew I did all the work on the old Centurion here. Still like to fix her up, so yeah it’s a bit of a hobby of mine.”

She blushed feeling a bit embarrassed, she supposed that should have been more obvious.  At least she knew a little more about him now though, she could start to read Tyreen but Troy was harder to get through to and not just because she’d spent less time around him compared to Tyreen so far. Both the twins were guarded but in different ways, neither of which seemed easy to crack.

“I’m gonna go take care of those things you wanted me to before the stream tonight Ty.” Troy stood and began to make his way out of the room before he remembered something and stuck his mechanical hand over the couch in Sloane’s direction.

“Give me your phone, gonna set you up with one of ours. Gotta monitor your activity and all to make sure you’re not sending unauthorized messages to anyone.” He demanded. She fumbled with her pocket for a moment before producing the phone and placing it in his hand. She almost expected him to crush it in his palm but instead he merely snorted as he looked it over before he left without another word.

“Right so while Troy’s off doing his chores, I need to head up to talk to some of the crew. I’ve arranged for the high priests to show you around the ship in the meantime. You’ll be meeting up with me on the bridge to take care of those biometrics after that.” Tyreen explained as she disappeared back into her bedroom to change into her usual attire.

Sloane finished her breakfast in the silence of the now empty room before a knock at the door interrupted the calm. She found Jaxon and Helios waiting just as Tyreen had said.

“Good morning Sister Sloane. We hope your first night aboard the Centurion was a restful one. Come along and we will show you the important places aboard the ship.” Jaxon said motioning for Sloane to follow.

“As I’m sure you’re aware this is the Centurion’s second level,  we’re just leaving the Twin Gods private wing and moving into the second floor common space.”

Sloane stepped through the doorway partitioning off the twins wing from the next area of the ship. The halls of the ship were a bit more busy now, with more of the hooded priests milling about though they quickly tried to look busy as the High Priests passed their way.

“The Bridge is located straight ahead, but you aren’t due until later this afternoon. This way to the lift, we have a lot of ground cover.” Jaxon gestured in the direction of the lift the three of them heading down to the lower level.

The tour was largely uneventful in Sloane’s opinion, they showed her the bar and the meeting space she had been brought into upon her arrival to the ship. The Priests had advised it was better to leave the engineers to their work so simply showed her the engine room from the viewing gallery. By the time they had made it back upstairs Sloane was ready to curl up and go back to bed but she was gently nudged in the direction of the bridge instead.

“And to your left is the infirmary, Dr.Spectra is immensely talented and will be sure to patch you up good as new.”If there was one thing that Sloane had learned in this tour it was that Jaxon had to enjoy the sound of her own voice. “Anyways, it is time we return you to the God-Queen. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”  

Finally being led through the door to the bridge Sloane was greeted by the sight of Tyreen standing near the center of the room talking to the woman who had taken the Priests ID’s when they had brought her onto the ship, Lydia, she recalled, was the woman’s name.

“Oh good, Priestess Jaxon didn’t bore you to death.” Tyreen said with a smirk.

“I simply informed our newest Sister of the in and outs of the ship God-Queen.” Jaxon reassured.

“Yeah yeah, Sloane, this is Lydia. She’s the chief of engineering, she’s gonna get you all set up.” Tyreen beckoned Sloane forward and she stood in the  space between Lydia and Tyreen.

“Right first things first, let’s activate your medi-chip.” Lydia said, reaching around Sloane’s neck to remove the collar before sliding a small band over one of the sides then slipped it back around her neck.  

“It feels the same?” Sloane hazarded.

“That little band has a micro-needle on it, you can’t feel it but it’s reading your vitals and all that. Troy and I have them to keep track of each other, and now Troy and I will be keeping track of you as well.” Tyreen said as if it were something everyone did casually.

“Now I just need you to come over here and stick your hands on this screen. Need to get your hand-scan in the system so you can get in the doors.” Lydia said corralling her over to the aforementioned screen. Sloane was a bit surprised at how thoroughly the twins handled security on their ship, granted she had never been on a space faring vessel before now.

“How many people are on this ship anyway?” She asked looking over at Tyreen trying to pass time as the computer completed it’s scans.

Tyreen tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. “About a hundred and fifty at any given time, we swap out crew when we visit our hub worlds, keeps people from getting stir crazy. Though important folks like Jaxon and Lydia here are always on duty.”

“And it is a pleasure to be in your eternal service God-Queen.” Lydia said leading Sloane back over.

“Aw Lydia, you flatter me. ” Tyreen cooed clearly loving every bit of attention. “I’ll have to tell Troy I’m your  new favorite!”

“With all due respect ma’am, I don’t think the God-king would take well to such insinuation and I rather like my position… and my head attached to my body.” Lydia kept her tone submissive but absently rubbed at a mark on her neck that Sloane only noticed now.

“Hmm you make a good point, took us long enough to find you to replace the last head engineer didn’t it? That’s alright, it can be our little secret.” Tyreen’s playfulness seemed much more threatening now, it was obvious that she thought she was just messing around but she was also clearly reminding the other woman of just who she was speaking to.  

With Sloane now in the Centurion’s system it seemed Tyreen was antsy to get out of the ships bridge there was a clink of metal as Sloane blinked and realized the God-Queen had clipped a leash to the d-ring of her collar.  

“Come along now Sloane, Troy and I have that stream soon.” She said pulling on the leash as she began to walk away.  They walked back down the hidden set of stairs that Tyreen had first brought her up on, arriving in the Ship Cathedral only now instead of the dimly lit room it had been when she had been presented before Tyreen it was illuminated with stage lights.

“Well look who made it with more than ten minutes to spare.” Troy teased his twin as he approached.

“Yeah yeah, is Iris on set yet?” Tyreen replied giving her nails a once over.

“Of course, she’s over in the wings as usual.” Troy squinted up at something Sloane couldn’t make out before letting out a low growl. “Hey! Idiots in the box you’re gonna wash out the set, turn those damn brights down.”

Tyreen tugged in Sloane’s leash again. “Best to get out of Troy’s way during set up. He tends to be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this stuff.”

Off to the side out of the way of setup was a room set up with a hairdressers chair and makeup station, various pieces of clothing Sloane had seen the twins wear at one point or another were hung up on racks. In the center of the room stood a woman who looked about Sloane’s age, wearing a shirt with the CoV logo emblazoned on the front. As she looked up from the clipboard she was reading her purple hair fell in front of her face, which she brushed away before noticing her guests.

“Ah! God-Queen, is it time for your make-up?” She asked, her eyes flicking to Sloane.

“In a moment Iris,  first I wanted to introduce you to our new family member first. Sloane, this is Iris, she’s in charge of keeping Troy and I looking stunning. She does a pretty stellar job I think.” Tyreen praised with a smile. “Iris, this is Sloane, she’s the stray Siren Troy and found on Eden-4.”

“Ohhh,so you’re the one Father Troy was talking about.” Iris said looking over at Sloane. “You want me to watch her while you both are streaming tonight?”

“If it’s not too much trouble of course, I can always ask The high priests to handle it if you’re busy.”  

“It’s no trouble at all God-Queen. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She said with a smile.

“Ty.” Troy leaned in the doorway interrupting the women’s conversation. “Get ready the boys want to push the screen test up a couple minutes.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” Tyreen reassured rolling her eyes as Troy left. “Brothers am I right, when am I ever late for anything? Sloane be a dear and sit over there like a good girl while Iris and I do our thing yeah?”  

Sloane obediently went to the chair in the corner of the room and sat watching as Iris took Tyreen over to her work station. She zoned out for a bit until Tyreen walked over to her.

“Right, you be nice for Iris, one of us will come pick you up after the stream. Have fun you two!” Tyreen said as she headed out the door.  

“Sooo, how long have you been with the CoV then?” Sloane asked Iris, she was different from the other inner circle members Sloane had met so far in that she and the twins seemed to have a much less formal relationship.

“Around three years, wow I can’t believe it’s been that long already...They rescued me from slavers, Troy and Tyreen that is. Been a part of the family ever since.” Iris explained while she worked on tidying up her workstation. “What about you, I mean I know you’re new but what drew you to the twins?”

“They wanted my vault and I wanted to stay with them because, you know to be completely honest I don’t know how to put it in words, I mean sure there’s the whole thing of them being powerful and obviously knowledgeable about the whole siren thing.  But also there’s just something in me that saw them and wanted me to follow them, maybe it’s a siren thing I don’t know.” Sloane shrugged knowing she wasn’t being terribly helpful but it was the truth, something had magnetized her towards the twins, something beyond their charismatic smiles and smooth talking.

Iris paused for a minute seemingly processing some thought about what Sloane had said. “Hm you’re right, Sirens really aren’t in my wheelhouse. Don’t let that put you off though, why don’t we go grab something to eat, get nice and cozy in the media room and watch the stream?”

That was the first normal sounding suggestion Sloane had heard from one of the twins' entourage in her short time with them. She had a feeling that she and Iris would come to be good friends as they got to know each other.

“That sounds great honestly.” She agreed and was relieved when Iris made no move to clip a leash to her collar the way Tyreen did. Instead walking to the bar to pick up a pizza as if they were well established friends.

__

Tyreen leaned against the crate of weapons they had been  gifted by the citizens of Eden-4 before they left as the crew buzzed around her setting up lighting and positioning the cameras. They were unboxing them tonight and she planned to drop the announcement about the new family member. Not knowing how Sloane would take being put on the spot she had chosen to make this announcement without the other siren present. She and Troy would have to train her to get used to being on camera.

“Your head in the clouds Ty?” Troy teased as he took his place on the other side of the crate. “You ready for the show?”

“Aren’t I always Troy?” She returned and flicked him in the forehead as he leaned in her direction. They both snapped to attention once the crew gave the all quiet on set call. She straightened her cloak and adjusted her hair watching as Troy did the same as the countdown ticked off, showtime.

Troy took the majority of the night’s stream, he was way more competent when it came to explaining what exactly was so cool about different models of guns. He had tried just handing her a script he wrote once but once it got heavy into the tech jargon it had all gone over her head. It was definitely not her finest moment and it had definitely led to a squabble between the siblings.  

“So Ty, you wanna tell everyone about what else we found on Eden Four?” Troy asked as he set down the last of the guns on the table in front of him. She smirked as she watched the camera turn to focus on her. She pushed off the crate standing center stage now.

“That’s right brothers and sisters, not only did Troy and I get Eden-4’s vault, but! We also found a stray who offered herself to yours truly and how could I say no to a face like this.” Tyreen cooed as if she were talking about a small animal as a holo-Sloane popped up from her echo-device.  “As you can see, she’s a siren, she’s our siren. I have big plans for her so needless to say brothers and sisters, you should treat her with respect.”

Tyreen smiled again, her thinly veiled warning coming across loud and clear, a new member of the inner circle had been claimed publicly. She then wrapped the stream in her usual bubbly fashion,  persona not dropping until she and Troy were back in their hidden staircase headed back to their rooms.

“You take her tonight, remember to be gentle. We want her to feel safe here, and if we want to test our theory we need her to trust that we won’t hurt her.” Tyreen said, offering the leash to Troy.

“I won’t need that, trust me.” He said, giving his twin a smirk.  “I’m good with the ladies.”

Tyreen snorted and flicked his shoulder “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get over excited this time, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

—- A few hours spent on the media room couch talking with Iris and watching the twins stream was enough to make Sloane feel as if she truly did belong here, any lingering doubts about her life with the Children of the Vault fell to the wayside. It felt good to be around people who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her as a person, not a siren.

When Tyreen stepped up to make her announcement Sloane blinked in surprise and looked over at Iris. “Should I be worried about that?”

Iris seemed to think for a minute before shaking her head. “What no, Tyreen does that for everyone she takes in.”

Sloane wasn’t totally convinced but she knew Iris had no reason to lie to her and she thought that whatever Tyreen’s ‘big plans’ for her were, she was sure to find out soon enough. She knew that the Calypsos expected something from her in exchange for being taken in by them.

Not long after there  was a warning knock on the door before it swung open, Troy stepped through the doorway and rested against it. “Looks like you girls had a good time, I had no doubts that Sloane was in good hands when Tyreen said she’d given her to you Iris.”

“You’re too kind Father Troy, I just wanted our new family member to feel at home the way you and Queen Tyreen did for me.” Iris said.

Troy then gestured to Sloane. “Come, it’s my turn with you tonight.”  She approached him and he rested his prosthetic hand on her shoulder, the metal appendage’s  grasp was  just forceful enough that she wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of his grasp even if she wanted to.

He led her down the hall past Tyreen’s door and into his room. Where Tyreen’s room had been neat and organized Troy’s was a mess; bits and pieces of various machinery were scattered around the room centralized around a work table in one corner of the room. Sitting out on the kitchenette counter was an intricately detailed skull shaped bong that caught Sloane’s attention, it would seem that Troy’s private life was harder to get a beat on than Tyreen’s as outside the tinkering she wouldn’t have expected any of this.

“Sit on the couch and stay put until I come back.” He said with authority, disappearing into the bedroom. She did as she was told, looking at the books stacked on the coffee table, histories of various planet systems and books with titles in languages she didn’t recognize.

“Good girl, you follow orders. I mean I figured when Ty didn’t have any complaints you must be competent but I wanted to see for myself. Then again you did offer yourself to us so you must have known what you were getting into.” Troy had silently slipped back into the main room having traded his open faced vest for an oversized tee shirt, his prosthetic arm noticeably absent as the shirt sleeve was tied instead.  

“Is there anything else I can do for you tonight Father Troy?”  She asked feeling a bit awkward seeing him so casual.

“Ah-ah, what did I tell you? It's Troy in private doll, but I’ll let it slip. This is our first time alone together isn’t it?” He smirked  his hand catching her chin and pointing it up towards his face. She caught sight of his fangs somehow they seemed more threatening in this context than they had when he’d been willing to kill her. “Anyway, as for what you can do for me; go ahead and get comfy in the bed. No funny business I promise.”

He tilted his head towards the doorway he had walked out of. Sloane hesitated slightly as she got up, she had never shared a bed with a man in any context before now and while she trusted Troy to be true to his word she couldn’t help but feel strange about it.

His bedroom was much like Tyreen’s, a bed large enough that three people could comfortably fit in it without hassle, yet Troy’s  bed was a nest of blankets and pillows piled up like a dragon's hoard. Sloane found a spot to get comfy before Troy reentered the room.

“Don’t you just look precious. Well, sleep tight, still a lot to be done in the morning.” He said curling up in what was very obviously his spot as shaped by the pillows.

It would take some getting used to for sure, but this was still better than the life she left behind.

[allaboutmywriting]

Walking the Gallery

can’t afford to go to Harry’s tour lol nothing new so writing this instead--gonna be some chapters, not sure how many yet || 5k words 

Lexy Marks is a recent novelist, who has risen to a reasonable amount of fame for a first-time fiction writer. She ends up at an album release party Harry Styles has thrown, where he tells her how much he loves her writing. Back in the day, Lexy was a 1D stan; unfortunately, she has some trauma related to that particular era of her life. 

CHAPTER ONE:

The check engine light came on as soon as could at least see the stoplights hanging from the intersection behind the row of cars in front of her—whoever had warned her about LA traffic certainly hadn't been joking—and Lexy screamed in frustration when she saw it. With her foot on the brake, she slammed her hands against the steering wheel, in the same manner that she was privy to throwing her phone on the ground whenever it froze. It was a method that never solved the problem, but always made her feel as if it did.

Her father had assured her, incorrectly it would appear, that her 2007 Toyota Corolla would be fine for the six-thousand-mile trip she was taking around the country—from Columbia to Los Angeles, Los Angeles back to Charleston. She'd already completed half of the journey there, but she couldn't exactly complete the other half back with a faulty engine.

The car behind her beeped its horn and Lexy jumped, pressing her foot too fast on the gas, jolting forward uncomfortably. She hadn't expected the traffic to be quite so bad, and she wasn't prepared for the traffic gridlock. She sighed and looked at the clock. 5:57.

She was meant to be there by 6:00. She didn't really know what the where was, somewhere in between Beverly Hills and a direction of Hollywood. She supposed she could've been smarter by not driving in rush hour traffic. Perhaps she could've asked the event holders if she could have arrived in the morning. Surely, they'd have understood that people hailing from the East Coast were not as smooth, talented, or put together as those on the Golden Coast.

The car in front of her moved up a foot. She turned the radio down and scrolled until she found her dad's contact. It was after eight on the East Coast, so he would be home from work. Probably in the kitchen making himself a sandwich with the unhealthy kind of bread and too much mayonnaise—he liked to play around with cholesterol.

"Lexy-loo!" he greeted. She smiled, already feeling at ease from hearing his booming voice. He was a middle school science teacher, the goofy kind, so he said everything with strange inflections and accents. This time, he sounded Irish. "Where the hell are ya?"

"Stuck in traffic." She glanced at the GPS he'd installed for her eighteenth birthday a few years before. It was the nicest part of her car, and it looked awfully out of place compared to the rest of it. She was somewhere in East Hollywood, which contrary to the name, was a little more rundown than she expected it to be. "This has to be even worse than New York."

He laughed, having spent his summers growing up in Brooklyn, back when the twin towers were still a part of the skyline. "You hanging with the rich and famous yet?"

Lexy glared down at her lap, pushing the gas gently as the next car moved forward. She didn't have the time to explain the intricacies of the area to her dad, to let him know that there were entirely more poor people in the area than celebrities, and that she would probably never even come in contact with someone of such a demographic. In fact, after the event or reading or whatever she had tonight, Lexy had half a mind to go handing out food to all of the people she saw on the sides of the street.

"Not yet, Dad." Her calf was starting to ache from staying on the brake for so long, and she tried to stretch it in place the best she could. "Anyway, check engine light just came on and I don't know what to do."

"Huh," he grunted. "Well, is it steady or is it blinking?"

"Steady."

"Did it just come on?"

"About a minute ago." She shuffled her seatbelt around to keep it from digging into her neck.

"Is your car acting up? jerky?"

"No. it seems normal. I can't really tell, though. Traffics at a standstill."

"Well, it's probably not an emergency then. Go find yourself an Auto Zone and they'll do a diagnostic for free. Call me back once they tell you and we'll figure something out."

She frowned at probably not an emergency, her mind speculating as it was prone to, visions of her car exploding in the middle of the LA freeway.

"I don't think I can do it today," Lexy frowned. "I have an event in three minutes."

"Glad to see that the extra three hours has increased your timeliness," he joked and Lexy rolled her eyes. "Just do it first thing tomorrow," he said nonchalantly, yawning. "I'm so proud of you, Lex. Living out your dream. I wish I could be there with you."

She wanted to roll down her window, to lay her arm across it the same way she might have back home, but she took the threats of pollution seriously.

She said a goodbye to her father quickly. Her eyes were already stinging. Lexy was so far from home and so alone. It had just been her and her dad for so long, even while she was busy in college, but he couldn't leave the school for the weeks the tour had taken her, would take her, for fear that the district would fire him. Ain't no rest for a public-school teacher, that's for sure.

Lexy had managed to do thirty-seven different readings without him. Had managed to impress thirty-seven different crowds of people without offending them—had even managed to make a few of them cry. Her twitter and Instagram followers had increased gradually, so that now she had a small following of few thousand, that rivalled the accounts of her high school valedictorian who'd gone on to become an influencer selling tanning lotion.

While Lexy really was living out her dream, having a New York Times bestseller at twenty-two, becoming an author wasn't as glamorous as she always thought it would. Her settlement for the book, which was supposed to be $55,000, after taxes only came out to a little more than half of that, and now she understood why authors talked about how difficult it was to make a living just writing. There were no health benefits in authorhood, and there were no extravagances where bookstores paid her to come talk. Here she was, six months out of college, driving herself around in her own car just for her inaugural book tour.

Who cared if Barack Obama had put her book on his recommended reads of the year, when her car was going to break down and she was going to be late for her first event in Los Angeles?

As the clock shown 6:04, Lexy finally was able to pass through the intersections. Now, if she could just figure out how to change lanes, she'd be doing okay.

&&

Her car started smoking as she turned onto the street. It was framed by huge houses with gates in front—black ones, silver ones, some with outright walls so that you couldn't see what was happening on the other side. About halfway down the street, and with the smoke darkening, her GPS said she arrived.

Just what was this event? Her fingers were itching for her phone, to call her publicist and make sure she was at the right place, but a security guard appeared just by her driver's side window.

He was a big and buff bald-headed man who gave her car a dirty look as he instructed her to roll down a window. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Statement of purpose?"

Statement of what?

It was really starting to feel like she imagined the White House felt like after all—back in the Obama days, not the current ones.

"Hi. My name is Lexy Marks. I've been told to be here."

"ID?"

She grumbled to herself as she reached forward and went through her purse, her fingers shaking as she took at her wallet, and then her driver's license. Her fingers were shaking, but she didn't know why she should be the nervous one.

He cross-checked her license with whatever was on the tablet he was holding, then nodded at her. "Pull around back. You should see the other cars. Park between the two on the back row."

Lexy took back her license, rolled up her window, and waited at the gates until the swung open. Her car continued to smoke so bad that she could see it even through the darkening tones of dusk. The house, which she gawked up at, was black and modern, with gaping windows. There were three stories from what she could tell—Lexy had never seen such a nice place, much less been invited to one.

She tried to park in between the cars the guard had instructed her to—a white Audi and one of several black rovers. These cars were all worth more than her manuscript was, and especially more than she was.

And Lexy had always been awful at parking. Never mind how awful she felt about being late, and how dreadful her stomach felt with her engine smoking.

She couldn't tell just how dark it really was outside due to the multiple lanterns and light fixtures that illuminated the entire outdoor parking space. She was most certainly late, but she wasn't even sure what this event was. She didn't know if they would even notice, if this was an event with other authors, if she was meant to be giving just a reading. Her publicist—Simon & Schuster had given her one along with her royalties' contract—had set up the whole tour for her. All she had to do was arrive on time. And here she was, a half hour late, and if her GPS was right, somewhere between West Hollywood and Beverley Hills.

But weren't the rich and famous known for not being on time?

As she climbed the steps to the front porch, she was certain she was at a mansion. Just whose mansion, she wasn't sure, but she was more conscious, if she ever had been before tonight, of the twenty-dollar black Old Navy dress she was wearing. She'd thought she was being frugal, chic, stylish. She'd even paired them with her favorite pair of chunky blue heels. But now she was certain it couldn't be further from than truth.

There was no one in the yard with her. Across the lane was the security guard, and Lexy contemplated waving him down and asking for directions. Suck it up, she told herself. You're living the dream.

A white cat was perched on the front step and it watched her, lazily, as she knocked twice on the front door. When there was no answer, she rang the doorbell.

There was music coming from inside, banging beats that made it seem like she was entering into a dorm. They were exactly the kind of loud that she heard in college on nights out, at house parties, or in the frats. She couldn't make it out exactly—either that or she didn't know the songs.

When she knocked a second time, the door was sprung open.

"Ay, welcome to the party of the century," A well-dressed man greeted her. He sounded Australian, but Lexy couldn't be certain—she was the worst at deciphering accents. But he was dressed in suspenders and a white t-shirt that read SOUTHERNE in black, bold letters. Behind him, Lexy could see a bunch of people standing around, talking. None of them were dancing, as she had incorrectly assumed from the music, but instead, standing around listening to the tracks.

And now Lexy was certain she had never heard it before.

"Hello? You there?" The man asked again. This time he grinned at her and revealed a set of teeth so perfect they were probably veneers. If Lexy had to choose a new occupation, it would be dentistry. But she was awful at science, math, and everything in between that would lead her to becoming one.

"Sorry." She tried to smile back, but her annoyance ran strong through her veins.

A few of the people around them, beautiful people, women with the sort of hair that didn't have flyaways and men that looked like they came from the cover of GQ turned to look at her curiously, but the company must've been important, because they looked away again.

"I'm Lexy Marks. I was told to come here by my publicist."

She cringed as she thought about how it must sound to this man—acting like her publicist was in charge of her. Much like a parent leading their child to the first day of kindergarten. It was just like her publicist to do this. She knew how unexperienced Lexy was and had been known to take advantage of it before—her first reading in the mid-west had been at a senior home for people who had never read her book.

But his smile only widened, and he opened the door up even further.

"Come in, come in," he said, waving an arm in front of him. He held a wine glass in his left hand. Dark and red, the kind she hated. "I'm Greg."

Well, she could guess that Greg was not the person she was meant to meet here. He didn’t have any idea who she was. But she stepped inside the door anyway, the music amplified, and Lexy had to stop herself from abruptly gaping at the beautiful scene before her. Beautiful hardwood floors that had been stained white, walls so beautifully decorated they looked straight out of a gallery, the people all around her who were so beautiful and dressed so well they might as well be models themselves.

It felt like something straight out of The Great Gatsby.

Greg nudged her arm. "Let's get you a drink, yeah? Have you eaten? We've got loads of stuff in the kitchen."

Lexy shook her head as he followed him through the crowd, saying hi to people as he went. She was almost positive he was Australian.

Lexy hoped she would recognize someone in the crowd, but these were not the sort of people she knew. She even tried to place the voice singing because she had most certainly heard it before but couldn't do it for the life of her. It sounded pop-y and generic, the sort she would've made out to in a club back in college.

"You're lucky I was walking right by the door," Greg continued, stepping beside her once the crowd was sparse enough to allow for it. There must be over a hundred people in the building. All of the windows were covered by long, flowing silver curtains; there was even a balcony that people hung off of. All they needed was a sprawling indoor people.

"What do you do, Lexy? Singer? Actress? Dancer? Triple threat?"

"Um, author, actually."

"Oh yeah?" he turned to grin at her. "Poetry?"

Lexy felt like she was disappointing him. "Fiction."

They entered the kitchen, after feeling like they had walked a quarter of a mile from the front door. The house hadn't actually looked this large from the outside and Lexy wondered if it was the fact that they'd had to navigate all of the people standing in the way.

And this time Lexy did look around with her mouth open. "Oh wow."

The countertops were black marble, and stretched the entire length of the room, which was probably half the size of her house back in South Carolina. The floor was still stained white wood, and the kitchen had double islands in the center, one of which was adorned with drinks—the other with sweets.

It was a kitchen so perfect she would've never been able to dream it up. Lexy couldn't cook—at all really, but if she could, this was exactly the sort of kitchen she'd want.

"Harry," Greg called, almost lazily, to a man in yellow pants and white t-shirt, who was looking out of the kitchen window. "I've brought you a guest."

He turned around to face her, and Lexy furrowed her eyebrows at the man standing there, then her eyebrows shot straight up to her forehead when she finally recognized him.

And all of a sudden, she was right back to being in ninth grade, fighting over which of her friends laid claim to the man standing before her. Hell, Lexy used to keep her toothbrush in a cup with the man's face on it.

His hair, a deep brown, not unlike her own, was wavy and perfectly placed—the definition of artist's hair. His skin was the sort of clear she only ever got when she was wearing a full face of make-up, and immediately, from the time his eyes first landed on her, he seemed to exude charisma.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"What's your name?" He smiled politely at her, without showing his teeth, and Lexy's heart dropped at the thought that she wasn't really meant to be here. Her ten minutes of existing on the estate had made her feel some sort of emotion towards the place.

But how could she be after all? Standing in Harry Styles' extravagant kitchen, in what was most likely his exorbitant mansion, at an event that was clearly some sort of Hollywood party.

She was meant to be reading.

"Uh, I'm Lexy," she stammered. "Lexy Marks."

His eyes bugged out when she said it, but he quickly recovered enough to grin at her, dimples on full show, just like the media trained mega star he was. And though he certainly looked more grown-up than Lexy remembered him as, his smile was the same as it was on her toothbrush cup from all those years ago.

He took a few steps forward and held out his hand to her, fingers covered in rings and pink and blue painted nails. She took it. "I'm Harry. I've been waiting to meet you—you're the guest of honor."

Behind her, Greg rolled his eyes. "You're the guest of honor, mate. This is your release party."

Harry grinned at Greg, then looked back down at Lexy. "I invited a lot of people."

Lexy's heart was beating so rapidly that she was certain if she tried to speak, she would be out of breath. So, she simply nodded.

"I love Beginning with February," Harry continued, naming her title. Lexy couldn't stop staring at his damn smile. It was so perfect. Her dad could never afford braces for her, and she had a thing for people's teeth. "It's my favorite book right now. After I finished it, I immediately read it again. I must've read it eight times by now. I tell everyone it's the perfect antidote to loss and loneliness—I don't think there's anyone I've ever met who explains love and friendship and death the way you do. I've bought a whole box of copies to hand out as Christmas presents. Of course, it would be better if you signed them."

Lexy stood frozen from his exclamation—still processing the fact that she was standing in front of Harry Styles and that he had read her book. More than once.

"I had my publicist reach out to yours, and I was really hoping that I could make it out to your reading tomorrow, but unfortunately I have an interview."

He smiled at her again and Lexy knew it was her time to say something. She tried to seem cool, seem the way that any of the people in the house might would respond, but her brain only backtracked far enough for his last few sentences. "Uh…I'll read you anything you want."

Lexy wanted to punch herself at how stupid she sounded, yet again, but Greg snorted, and Harry smiled, ducking his head.

"What I mean," she rushed to explain. It was his damn smile that got her. "Is that I'll give you a private reading of whatever you want. Like—"

This was just getting worse and worse as Greg began lightly laughing. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, then back to meet Harry's. He was a lot taller than she'd imagined he would be, but though his lips twitched, he was giving her his entire attention.

"Thank you for your kind words," she swallowed. "Of course, I'll sign anything you want."

Harry's smile deepened, his dimples appearing. Greg pointed to the door with his thumb, and Harry nodded at him.

He turned back to Lexy, just as the song from the other room changed. This one she'd heard before—something by Lorde, that she couldn't remember the name of.

They gazed at each other, then Harry suddenly clapped his hands together. "So, can I get you anything to drink? Wine? Water? Vodka?"

She was alone with one of the most famous singers of the time. And he was offering her a drink, in his kitchen, somewhere in Los Angeles. She wasn't just living her dream; she was living the whole dream. Everyone's. All of them. A place on Barack Obama's recommended reading list could have never prepared her for this one.

"Um, water. Please?"

He nodded, and turned around to the island, taking one a wine glass, similar to the one Greg was drinking out of, from the side and filling it with water from a pitcher.

He handed it to her, then leaned against the island and picked up his own drink, something green. He was dressed so well…Lexy had always admired fashion but could never get the hang of making anything look good other than wearing neutrals and blank shirts.

"I hope you don't mind being here," he drawled slowly, his eyes on hers, darting back and forth as if trying to determine what her true feelings were. Lexy hadn't heard him talk since the height of her One Direction days, when she would watch every interview that came out multiple times, but she wondered if he had talked quite so slowly back then. "This is my album release party, for my friends, and I was quite hoping you'd do the intermission."

All…of those people…at least a hundred…were his friends? Lexy could count all her friends on both hands. She probably only talked to three of them a day.

"Intermission?"

His eyes still on hers, he nodded. "Yeah. Do you know that bit in your book, the part where Jamaica dies? You have two pages of just wonderful prose there, and I was really hoping that you would read it. Maybe halfway through the songs?" He paused in thought, his eyes rolling up. "Actually, maybe after track seven would do."

She took a big sip of the water. It was room temperature and Lexy thought, in a moment of spare humor, probably the most expensive water she'd ever drank.

But her hand was already shaking, and she doubted that she could convince herself to read in front of everyone in that other room. Well, at least. There would be no way she could control the tremors in her voice. She was used to reading in front of people who knew her, in front of people who liked her reading, who cared about her characters as much as she did.

Not in front of talented, model millionaires.

"I'm sorry. I thought this was a reading."

"It is a reading," he insisted. He ducked his head and crossed his arms and smiled at her again. Lexy had to look down to keep from disappointing him. Those damn dimples.

She felt awful turning him down. But there was so much about the day that wasn't turning out right. Her car, her first day in Los Angeles. And here she was, about to tear up in front of this singer who had to share his work with everyone.

"I'm really sorry, Harry. It's just been a long day. I really thought this was just going to be a regular reading at a bookstore. My publicist, she never really told me, like, what this event was, or I probably would've been really prepared. But I think everyone wants to listen to you. Not me." She opened her purse and pulled out the printed-out pages she'd rendered just for her readings—she didn't know a single author who didn't at least tweak their writing somewhat before reading. "I don't even have those paragraphs with me. I only have chapter one."

Harry took the creased paper from her, frowning down at it. They had her scribbles all over it. Her first chapter had a lot of dialogue, and it was never the best for reading out loud.

But from the expression on Harry's face, you'd think that she'd just taken all of the magic out of it.

She was just about to say as much when the music changed, and her ears perked up. She frowned at the beat. "Is that—"

"Yeah," Harry said, still dejectedly frowning down at the papers. "Never get far from your roots, right?"

"That's what they say," she sighed.

Harry glanced up at quizzically but didn't ask for clarification. He handed the papers back to her. "Look, if you don't want to read, you don't have to. I'd be honored if you would, but I understand if you won't."

She nodded at him, folded the papers back in her bag, and took another sip of her water.

"Harry, love," a man called, walking into the kitchen. This man had brown hair and a long face, and a dark-haired woman at his side. Both of them were dressed—much better than she was.

Harry's face lit up and he set his glass on the counter. "Mitch! Maia! Well, you both look lovely!"

He walked over to them and Lexy took a step back, observing the way he interacted with them. The couple seemed completely at ease around him and it was obvious they'd known each other a while. Before Harry could turn to introduce her to them, Lexy had already set her water on the counter and left the room. She skirted in between the crowds of people, wondering why she'd always thought black was the classiest of colors, yet literally everyone in the room was dressed colorfully. That familiar urge to run away was strong, and she just told herself to get out of the room, and that no one would remember her.

The last chords of What Makes You Beautiful ended, and she vaguely registered the sound of something else start—an older tune, one that she was certain she'd heard before.

There was a group of people standing by the door, but she was able to open it and get out by not paying attention to the looks that they gave her.

More people were out on the porch. Did Harry really have that many friends? They were all laughing, clearly happy to be invited, and here she was running away.

She took the steps two at a time and nearly knocked herself over, sprinting to her car. She yanked open the door and got inside, slamming it back closed. She pressed the lock button, then tried to regain control of her breathing.

There were moments in life that suddenly took her over. It had been like that her entire life. When the air from her lungs would disappear and suddenly feel like there was a valve closed. And while she did have asthma when she was younger, she knew that this wasn't that. She took deep, deep breaths and tried to regain herself.

But the pain was too strong. It came quickly, the way her wrist broke in fourth grade when she fell off her bike and took over her body like it was an epidemic, consuming every organ.

She had to get out of there.

She rummaged through her bag for her keys, landing on her phone, her mirror, her makeup. For the most part, everything Lexy owned was somewhere in her car. It wasn't easy to know what you would need on a three-month trip across the country. At last she found them and jammed them into the car.

Two breaths.

She could feel the steering wheel beneath her hands.

Two breaths.

She could hear the people from the porch laughing, unseen behind the row of rovers in front of her car.

Two breaths.

She could smell the leather of her car, the sun-burnt smell it had acquired from being years old.

Two breaths.

She could see the scent ornament hanging down from her mirror, a green pine tree.

Deep down, Lexy knew why she felt like this. It had come back so suddenly now that she could breathe again—the way it felt to first hear it in the auditorium, how much it hurt, afterwards, almost in hindsight, to hear Mr. Mack, the principal, stumbling over those two words. He couldn't seem to figure out the best phrase, so he said them all. Is dead. Has passed away. Has died. Lexy stared ahead at the little ornament hanging off the mirror and tried not to think of the blue curtains in the auditorium. Or the ugly carpet that covered the floor. That little ornament was meant to smell of pumpkin, but the scent had gone away somewhere in Illinois, and if she stared at it long enough, the auditorium went away and she was alone in her Toyota.

She took another deep breath, convinced she would never again think of Harry Styles, or One Direction, or the night again once she had the opportunity to yell at Samantha—her publicist. She reached forward and turned the key.

But of course, in the spirit of the night, it wouldn't start.

Lexy laid her head upon the steering wheel.

She'd at least have to stop crying before she called her dad, lest he buy a flight and come all the way to LA to lose his job. And what use was being in a healthy state of mind if she destroyed her family’s, too? 

A/N: lmk what you think/thoughts/feelings etc etc 

[avis-writeshq]

Damian Wayne x Reader: Bully Part 3

Thank you @strawbeari2 and anon for requesting! This series is going quite a long way >.<… this is probably gonna be the longest and the last part! Oh, I forgot to mention, this is also the first fic of the Christmas in July series. I haven’t gotten the prompt list out yet, but feel free to request something with that theme! xoxo

 Requested: Yes

Warnings: crap writing… and a lot of fluff *cough*

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,664

 Things you probably wanna know, for all you ‘x reader’ illiterates:

(Y/N): Your Name

(H/C): Hair Colour / Color

(E/C): Eye Colour / Color

(B/F/N): Best Friend’s Name

***

“I didn’t know you were into art,” you said as you walked around the art gallery. Each painting either had a strange burst of colour or was black and white in a depressing way. Maybe that’s why Damian liked art so much…

“It’s a way to express my… non-existent feelings,” Damian shrugged in a poor attempt to make a joke. To his surprise, you let out a giggle.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Perhaps.”

You let out a laugh, covering your mouth when a man gave you an irritated look. “What’s gotten into you today? Calling me nicknames, taking me to an art gallery, telling jokes… are you sure you’re not sick, Dami?”

“Why would I be sick?” He raised an eyebrow. “I am me, aren’t I?”

“Yeah… but you’ve never really seemed to enjoy talking to me,” you shrugged, offering a slanted smile. “I didn’t think we were friends.”

Damian could feel the guilt beginning to eat the insides of him. It was true; he didn’t want to enjoy the way you spent time with him. But you slowly began to grow on him. “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

You looked up at him, biting your lip. “You’re right. It’s silly. Hey, why don’t we go check out the Christmas art edition?”

“Of course,” Damian nodded, gently holding onto your wrist. “Let’s go.”

***

Ever since the incident with the bullies 3 years ago, Damian promised himself that he was never going to go to his brothers for help. That was definitely a promise he could get behind… or so he thought. Truthfully, Damian had no idea about love or what a ‘crush’ even was. But there was no way he was going to be able to talk about it without another finding out. So, he decided to ask them all at the same time.

It was a peaceful evening at Wayne Manor, and for once they were all present for Christmas break. Well, Dick was in another room playing with Batcow. They sat at the dining table, all talking heartily amongst themselves. Well, Jason was on his phone while Tim and Bruce talked about statistics and whatnot. Just as Alfred was about to hand out the entrees, Damian decided to speak.

“How do you know if you’re in love?”

Silence. The whole room was filled with silence. They all gaped at him like he had two heads while Damian just raised an eyebrow at them. It was only when there was a loud ‘crash’ from the room Dick was in and a huge, “WHAT?!” did they start to freak out.

Dick came running from the next room, holding onto Damian’s shoulders while shaking him rapidly. “YOU’RE IN LOVE?!”

Damian scoffed, pulling away from his older brother’s grasp. “Who knows? Clearly not you, Grayson, considering the mountain of girls you brought home over the years. I don’t expect you to know.”

The older man pouted, shooting a glare at him. “I have fallen in love before…”

“Damian, what brought this along?” His father prompted, taking a sip from his wine. “Is everything okay at school?”

The green-eyed boy shrugged. “School is fine, Father. It was merely a question that I would like to be addressed. Surely you have felt it with Selina Kyle. Or Drake with Stephanie.”

“Well, Stephanie and I are definitely in the ‘in love’ stage by now,” Tim snickered from behind his hand. “But how do you know? I guess you just… feel it.”

Oh, Damian definitely felt it. Every single time you walked into the room, it felt as if his heart skipped a beat. And your smile? Dear god, he needed help. You were one of the most amazing things he has ever encountered. You were persistent, and it almost annoyed him in a weirdly adorable way.

“I’ve never been in love,” Jason boasted, a proud smirk on his face.

“Oh, really? What about Ari?” Dick raised an eyebrow, a teasing tone in his voice.

The gun enthusiast scowled, scooping pumpkin soup from his bowl.

“Right…” Damian said slowly. “Well, if I may be excused, I’m going to train.”

“You haven’t finished dinner yet,” Bruce pointed out, putting down his napkin. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.” And with that, Damian left the dining room.

“Yeah, he’s totally in love,” Tim said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But with who?”

***

The following weekend, Damian invited you over to the manor. Dick had just come back to Gotham a few days prior, and you definitely wanted to see the whole Wayne family in one go. You clearly didn’t know about their ‘nightly activities’, and Damian was perfectly fine with it. After all, there was no way he could risk your safety.

“How many times have I been to your mansion again?” You giggled, rolling your eyes as Damian listed off possible things that could happen during your stay.

“Too many to count,” he sighed, grip tightening on the bag of presents you brought. “But you know what they’re like when they’re all together.”

“Yeah, I do not want to re-live that,” you said, faking a shudder.

Last year when the whole family was back together, you decided to visit them during the Easter Holidays. Jason had come back from his holiday in Arizona (truthfully, it was nothing close to a holiday) and Dick was visiting from Bludhaven. It was the first time you’ve seen them all together, and it was much livelier than you expected. They all practically trampled you before you could even take a step into the household, and you were sure Tim was scared for life when he accidentally walked into the bathroom when you were doing your business. At least now you were slightly more prepared to see them all. Always bring three extra locks to the bathroom.

“Just be prepared, okay, (N/N)?” He sighed.

“When have I not?” A smirk played at your lips as you looked up at him innocently.

It was getting colder and colder, so you were relieved when you finally saw the familiar evergreen trees that were in front of Wayne Manor. Quickening your pace, you arrived at their doorstep, Damian right behind you. Pressing on the doorbell, you waited. It wasn’t even 5 seconds later when there was a loud ‘screech!’ and a loud crash. You were sure you heard Mr. Pennyworth let out a yowl as well.

“(Y/N)! We were… expecting someone else!” Jason said in a very straightforward way.

You raised an eyebrow, turning to Damian whose cheeks became very pink. And you weren’t sure if it was from the cold. “As much as I am curious to know who you were expecting, can you please let me inside? I have presents, and unless you want to miss out on them, I suggest stepping to the side.”

Almost immediately, all 3 of them took a step to the left and formed a straight line. “You’re the only one who can get them to do that,” Damian said, eyes glistening in admiration. “I’ll take your bags upstairs if you would like.”

“I can take them up,” you said softly. “But I am definitely taking the presents. Strangely enough, I don’t trust you.”

“That wounds me, (N/N),” the boy said, rolling his eyes and placing a hand on his heart.

You let out a laugh, poking him on the nose before snatching the plastic bag out of his hands. “Au revoir, humans!” You yelled, before climbing up the stairs, Damian watching you go.

Meanwhile, Tim, Jason, and Dick were watching your interactions, sly smirks growing on their faces. Tim was the first to speak up, “Oh, I see it now. You’re in love with (Y/N).”

Damian scoffed at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “TT, you really do surprise me with your idiocy, Drake. I assure you, (Y/N) and I are just friends.”

“So why do you call her (N/N)?” Dick asked cheekily.

“And why did you offer to take her bags?” Jason smirked.

“I thought you wanted me to have a better connection with (L/N),” Damian grumbled. “There’s just no pleasing you.”

 Later that night, you were seated in the dining room of Wayne Manor. From the corner of your eye, you saw Tim whisper something to Bruce who nodded. “Apologies, (Y/N), but we must leave for the night. There’s been an emergency at Wayne Enterprises.”

You frowned at these words. “On Christmas Week?”

“Unfortunately,” Jason said with mock sympathy. “We’ll be back before you know it, kid. Besides, Damian will be there.”

At that, the said boy almost dropped his fork, shooting a not-so-subtle glare at his older brother. “Of course I will be.”

“Oh…” you nodded in understanding, “well, have fun!”

 Before long, you and Damian agreed to watch a movie after he took a shower and got everything ready. While you waited, you scrolled through the news on your laptop. So far, nothing was interesting until your gaze fell at one particular article. ‘Batman and his Associates Spotted While Fighting Poison Ivy’. Curiosity overtook you and you scanned through the article.

‘At 7:48 on the 21st of December, Batman and his associates, Red Robin, Red Hood, and Nightwing were spotted fighting the famed villain Poison Ivy’. You furrowed your eyebrows as you read the first sentence. 7:48 at night? That was 10 minutes after Bruce and the others excused themselves this evening. And, hold on a minute, Nightwing was meant to be in Bludhaven, not Gotham. So what was he doing here? And where in tarnation was Robin, the vigilante who saved you months prior?

A salty feeling was left in your mouth. There was no way Bruce Wayne could be Batman, could there? And, if he was Batman, that meant Dick was Nightwing, Red Robin was Tim and Red Hood was Jason. But that meant… a chill ran down your spine. Damian, your Damian, was Robin? The vigilante known for fighting and putting himself in danger? No, that was impossible! Or… was it?

Your stomach lurched at the thought. Wait. You had to find some solid proof that they were the masked vigilantes everyone knew and (probably?) loved. The most questionable thing was: where was the Bat Cave? In their basement? You snickered at the thought. No, that was a little out of the ordinary. You would have seen it at some point. Unless…

Out of all the books in Bruce’s study, there was only one that didn’t have any dust on it. Curiously, you pulled the book towards you and in almost an instant, the wall opened up. You gaped at the hole in the wall, looking around to see if Damian was anywhere. He didn’t seem to be following you… using the flash on your phone as a torch, you slowly walked down the stairs. When your feet met even ground, you were met with a swarm of bats. Waving your arms around like a mad man, you ran around the bat cave multiple times, only to run into a very tall sturdy thing. Oh, wait. This isn’t good.

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked, looking down on you. You flinched. Now you were definitely scared.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Robin?” Your voice was nothing but a mere whisper and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears.

“How did you find out?”

“I connected the dots,” you said coldly, regretting it almost instantly, “I know that Tim is Red Robin, Jay is Red Hood and Dick is Nightwing. And I know that Bruce is Batman.”

Damian shut his eyes tightly, wishing that this was all a bad dream. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Why not?” You countered, frowning at him. “I would have found out sooner or later. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to keep you safe.” The way he said it… your heart thundered in your chest as you looked up at his emerald green eyes. “I didn’t want to make you into a target.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you muttered before letting out a dry laugh. “How do you think I feel? You’re the one running around putting yourself in danger.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me, (N/N). You’re always putting people in front of yourself and it scares me sometimes.” His mind wandered back to the time he saved you, and from the look in your eyes, he could tell that you were, too.

“Well, you do that too, don’t you?” You gave a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry.”

“For finding out?” Damian shook his head, “don’t be. Now, come on, I prepared your favourite movie.”

“The Nutcracker?” You giggled. “I thought you forgot.”

“I never forget.” He offered you a hand which you gratefully took.

“Damian,” you said softly, looking up at him, “why do you care so much?”

Why did he care so much? “Because… because you didn’t give up on me.”

You smiled up at him, squeezing his hand a little tighter as you walked up the stairs from the Bat Cave. “I’ll never give up on you, Dami. You mean too much to me.”

“Likewise, (N/N).”

The movie soon became forgotten as you sat cross-legged on the couch, Damian sitting lazily in front of you. He was telling you about the latest heist at the harbour, when Bruce, Tim, Dick and Jason walked casually into the room.

“Hey, guys,” you said from the couch, pulling your attention from Damian for a few moments. “How was the mission?”

“Oh, it was good- wait, you knew?!” Dick gaped at you. “Damian, did you tell her?”

At that, the said boy let out a scoff. “You have no faith in me, Grayson. Of course, I didn’t tell her. She figured it out herself.”

You grinned in triumph at them, letting out a guffaw at their bemused faces. “I’m not that stupid, you know.”

“Right…” Jason eyes you wearily while Bruce was still wondering if he should scold you or congratulate you for the find. “I’m just going to pretend this never happened and leave…”

“For once, I’m going to agree with you,” Tim said, following him out the room.

You shrugged before turning back to Damian. “So, what happened to Two-Face?”

“He’s still in the Asylum, obviously. He’s going mad there, I presume.”

“Wait… I never got to ask.” At this point, Bruce had left the room in search of Alfred. “If you’re Bruce’s biological son, who’s your mother?”

The green eyed boy stiffened, shifting uncomfortably.

Your eyes widened in realisation. “Oh, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting the question,” Damian dismissed. “My mother is Talia Al Ghul, a leader in the League of Assassins. I was born from an artificial womb and trained to kill innocent people.” At that, he cringed. “It’s a lot worse than it sounds. When Father took me in, he taught me his customs. He taught me not to kill. But I don’t think he was the real reason I stopped.”

You frowned at him, cocking your head to the side. “Then who is?”

“You,” Damian admitted truthfully. “You never gave up on me and you were… pure.”

You let out a small chuckle, rolling your eyes. “I’m not that pure, Dami.”

The two of you were sitting closer together, and you never noticed how… beautiful Damian’s eyes were. They were an enticing shade of emerald green with soft blue accents. You bit your lip at each thought that popped through your head after.

“(Y/N)…”  Damian’s voice was a whisper and his soft minty breath fanned your face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

You smiled at him, (E/C) eyes twinkling. “I love you too.”

“May I kiss you?”

In your response, you hesitantly pressed your lips against his, smiling as you did.

In that moment, Damian learned what it really meant to love. And he vowed to himself that he was never going to let anything happen to you. Never.

//End//

Part 1 here Part 2 here

//Tag List//

If you want to be tagged, shoot me a message! <3

@nana-akishima @strawbeari2 @ it-is-burnt-sienna @dest-ai-ni (idk why these tags aren’t working ;-;)

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Gallery

Request : Sonny x reader where they get into a bad fight but they make up at the end? Thank u 👍💕😘

So it’s not nessisarily a ‘huge fight’ but it’s defiantly some angst with a big make up. I hope I didn’t make the reader too unreasonable? I don’t feel like I did but please let me know if you think so. ☺️

You weren’t very proud of many things. But for what felt like the first time in your life, for the first time in your career you felt proud. Tonight you were to be part of a new art exhibit opening in downtown Manhattan, several of the paintings you’d poured yourself into over the past few months were going to be on display. And possibly even sold if you were lucky enough.

You were nearly dizzy with excitement. The exhibit opened at 6pm. Sonny had promised a million and one times he was going to be there, 6 sharp. You knew that him actually making in on time was far fetched, but you were still beside yourself with excitement to share this special evening with your boyfriend. You wanted him to see your work, to see that all the time and effort you put into your art was more than just hobby. You wanted him to be proud of your accomplishments.

You spent most of the afternoon getting ready, allowing yourself to spend extra time on yourself, getting a bath and doing a face mask. Dollying yourself up and even going as far to wear a new cocktail dress you had purchased. At half past five you were ready to catch a cab to the gallery so you shot Sonny a quick text.

Leaving now, love. Let me know when you’re on your way, please xx

You hit send and frowned slightly. You hadn’t had any texts from him all day, which was out of the ordinary, you usually at least got something halfway through his shift even if it was a quick one sentence ‘I’m okay I’ll see you later’. But today? Nothing. It made you feel uneasy but you brushed the feeling off and went on with your evening.

The gallery was beautiful, as were most of the people attending it. You smiled and nodded and tried you best to feel at ease with a social bracket above what you were used to. You kept glancing at your phone, waiting desperately for that on my way text. At quarter after seven you gave in and decided to send him another text.

Sonny, can you please at least let me know your alright? I’m dying here without you. You pressed send before letting your fingers hover over the keyboard before typing out another quick message.

You said there was no ongoing cases, I thought you’d at least make it before 7. Call me when you’re done? You sighed and put your phone away as the owner of the gallery approached you with two drinks in hand, handing you one.

“So, where’s that boyfriend of yours?” He asked and you felt your chest tighten slightly giving him a tense smile.

“Work,” You answered taking a long drink of the champagne. He nodded his head and took a drink from his own cup.

“He couldn’t take off for this? It is quite a big deal for you isn’t it?” He pressed and you gave a half hearted shrug.

“He’s a detective, something must’ve come up.” You felt your throat tighten slightly. You looked down at the glass in your hand and watched it tremble slightly before placing it on a tray as a waiter past.  “I’m going to use the restroom.” You informed him before ducking your head and quickly making your way to the ladies room. Maybe you were being ridiculous. Maybe you weren’t but either way you felt the tears coming.

You entered the bathroom and wiped away a few stray tears you’d accidently let escape. He knew this was a big deal for you and for your future. God. You hadn’t shut up about it for at least the last month he had to know! You locked yourself in a stall and sat down on the toilet pulling your phone out again. You finger hovered over the green phone beside Sonny’s contact name before you let yourself click it and held the phone to your ear.

It rang twice before he sent you to voicemail. His phone wasn’t off, and it didn’t fully ring out. He sent you to voicemail. Several more tears spilled over and you waited for the beep before taking a deep breath.

“You… You’re an hour and a half late.” You stated, shaking your head to yourself, “You promised me you’d be here. I know things get hard with work, but you promised, Sonny.” You felt like an idiot accidentally sniffing into the receiver. “You know what? Forget it, it doesn’t fucking matter.” You felt anger now rising in you and lowered the phone from your ear hitting the end button and sitting for a moment.

You tilted your head back and blinked several times to expel the few remaining tears from your eyes. It did matter. You knew his job was harder than most. But between the missed anniversaries and birthdays and dates, god, you felt like you were losing him.

You understood how important his job was, and how important it was to him. Did he get how important yours was to you? You used a paper towel to dab your face with some cold water and gave yourself a minute to calm down before reentering the party. You did your best to not let Sonny’s absence bother you and made it through most of the night. It was nearing 10:30 when you felt your phone vibrate. You were in conversation with the gallery owner and a few art critics so you excused yourself and moved to the edge of the room to pull your phone out.

(Y/N) I got caught up with work, I can come now?

You read the text a few times and scoffed shaking your head. That’s it?

Don’t bother. You sent back quickly, and received your response in seconds.

Alright, I’ll see you at home then? You stared at his words for a minute,  rereading it several times. You scrolled up and read the messages you’d sent earlier too, for good measure. Could he really be so… so apathetic? You shoved the phone back in your purse and once again joined the crowd, no matter how much you didn’t want to be around these people, no matter how much you wanted to go home and lay face first in your pillow and scream. You couldn’t. This was your future, Sonny or no Sonny.

In the end you’d sold two paintings. Worth more then all the paintings you’d ever painted combined in your life. You wanted to be ecstatic, but Sonny’s absence was still weighing heavy on you. Your phone vibrated again and you pulled your phone out.

Hey love, it’s nearly midnight. How’s your thing going? Will you be home soon?

Oh what? Now you care? What does it matter how it went or where I am.

Woah, hey, wait.

Don’t say that, what’s wrong?

Are you serious right now?

You decided to walk for a few blocks before trying to hail a cab, mostly to prolong having to return home.

(Y/N) what’s wrong?

Doll, please tell me.

You don’t care enough to come to my ‘art thing’ you don’t get to ask me what’s wrong.

I’m sorry, a work thing came up.

A work thing, a work thing. I’m sick of hearing that! It’s not an excuse for everything Sonny. I told you how much this meant to me. You knew, and you promised to be here and I don’t hear from you until almost eleven. I hope you and your work have a lovely fulfilling life together.

You were crying now, openly, as you walked down the street. You’d felt so pushed away recently and it was starting to take its toll. If he didn’t want to be with you or spend time with you then why keep wasting everyone’s time. Your phone began to vibrate and you looked down to see a imagine of you and Sonny grinning flashing on your screen. For a moment you considered not answering him but gave in on the fourth ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry,” Sonny spoke and you wiped your coat sleeve across your face. “(Y/N) I’m sorry, okay?”

“Fine.” You whispered and you felt your voice break.

“Don’t just say fine!” Sonny’s voice raised slightly, “I know I fucked up, okay? I promised you I’d be there and I didn’t come. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” you stifled a sob that threatened to spill out, “I told you it doesn’t matter.”

“Christ, It matters. To you, okay? And that means it matters to me.” You didn’t answer so he kept going, “I love you, doll, alright? And I’m so sorry I missed this. A case came up, and I should have told them I couldn’t stay. I promised you.”

“I know you’re job is important,” You assured him, feeling guilt rise in your chest. You were being selfish and ridiculous.

“Not as important as you are.” He responded quickly. “I’ve broken too many promises to you.” You let out a small sob into the receiver.

“I’m sorry-”

“No.” Sonny stopped your firmly, “No, you’re not apologizing to me. You’ve got a right to be upset, doll. I hurt you. And I’m going to make it up to you.” You let out a wet laugh and shook your head to yourself. “Please come home, you can tell me all about your gallery. I want to hear every detail, okay?”

“Okay,” You whispered, “Sonny I..” You trailed off slightly giving a passing taxi a wave.

“What?” You climbed into the back of the cab and quickly gave the driver the address before continuing.

“I don’t want you to choose between me and your work, you know that right?” You didn’t want to be the thing that made him stop being a part of SVU. The job took a terrible toll on him, but you knew he loved it. He loved helping those victims and making a difference. There was no point in forcing him away from that job if he would only grow to resent you for it, “I don’t want you to be anything besides who you are I just... “

“I know.” He assured you, “I know you don’t, and you aren’t.”

“I don’t want to make you hate me, I don’t want to make you give up something you love doing.”

“Doll, I could never hate you ever, okay? I like my job, alright? But I love you, and I don’t love a single thing in this world more than you. You’re not pulling me away from my work, I am. I’m going to cut back on overtime. Because I want to, because I want to spend my time loving you, having a life, a family with you. I don’t want to be one of those sorry bastards all bitter and loveless because I let some job get the better of me. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Sonny.” You promised him and you meant it.

“I love you. And the next exhibit you have I will be there. Early. No more missing important life events, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathed, “I love you too.”

“Good, now come home to me, alright? I’m going to make it up to you” you head the smile in his voice and couldn’t help but crack a small one of your own.

“Alright.” You hung up and put the phone down on your lap wiping away the last of your tears watching the buildings pass as you moved closer and closer to your home with the man you loved.

“He sounds like a keeper.” The taxi driver piped up from the front seat and you laughed, nodding to yourself.

“He is.” He really truly was.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Not in Service” (Rated PG)

After years of pining over the most popular boy in McKinley - Kurt Hummel, nerd boy Blaine Anderson manages to get Kurt's cell phone number ... the day before Kurt loses his phone and decides to buy a new one. Blaine decides to use this as an opportunity to confess every feeling he's ever had for Kurt, how much he admires him, how much he's wanted to ask him out, for once and for all in the safest way possible ...

... because there's no chance anyone is ever going to see those messages ... right? (3654 words)

Notes: Okay, so I had been writing this alongside another one-shot I wrote for K*urtbastian (Dead Air), but I liked the other one better. But seeing as I had put so much work into this one, I've decided to post it. If you've read the other, you'll see that this one is entirely different. Let me know which one you like better <3

Warning for mention of bullying. Head Cheerio Kurt, nerd Blaine.

Read on AO3.

“Oh, give me a break!” Kurt exclaims out of nowhere, cutting short the conversation he’d been leading about the upcoming Regionals, and McKinley High’s chances of grabbing the gold.

Which is of course, obviously.

He starts rifling through his book bag like his life depends on it, then searching the pockets of his letterman jacket – first patting them down, then shoving his hands deep in as if expecting them to open up, revealing storage areas previously unknown.

“What’s wrong now?” Mercedes groans, looking up from her lunch - tater tots and celery sticks, her own personal compromise. She’s trying to slim down, but she refuses to spend the rest of her life eating like a rabbit to get there. Though, at present, the number of tater tots on her plate are dwindling while the celery sticks seem to be multiplying.

“My stupid phone!” Kurt huffs, searching his bag a second time, removing its contents piece by piece to be sure he’s covered his bases. “I’ve lost it … again! What does this make?”

The third time this week, Blaine thinks.

“I think this makes the third time this week,” Mercedes offers.

Blaine, pretending to appear deeply enthralled by his Calculus textbook, bites his lower lip and smiles, choosing to overlook how stalker-ish it is that he knows that.

“Well, you know what this means …” Kurt tosses down his bag in frustration, then re-thinks that and rescues it from the filthy ground.

“That you’re not responsible enough to own a phone?” Santana supplies. Kurt and Mercedes (and from his far corner of the cafeteria – Blaine) glare.

“Thank you, Satan,” Kurt snaps.

“Why don’t you trade up to an iPhone?” Mercedes stabs a celery stick with her fork, then changes her mind and spears another tot. “You’ve only wanted one forever.”

“Because losing a $500 phone would be less devastating than losing that crappy $100 one?” Santana says. She puts her hands up in defense as another round of glares heads her way. “Hey! I’m just sayin’.”

“I did want one until I found out that I won’t be able to keep my old number for some stupid reason,” Kurt explains, choosing to ignore negative comments from the peanut gallery. “That’s going to be a hassle.”

“But it’s worth it,” Mercedes sings, flashing her own iPhone with its shiny gold cover, knowing how much Kurt’s been coveting it.

“I don’t think I have it in my budget to buy a new phone,” Kurt argues, gathering up his things and getting ready to let Mercedes persuade him to buy one anyway.

“Nonsense. They’re on sale. And you know how much you love shopping for stuff on sale.”

“True, true.”

“Plus, it’ll give us an excuse to skip next period.”

“Cedes!” Kurt hisses, winding his arm inside hers as they hurry out of the cafeteria, huddled close together as if that will make what they’re doing less conspicuous. “You’re so bad!”

“Yes, but you love me anyway.”

“I do.”

Blaine peeks over the edge of his book and watches the friends leave. They get swallowed by the mob of students loitering outside the cafeteria doors, and then poof. They’re gone. Blaine sighs. Welp, there goes his master plan. That would be just his luck, Kurt losing his phone the day after Blaine managed to get his number. Kurt didn’t give it to him. Blaine paid Noah Puckerman, the boy with the stickiest fingers in McKinley, $20 to swipe the number for him. To be fair, Blaine doesn’t know if what he has is Kurt’s real number, or if he’d been swindled out of twenty bucks.

But he’d been optimistic.

Blaine didn’t have a plan past getting the number. In fact, he had no idea what he was going to do with Kurt’s number (provided it was his). But now, he doesn’t even have a chance.

Not like he had any before. What did Blaine think – Head Cheerio and most popular boy in school Kurt Hummel was going to date nerd boy Blaine Anderson simply because he managed to get Kurt’s number? Kurt probably wouldn’t give Blaine the time of day once he found out because how creepy is that? Paying some lowlife to get a hold of your phone number? And Kurt would be right. Kurt’s number was unlisted in the student directory for a reason.

And that reason probably looked a lot like Blaine.

Blaine takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Kurt’s number. Just seeing it there, with Kurt’s name at the top, makes his heart flutter. He imagines what it would be like if he had permission to have it. If Kurt had given it to him for real and he hadn’t spent his allowance on it. If the two of them were friends …

… or boyfriends.

But with Kurt’s phone gone, Blaine has to start over from scratch. Maybe this is a lesson well learned. Maybe he should just grow a pair, go up to Kurt, and say hi, tell him how handsome he is, how talented, how long he’s admired him from afar ...

Yeah, right. Blaine might also sprout a pair of wings and start circling Kurt’s house at night like a giant bat.

That conversation would earn Blaine a permanent spot in the dumpster out behind the cafeteria – the one the lunch ladies toss the expired coleslaw and uneaten seafood salad in – after the football team finds out.

According to Brett Bukowski, that smell never comes out.

And it wouldn’t matter one lick to Kurt because Kurt has no clue who Blaine is anyway. Not that Kurt abides by bullying. He absolutely doesn’t. In fact, it’s been Kurt’s personal mission to abolish bullying ay McKinley High School once and for all. But Blaine would have to be on Kurt’s radar in order for him to care.

And Blaine isn’t.

Blaine has been sitting behind Kurt in nearly every one of his classes for the past three years. They even went to elementary school together. It was only for a few months when they were eight years old. They sat next to each other in class, and at the same table at lunch. Kurt even helped Blaine straighten his bowtie once. But at some point in the middle of the year, Kurt’s mother passed away, and his father sent him to a private school. Kurt looked different back then, but Blaine recognized him right away, the first moment he saw him.

Kurt doesn’t seem to remember.

Kurt has said hi and bye in passing, but only ever speaks to Blaine to ask him to pass notes to Mercedes. He doesn’t know why he thought getting Kurt’s number would change anything, but at the time it seemed like an inspired idea.

A stroke of genius.

With the depth of his own pathos sinking inside his stomach, he gives composing a text to Kurt a try, just to see what it feels like.

To: Kurt

Hey, Kurt! How have you been? I just wanted to tell you your hair looks really nice today. See you in class J

Blaine smiles. It’s such a simple message, the kind two friends would definitely send to one another. But he’d never have the courage. Because they’re not friends, and probably never will be.

Blaine’s smile fades as he exits out of his messaging app and puts his phone in his book bag. He packs his belongings and makes his way to the library before the end-of-lunch bell rings. He doesn’t enjoy picking his way through the crowd that floods the hallways after lunch. Too often he gets bumped or locker checked, and not even by people picking on him. Sometimes just by accident.

Because he’s small, and insignificant, and easy to overlook.

It doesn’t have to be this way, though. By rights, he’s done with high school. He finished the last of his required courses the end of junior year, and is actually a sophomore at Lima Community College. Being a year ahead in his classes meant two things for Blaine – either graduating a semester early and taking advantage of his early acceptance to Harvard, or filling that time with the extracurricular, throw-away classes he didn’t get the opportunity to take.

He opted for the latter.

Ironically, he didn’t want to grow up just yet.

Most of his high school career has been abysmal, that’s true. He’d been tossed in dumpsters more times than he wanted to remember, stuffed in one particular locker so many times the door had been removed by the janitor permanently. Blaine only had a few months to fix that, to do something, anything, that would erase the pain and misery of those first three years.

Maybe that’s why getting Kurt’s number was so important to him.

He cringes. Just thinking that, he feels like the lazily written protagonist in a late 80s rom-com, the kind you look back on 30 years later and realize how fundamentally flawed it truly was.

How much you should have been rooting for anyone but the “hero”.

He gets to the library five minutes before the bell. He sets his things down at the tutoring desk (tucked in a far, secluded corner) and takes out his phone, figuring he’ll scroll through his Instagram feed before the first student shows up.

But the notification that pops up before Instagram opens makes his heart stop.

Message sent.

“What?” Blaine mutters, re-opening his messaging app and checking his sent message log. His stopped heart dislodges from its place inside his ribcage and drops to his knees as he sees the first message on the screen – his message to Kurt. “No … no!” Blaine checks Google to see if there’s any way to stop the message from being sent, desperate to get it back, but it’s too late. The message is gone, on its way to who knows where. If that wasn’t Kurt’s number, well, no harm no foul. But if it was …

… that phone’s lost anyway, isn’t it? Kurt will have a new phone by the end of the school day and, from the sounds of it, a new phone number. So, in theory, Blaine should have nothing to worry about.

But, unfortunately, that’s not how Blaine’s brain works.

Just to be on the safe side (and keep himself out of the dumpster) he decides to compose another message to counteract the first one. But what should it say? Sorry, wrong number? How likely is that when he opened the text Hey, Kurt? Should he try to convince Kurt that he knows another Kurt and that that message was meant for him? What are the odds? Besides, that wouldn’t explain how Blaine got Kurt’s number in the first place. Kurt is a smart boy. He’d never buy that excuse. No sane person would! He takes a deep breath and starts typing, hoping he can come up with something on the fly that will sound halfway reasonable.

To: Kurt

I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry that I sent you that text! Please ignore it! I promise, I won’t do it again!

Blaine sends the message before he really gets the chance to read it. Then, realizing that Kurt probably has no idea who sent him either message, he quickly follows up with:

To: Kurt

This is Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson.

After he sends that message, his poor, overworked heart withers and dies. He’s such an idiot! How can a boy with a 5.0 GPA and early acceptance into one of the most prestigious universities in America be such a phenomenal imbecile? He never identified himself in the first message, nor the second one. What are the odds anyone in Kurt’s friend circle has Blaine’s number? Blaine rarely gives it out. Kurt would have never known who sent the first message to begin with, and Blaine would have gotten away with it.

Unless Noah told. That’s a distinct possibility. He probably would. But shit!

Blaine’s skin prickles with cold despite the fact that he’s sitting beside a heating vent going full blast; his head swims with the reality of what his life might end up looking like for the next week or two.

Strangely enough, when he pictures it, he only sees darkness.

Blaine’s head drops to the desk with a hard thunk. What’s left for him now? Does he pick up his bag, walk out of school, and never look back? Hitchhike to Harvard and camp out on the main lawn until the start of summer school?

No.

He’s been carrying this secret with him, deep inside, for so long. He has to let it go. Even if it’s to empty cyberspace, he has to give it up.

He’s dug himself in deep this time. He might as well fill in the hole.

He lifts his head, and composes another message.

To: Kurt

You don’t know me … at least, I don’t think you do. You’ve only spoken to me a handful of times, but otherwise, you don’t seem to know I exist.

Blaine chuckles. That’s the understatement of the century. And it’s not because Kurt is one of those popular kids who has his head shoved so far up his own ass that he doesn’t associate with people outside of his social circle.

Quite on the contrary.

It’s simply that Kurt is completely and utterly out of Blaine’s league.

To: Kurt

But you and I have history, so to speak.

To: Kurt

Well, to be honest, it’s more like an anecdote.

To: Kurt

I sit behind you in a few classes and I’ve always wanted to say hi to you, but …

To: Kurt

I’m just too afraid.

To: Kurt

I’m afraid of being laughed at. But also … I get picked on a lot, and I’m afraid of becoming more of a target than I already am.

Blaine’s hands shake as he writes that. Even if Kurt never reads this, and odds are he won’t, the fear is still too real.

To Kurt:

But I look up to you so much.

To: Kurt

You’re smart and popular, and you have so many friends.

To: Kurt

You sing in Glee Club and you’re captain of the Cheerios.

To: Kurt

You’re doing everything I would have done if I’d had more courage.

To: Kurt

Speaking of courage …

Blaine hesitates, a small voice in his head screaming, “Don’t do it! Don’t do it! Turn back now before it’s too late!” But another voice reminds him that Kurt is never going to see these messages.

So what would it hurt to go for broke?

To: Kurt

I’ve been trying to find the courage to ask you out forever.

To: Kurt

Nothing major. Not like prom. I wouldn’t want your reputation to tank because of me. Just coffee.

To: Kurt

I know that you’ll think I like you because you’re Head Cheerio, because you’re popular, but that’s not it. I swear.

To: Kurt

There are hundreds of reasons to like you that have nothing to do with you being popular.

Blaine bites his lower lip, knowing he’s going to step over some lines, drudge up some past that maybe he shouldn’t, but he can’t make himself stop typing.

To: Kurt

When Coach Sylvester wanted you to lose weight after you joined the Cheerios, I saw how hard that was on you. But then you told her that if she didn’t want you on the squad plus or minus a few pounds, that she could go to hell. And she made you captain.

To: Kurt

You ran for student body president on a platform to end bullying, because you overcame bullying yourself, and even a death threat to get where you are.

To: Kurt

But when that other Cheerio won (I think because she promised to go topless one day a month), you were so gracious in defeat. And then you still went on to get the superintendent to ban dodgeball in all public schools, for which I, personally, thank you.

To: Kurt

You were so strong after your dad got sick.

To: Kurt

I heard you spent every night with him at the hospital, and then came to school every morning. I don’t think I could have done that.

To: Kurt

You brought that boy Sam some clothes when his parents lost their home last year.

To: Kurt

And I’ve seen you stand up for the Glee Club against the football players, even against Coach Sylvester.

To: Kurt

You’ve been out and proud in school for years now, and have paved a way for LGBT kids in our school to feel safer and more accepted, which is difficult when you consider the mental Neanderthals we’re surrounded by every day.

To: Kurt

No matter what life threw at you, you never gave up.

To: Kurt

You’re a good person.

Blaine looks at his phone after that last message. He could end it there, but that’s not the end. He takes in a breath and holds it. He has nothing to lose, he reminds himself.

To: Kurt

So, if I don’t sound like a total loser, and you think that maybe the two of us could be, you know, friends …

To: Kurt

I’m in the library, at the tutoring desk. Maybe you could stop by, and we could talk.

That first little voice rings in his head, “Mayday! Mayday!” and Blaine steps his remarks back a bit.

To: Kurt

Or not. I know you’re a busy guy. I’m sorry for bothering you.

To: Kurt

P. S. Just so you know, I’m not a stalker, so please don’t call the police on me.

“Ugh!” Blaine moans, dropping his head back onto the desk. “Why? Why did you text that? You pathetic loser!”

He turns off his phone and sets it aside.

And … that’s it.

That’s all he had in him to say.

He did it, though. He overcame his fear and told Kurt how he felt … in the safest, most non-consequence facing way possible.

He should feel relieved.

But he doesn’t.

He sent those messages, expressed all of those feelings, but they just disappeared into the ether, never to be retrieved (once Blaine clears his message history), their intended recipient totally unaware of their existence. What good would it have done if Kurt had read them anyway? What would that change except to make Blaine seem like more of a loser than he already feels?

He thought he’d feel lighter after admitting all of that, like he’d accomplished something. But he doesn’t.

He feels vacant.

Empty.

Vaguely incomplete.

He knocks his head on the desk a few times, chanting, “You. Are. Such. An. Idiot. You. Are. Such. An …”

“Hey. Are you busy?”

Blaine stops chanting and sighs. “Do I look busy?” He doesn’t care that he sounds snippy. Only five or so people come to see him on the regular anyhow, and most of them have witnessed him in the midst of an existential crisis before.

“Well, you look like you might be having some sort of episode. If that’s the case, I can come back.” A giggle follows that remark that sends a chill down Blaine’s spine.

That’s no regular.

That’s Kurt.

Blaine looks up, a nervous smile plastered to his face as he tries to remain calm. This is a coincidence. That’s all. Nothing but a weird, wacky, one-in-a-million, kick-you-in-the-crotch coincidence. Blaine is here to tutor. Lots of kids, from the cheerleading squad to the football players, come to see him. Even the ones who have tossed him into dumpsters stroll in as if there’s no bad blood between them to ask Blaine for help bringing up their grades. So this isn’t that out of the ordinary.

Except that Kurt has a 4.8 GPA. He’s never needed tutoring, so why would he be here?

It can’t have anything to do with those messages. No way. That phone is gone, those messages went nowhere.

So … why today of all days? Why on the one day Blaine bore his heart to him – or to his lost phone – through dozens of inane text messages, would Kurt show up for tutoring?

Blaine can’t begin to guess. But once this does turn out to be one big, crazy coincidence, he’s going to buy a ton of lottery tickets because fate is obviously working overtime.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not. I … is there something I can help you with?” Blaine asks.

“I … I wanted to show you something.” Kurt reaches into his book bag, pulls out his phone, and shows it to Blaine. Blaine exhales, relieved. That’s all. Kurt got his new phone and he’s showing it off, probably to everyone he sees. He happened to be in the library, noticed Blaine sitting at the tutoring desk, and decided to brag.

Completely reasonable.

But when Blaine takes a second look, he sees it’s not a new phone. It’s Kurt’s old phone. There’s a message displayed on the screen. It only takes Blaine three seconds and the words please don’t call the police for him to know that it’s his message.

Not the first message Blaine sent, but the last.

“Your name is Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, letting out a breath as if he’d been holding it for an hour now. “You sit behind me in science, math, and economics. Last year, you sat behind me in history, math, and AP European Literature.” Kurt takes a step towards the empty chair in front of Blaine’s desk. “We met for the first time in elementary school. You wore a bowtie to school every day. I used to wear suits, and my hair …” Kurt runs a self-conscious hand through his bangs “… was less highlighted then.”

“I … I remember,” Blaine says, swallowing heavy.

“So do I.” Kurt takes a seat. And with a small, bashful smile, he takes Blaine’s hand. “Can we talk?”

[maximilliandelirium]

somebody out there hates you

a/n: hhhh i wrote this in a pre-nanowrimo mania. wanted to post to ao3 but it’s acting weird so i thought i’d throw it up on the blog for now. notice me senpai fills me with joy, so i was inspired to make *~art~* the setting is anime japan so nothing is accurate and the points don’t matter (pssst! support me on ko-fi!)

Summary: Suzuki joins an anti-cafe out of curiosity and begins to re-evaluate his relationship with Yamato. Suzuki/Yamato (Idol Senpai/Rocker Senpai)

              Suzuki didn’t go online that evening intending to join an anti-Suzuki fan café. He usually didn’t dwell on his haters at all. But tonight, curiosity got the better of him. He’d been trawling the net after a long practice when he stumbled across a link to the anti-site. (Suzuki liked to Google himself; so what?) When he followed it, he realized he couldn’t read any of the message boards without an account.

               That’s a good thing, I guess, he thought. He didn’t really want to see what people were saying about him. He decided to forget about it and do his homework instead.

               At least, that was what he tried to do. He kept thinking about it as he struggled over his assigned reading. What did they talk about? Did they make fun of his hair? His personality? Maybe they picked apart his lyrics. The longer he thought about it, the more he wanted to know.

               Suzuki tossed his book aside and re-opened his laptop. He hadn’t closed the browser window. The link was still there. Yamato was always telling him to consider his weaknesses so he could improve. This could be beneficial. If Suzuki tried understanding where these people were coming from, he might be able to win them over, or at least get better at what he did.

               It didn’t take much to make an account. He had to create a new email—he didn’t want his regular one linked to the site. After that, he spent half an hour trying to come up with a screen name. It was imperative that no one know who he really was. His usual handle—“SuzuStar”—would give him away like a shot. Suzuki was also disappointed to discover that “YamatoFan#1” was taken. Eventually, he settled on “notafan1234.”

               Never having been on an anti-site before, Suzuki wasn’t sure what to expect. He was surprised by how plain it was. The header image was just the name of the page in bright red letters, along with a picture of his face with a “no” sign superimposed on it. He scrolled through the list of threads.

               Break Suzuki’s new MV!

               New Anti-Suzuki Memes

               Worst Lyrics Poll (CLOSED)

               Suzuki kept scrolling, horrified and fascinated. He found a thread titled “Important question for Yamato fans—should he be friends w/ Suzuki?” He clicked on it. He jumped when he saw the selfie he and Yamato had taken at the school festival. The original poster had written a caption beneath it.

               Ugh. I don’t get why Yamato wastes his time with this guy. They don’t have anything in common.

               A user named MerryPip added, Lol same. Yamato actually has talent.

               Suzuki frowned.

               They probably just hang out because they go to the same school, someone else said. Yamato doesn’t want to be mean.

               Tbh, SuzuYama shippers make me sick.

               Yamato shouldn’t keep feeding them by hanging out with him.

               They only do it for fanservice. I bet it’s in their contracts.

               Suzuki hadn’t been planning on responding to anyone, but the last comment had sent him over the edge. They had no right to question his friendship with Yamato. They didn’t know anything about him. He typed, Maybe Yamato and Suzuki are friends because they get along and like to hang out.

               A response appeared in no time. As if, Lonelygrrl said. Suzuki is too much of a ditz to get along with Yamato. He totally cramps his style. Yamato is just humoring him because the fans like it.

               Blood rushed to Yamato’s face. His fingers flew to the keys. That’s not true! How do you know Yamato is just pretending? You don’t have any proof. You’re just making stuff up!

               The backlash was swift and immediate. A gallery of photos flooded the thread with red outlines drawn around Yamato’s eyes and mouth, along with whole paragraphs explaining why his smile was faked, or how he couldn’t stand to actually touch Suzuki.

               His hand is just hovering here, Lonelygrrl wrote. All their selfies are faked. Their managers get together and tell them where to go. Like playdates.

               Suzuki slammed the laptop closed. He sat back, fuming. When his head cooled, Suzuki reached for his phone. He wanted to ask Yamato about this. (Yamato was saved in his contacts as “Yama heart eyes emoji, guitar emoji.”)

               Did u know there’s a whole website that hates me? Suzuki texted.

               Yamato answered quickly: No, but I’m not surprised. There’s always haters. You find one?

               Yeah. I made an account.

               WTF why?

               I wanted to see what they were saying.

               Delete it. That’s a waste of time.

               A waste of time. That’s what the anti-fans had said Yamato was doing by being Suzuki’s friend. He wanted to tell Yamato about it. But it had made him nervous. What if they were right? What if Yamato was only pretending to be friends with him? They’d become closer through school performances. Was that the only reason Yamato continued to hang out with him?

               Suzuki texted back: Ur right. They’re just mean.

               Don’t let it get to you. Some people have to be negative for no reason.

               Suzuki put the phone aside. He wouldn’t go back on the site. He’d just forget about it. Yamato was his friend and that was that. It wouldn’t do him any good to second guess it. Suzuki opened the laptop one last time to close the browser. There were a few more replies.

               Jesus, when will trolls learn not to come in here? MerryPip complained. Do. Not. Feed. The. Trolls.

               I’m not a troll, Suzuki thought, closing the window. He would delete the account tomorrow. Right now, he needed to get back to work.

               The next morning was rough. Suzuki hadn’t realized how much time had passed last night while he’d been reading the message boards, and by the time he completed his homework, it was 2AM. He shuffled into class, yawning.

               “Late night?” Reiji asked as Suzuki walked past.

               “It took me two hours to finish the reading.”

               “Me, too!” Takeru said. “And when I finished, it felt like I didn’t understand it at all.” He looked over at Ren. “What did you think?”

               Ren lifted his head slightly. “Huh? I didn’t finish. I fell asleep halfway through.”

               “You’re kidding. We have a quiz on it today.”

               “I can probably get a good enough grade with what I know.”

               Suzuki spotted Yamato sitting on the windowsill. He had his guitar balanced in his lap and he was strumming it idly. The things Suzuki had read last night started to seep into his mind. He pushed them away. I’m not going to think about it.

               “Yama-kun!” Suzuki called.

               Yamato glanced up and smiled. It looked real. Relief washed over Suzuki as he walked over. Yamato continued plucking on the strings.

               “Hey,” he said. “You look beat. What’s up?”

               “I got distracted by the internet last night and did all my homework late.” Suzuki blushed. Yamato liked to tease him for being irresponsible sometimes. “But I did get it done!”

               “Oh yeah. That site you texted me about. I hope you didn’t talk to anyone.”

               Suzuki laughed nervously. “No. Why would I?”

               “They’re trying to get a rise out of people. Starting an argument is just what they want.”

               He laughed again, this time more forced.

               Yamato tilted his head to the side. “You okay?”

               “Yeah. It’s all good.” Suzuki waved a hand. “Let’s stop talking about it. Do you still want to go shopping today after class?”

               “Sure. Just remember to change before we go out. I don’t want to get chased by your crazy fans again.”

               “I wouldn’t forget,” Suzuki said. He winked and stuck his tongue out. “Are you sure you don’t like the exercise?”

               “I’m sure.”

               Yamato met him in front of the school after classes let out. No matter how many times they went out in public together, Yamato never stopped staring at Suzuki’s outfit. Suzuki didn’t understand why he rolled his eyes every time he saw it.

               “What’s the matter? This is what I always wear,” he said.

               “I know. That’s the problem. We’re getting you some new civilian clothes today.” Yamato grabbed the hem of Suzuki’s t-shirt and gave it a tug. “How many of these do you own?”

               “A few.”

               “You’re supposed to be in disguise. Why would you wear a shirt with your own face on it?”

               “Because,” Suzuki said, lifting his index finger, “no one would ever suspect I’d wear my own merchandise. This face distracts them from looking at mine.”

               “If you say so.” Yamato let go.

               They walked into town, then took the train to the best shopping district. Though Yamato and Suzuki bought their clothes at different stores, they agreed that this part of the city had the best shops. The only problem was that it was crowded. Just getting off the train was a nightmare. Suzuki almost lost his hat.

               “Is it just me or are there more people here today than usual?” he asked, squashing it back on his head.

               “I think you’re right. There must be a promotion going on.” Yamato stretched to see over the crowd. “That one you like isn’t as busy. Let’s go to that one first.”

               They pressed through the crowd. Suzuki bumped into a woman carrying a dozen bags and made her drop all of them. He spent a few minutes helping her pick them up while bowing and apologizing. She gave him a dirty look. He wondered if she would’ve been as mad if she knew who he was.

               Or could she be one of the anti-fans?

               Suzuki hadn’t thought about it before, but those names online had real people behind them. They could’ve been from his own school. It was scary to think about. There might be some in this crowd. Suzuki readjusted his mask and sunglasses, making sure his face was completely hidden.

               “Suzu—!” Yamato cut himself off as he came jogging over. They’d gotten separated. “I turned around and you weren’t behind me.”

               “Sorry. It’s hard to stick together in all this.”

               Yamato sighed and looked around. Then he grabbed Suzuki’s hand. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you a new shirt.”

               The changing room was cold. Suzuki quickly pulled on one of the shirts he’d brought in. It was a purple galaxy print. There were three mirrors placed in the corner of the stall, giving him a rounded view. He was pretty satisfied with his appearance. Suzuki had often been told he had a good face. And his rigorous dance practices kept him in good shape. Yet…

               Earlier, while Yamato was going through leather jackets, Suzuki had pulled up the anti-café on his phone. He needed to know if they knew where he was. His fans tended to track his movements. His haters might do the same thing.

               Though there wasn’t anything about where he physically was, but there was a new thread: “Is Suzuki actually handsome? Yes/No?” He knew he shouldn’t read it. It didn’t matter what a handful of bitter people on the internet thought. But the urge was too strong.

               It’s supposed to be his major selling point, but I’m a girl and I think he’s kind of lame.

               His hair color looks so fake and not in a good way.

               Didn’t he gain weight recently? No one’s gonna stick around if he keeps putting on the pounds XD

               Imo he’s kind of short.

               I’m 178 centimeters! That’s above average! Suzuki was shorter than Yamato, but that didn’t mean he was tiny. He remembered what Yamato had said about not engaging them. He wanted to set them straight.

               The school festival selfie had reappeared. Suzuki had been proud of it at the time. His and Yamato’s costumes were perfectly coordinated, they’d posed in front of the best decorations in the classroom, and they’d gotten a perfect angle. This site didn’t seem to agree.

               Look at this lame-ass Star Sailor costume.

               I stg Suzuki drags Yamato into his weird interests all the time.

               is it supposed to be funny? Who are they trying to appeal to?

               It had taken every ounce of Suzuki’s self-control not to go off on them. Star Sailor was one of his great loves. It was one of Yamato’s as well. That was the whole reason they had coordinated their cosplays.

               Unable to stomach any more, he had turned off the screen, gathered a few shirts and gone into the dressing room. He examined himself in the mirror. He still looked fine. Suzuki plucked a strand of hair. Was it too yellow?

               He took off the galaxy shirt and pinched his stomach. Suzuki wasn’t as muscular as boys like Makoto or Katsuo, but he had a lithe figure. Nothing seemed to have changed. Sometimes Suzuki’s manager warned him not to indulge his sweet tooth too much. Maybe he should start taking that message more to heart. He felt a pang of loss just considering skipping the cakes at the school’s café.

               Suzuki shook his head. He was letting the anti-site get to him.

               When he emerged from the dressing room, he spotted Yamato coming over, his arms weighed down with jackets and black jeans. He eyed Suzuki’s pile.

               “Did you find anything good?” he asked.

               “I like this one.” Suzuki pointed at the galaxy shirt. “What do you think?”

               Yamato shrugged. “You look good in everything.”

               “Aw, Yama-kun, you’re so sweet!” Suzuki said in an over-the-top cutesy voice. He shimmied his shoulders for extra effect.

               Yamato rolled his eyes and gave Suzuki a light smack on the arm. He disappeared behind the curtain. Suzuki put away the clothes he didn’t want while he waited. He wondered if Yamato had hate sites, too. It didn’t seem possible. Yamato was so handsome and talented; it was hard to imagine a bunch of people getting together just to make fun of him.

               Suzuki pulled out his phone again. He went through his pictures until he found another selfie he’d taken with Yamato. It was from the last time Yamato had hung out at his house. Suzuki hadn’t made it public. He didn’t know why. It was a good picture. There wasn’t anything scandalous or illegal in it.

               He supposed he hadn’t wanted to share it because it felt more personal than the others. They were both in sweatshirts and pajama pants, their faces lit up by the blue light from Suzuki’s TV. Suzuki was leaning heavily on Yamato, who was grinning at the camera. Suzuki was smiling fondly up at Yamato.

               If those jerks online could see this picture, they’d realize Yamato wasn’t faking his feelings of friendship. Suzuki couldn’t post it, though. This picture was just for him and Yamato, no one else. He sighed and closed the photo gallery.

               Yamato came out of the dressing room. “I’m ready if you are,” he said.

               “Are you buying anything?” Suzuki asked as he headed for the counter.

               Yamato shook his head. “I’m going to shop around a bit more. Do you want to get some bubble tea after the next stop?”

               “Only if we go to that one place next to the arcade.”

               “Okay, but you’re not dragging me into another DDR competition.”

               Suzuki put his arm around Yamato’s shoulders. “Come on, you’re not that bad. You almost beat me last time.”

               Yamato shook his head. He copied Suzuki’s gesture, linking them closer together. He gave Suzuki’s back a pat. “I’ll leave the dancing to the trained idol. Some other time. Now go, it’s your turn.” He nudged Suzuki forward.

               Suzuki reluctantly let go of Yamato. He brought his shirts to the girl working the cash register. She smiled at him.

               “You and your friend are cute,” she said as she rung him up.

               “Thanks! I try.”

               She giggled. “Have a nice day.”

               “Did you flirt your way to a discount?” Yamato asked.

               Suzuki’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses. “You can do that?”

               “No, idiot.” Yamato took Suzuki’s hand again. “Maybe you could, but I wouldn’t. I hope she didn’t recognize you.”

               “She didn’t. If she had, she would’ve asked for an autograph.”

               They could never get a seat by the windows, otherwise their combined fans would fill the restaurant. Suzuki was half thankful for the privacy it afforded them, but they had to sit in a dim corner where there wasn’t much space. One of Yamato’s legs rested against one of his own.

               “What kind did you get?” Suzuki asked.

               Yamato glanced up from his phone. “Honeydew. You wanna try it?”

               “Sure.” Suzuki took a sip from Yamato’s bubble tea. They had never worried about germs. The tea was perfectly sweet and mellow. He passed it back, a smile on his lips.

               “You know, that’s the first time you smiled this afternoon,” Yamato said. “It feels like you’ve been gloomy ever since we left school.”

               “Really?” He hadn’t noticed. “I guess I’m just tired. We’re already talking about the next comeback.”

               “They should let you have a break. I’ve been talking to my agency about a vacation.” Yamato lowered his phone and met Suzuki’s eyes. “We could go somewhere. Hawai’i maybe. I’ve always wanted to do a shark tour.”

               Suzuki shuddered. “That’s scary!”

               “They put you in a cage. It’s not dangerous.”

               “You can do that. I want to get a tan.”

               Yamato knocked his leg against Suzuki’s. “But you’d want to go? With me?”

               “Of course.”

               Yamato’s eyes lit up. He smiled. “Awesome. We can get it cleared with your manager. There’s a little while before our next break. We could go then if your team says it’s okay.”

               Hawai’I with Yamato. Suzuki imagined what it might be like. Sun, sand, and the ocean. Swimsuits. Sleeping in. Hawai’ian food. He sighed wistfully. Ever since he had first seen travel programs for it on TV, he’d always wanted to go. The best part might be going with Yamato. They could run around together as much as they wanted. They’d have their own hotel room.

               “Will you ask your manager about it?” Yamato said, pressing Suzuki’s leg again. He was chewing on the corner of his lip.

               “I will. I’ll text her now.” Suzuki fished his phone from his jacket pocket. He braced his leg against Yamato’s. He took comfort in the pressure. Yamato was strong. It felt good to lean on him.

               Some of the other guys invited them to karaoke after school that weekend. It was Hajime’s idea apparently, which meant he’d roped in Soujiro, who was bringing the twins, and so on and so on. Things usually turned out this way. If someone mentioned a party, everyone ended up unofficially invited. Ikemen wasn’t a small school, but word spread quickly, and the upperclassmen were all connected by a web of association.

               Suzuki didn’t remember who specifically asked him and Yamato if they wanted to tag along. It might’ve been Ai. Anyway, they showed up at the karaoke place after everyone else had already arrived thanks to an unexpected fangirl sighting.

               “You guys are late,” Tokiya said.

               “We just got chased halfway across the city,” Yamato said, tossing his jacket onto one of the couches. “Give us a break.”

               Suzuki removed his mask, sunglasses, and hat. He took stock of the group. Ai had brought Tokiya and Ryuu, but Kurou was nowhere to be seen, meaning there’d be a fight later. (Ryuu and Tokiya always fought.) Soujiro and the twins were there, wearing casual clothes for once. Yuu and Baa had shown up as well. Suzuki would never get over the goat head. Takeru was there, probably having heard about the outing through word of mouth.

               “Sorry, we ordered food without you,” he said.

               “It’s fine. We can get something later.”

               Suzuki settled in beside Yamato. He had asked his manager about the vacation. She hadn’t gotten back to him yet. He was starting to get nervous. Running from their fans earlier had only made Suzuki want it more. After this comeback. If the single does well, then I earned it. She can’t say no.

               The other third-years had already lined up a decent list of songs. They must have been feeling nostalgic, since most of the music was from the 80s and 90s. Takeru, being Takeru, shared some of his food with Yamato and Suzuki while Hajime launched into a heart-felt ballad at the top of his lungs.

               It was times like these that made Suzuki wish he wasn’t an idol. Being a senior in high school wasn’t easy, but there was so much more freedom. You definitely didn’t get hate comments. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. You didn’t get chased when you went outside. He could never just quit though. He loved music. He loved performing. But it was nice to just be with friends and not on a stage.

               Yamato nudged him with his elbow. “Are you going to sing?”

               “Obviously!” Suzuki hopped up. “I wonder if they have one of your songs on the machine.”

               “Ooh, do it!” Ai said.

               Yamato looked embarrassed. “Come on…”

               “What?” Suzuki scrolled through the song list. “Are you scared I’m gonna ruin it? I’ll let you cover one of mine?”

               “You should do a duet,” Hajime said. “Give us the collab everyone’s been waiting for!”

               Takeru nodded in agreement and Ai applauded. “Yeah!” he said. “Do that!”

               Yamato got up and walked over to the screen, picking up a microphone for himself. “Pick something we both know. One that’s in my range.”

               Suzuki kept scrolling. They had a couple of his songs, as well as a few of Yama’s, but none of them were duets. Then he spotted something. He let out a cry of excitement.

               “Yama! The Star Sailor duet! From the musical.” He grabbed Yamato’s upper arm and squeezed it insistently. “Remember? The part where Selena hears Damian join her from offstage, and then he comes down from the ceiling?” He shook Yamato’s arm for emphasis. “Let’s do this one. Please?”

               “Wait, you’ve seen the Star Sailor musical?” Ryuu asked with a smirk.

               Yamato blushed. “It’s good,” he muttered. To Suzuki, he said, “You really want to do this one? It’s kind of…”

               “I know all the words,” Suzuki said proudly. “I could sing it without looking at the screen.”

               Yamato still looked hesitant. An upsetting thought reared its ugly head. Suzuki remembered the discussion in the anti-café, about their Star Sailor cosplay. I stg Suzuki drags Yamato into his weird interests all the time. Suzuki’s heart sank. What if Yama really was only going along with it to humor him? Liking a sparkly and romantic mahou shojo wasn’t Yamato’s style. And he probably hadn’t wanted to broadcast any interest in it.

               “Um, we don’t have to,” Suzuki said. He reached out to scroll down the list again. “There’s probably another song we can both sing in here.”

               “No,” Yamato blurted, color still high in his cheeks. “I want to do this one.”

               “Are you sure?”

               Yamato nodded. “You can have Selena’s part. The notes are too high for me.”

               Relief washed over Suzuki. He might be humoring you again, a mean voice whispered in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it. As long as he got to sing with Yamato, he didn’t really care. He pressed play.

               They might have been in a random karaoke room, surrounded by classmates, but Suzuki poured his heart into the performance. He loved the Star Sailor musical. He thought it was hopelessly romantic. Especially the part where Damian appeared. Suzuki started the duet and Yamato jumped in after a few bars. His voice was perfect for the song. It was like he really was Damian.

               If Yamato had seemed uncomfortable before, he had shaken it off. He sang with confidence, turning to face Suzuki and holding out his hand. A thrill went through Suzuki as he took it. Yamato even twirled him under his arm. They could have been onstage. Suzuki had no trouble imagining Yamato in the top hat and mask (seeing as he’d worn the costume before). He also had no trouble seeing why Yamato’s fans left strings of hearts in the comments on his selfie posts.

               Suzuki was starting to feel lightheaded. It might’ve been because the room was hot, or all his breath was going into the duet, but at the same time, he knew that wasn’t the real reason. Yamato drew him in a step closer. They were reaching the end of the song.

               In the musical, Selena and Damian ended their duet by putting their foreheads together, eyes closed. Then, just before the stage lights dimmed, they would kiss. It was cheated, covered by strategic hand placement, but Suzuki squealed every time. Now, as his head came to rest against Yamato’s, he had a crazy idea.

               What if Yamato kissed him?

               Suzuki’s heart started to pound. Yamato’s face was so close to his. It would take just a tiny movement for their lips to touch. Even though the actors usually closed their eyes, Yamato was looking straight at him, and Suzuki couldn’t tear his gaze away. He’d forgotten everyone in the room. They might as well have been alone.

               Then, the last note of the song faded. Yamato stepped back. Suzuki released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Yamato’s hand was still in his. Suzuki was shaking. All around them, the other third-years applauded. Someone whistled.

               Suzuki came back to himself just in time. He raised his and Yama’s hands between them and swept into a low bow. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “We’ll be here all week.”

               “You guys were great!” Tokiya said. “It was just like seeing the actual musical. Right, Ryuu?”

               Ryuu shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’ve never watched Star Sailor live.”

               “Oh really? Then what was that about telling Kurou how much you liked the actress that played Queen Pyrite?”

               Ryuu’s mouth opened and shut indignantly. He turned away to hide the blush that had spread across his face. “Shut up, Tokiya.”

               Yamato insisted on walking Suzuki home. None of their fans appeared, so it was an uneventful journey, but Suzuki’s heart hadn’t stopped racing. Yamato was at his side, keeping pace and chatting about his plans for a new song. Suzuki only half-registered the words he was saying. The rest of his mind was occupied with the ups and downs of his voice, his smile, the way the streetlights made his hair glow.

               Suzuki remembered how Yamato had held his hand earlier and while they were shopping and wished Yamato would do it again. It had felt nice. He was tempted to bridge the distance between them, to reach out and mesh their fingers. Suzuki put his hands in his pockets instead.

               Could friends hold hands whenever? He didn’t think there was anything weird about it, but most of the people he saw holding hands were couples. He could ask Yamato, but that seemed awkward. Why was he even getting the urge to hold hands in the first place?

               “Suzuki?” Yamato had somehow ended up behind him. His brow was furrowed in concern. “Isn’t this your place?”

               Suzuki looked back. He’d kept walking past his house. “Oh,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I was distracted. Thinking about stuff.” He jogged back.

               “You’re such an airhead,” Yamato said warmly. He ground his knuckles against the sides of Suzuki’s head, not hard enough to hurt. “What would you do without me?”

               Suzuki laughed, swatting Yamato’s hands away. “Mean! That’s it, we’re rivals now.”

               Yamato smirked. “I couldn’t be your rival. I’d crush you, and I don’t have the heart to do that. It’d be like kicking a puppy.”

               “Woof!” Suzuki’s chest grew arm as Yamato burst into a fit of giggles.

               Yamato took off his cap and mussed his hair. “Go on, your mom’s probably worried you got kidnapped by a crazy fan.”

               “Text me when you get home,” Suzuki said.

               “Will do. See you at school.”

               Suzuki watched Yamato go until he vanished around a street corner.

               Yamato texted him about twenty minutes later to let him know he’d arrived home safely. Suzuki tried to do his homework, but his thoughts were a jumble. He couldn’t concentrate. After an hour of struggling, he took a bath and changed for bed. If he couldn’t do his homework, he’d go to sleep now and wake up early to finish. And yet…

               Suzuki lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. What had happened tonight was different from how things usually went between him and Yamato. He remembered the light, fluttery feeling in his chest when Yamato had held his hand, and how it had doubled when their foreheads were together. He remembered looking into Yamato’s eyes as they’d sung the Star Sailor duet at the karaoke place.

               Friends didn’t react that way. Suzuki knew that. A friend didn’t set your heart racing just by touching you. They didn’t spawn butterflies in your stomach. Suzuki was starting to tremble just thinking about it. Heat burned up his neck to his ears.

               If he was being honest with himself, he had imagined kissing Yamato before. It was impossible not to. There was a whole legion of fans who thought they should be a couple. Suzuki had never missed an opportunity to please them. He thought it was actually rather sweet. Yamato had laughed at first, but in general had approached the whole thing with good humor. With that sort of thing going on, it was hard not to imagine what it might be like if they actually were together.

               Yamato seemed like he’d be a good kisser. He’d probably kissed lots of girls. Had he ever kissed another boy before? Probably not. Suzuki touched his lips. He had faked kisses with girls for MVs, but had never done it seriously. Yamato might laugh at his inexperience.

               But he might also smile as he kissed him. He might hold Suzuki to him in a firm embrace, stroking his hair. He might also push Suzuki against a wall and kiss him fiercely, channeling the energy of his music into Suzuki until they were both breathless.

               Suzuki opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. His imagination usually didn’t go that far. Suzuki felt a little uncomfortable. It was probably wrong for him to think of Yamato like that, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

               He pictured being able to hold hands with Yamato all the time, not just in a crowd, kisses before class, cuddling with each other while they watched movies… His heart surged. The thought of being with Yamato as more than a friend had made him so happy he couldn’t want anything else.

               Suzuki wasn’t stupid. Maybe somewhat naive at times, but not stupid. He knew what he was experiencing. He loved Yamato. He had been loving Yamato for a long time now. Why shouldn’t he? Yamato was so artistic and brilliant and kind. It was just now occurring to him that his feelings ran over the edges of platonic affection into something else.

               At the same time, Suzuki knew he couldn’t tell him. Yamato couldn’t possibly return his feelings. Even if he did, they couldn’t date without it being plastered over every magazine cover and celebrity news website. He thought of the message boards on the anti-Suzuki site. Those people would riot if Suzuki even hinted at the idea of loving Yamato. They might even go so far as to threaten him. And, worst of all, what if they were right? What if Yamato was only his friend because he had to be?

               Suzuki didn’t want to believe it. He refused to. But the seeds of doubt had been sown. If he confessed to Yamato, and what those people online said was true, then he’d just humiliate himself. They’d never be able to hang out again. Suzuki feared that the most. He’d rather hold these feelings inside rather than run the risk of losing Yamato’s friendship.

               He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. If he stayed like this long enough, maybe he would smother himself and never have to think of it again. He lifted his head eventually. It got too uncomfortable.

               “I’ll just keep going like everything’s the same,” Suzuki said out loud. “He’ll never find out and we’ll keep being friends. I won’t have to give him up.”

               Still, the resolution filled him with pain. He would never have that relationship with Yamato. It wasn’t going to be easy. Yamato would only have to touch him to send ripples of longing through Suzuki. He would have to train himself not to react, not to reciprocate where it wasn’t wanted.

               He got up and found his MP3 player in his backpack. He put his earbuds in. Suzuki had every single album Yamato had released. He started with the first one, for nostalgia’s sake. As he listened, he imagined Yamato was singing just for him.

               Pretending everything was normal was a lot harder than Suzuki realized. Yamato was everywhere. They were in class together all day, ate together during lunch, and even hung out after school. Suzuki didn’t want to stop hanging out with him; that would just make Yamato suspicious. But it was getting more and more difficult to focus on history and science when they studied together.

               They were at Yamato’s apartment that afternoon. Yamato lived alone, which Suzuki used to think was a good thing, since there was no one to bother them if they decided to stay up all night watching anime. Now, he desperately wished there was someone to ward away his thoughts of kissing Yamato.

               Yamato ran his fingers through his hair. He looked frustrated. “I’m not getting it,” he said. “What about you?”

               Suzuki shook his head. He hadn’t even been trying. The whole study session was turning out to be counterproductive. How do people with crushes survive?

               “Do you want to take a break and play Mario Kart?”

               Suzuki shoved his notebook aside. “Absolutely.”

               Hopefully, a game would keep his mind off of contemplating the feel of Yamato’s lips against his. He settled into Yamato’s couch, controller in hand. They weren’t competitive with each other in any area except Mario Kart. Soon, he’d want to strangle Yamato instead of make-out with him.

               The plan worked, for a little while. Suzuki got swept up in the races, he and Yamato resorting to cheating by bumping into each other in real life and trying to wrestle the controllers out of each other’s hands. It was just like how things had been before. Suzuki relaxed.

               However, things took a turn when Yamato hit him with a shell, right before Suzuki was about to win Rainbow Road. Bowser dashed across the finish line while Princess Peach was still spinning out. Suzuki threw down his controller and started pummeling Yamato lightly with his fists.

               “I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

               “I’m just playing the game,” Yamato laughed.

               “That was my win, you cheater!”

               “Shells are a part of the game. You hit me with a blue shell a couple tracks ago. How is this any different?” Yamato grabbed Suzuki’s wrists. “You still got second place.”

               “I should’ve been first,” Suzuki said. “I did the shortcut and everything.” He struggled against Yamato’s hold. “Let me go. I’m not done beating you up.”

               Yamato pushed him backwards, pinning him to the couch. He hovered over Suzuki. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try. When you were hitting me, it felt like being stung by a mosquito.”

               Suzuki went red. He tried to break free, but Yamato was strong. He went redder as he became more aware of their position. What was this, a scene out of a shojo manga?

               “Okay, okay,” he said hastily. “You win. Fair and square. Can you get off me?”

               Yamato let go. He leaned back. Suzuki lay there for a second longer, trying to catch his breath. Had he actually been wanting Yamato to kiss him like that? To just lean down and…

               Suzuki shook his head. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. He sat up. “Um, I should probably head home. I promised Mom I’d eat dinner with her tonight. She says she barely gets to see me.”

               “Oh.” Yamato sounded disappointed. “It’s still early.”

               Suzuki coughed. “Yeah. I said I’d help her cook, too.”

               “Alright. I’ll walk you.” Yamato started to get up.

               “Ah, no thanks!” Suzuki squeaked. He winced at the sound of his own voice. What was wrong with him? “I can make it on my own. I have my disguise and everything.”

               “Are you sure?”

               Suzuki nodded. He gathered his notebook and school things as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow! Good luck on the physics homework.”

               Yamato followed him to the door. “Text me when you get home?”

               “Sure!” Suzuki chirped (too brightly, he realized). Then, before he could embarrass himself any further, he rushed out the door.

               Suzuki made good on his word to help his mother make dinner. She’d been surprised to see him home so early, but glad to spend time with him as well. Suzuki’s schedule was so hectic that they rarely ate dinner together, let alone cooked together. He wasn’t as good as Souma in the kitchen, but he managed.

               A part of him wanted to tell her about Yamato. He had a good opportunity to when she asked how he was doing. In the end, he said Yamato was doing fine and left it at that. He didn’t want to bother his mom with that kind of thing. (Truth be told, he was embarrassed to mention having a crush in the first place.)

               After dinner, he holed himself up in his room. Suzuki knew it was the last thing he needed right now, but he logged back onto the anti-café. No one had banned him yet. Suzuki hadn’t commented since that first time, so they’d probably forgotten he was there.

               It was full of the usual hatred and vitriol. Suzuki picked a thread railing against his and Yamato’s relationship. He scrolled through it for a while, his heart sinking lower and lower until it reached the Earth’s core. They despised the idea of him and Yamato together, whether they were friends or dating.

               It can never happen, Suzuki thought. His fans might turn on him.

               Suzuki finally closed the thread. Then, because he had no one else to turn to, he texted Jae. Jae was currently in South Korea, visiting family and the other members of his group. Suzuki hoped he wasn’t too busy.

               Hey sunbae, Suzuki wrote, do you ever get hate comments?

               It didn’t take long for Jae to text back. oh totally. happens all the time.

               How do you deal with them?

               i try to ignore it. block out the haters

               It was good advice. A no-brainer, honestly, if only Suzuki could follow it. have you ever found a whole site that hates you? an anti café?

               man don’t tell me you have one of those. you’re a ray of sunshine! how could anyone make a whole anti-café devoted to you?

               Idk either. It’s really been getting me down. What should I do?

               Jae spent a long time typing. Suzuki watched the little ellipses dance while he waited. Eventually, Jae wrote back, you can always block the site or their comments. it’s nothing to be ashamed of. you don’t owe them anything tbh. if they’re not actually sending you constructive criticism, if all they’re doing is trying to tear you down, then kick ‘em to the curb ㅋㅋㅋ seriously tho, don’t read that stuff. it breaks my heart that anyone could be so mean to my hoobae

               T^T you’re the best jae-sunbae, Suzuki replied.

               i try 😉 is there anything else i can help with?

               Suzuki hesitated. He could trust Jae with anything. But could he trust him with this? Maybe if he was vague, Jae wouldn’t realize who Suzuki was talking about. He took a deep breath and wrote, yeah. Have you ever had a crush on someone who’s like, your friend?

               are we talking about yama?

               Suzuki nearly dropped his phone. He typed a response with trembling fingers. Haha nooooooo where did you get that idea? I’m talking hypothetically.

               sure, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Jae replied. so in this hypothetical situation, is the crusher a j-idol and the crushee a rockstar?

               (^◇^；) no…

               suzuki literally everyone on the planet thinks you guys are dating. even my mom thinks so.

               Suzuki huffed. That doesn’t make it true! he typed. Answer my question: did you ever have a crush on a friend, yes/no?

               Again, it took a while for Jae to reply. yep! didn’t work out but hey! it was someone else in the music scene. you know how it is. not that you should get discouraged! you and yamato would be super cute together.

               Suzuki blushed. He thought for a while about what he should say. He typed out, do you really think so? what if a lot of people got mad?

               you shouldn’t care about what other people think. it’s your personal life.

               What if, hypothetically, it’s just one-sided and I ruin our whole friendship?

               i doubt it would ruin your friendship, Jae wrote. i’m 99.9% sure yama likes you. have you seen how he looks in your selfies? heart eyes <3

               Suzuki’s blush deepened. No way. Jae was just trying to make him feel better. Then again, the duet in the karaoke room gave him a sliver of hope. But that was a performance. They were acting like Damian and Selena.

               What about the other 1%? Suzuki wrote.

               you doubt my judgment?? look, even if he doesn’t feel that way about you, your friendship won’t tank just because of a little crush. not if it’s real and i think it is.

               Okay. Thanks again, sunbae <3 I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.

               anytime! it’s good to be home, but i miss everyone over there TT take care of yourself!

               Suzuki locked his phone screen and lay down. Talking to Jae had helped, but he still couldn’t bring himself to confess to Yamato. He didn’t understand how Jae could be so confident when his own crush hadn’t worked out. He knew just as well as Suzuki how hard it was for idols to date normally.

               Even if Yamato liked me back, I’d get flayed alive. Probably by my manager, too. His manager still hadn’t given him the green light on the vacation. Suzuki was starting to think that was her way of saying no. It might be better if he didn’t go. Hawai’i was a romantic place, right? What if Suzuki got carried away and blurted his feelings? It would defeat the purpose of a relaxing getaway.

               I should tell Yamato I can’t come with. Suzuki would do it tomorrow, at school. He’d rip the band-aid off, so to speak, and get it over with. Hopefully Yamato wouldn’t be too disappointed.

               Suzuki didn’t get a chance to tell Yamato the next day, because Yamato was suddenly super busy. He was on the phone with someone before class started, and he spent every break scribbling in his notebook. He disappeared during lunch before Suzuki could even ask if they were going to eat together. It wasn’t that strange, really. 3-A was full of students with irregular schedules. For example, Takahiro had taken off for some part-time job earlier.

               However, Yamato wasn’t there the next day either, so Suzuki couldn’t tell him then, either. And then Suzuki had to skip a day to spend it in a recording studio. He considered texting Yamato about it, but he would rather tell him in person. It seemed a bit too important not to discuss face-to-face.

               Suzuki finally got a chance when he and Yamato both arrived late in the school day. He guessed Yamato must have been recording something as well. He was dressed down from his usual leather jacket and had left out a few piercings. He only did that when he had an early morning session.

               “Are you free to walk home today, Yama?” Suzuki asked as they jogged up the stairs to 3-A. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

               “Today’s no good.”

               “What about tomorrow morning?”

               Yamato shook his head. “Busy. Sorry.”

               Suzuki paused. “What’s going on? Are you prepping a new release?”

               Yamato didn’t answer. He just kept going. Suzuki stared at his retreating back. What was the big secret? Yamato usually shared any and all details about his projects. He’d been talking about a new song after karaoke. Were the two related, or was this another thing altogether?

               What if I made him uncomfortable? Suzuki thought, gripped by terror. Or what if Jae was trying to be helpful and told him I have a crush on him? He knew he was jumping to conclusions. Yamato was busy; that was all. Even so, he felt nervous. Why hadn’t Yamato answered him?

               Suzuki investigated Yamato’s fansites. He wasn’t making special appearances anywhere. There were no concert announcements. Not even a rumor of an album release. So what was he doing? He hadn’t walked home with Suzuki or asked him over for a while. They didn’t even have lunch together anymore.

               A sick, heavy dread settled in Suzuki’s stomach as he logged onto the anti-café. It got worse. The café was overjoyed.

               No suzuyama sightings lately! He finally dropped him!

               Heard rumors from school that they’re split up.

               Maybe S*zuki will take a hint and stop clinging to Yamato like a puppy

               It’d be like kicking a puppy. Suzuki’s mouth went dry. He tossed his phone into his backpack. Did Yamato really see him as a dog, stupidly following him everywhere? He’d played along with the joke that time, but now it stung.

               “Romantic troubles?”

               Suzuki jumped a foot. Ai was standing right behind him, his quiver slung across his back. He didn’t wait for an invitation to take the empty seat next to Suzuki. Suzuki had thought he’d been alone in this courtyard, but Ai must have had a tracking device implanted in every boy in school.

               “I’m not having romantic troubles,” Suzuki lied.

               Ai smiled skeptically. “It’s about Yamato, isn’t it?”

               Am I really that obvious? Suzuki’s shoulders sagged. “Not you, too.”

               “What, is it a secret? Even that nice girl at the café knows.”

               Suzuki put his face in his hands. If everyone knew then how could Yamato not? He’s avoiding me, since he realized I’m bad for his image.

               Ai patted his knee. “Cheer up! You could do a lot worse than Yamato.”

               “Not if he hates me!”

               “Why do you think he hates you?”

               “He’s been avoiding me,” Suzuki said. “At first, I thought he was working on something, but he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. And don’t say he’s throwing me a surprise party. My birthday isn’t coming up.”

               “Hmm, that’s tricky.” Ai rubbed his chin. “He usually shares all his projects with you, right? Maybe he’s seeing someone else?”

               Suzuki went cold. He hadn’t considered that possibility. Had Yamato started dating and not told him? No, that couldn’t be. Someone would’ve snapped a picture or started a rumor by now, and the fansites were quiet.

               “No.” He shook his head. “He would’ve told me for sure.”

               Ai shrugged. “Then he’s probably busy. You shouldn’t get too worked up, Suzuki. Guys like him sometimes have trouble communicating their feelings. He might be focusing so hard that he hasn’t had time to tell you about it. Kurou does the same thing. He gets tunnel-vision when he’s working on a play.”

               It made Suzuki feel a little better, but it didn’t inspire confidence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Yamato was purposefully ducking him.

               “Anyway, I’m meeting Sousuke for an archery showdown,” Ai said, standing up. “He’s going to regret challenging me. Are you going to be okay?”

               Suzuki nodded. “Thanks for the advice, Ai. Good luck.”

               Ai shot him a thumbs-up before he left. Suzuki remained where he was. He didn’t know how long he sat in the courtyard, staring at the flowerbeds. His phone buzzed, snapping him out of it.

               It was Yamato. Suzuki had been expecting his manager. His heart thumped rapidly. He opened the message. Hey Suzuki, can you come to the music room?

               He was torn. Should he go? Yamato had asked him, but what if it was just to say that they shouldn’t hang out anymore. Or worse, that he didn’t return Suzuki’s feelings, which were apparently so obvious that they could be seen from space? Eventually, Suzuki gathered his courage and went to the music room.

               School had finished for the day, so the music room was deserted, except for Yamato and Suzuki. It was quiet. All the clubs were meeting on the other side of Ikemen. Yamato was leaning against the piano, fiddling something. When Suzuki got closer, he realized it was his MP3 player.

               “Hey,” Yamato said. He sounded nervous. “Sorry for ghosting you. I was working on an important project.”

               A bit of relief crept into Suzuki’s veins. “Really? Why didn’t you just say so?”

               Yamato blushed. “Well, uh, it was kind of a surprise. I didn’t know whether it would work out. I, um… here.” He held out the MP3 player. “Listen.”

               Suzuki took it. He put an earbud in. There was only one track on the device, untitled. He hit play. A second later, the sound of Yamato’s voice filled his ears. Yamato’s singing voice was wonderful and familiar, but the backing track didn’t sound like his style at all. It sounded more like Suzuki’s music than his, though there was a hint of Yamato there, too. The more Suzuki listened, the more it grew on him. The lyrics were about stars burning bright for centuries, their light stretching across galaxies long after their death, and gazing at the same sky as someone you loved. A lump formed in his throat.

               “What do you think?” Yamato asked when Suzuki finished.

               “Amazing, like always,” Suzuki said. “Is this going to be on your next album?”

               “Actually…” Yamato scuffed the floor. “I was thinking it could be on yours. I wrote it for you to sing, if you want it. I figured it was the least I could do, after you made me that mixtape for my birthday.”

               Suzuki couldn’t believe it. Yamato had written him a song. Not just one to listen to, but one to sing. The lump in his throat got bigger. “W-what’s the occasion?” he asked, his voice trembling.

               “No reason. I just wanted to do something special, I guess. Do you like it?”

               Suzuki nodded vigorously. He couldn’t speak. Before he could stop himself, tears began to flow down his cheeks. I’m so dumb. I thought he was ditching me this whole time, and he was working on a song. For me. He covered his face, but it didn’t stop the noise from escaping. It was like a dam had burst; all of Suzuki’s feelings rushed out in one go.

               “What are you crying for?” Yamato asked, gently removing Suzuki’s hands from his face.

               Suzuki hiccupped. He was so embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to cry. “I…” he tried to say. “I was afraid you were tired of me.”

               Yamato sighed. “I’m not tired of you, Suzu. Have you been paying attention to what those losers online are saying? I told you they’re full of it. Come here.”

               He folded Suzuki into his arms. Suzuki let out another involuntary sob. He buried his face in Yamato’s shoulder. It was sturdy and strong. His t-shirt was soft. Yamato alternated between patting his back and rubbing circles.

               Eventually, Suzuki cried himself out. He stepped back. Yamato let him go, but he kept his hands on Suzuki’s arms. He was looking at him with concern.

               “Are you okay?”

               Suzuki nodded and sniffed. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t want it to get to me, but I guess…”

               “They’re just bitter and pathetic people who have nothing better to do with their time.” Yamato gathered Suzuki’s hands and held them against his chest. “They’re not real. This is. And any fan of mine who talks that way about you isn’t a real fan. If they can’t love you as much as I do, then that’s their problem.”

               Suzuki blinked. He wanted to wipe away a few stray tears, but he didn’t want Yamato to let go of him. “You love me?” he asked, half-stunned.

               The realization seemed to come over Yamato at the exact same moment. A blush covered his cheeks. “Did I say that?”

               “You did.”

               “Well… I mean, of course I do. You’re my best friend.” To Suzuki’s dismay, Yamato dropped his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair, disturbing the spikes. “I thought you already knew that.”

               “I do now.” Suzuki smiled, trying to mask his disappointment. I shouldn’t be disappointed at all. Yamato’s friendship is super important to me, too. “I love you, too.”

               Yamato blushed deeper. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get carried away.”

               Suzuki laughed. This was good. He knew now that Yamato wasn’t going to abandon him. They were still friends. They could continue performing together at school. It would be fun. At least I had a chance to say it to him out loud, even if he doesn’t know how much I really mean it.

               Suzuki blocked the anti-café. He had to stop using it to punish himself. Besides, he couldn’t forgive them for leading him to believe Yamato didn’t care about him. He made sure to delete his account too, just in case the urge overpowered him, and he lifted the block.

               It’s been fun, he thought. He instantly felt better. Things returned to normal. Suzuki approached his manager with Yamato’s song. He leaned heavily on the idea of marketing it as a collaboration and watched as the yen signs appeared in her eyes. After that, she shocked him by giving him permission to go to Hawai’i.

               “If the song does well, we’ll find time for a vacation,” she promised. “I couldn’t answer you before, since there was a lot up in the air, but you deserve some time off.”

               “And I can go with Yamato?”

               “If your schedules line up, I don’t see why not.”

               The next morning, he told Yamato by throwing himself into his arms and shouting, “We’re going to Hawai’i!”

               “Your manager said yes?” Yamato said, brightening.

               Suzuki nodded. “She said that if the collab works out, then I can go with you. As long as we’re free at the same time. Hawai’i, Yama! Hawai’i!”

               Yamato actually swung him around the classroom but stopped short when their homeroom teacher gave them a death-glare. Suzuki let go and jumped back.

               “Oops. Sorry, sensei.”

               “You’d better concentrate on passing your exams before talking about Hawai’i,” the teacher warned. “And don’t do that again. You could’ve knocked over the desks.”

               It didn’t bring Suzuki’s mood down at all. He was walking on air. Later, when his and Yama’s managers called about some kind of music industry party, he agreed to go without hesitation. Yamato was a little more reluctant, but he caved when Suzuki said they could go together.

               All in all, life was good. Suzuki still wanted to kiss Yamato. He still wanted to hug him as tightly as possible and tell him how he felt, but he couldn’t bear to mess everything up. Why sabotage a good thing? Yamato clearly only thought of him as a friend.

               And that was fine. Everything was fine.

               Suzuki enjoyed getting dressed up for public appearances. Yamato didn’t. He always looked uncomfortable in suits. Uncomfortable, yet handsome. Suzuki’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.

               “I hate ties,” Yamato muttered, playing with the end of his.

               “Then don’t wear one,” Suzuki said. He stepped forward and undid the knot. “It’s a formal party, but no one will care. See, I think you look just fine without it. Undo a couple buttons, and voila! Rock superstar Yamato is red carpet ready!”

               Suzuki might have been mistaken, but Yamato appeared flustered. He turned towards the limousine their managers had arranged to drive them to the event and held open the door for Suzuki.

               “After you,” he said.

               It was after sunset and traffic was bad. Suzuki checked the time. Unless they learned how to teleport, they were going to be late. Oh well, in that case they’d make an even more striking entrance. Suzuki stretched out, putting his feet up on the seat. They were barely moving.

               Yamato, meanwhile, was reading something on his phone. Suzuki didn’t know what it was, but it appeared to be irritating him. He kept frowning. Finally,          Yamato tossed the phone into the corner and folded his arms. He huffed, a deep furrow forming between his eyebrows. Suzuki was torn between laughing at his grumpiness and wanting to comfort him.

               “What’s up, Yama-kun?” Suzuki asked.

               “Oh, it’s…” He stopped, turning pink. “It’s stupid.”

               “You did something stupid?” Suzuki knew he sounded a bit too eager, but he couldn’t help it. He was dying to know.

               Yamato rolled his eyes. “Yes, actually.”

               “Are you going to tell me about it or am I going to have to tickle you for information?” Suzuki wiggled his fingers to demonstrate.

               “Don’t!” Yamato pulled his legs up onto the seat, as if to shield himself from Suzuki’s attack. “Jesus, Suzuki we’re in public.”

               “No, we’re not. The windows are tinted and the partition’s up. Now tell me what made you so mad.”

               Yamato relaxed. He retrieved his phone—which was undamaged—and passed it to Suzuki. Suzuki’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: an anti-Yamato fansite. For a few seconds, he just stared at it. Then he began to actually process the words he was looking at.

               Yamato’s style totally clashes with Suzuki’s. Don’t know why they’re friends.

               Do u remember when he was talking about how “””fake””” Zuzu is? He said in a press conference that ur not a real artist if u don’t write and produce ur own songs. What a snob. Did he ever apologize for that?

               Suzuki laughed out loud. He glanced at Yamato. “They have a point. Did you ever apologize to me?”

               “It’s not funny.”

               “It is!” Suzuki kept scrolling. “This whole time you were telling me not to pay attention to the haters and you didn’t even follow your own advice. Aww, Yama, don’t feel bad. Wait a minute.”

               There was a new reply to one of the comments by a user named, “st4rpower826.”

               Do you guys ever get tired of talking trash behind the safety of your computer screens? Why don’t you say this stuff to Suzuki’s face and see how he takes it. Last I heard, he and Yamato were still really close. He doesn’t get mad until you insult his friends. If you actually cared about him, you wouldn’t do this.

               It had a bunch of negative replies. Suzuki looked at Yamato again. Yamato was chewing on his lip.

               “Is this you?” Suzuki asked, pointing at the screen.

               “That could be anyone.”

               “It’s you! You made an account!” Suzuki grabbed Yamato’s shoulder and shook it. He was laughing uncontrollably now. “You made an account so you could fight with them! Oh my God. That’s my birthday in your username!”

               Yamato’s ears were growing steadily redder. “You have to make an account to read the message boards,” he muttered. “You know that. Someone was going to come along and tell them off eventually. Might as well be me.”

               “How did you get that username? That’s, like, a prime fandom username. When I went on the anti-Suzuki boards, YamaFan#1 was taken.”

               “No one else spelled with a four for the A.”

               Suzuki was still giggling. He continued scrolling. “How long did you have this?”

               “I went searching for one about me the same night you went on yours. I was curious.” Yamato smiled sheepishly. “I could take all the garbage they spewed about me but when they started throwing you into the mix, I got really upset. So I fought back. Didn’t do much good though.”

               “These people say we’re so different, but we actually have lots in common, huh?”

               “Yeah…”

               “Oh, here’s a familiar one: ‘Suzuki is friends with Yamato for fanservice. Yamato wouldn’t be as popular if people didn’t think he was gay for Suzuki.’ People were saying the same stuff on my anti-site.”

               Yamato’s blush had spread down his neck. “They’re crazy.”

               “I know.” Suzuki turned the screen off. “You shouldn’t get into fights with people online, even if they are being jerks. We know the truth.”

               Yamato nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, it was really stupid, but I started to get scared that they might be right. Just for a second. Seeing all that old stuff I said made me wonder if you were still angry with me, and you were pretending not to hate me for the sake of getting along.”

               “I don’t hate you, Yama.” Suzuki kneaded Yamato’s shoulder. “I’ve always thought you were cool, even when you were criticizing me. I could never hate you. Do you wanna know why?”

               “Sure,” Yamato said, his lips quirking into a smile.

               Suzuki kissed him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, but he had never felt more sure of anything in his life before. The hand on Yamato’s shoulder was steady. When he pulled away, Yamato was staring at him, his eyes huge.

               “It’s because I love you,” Suzuki said. And because he couldn’t help it, he winked.

               The words were barely out of his mouth before Yamato returned the kiss. It took Suzuki by surprise, almost knocking him backward. He managed to hold himself up by catching hold of Yamato’s other shoulder. The realization that Yamato was kissing him sank in about two seconds later. Suzuki’s imagination had been lacking. Actually kissing Yamato was better than anything he could’ve dreamed up.

               Yamato was holding him, one hand braced against the small of Suzuki’s back, the other cupping his chin. His mouth was soft and smooth and warm. Suzuki tasted a hint of lip balm. He leaned into the kiss, following Yamato’s movements. Then, Yamato pulled Suzuki onto his lap. Both hands slid to Suzuki’s hips.

               “Suzuki,” Yamato breathed.

               “What?”

               “I don’t want to go to this party. Do you?”

               Suzuki didn’t have to think about it. “No.”

               He gave Yamato another lingering kiss as he got off his lap, then went to knock on the partition. It rolled down about halfway. Suzuki held up a hand in apology.

               “Sorry,” he said, “but could you take us back to Yamato’s place?”

               The next morning was strange. After they’d been dropped off at Yamato’s house, he and Suzuki had spent the rest of the night watching movies and making out. When they were too tired to keep their eyes open a second longer, Yamato let Suzuki borrow a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants, and they had fallen asleep in his room.

               Suzuki woke up thinking last night had been a dream. He wasn’t surprised by coming to in Yamato’s room. (They had sleepovers all the time.) What reminded him that it was real was feeling the weight of Yamato’s arm around him. Suzuki bit back a fresh fit of giggles. He couldn’t believe it. He had kissed Yamato last night. Yamato had kissed him back.

               Yamato stirred and lifted his head. It seemed to take him a minute as well. Then he smiled. He kissed Suzuki’s cheek. “Good morning,” he said softly.

               “Good morning,” Suzuki repeated. He wondered if they could get away with staying in bed all day. Their phones had been blowing up all night, to the point where they’d set them to silent and left them in the living room.

               Yamato groped for his alarm clock. “It’s almost noon.”

               “My manager is probably going crazy right now because I didn’t show up.” He laughed at that. She was going to kill him later, but there were other things on his mind right now. “Is there anything important going on today?”

               “No. There’s just you.” Yamato nestled himself against Suzuki again.

               “We can stay in today,” Suzuki suggested. “We’ll play video games and make pancakes.”

               “And make out,” Yamato added. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it around.

               Suzuki slapped his hand over Yamato’s mouth, laughing helplessly. “Gross! Don’t do that. You’re not a member of KISS.”

               Yamato laughed as well. He let go of Suzuki and rolled out of bed. “Come on. I’ll make you pancakes. I bought blueberries.”

The apartment complex was quiet. Everyone was either sleeping in or out. Suzuki helped Yamato get out the mixing bowl and the skillet. There were, in fact, blueberries in the fridge. (Suzuki may have helped himself to a few before putting some in the batter.) Yamato started a pot of coffee, promising Suzuki that he still had the French vanilla creamer he liked.

               While they were waiting to flip the first pancake, Suzuki decided to bring up the question that had been on his mind since he’d gotten out of bed. “So… are we boyfriends now?”

               To his credit, Yamato wasn’t caught off-guard, though he did hesitate. “I don’t know. I want to be,” he said. “Things are different for us.”

               “I’d be fine dating you in secret. Plenty of celebrities do it.”

               “Me too, but I don’t know how long we could keep it up. There’s a lot of stress involved.” Yamato did the flip. It was clean. He passed the spatula to Suzuki. “It would definitely make some of our fans happy.”

               Suzuki grinned. “Maybe that’s how we should justify it to our managers.”

               “Yikes,” Yamato said. “Honestly, I don’t want to think about it right now. I just want to eat and destroy you at Mario Kart again. We can talk about the serious stuff later.”

               “Can’t you go easy on me?” Suzuki whined. “I’m your boyfriend.”

               “What makes you think I’d go easy on you just because we’re dating now? I never let you win when we were friends and that’s not going to change now.”

               “You’re so mean.” Suzuki pulled his eyelid and stuck out his tongue. “Yama-kun’s a bad boyfriend. I’m gonna tell the whole world, so no one will steal you from me.”

               Yamato laughed. He put an arm around Suzuki’s waist and brought him in for a kiss. “No one could steal me from you,” he said when they separated. “I love you.”

               Suzuki put his head on Yamato’s shoulder. Life was good. The world might as well be limited to this small kitchen. To him and Yamato, and no one else. “Love you, too.”

[jaineym]

Celebrity Crush

Prompt: BTS is in America for yet another awards show, and Jung Hoseok expresses his liking towards you in an interview, only for you to do the same with him a week later in an interview of your own. The two of you are then seated next to each other at said awards show.

Pairing: Hoseok x Celebrity!Reader

Genre: Fluffiest of fluffs

Word Count: 2,683

Your POV

You checked your phone, scrolling through your twitter notifications as you saw thousands upon thousands more mentions than what you would usually get. Furrowing your brows, you sifted through the mess to find the cause, finding a video of an interview that the famous kpop group, BTS, had done recently in America.

You clicked on the video, only giving half of your attention to the very good looking men on the screen as you took a spoonful of the cereal on front of you, shovelling it into your mouth.

“So we all know you guys are going to be performing at the awards show coming up in two weeks,” the interviewer spoke, “But are there any celebrities that you guys are excited to see perform?”

“Y/n,” the red haired boy half yelled, catching your attention as you watched intently, his smile shining bright to match the rest of him.

“Jhope over here has a massive crush on Y/n,” the man who you knew as the leader of the group pointed at the bubbly boy, “He literally has their music playing all the time around the house, even when going to sleep.”

“They are quite a talented musician,” the interviewer replied, “Very good looking, too.”

The man, Jhope you believe he was called earlier, nodded happily, his cheeks tinging the lightest shade of pink that it was almost not there at all. Almost.

The interview continued on and you watched as the boys all spoke, their humorous personalities shining through as it ran smoothly. Once the video ended, you decided to go on YouTube and search for more content of theirs, completely abandoning your breakfast.

Your attention was almost completely on the ‘sunshine of the group’, watching as he joked around with his band members, being the mood maker of most videos you watched. You found yourself enjoying his joyful exterior and wanting to get to know the boy, as well as the other members of BTS.

Minutes went to hours and you found yourself binge watching this group, listening to their music and falling into the hole that is being a fan of this extremely talented and beautiful group of young men.

Hoseok’s POV

“WHAT THE FUCK NAMJOON?!” I screamed at the younger man as we got in the car after leaving the set of yet another interview, steam basically pouring out of my ears as I fumed.

“What?” he spoke back, a smirk playing on his lips, “I was just telling the truth, you are obsessed with y/n.”

“That doesn’t mean I want the world to know that I have a gigantic crush on them and listen to their music while sleeping! I’m going to look like an absolute creep if they see that, which they most probably will,” I sulked, dramatically throwing my head back to hit the head rest with a thump.

“It’s not that deep dude,” Namjoon tried to reassure me as we drove back to the hotel, Taehyung quickly changing the conversation to something lighter, joking around with Jungkook.

Your POV

You sat in the dressing room, Awake playing from the speakers connected to your phone as you got your makeup done. It had been a week since you had become a fan of BTS, and you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t spent the entire week surrounding yourself in their content.

Today you had an interview for the upcoming awards show that you were performing at, and the interviewer just happened to be the same as the one who hosted the interview that brought your eyes to the group of boys.

“MAYBE I I CAN NEVER FLYYYY!” You exclaimed as the chorus hit, your makeup artist sighing with a smile as she waited for you to regain yourself before continuing to do her job.

*

“Y/n, it’s wonderful to have you here today,” the interviewer spoke, his smile bright as you nodded.

It’s wonderful to be here,” you replied, plastering a smile on your face as you mentally prepared yourself for another interview.

The topics were the same as every other interview you’d had recently, talking about how excited you were for your performance, what music you had in the works, etcetera.

“So y/n,” the man spoke, “Are there any celebrities that you are excited to see perform next week?”

“Well I really like the kpop group ‘BTS’, they’re amazing performers,” you replied, your smile growing as you thought of the seven boys.

“Oh, is that so?” the interviewers eyebrows rose slightly for a second, “I had them on the show last week and they said that they were anticipating your performance, which I’m sure you’ve seen then,” you nodded in response, “So who’s your bias then?”

“Jung Hoseok,” you said instantly, your cheeks reddening as you spoke quieter, “Jhope. I haven’t been a fan of theirs for very long but he has always been my bias.”

“Why’s that?” the man questioned you, your words spiking an interest to him.

“Well, it’s not anything in specific,” you explained, “He’s very funny, happy almost all the time, an amazing dancer, rapper, singer and much more, not to mention incredibly handsome.”

“You sure sound fond of him,” the interviewer smirked as your cheeks reddened further after your little fan session.

The interview then went back to regular questions, your face returning to it’s natural colour. Once it was over, you mentally hit yourself for pouring out so much about your love for the seven boys, specifically Hoseok.

Hoseok’s POV

“Hyuuuung,” Jungkook sang, entering my studio with a bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “I have something you might want to seeee.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes at the maknae, suspicious of what he had to show me.

“It’s about your lover, y/n,” he shoved his phone in my face, an interview video displayed on the screen, the title being ‘Musician y/n talks about their upcoming music performance, music in the works and Kpop group, BTS’.

“LET ME SEE! LET ME SEE!” I screamed, snatching the phone from his clutch before pressing play, watching the interview intently.

My knees felt weak as my celebrity crush spoke well of me, expressing their interest towards me and the group, literally screaming as I listened to her talk about how ‘talented and handsome’ I am.

“Is everything okay? Did someone get hurt?” Namjoon questioned, his eyes filled with worry as he entered the studio room.

“They- me- bias- handsome-” I poke breathlessly, my eyes basically forming the shape of hearts as I struggled to gather a coherent sentence to the concerned leader of our group.

“I assume you showed him the interview,” Namjoon looked over at Jungkook who nodded in response, his bunny smile still taking over his features, “Yeah, the whole internet is kind of exploding with things surrounding the two of you.”

“Of y/n and I?” I questioned confusedly, pointing at myself as Namjoon just nodded.

”I need to lie down for a bit,” I mumbled, excusing myself before heading to my bedroom, my mind not wandering from y/n.

Your POV

It was finally the day of the awards show that you were set to perform at, your past week having been a mix of intense practicing, interviews and watching and listening to BTS.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, admiring what you saw. Your outfit consisted of pale yellow articles of clothing, white accessories and shoes accompanying it well.

It was almost time for the red carpet, and as you were being escorted to your limousine, you quickly went on twitter. You went onto BTS’ official account to find a new post by Hoseok, the red haired boy sporting a black blazer and white button up, a pale yellow bow tie secured around the collar.

You smiled at the beautiful photo that was worth of being hung in an art gallery, liking the post before locking your phone and heading inside the large black car.

*

After what seemed like an eternity of flashing cameras and reporters eager to ask you - sometimes rather personal or rude - questions, you finally headed into the venue, finding your seat in the front row. Funnily enough, there were seven reserved seats beside yours that had papers that read ‘BTS’ on them, laughing softly as you assumed that this was planned due to the large amount of publicity you and the group have been getting involving one another lately.

More and more people began to find their seats in the theatre, the screams of fans of the people who walked in filling your ears. Suddenly, those screams grew incredibly loud, turning your head to see the seven incredibly handsome members of BTS walk towards you.

You turned your head back to the front quickly, focusing on your phone momentarily, pretending that you hadn’t noticed their arrival as you scrolled through your twitter feed, most things being about the awards show. You then heard a small gasp followed by hushed bickering.

“Just sit next to them,” one voice spoke, to which you believed belonged to Seokjin.

“I’ll just embarrass myself, why don’t you?” Hoseok retorted.

“You won’t get a chance like this again, just go sit down,” Yoongi sighed.

You heard a huff followed by shuffling of feet, looking up to see Jung Hoseok taking a seat beside you, his eyes meeting your own as he smiled shyly, returning the gesture yourself.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok but you already know that but we’ve ever met so I feel inclined to still introduce myself,” Hoseok spoke quickly shaking his head after, “I said too much, sorry.”

You laughed softly, offering him your hand to shake, “It’s fine, I’m y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He looked at your hand, questioning whether or not to shake it for a second before wiping his hand on his suit pants, taking your hand in his and shaking it gently, still holding your hand for a moment before gently slipping his into his lap.

“I like your tie,” you said, your cheeks reddening at your attempt to keep the conversation alive.

“Thank you, I picked it out myself,” the red haired boy beside you smiled down at the accessory before looking back over at you, “Hey, we’re matching! Yellow!”

“It’s as if someone planned it,” you smiled back at him, noticing that his eyes were focusing on your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you instantly as you covered your face with your hands, “Do I have something on my face? Sorry.”

“No no no!” Hoseok rushed, taking your hands in his as he pulled them away from your face, “I was just thinking about how cute you look when you’re shy and your cheeks turn pink.”

Your face reddened further at the compliment, your gaze lowering to your hands as you noticed that they were still in his, looking to the ground quickly but not moving your hands.

“That was very smooth,” you heard Jimin speak from beside Hoseok, his words coated with sarcasm.

Hoseok let go of your hands, looking over to the blonde haired boy before whacking him on the back of the head lightly, “Shut up, you idiot.”

The group of boys spoke to each other, including you in their conversation very often, and you thought to yourself about how genuine and nice they all seemed; their gentlemen image sure did hem justice.

Your focus turned to the stage in front of you as the host walked out, signalling the beginning, and you began to watch the show unfold.

*

You were nodding along lightly to a popular song being performed when a dark figure walked over to Namjoon, whispering something in his ear, to which he nodded. The message was passed down by each member before they all stood up.

“We have to go backstage now, we’re up soon,” Hoseok spoke, offering you a soft smile, to which you returned, “I look forward to your performance.”

A few minutes later, the same worker spoke to you, telling you to head backstage. You stood up, brushing off your outfit before following the man.

You put your focus onto the live screening of the performances, watching the talented performers as you anxiously awaited backstage to be called to the stage.

You were given a ten minute warning and began to make your way to the wing of the stage when you heard the familiar angelic voice that belonged to Park Jimin, looking over to the stage to see BTS performing Blood, Sweat and Tears.

It was as if you were in a trance. You had seen them perform this song several times, but seeing it in person right at this second, it was amazing to say the least.

You found your attention always wandering to Hoseok, his body moving in perfect rhythm as their beautiful voices sounded throughout the theatre, his parts making your knees weak.

The last chorus came to an end and the music faded, the boys holding their poses on the stage for a few seconds as the crowd roared with claps and cheers, walking off in the opposite direction of where you stood as the host came back on the stage, about to introduce you.

Performing on a stage wasn’t something new to you, but it still gave you the same amount of adrenaline each and every time, which is another reason why you loved what you do.

The music began to play, and you drowned out the crowd slightly, focusing on your performing. What felt like seconds was actually minutes, and before you knew it, you were already walking back off the stage.

Hoseok’s POV

I panted softly, still trying to catch my breath from our performance as we sat in the dressing room. I patted the towel along my neck, swiping the dripping sweat away as I heard a familiar melody begin to play.

“Wait, shut up!” I hushed my band members as my attention focused on the television that played the live performance, y/n standing on the stage as they performed their song that I had heard so may times over and over. It was different now though, I could hear their passion ringing throughout the theatre as they performed with such raw emotions on display.

It was at this moment where I saw just how beautiful and talented they were, more than I could have ever fathomed; it was at this moment where I realized just how much I loved y/n.

The performance ended and they walked off the stage. I sat there for a moment, so many thoughts bouncing in my mind. Without a single word, I jumped up from my seat, racing to the door.

“Where are you going?” I head Yoongi speak as I opened the door, slipping out of the room and into the hallway quickly.

I looked around at the many doors, my heart beating faster as I found the one I was looking for.

Your POV

You walked off the stage, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as the spot light was taken off of you. You continued walking backstage, met by a hallway of rooms, each door having a name written on them. You searched for your own, opening the door before walking in and closing it behind you quickly.

“Y/n,” your gaze shot up quickly over to the couch, Hoseok standing from his seat with a wide smile, “Your performance was amazing.”

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly, your gaze lowering to the carpeted floor, “What are you doing in here, Hoseok?”

“Call me Hobi,” he made his way over to you, laughing softly, “Hoseok sounds so formal.”

“Hobi-” you were cut off by the red haired boy wrapping his arms softly around you, surrounding you in a comforting hug. You hesitated for a moment before placing your arms around his slender waist, hugging him back.

He sighed into your hair, contentment surrounding you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, a comfortable silence filling the room.

“So I was wondering,” Hoseok mumbled, swaying gently from side to side, “Can I get your number?”

[aswithasunbeam]

The Three Ten to NYC, A Modern Hamliza Fic

[Read on AO3]

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Eliza and Alexander are stuck at Union Station in the middle of the night. Despite long coffee lines, angry tweets, and general sleep deprivation, Eliza is head over heels in love and feels like the luckiest girl in the world.

A fluffy modern hamliza AU

The dull drone of an announcement crackled over the speakers. Eliza listened just long enough to hear something about a delayed southbound train, then tuned it out once again. The line for coffee, which snaked back and forth through several loops of sleep deprived passengers, inched forward a little more, only for the woman who’d finally stepped up to counter to hesitate over her order. Apparently, the fifteen minutes she’d been standing in line wasn’t quite enough time for her to work out what she wanted, Eliza thought with an internal huff.

Trying to block out her frustration, Eliza swiped at the screen of her phone and opened the photo gallery. Alexander’s handsome face grinned at her from the latest picture. It was a photo she’d snapped just hours ago in their cramped hotel room. He’d already removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and he was trying to entice her to join him in the shower.

“I sat through a two hour meeting about climate change and the importance of water conservation today. I’m feeling very motivated.”

“We’re supposed to be washing up and taking a nap,” she’d reminded him, lying atop the covers on their bed scrolling through her phone. “Our train leaves at three in the morning.”

“Yeah, of course,” he’d agreed innocently, slowly removing his tie and backing up towards the bathroom. “This is just about being responsible with precious natural resources.”

“Uh huh.” A dimple had appeared in his cheeks as she’d hummed with disbelief. She’d snapped the picture just before she pushed off the bed to follow him, unable to resist. They’d never quite gotten around to properly washing up or napping. But a little sleep deprivation wasn’t such a high price to pay when he’d looked so damn cute, she granted herself.  

Usually when Alexander traveled to D.C. with the Senator, she remained behind in New York. This time, though, the dates of his trip happened to line up with a child welfare conference that she’d been wanting to attend anyway. Not being away from her new fiancée for a full week had only been an added benefit.

When Senator Washington heard she had accompanied Alexander to D.C., he invited them both to his second home on the Potomac for a quiet dinner. In Mrs. Washington’s kind and capable hands, that quiet dinner had turned into a surprise blowout engagement party, complete with many of Alexander’s oldest friends, a live band, and thousands of white lights strung up from the house all the way down to the river. Eliza wouldn’t have traded that magical night of laughter and dancing for anything in the world.

She was playing with the filter on a picture of the two of them down by the water when she finally found herself at the front of the line. Thrusting her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she stepped up the counter to order two black coffees and, impulsively, a buttery croissant from the bake case. The two coffees were passed to her over the counter as she paid, allowing her to bypass the huddled mass of customers waiting on lattes and macchiatos. She placed her brown pastry bag on the coffee station to add a half and half to her cup, then headed back towards the benches with her purchases in hand.

Alexander had long since traded his suit jacket and tie for his ratty Columbia sweatshirt before they left the hotel, and thick framed glasses were sliding down his nose. The light from his laptop screen reflected in the lenses pounded at the keyboard. His eyes always carried a slightly bruised quality, but the circles seemed darker in the harsh unnatural lighting, and his face and shoulders looked tense.

“Hello, handsome. Is this seat taken?” Her voice was heavy with exaggerated flirtation and she batted her eyes ridiculously as she sat beside him, hoping to make him laugh.

He smiled weakly and accepted the coffee from her. The drink was still piping hot, but he gulped it down like it was room temperature. Putting the cup down on the bench on his other side, he jabbed his finger at his laptop and said, “Look at this.”

She scooted closer so their shoulders were pressed together while she looked at the screen. Twitter was open, and he was gesturing at a tweet from a senator’s aide in the opposition party. Why he insisted on reading that garbage and getting all riled up over it, she still didn’t understand.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she answered vaguely, without really taking in the content of the tweet, “How awful.”

“This kind of blatantly racist bullshit is why we can’t have intelligent, rational conversations about immigration in this country,” he fumed, and switched tabs to a google doc to resume his furious typing. He’d already filled a page and half with text, she noticed. A smile crept over her face as she tried to figure out whether he was writing some kind of op-ed or just an extremely long thread of tweets.

“Any updates on the train?” she asked, interrupting the rant she heard gathering steam under his breath.

“I guess it was delayed coming out of  Richmond,” he answered, still focused on his computer. “They’re estimating another thirty minutes.”

She sighed and pulled the croissant from the paper bag. Splitting the pastry down the middle, she offered Alexander half. He gave it a sidelong glance and shook his head. “I’m not that hungry.”

“You’re sure? You didn’t eat much before we left.”

“Yeah.” He slid his left hand under his glasses to rub his eyes. “My head is killing me.”

“That’s what you get for using up our nap time.”

He smirked and readjusted his glasses. “Nah, it was worth it.”

Leaning over, she placed a kiss against his lips and pushed his laptop closed. He chuckled warmly, although the tension in his brow remained. She ran her fingers through the hair at his temple tenderly. “I think I have Tylenol in my purse. Do you want some?”

He nodded. She bent down to rifle through her bag until she felt the travel sized bottle on the bottom. Dry swallowing the two pills she handed him, he chased them with another gulp of coffee.  

“Want to look at some pictures from the party?” she offered, a transparent ploy to keep him away from twitter. “People have been sharing them with me all day.”

Thankfully, he gave in easily despite the obvious tactic. Twisting on the bench to face her, he invited “Let’s see ‘em.”

She shifted closer so they could both see her phone. He laughed at the first picture of him, Gilbert, and Mulligan with their arms around each other, though she thought she heard a hint of melancholy in the sound. She’d seen dozens of similar photos of the group from over the years, but always with a fourth member: the legendary and beloved Jack, who’d been killed on his third overseas deployment a few years earlier. She didn’t linger or press, and his laugh turned lighter when she showed him the next picture of him looking at the buffet table. “Oh, God, please get rid that one. What is that face I’m making? I look like I have three chins.”

“You do not,” she laughed.

“No?” he asked as he made a goofy face and pulled his chin back towards his neck.

She snorted and broke out into giggles. “So sexy.”  

“Wow, I need to borrow those love goggles of yours.” He reached out and slid his finger over the screen to look at the next photo: a selfie she’d meant to delete already because her eyes were half shut. “See, now, that’s better.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you need to borrow anything.”

They spent the next several minutes sipping at their coffees and scrolling through the rest of the photos.

“I want to print this one,” she told him, stopping again on the photo of them by the river, the same one she’d been fussing with in the coffee line. Mrs. Washington had snapped it early in the evening, so they both looked fresh faced and happy. Eliza was smiling for the camera, but Alexander was looking at her with the sweetest, softest expression she’d ever seen him wear. The pure love she saw shining in his eyes made her heartbeat quicken and her stomach fill with the wonderful kind of butterflies.

He nodded seriously. “We should. That came out nice.”

She cuddled closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It was a beautiful party.”

“It was,” he agreed, twirling a finger through the loose hair on her shoulders.

“I’m just glad I didn’t embarrass you.”

The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she’d really thought them through. He stilled beside her and then straightened. She could feel him trying to catch her eye.

“What are you talking about?”

She winced. Exhausted as she was, she’d let slip the insecure thoughts that usually floated, safe and unspoken, around in the back of her mind. She had a healthy amount of self-confidence, really. She knew she was kind, moral, beautiful, and far from stupid.  But ever since she’d started dating Alexander, she’d had a deep, dark fear that one day she’d say something in a group of Alexander’s genius friends that would make him realize how much she didn’t fit in with them. It was something she worried about secretly, late at night, when she watched him sleep beside her and wondered what sort of miraculous, world-changing ideas were brewing in his mind.

“It’s just…everyone there was so accomplished. So brilliant.”

“You’re brilliant.”

She scoffed. “Not like they are. Not like you.”

“Eliza, you are the most beautiful, compassionate, loving, amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Her gaze fell to her lap, not able to look at him as she tried to explain. “I barely made it through college. I’m never going to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a scientist. I only have the chance to do so much volunteer work because my family has money. I just, I worry that someday you’re going to look at me, and….”

“Hey.” He tilted her chin up. “You go to work every day and help dozens upon dozens of kids in awful circumstances. I see the kind of hours and the commitment you put in. You fight for those kids, you raise money for them, and you care about each and every one of them. You are smart, and capable, and driven. And I am so proud of you.”

Her throat went tight with emotion, and her vision turned a little blurry. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he assured her. He gave her a sweet, soft kiss. “We all sit around and talk about policy language, and rant at each other on social media, but you’re the one doing the real work. It’s one of the first things that drew me to you. If everyone took the privileges they were given and used them for good the way you have, the world would be a beautiful place.”

A strange, but wonderful realization dawned on her.

As she’d gotten to know him, she would from time to time pick up on his insecurities, and she’d always find herself puzzled. It seemed to her that the things he felt the most self-conscious about were, in reality, his greatest strengths. He worried about his past, about his job, about his lack of money, but all she saw was someone who’d overcome long odds, who did great and important work, even at the cost of personal glory and fortune.

Now, seeing all that love in his eyes again, she realized for the first time that he felt the same about her. All those things she worried about late at night in the dark, the parts of her she’d tried to hide from him, he’d seen in her all along. He’d seen her, and he loved her, not in spite of those parts, but because of them. Never before in her life had she felt so wholly and completely loved.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

He smiled. “I love you, too.”

The grainy voice announced their train would be arriving at platform ten, intruding on the tender moment. They shared a quick kiss before they stood and collected their baggage, Alexander shoving his laptop back into his bag while she popped up the handle on her carry-on. They fell easily into step as they made their way to the platform.

They didn’t speak as they stood under the orange lights on the platform to wait for the arriving train. Eliza turned to face him, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close in the cool spring night air. Hardly anyone was around for the late night train to the city.

She felt the powerful whoosh of air as the train approached, and she reluctantly released him so they could board. Thankfully, the cars weren’t particularly full. They found seats towards the back of the car and settled in next each other. She’d expected him to pull out his laptop again when they settled in for the three and a half hour ride home, but instead he rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

“How’s your head?” she asked softly.

“Better. I’m just really tired.”

She tugged him towards her, so that his head rested against her shoulder. He removed his glasses off, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and adjusted to rest against her chest, his arm stretched out to embrace her. Her hand traced patterns over his back as the train pulled away from the station towards home.

In the quiet of the train, as Alexander began to snuffle softly, she gazed down at the diamond ring on her left hand and smiled. She was engaged to the love of her life. All the little frustrations and worries from the past hours had melted away. Delayed trains and long lines, angry politicians and sleep deprivation—none of those things mattered in the slightest. Not when Alexander was in her arms.