#i guess there are only 5 that begin with someone holding/grasping something or looking at their hands

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Seer

Ao3 link

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Faces Turned to the Sunset

Brook is standing at the crow’s nest, playing his violin.

This is not unusual, nor is it noteworthy. Brook spends more time playing than not. It’s his job, it’s his life (and death! Yohohohoho). It helps him worth through whatever is going through his mind.

He has quite a lot going through his mind at the moment.

Brook knows he’s new to the crew. He knows there’s a lot here (crew dynamics, histories, relationships) that he’s simply not aware of yet. And that’s fine, that’s just life at sea. He’ll learn, eventually.

But this current situation that poor Usopp has found himself in? It’s quite heavy for someone so young, someone who has only just started out his pirate career. But this is something Brook can actually help with.

He’s so, so grateful to these people for giving him the second chance he’s always needed. Maybe now, he can actually begin to repay them.

“Brook?”

Startled out of his thoughts, he stops playing. Below him stands the very subject of his ruminations, looking up in his general direction. He has one hand on the straw hat on his head. Robin is next to him, holding his arm. She gifts Brook a small smile.

“Usopp-San! Robin-San!” Brook lifts his hat in greeting. “How wonderful to run into you on such a fine day!”

“Sorry for startling you,” Usopp responds. “But I was walking around with Robin when we heard you play. I had to come hear some more.”

“Well, young Usopp,” Brook says, making his way down from the crow’s nest. “That’s very kind of you! It’s enough to make even these old bones blush.”

Usopp cocks his head, seemingly listening to Brook’s approach. “I’ve always liked music,” He says. “But now…I don’t know. After what happened, it feels different for me now. Like, it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed for me, as an experience, but that’s what makes it feel different now. Does that make sense?”

Brook hits the deck with a small thump. He sees Usopp turn towards the sound. “It does indeed,” He says, gathering himself. “Often, one relies on the senses one has available. Your connection to music is through a sense that you still have access to, and so allows you to appreciate it even more.”

Usopp nods. “Exactly! You’re so good, too. You were doing a sea shanty? That’s my favorite type of music!”

Brook deliberately taps his cane as he walks towards Robin and Usopp, making his approach clear. Robin, still silent, gives him an approving nod. “Ah, you appreciate the classics,” He says. “Very appropriate for the setting. Do let me know your favorites, and I’ll add them to the repertoire.”

Usopp’s face breaks into a smile, lifting at the bandages around his eyes. “Wow! Thanks, Brook!”

Robin leans in. “Usopp,” She says. “I’ll leave you with Brook now, alright? You can let him know to direct you back to Chopper’s office when you’re ready.”

“Thanks Robin,” Usopp says, and she leans out to grasp at Brook’s bony hand. She leads it to Usopp’s arm, and then gives them another smile.

Brook curls his fingers around Usopp’s upper arm. “Well then,” He says. “Where are we heading?”

Usopp taps on his chin. “Hm,” He says. “Let’s go around the side. I’m trying to get a sense of how wide everything is.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Brook says, starting to lead Usopp in the circuit around the ship. “You know,” He begins. “I haven’t been here very long. But I do know a thing or two about waking up in a different body that doesn’t feel like yours. And I know how difficult an adjustment that is.”

He feels Usopp’s arm tense under his hand. “Yeah,” He says, sounding a little shaky. “I guess you would understand what that feels like.”

“Indeed,” Brook says, gently adjusting Usopp’s path. “And I know how it feels to suddenly not be able to do things that you used to do. But with some time, and practice, and work, I was able to adjust. And with your help, all of you, I’m able to have the life that I wanted to have. Or death, as it turns out. Yohohohoho!”

He feels Usopp’s arm shake in an answering laugh. “You’re right,” He says. “Yeah. It’s just time, I guess. And figuring out what to do now. One step at a time, right?”

Brook makes his step steo forward deliberately heavy. “Correct!” He says. “That’s an excellent outlook to have. And we can remind you if you ever need that.”

“Thanks Brook,” Usopp says. He stops walking, Brook also coming to an abrupt halt. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already have, yohohohoho,” Brook jokes. “But go ahead!”

“What’s your favorite music?” Usopp says. “What do you like to play the most?”

Brook feels a warm fondness in his bones. “It’s kind of you to ask,” He says. “I love everything I play, don’t you worry! Music is a gift I treasure every day.”

Usopp nods, and Brook gently tugs on his arm to start walking again. They reach the side of the ship and Brook leads him into another turn. They’ve reached the side that opens up to the island, and Brook takes a moment to appreciate the view.

Usopp whips his head to the side. “Oh!” He says, sounding excited. “We’re at the side near Sabaody, right? I can smell and hear it! And I can feel the wind from it!”

“Correct!” Brook says, patting Usopp on the shoulder.

Usopp stops, leaning on the side of the ship. He moves the hand on the hat lower, til it clutches at the rim. “Brook,” He says. “Can you tell me what it looks like?”

Brook stands next to him. “Of course,” He says. He looks out onto the land. “It’s green…very green! Lots of forest, spreading out into the distance. There seems to be bubbles emerging from the island, and there’s quite a lot of them floating around us.”

Usopp sighs. “Sounds beautiful,” He says.

Brook lays a hand on Usopp’s head, gently minding the hat. “The actual town looks quite busy,” He says. “There’s lots of buildings, shops, and people. There’s also-”

Brook cuts himself off. “Oh!” He says. “It looks like our Captain, swordsman, and cook are on their way back! Seems a little quick…”

Usopp cocks his head. “Do they look alright?”

Brook leans closer. “They look a little grim,” He reports. “There seems to be someone with them. I don’t recognize him. He’s older, long white hair, glasses-”

At that moment, Nami thunders out onto the deck, followed closely by Franky. “Guys! Luffy and the others are coming back with-”

She spots Brook and Usopp and literally skids to a stop. “Usopp,” She breathes.

Usopp turns in her general direction. “Nami?”

“Oh,” She says, tears forming in her eyes, “Oh, Usopp…”

In the next breath she’s running forward, so fast she almost stumbles over her own feet. “USOPP!”

She jumps at him, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tight. Brook and Franky share a look. Franky looks like he’s seconds away from crying himself.

Usopp stumbles back, clutching onto the straw hat for dear life. Brook reaches out to steady him. “Hey Nami,” He says softly. “Long time no…see.”

Nami buries her head in Usopp’s shoulder. “Idiot!” She says, then instantly bursts into tears.

Usopp looks panicked. “Oh hey, Nami, come on, it’s okay, please don’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Nami wails into Usopp’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Usopp, I’m sorry…”

Usopp reaches a hand to clumsily pat her on the back. “Hey,” He says again. “It’s alright, really, I’ll be okay, yeah? I’ll…I’ll manage. Right? Hey, Nami, everyone’s coming back, we should talk to them…”

Nami stiffens, then lets Usopp go. “You’re right,” She sniffs, trying to get a hold of herself. “I was gonna say, they look serious. We’ll talk later, okay? After we find out what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Usopp says, and Brook turns his attention back to the approaching group. To his surprise, in that time, they’ve managed to make it back to the ship, and are slowly making their way up to the deck.

“Oi,” Sanji says, first one to arrive. “Which if you assholes made Nami-San cry? Is Robin-Chan alright?”

He eyes tick around the group, landing on Usopp. Understanding fills his gaze. “Whatever,” He says, losing in their direction. “Don’t let me catch anyone doing that again.”

He makes his way next to Brook and Usopp. He nods at Brook, then taps Usopp on the elbow. “Hey,” He says. “Out and about now?”

“Chopper cleared me,” Usopp responds, and Brook sees Zoro make his way to the ship. “I’ve missed walking around up here.”

Brook keeps an eye on Zoro, and knows instantly once he’s caught sight of Usopp. His jaw visibly clenches, like he’s desperately holding something back. He makes an aborted motion forward before stepping back, fists clenched. He stiffly backs up to join Franky, but his eyes don’t leave Usopp.

Luffy gets in next, definitely more subdued by usual, closely followed by this new stranger. Brook eyes (well. Eye sockets) him wearily.

“Okay,” Luffy says, hands on his hips. “You’re here now. What was it that you wanted to tell us?”

Brook sees Robin approaching from within the ship, Chopper trotting out next to her. Ah, we’ve all arrived. He thinks to himself.

The man looks around. “Impressive ship you have here,” He comments. “I could coat her for you, soon.”

Franky’s chest puffs up with pride. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Luffy says, impatient. “But what about Ace? How can you help us?”

“Ace needs our help?” Nami asks.

Usopp leans over to Brook, whispering “That’s Luffy’s brother.”

Brook nods. He hadn’t known Luffy had a brother.

The man looks at them all. Brook catches him eying the hat on Usopp’s head. “Hatchan told me you were here. My name is Rayleigh,” He says. “And I’ve been looking to meet you for a while, Straw Hat Luffy. I have some information that you may find useful.”

-

Usopp listens with growing amazement and fear as Rayleigh begins to speak.

He tells them about the growing tensions amongst the pirates, the threat of war, the gathering of a group known as the supernova. He tells them about Whitebeard, and about Ace, and about how the situation was a powder keg that was likely to explode. He tells them about Sabaody, the Celestial Dragons, and everything that goes with them. “If you’d arrived a little earlier, you might have run into some chaos,” He had mused, and Usopp had felt ice run through his back, like a bullet at only just missed his spine.

All that talk of war had sounded much too close to Vance’s explanations for comfort. The idea that he had been right about this, had been right about something, does not sit well in his stomach. It makes him want to plug his ears and sink back into the dark.

He knows he can’t do that, though.

Rayleigh concludes his tale with explaining where Ace was, and where he was going to be taken afterwards. “So,” He says. “You’re either going to Impel Down, which is the most dangerous prison I the world, to stage a breakout. Or, you’re headed to Marineford, facing the strongest members of the Navy from one end and Whitebeard on the other. Are you sure you’re still up to the task.”

Luffy, silent up until that point, speaks up right away. “Yes,” He says firmly. “Can you give us the way to get there?”

Usopp can feel his knees knock together. It all sounds like too much. Maybe he can legitimately claim can’t-go-on-this-certain-death-mission disease now.

“Sure,” Rayleigh’s voice echoes, amused. “But you should know, you’re walking into the middle of some of the most powerful players on the grand line. And you’re taking your crew with you. Are you prepared for what you’re about to face?”

Usopp prepares for Luffy to respond. He’s surprised to hear nothing.

“Captain?” Robin says, sounding concerned.

Usopp runs the comment back in his head. The crew…he knows Luffy is more than willing to jump into certain death. But the idea that he may be leading them to it too…it must be killing him.

“Don’t worry about us Captain,” Zoro says. “Where you go, we follow. And if you’re going to save your brother, well. We’ll do that too.”

“If what he says is true,” Luffy says. “I need you all to think about this. I can’t ask you to do this if I don’t know I can make sure you all get out.”

His voice is so pained, conflicted.

It’s up to Usopp to fix this, to bring his mood back up.

He feels the familiar itch in his head, and, without thinking, submits. “Of course we can help!” He says. “Did I ever tell you about the time I made the most impossible shot in the world?”

The ship goes silent. Even the ambient noise of the sea is muted. “No,” Luffy says. “What happened?”

“Well,” Usopp says, warming up to the performance. “It was me and my slingshot against the world. I had to make a shot into a large fortress, an impossible amount of meters away. But nobody had accounted for me. I was able to throw my senses out, and see the targets I was about to hit even without seeing them. In the middle of being attached myself, I aimed and fired into the distance. Even though I couldn’t see the impact, I knew that I had made it and that…”

Usopp trails off, mind catching up to the story.

Had he just…was that…

“Wow,” Luffy says. “I didn’t know about that.”

“See, Luffy?” Sanji says. “We’re all capable. Look at what Usopp just said. If that’s going to happen, you know we’re ready, don’t you?”

Usopp’s head is spinning. It’s the first time he has really noticed what’s going on, how the story spills out of him. And everyone had known it was all true. Everyone but him.

But…the impossible shot. How is going to-

“Hey,” Rayleigh says, interrupting his thoughts. “If I may ask. What the hell just happened there?”

“Usopp tells stories,” Luffy says proudly, like he’s used to it. “And they come true!”

“He’s a seer,” Brook rushes to explain. “He has powers, he can see events before they happen. He’s only just realized it recently.”

“Well,” Rayleigh says. “I don’t know who told you that, but that’s not quite true. The future telling is, but being a ‘seer’? Not exactly.”

There’s a short pause. “What do you mean by that?” Nami asks.

The blood is thundering in Usopp’s ears. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear this but at the same time, he really needs to.

“I mean,” Rayleigh says. “Usopp over there has some of the most advanced observation Haki I’ve ever witnessed, and that’s saying something. I could feel it while he was talking. I know of some who can predict future events with Haki but never as advanced as this seems to be. And without training? Without even knowing about it? That is truly impressive.”

“What the hell is Haki?” And that’s Zoro.

“Vance said,” Usopp trips in. “Vance said that…that we had powers to balance out the darkness of the devil fruits into the world. Me with my prophecies. Him with his intimidation. Lark with his body armor. Was that…was that a lie?”

“Well if it wasn’t,” Rayleigh says. “Vance, whoever he is, is an idiot. Those aren’t ‘powers’ to balance out devil fruit. It’s Haki. And, to answer your question,” He must direct this at Zoro. “Usopp here has given us a succinct summary of the different types. Observation, which he himself has at a quite advanced level. Armament, which makes you turn your body into living armor, which this Lark person apparently has. And Conqueror’s: very rare, very powerful, which it seems from your description that this Vance person has. Is he able to knock out people with his energy?”

“Yes,” Sanji says slowly. “He…he stopped us in our tracks. I couldn’t move, there was this feeling of fear and despair that came over me. Was that..this Haki, or whatever it’s called?”

“Looks like it,” Rayleigh says. “Technically, anyone can be a Haki user. Observation and Armament, at least. Conqueror’s is a bit more rare, the only individuals that can use it are particularly-” He cuts himself off. “Never mind, we’ll get into all that later. What’s important now is that it seems these people have developed different types of Haki without, apparently, knowing what it is. And thinking it’s to combat devil fruits? That’s funny. Many devil fruit users are also very proficient at Haki.”

“So…” Usopp thinks he’s feeling dizzy. But how could he, in the dark. “Wait. Vance also said that I’d be able to control my Second Sight better when he blinded me…”

Rayleigh interrupts him immediately. “That’s bullshit,” He says. “That man is definitely an idiot. I’m sorry you got caught up in that idiocy, but that is not true. Your sight has nothing to do with your Haki. As long as you’ve been telling those stories, you’ve been using it. To gain mastery, you would simply need to train. That’s all.”

“So it was for nothing?” Usopp says. He thinks he’s yelling. “All that…everything. It was for nothing? I’m like this now for nothing?”

He feels a hand push at the hat on his head. “Usopp,” Brook says quietly.

Usopp takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” He says. “This is just…”

“That’s fair,” Rayleigh says. “I’d be mad too, if I were you. But, you know, observation Haki will help you too, with that. I know someone like you, who uses his Haki to-” He interrupts himself again. “Getting ahead of myself there again.”

“Wait,” Usopp says. “He also said that there was this…serum that would get rid of devil fruits. Was that a lie too?”

Rayleigh is silent for a few seconds. “I haven’t heard of that,” He says. “But there’s a lot of experimentation going on at the moment in devil fruits. Certain individuals have been working on…understanding them, I suppose? Replicating them? I haven’t heard of anything about destroying them, as of now. But I couldn’t say for certain that it doesn’t exist.”

Usopp feels minute shakes run throughout his body. What the hell. He thinks hysterically. What the hell. What the hell.

His panicked thoughts grind to a halt when he hears Luffy’s voice. “This is important,” He says. “And we have to come back to it later. But first…everyone. You know the risks. Are you all willing to come with me to get Ace? Knowing what we’re going into?”

Usopp shakes himself back into awareness. “Of course!” He answers.

He hears various versions of yes echo throughout the crew, and he knows already that everyone had declared themselves ready. For Luffy, they always will.

“I’ll do whatever I can to protect you all,” Luffy says, and Usopp knows he means it. “I promise. Old guy! Can you go with Nami and explain to her how to get to Ace?”

Nami speaks up. “Follow me,” She says. “I just want to run this by you..”

“Fine,” Rayleigh says. “And, Straw Hat?”

He must wait for Luffy to turn to him, the says “After you’ve finished your mission? Come back here, to Sabaody. I’ll coat your ship. And there’s more you all need to know.”

“We will,” Luffy says. “It’s a deal.”

-

Haki.

Haki. Haki. Haki.

Usopp screws his face up, trying to concentrate.

He’s back in the medical bay, because of course he is…Chopper would only also do much action, especially after all the revelations that had come down on them one by one. You still need to heal, he’d said firmly, and that was that.

Chopper had given him a quick exam before telling him he needed some more rest. Before he’d headed back out, Usopp had reached out a hand and grasped a horn. You know you’re the best doctor ever, right? He’d said. He’d felt Chopper wiggle in delight (and relief) before leaving the room.

Chopper is the best doctor ever, but Usopp is kind of a bad patient. In that he has no intention of listening to Chopper and getting some rest.

No, instead, he’s going to experiment.

Usopp had always been a big believer in experimentation: if you’re an artist, or an engineer, you need to be willing to try everything and use what works. And Usopp really needs to make this work, and fast.

Old man Rayleigh had said a lot of things. Almost all were important and valuable, but Usopp was focusing on the story he almost let slip. The one about the friend, the one supposedly like Usopp, who could use Observation Haki to help him out.

Well. He could certainly try, right? Maybe this way, he could do what Vance tried to make him do, and use his visions to-

No. No need to go down that path.

Back to concentration. Usopp slowly takes off the straw hat, holding it in front of him. Help me, Hat. He thinks. Help me get this.

He reaches out to that corner of his mind, the one that itches whenever he has a story to tell. You’ve gotta be there. Come on come on come on.

Something shimmers in the corner of the darkness. It vibrates, spins, crisscrosses into lines…

The abrupt opening of the door disrupts his concentration. He jumps, nearly dropping the hat in the process.

Heavy steps stomp into the room, which is pretty much the only data point Usopp needs. “Zoro?” He asks.

There’s silence for a second, then: “How’d you know?” Zoro says, baffled. “What, you already discovered how to sense me with your ‘haki’?”

Soon. Hopefully. “Nah,” Usopp says, putting the hat back on his head. “Nobody else but you stomps like that.”

There’s a moment where Zoro is clearly trying to figure out if he’s being insulted. He lands on “Fine,” and Usopp hears the familiar scrape of Chopper’s stool echo across the room.

Zoro is sitting with him, here? Zoro?

Usopp knows Zoro by now, and he knows that Zoro is someone who chooses his moments very carefully. He’s not one for chatting, for the most part. But he’s more than willing to speak his mind when he thinks the safety and place of the crew is at risk.

And this is what Usopp has been afraid of most. Luffy was difficult to face after this, but Zoro, in a way, is even harder to return to after his time with Vance. He can’t be the one that Zoro sees as a liability to the rest of them, and be the one needing to make the hard choice and deal with the liability.

Disappointing him again is a difficult pill to swallow.

Before Usopp can work himself up into a further state of nerves, Zoro clears his throat.

“Usopp,” He says, steady, determined. “I’m sorry.”

Usopp feels the words like a shock to his system. Why does everyone on this damn crew always apologize to me? He thinks wildly.

But what he ends up croaking out is “For what?”

“For one,” Zoro says. “Not coming by to speak to you sooner. You know Chopper didn’t want us to, but still. I could’ve come anyway. I wanted to. But at the same time…I’ll be honest. It was kind of difficult to do.”

Usopp’s mouth goes dry. “Why?”

“Because I was ashamed,” Zoro says. “I still am. You know you guys are my responsibility, right? Luffy’s captain, but his job is to lead us. Mine is to make sure you guys can follow. And I failed that. I failed you. Which brings me to my second reason…I’m sorry I let you down. You got taken on my watch, and you permanently injured because of it. I’ll take responsibility for that. I’m sorry.”

Usopp…Usopp is stunned into silence. He’s not familiar with the feeling.

Zoro seems content to wait, though. Of course he is. Zoro faces everything head on until he’s done. That just who he is.

Which is why Usopp needs to be crystal clear when he speaks. “That’s stupid,” He says.

“What?” Zoro says. “What do you mean?”

“You guys keep apologizing to me,” Usopp says. “And I guess I get it, in a way. If I was in your position, and this happened to someone else, I’d feel bad too. But you should know, I’m only still alive because of you guys. I only still have hope because of you guys. Because losing my sight almost destroyed me. It still might, I don’t know. But you’re all still here. You still want me here. And, well, that means I have to keep trying until I can find a way to be helpful still.”

Zoro doesn’t seem to have an answer, so Usopp continues.

“When you came in,” Usopp says. “I was worried you were going to tell me it might be better if I left. Because I know you always put the crew first, always. The fact that you didn’t means so much. And I’ll keep on proving that to you guys.”

“Usopp,” Zoro says, and he actually sounds a little choked. “Of course I wouldn’t. You’re…you’re part of the crew. I don’t think…I don’t think you’re getting this. I’m responsible for you too, you know. Even though you’re a big idiot who can’t tell when he’s part of something.”

Usopp laughs. “You’re the idiot,” He says. “Aren’t you, like, still half dead from Thriller Bark? How exactly were you going to put all of our safety on our shoulders? Idiot. You know you’re also part of the crew, right? Doesn’t that mean you have to look after yourself too?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Zoro says. “That’s the job. The crew before me. And, look. I know where this is coming from. Water 7, right?”

Usopp gently pulls at the straw hat so that it hits the tip of his nose, hiding the upper half of his face. He can’t do this.

“Hey,” He feels the hat being tugged back up. “Stop that. Yeah, it happened. Yeah, it sucked. Yeah, I was upset. And so were you. But it happened and that’s that. You said sorry and we took you back. The fact that you think that I would…I would kick you out as a result still shows that you needed to hear an apology too. So, there you go. You did it and we accepted. Now I did it. You gotta accept it too.”

Usopp is not going to cry here. “Okay, fine,” He sniffs. “I accept. But you know that still doesn’t mean that I blame you or anyone else for this. So long as you’re patient with me while I figure this thing out, right?”

“What, are you kidding?” Zoro says. “I’m always patient.”

Usopp raises his eyebrows. They probably don’t show under the bandages. “If you say so,” He says.

Zoro grumbles, but he clearly doesn’t mean it. “I saw that,” He says. “Nice try. You need to work on your stealth.”

He feels a heavy hand go back up to the hat, and press it down further into his head. “By the way,” Zoro says. “I got you something.”

Usopp feels something press into his hand. Something very, very familiar.

He swallows, clutching the Kabuto tight. “You know I can’t use this, right?” He croaks.

Zoro shrugs. “Maybe not in the way you used to,” He says. “But it’s yours. It always will be.”

Usopp smiles, allowing all his fondness and affection to take over. “Thank you for this. And thanks for coming and talking,” He says. “And, you know. There’s something I’m working on. Maybe you can help me with-”

He’s interrupted by Brook’s voice outside, booming with all his might:

“Impel Down, dead ahead! Like me!”

-

Of course, it can never be that easy.

Brook has a million questions as they speed closer towards the towering, ominous building on the horizon. Mainly, they center on what the hell are they going to do next.

Impel Down is without a doubt one of the scariest places he’s ever heard of. Going in, staging a breakout? That’s a Herculean task. How will they even get in? And how will they get out again?

Luffy does not seem to have these same concerns. He stands at the front of the ship, arms crossed, his hair blowing around in the strong winds. He’s less chipper than normal, more serious. It’s extremely sobering.

The crew has all scattered out at Brook’s shout, crowding around Luffy. Even Usopp has emerged, assisted by Zoro and carrying his large slingshot, even though he can’t see the approaching prison. Chopper sidles up to him, clearly wanting to scold but thinking this wasn’t the time nor the place to do so.

Luffy says nothing, though. Just keeps looking into the distance. Staring so hard Brook thinks he’s trying to burrow through the walls of the prison to find his brother.

Brook hopes he can meet this brother someday.

“There!” Nami points at the distance. “Those are ships, right? Exiting the prison? Do you think…”

Luffy steps forward, arms still crossed, staring hard. “Nami,” He says. “Can you check with the binoculars and see?”

Brook hands over the binoculars to Nami, who puts them over her eyes. “Okay,” She says. “There’s people on the ships, I don’t really recognize them. Lots of marines. Um, that one doesn’t have anyone. Let me try…oh.”

Luffy’s voice tightens. “Nami?”

“Yeah,” Nami says, voice subdued. “That’s him. That’s Ace. We’re too late, they’re already taking him out. He’s being taken to Marineford.”

Luffy’s eyes harden. “Let’s go,” He says. “We’ll follow. We go after them.”

“Right!” Nami goes forward. “Franky, let’s get a couple coup-de-bursts going so that we can-”

“Luffy.”

Brook turns in surprise. That’s Usopp, and he’s frowning under his bandages.

Luffy turns to Usopp. “Yes?”

“We still need to go to Impel Down,” Usopp says. We need to let the prisoners out.”

Luffy blinks in confusion. “What?” He says. “Why?”

The rest of the crew seems just as surprise. Even Nami has paused, right in the middle of her run towards the helm.

“It…” Usopp pauses, frown deepening. “We just have to. Trust me.”

Luffy still doesn’t look convinced. “But we need to save Ace,” He says. “How will that help us save Ace?”

Usopp’s back straightens. “Luffy,” He says, voice calm. “Have I ever told you about the time I staged a prison break?”

This gets everyone’s attention. All eyes go to Usopp, waiting.

Luffy seems to get it right away. His eyes widen. “No,” He says. “You haven’t told me.”

“Well,” Usopp says. “That’s the thing about prison breaks. They’re difficult to do, but sometimes they’re worth it. I knew that they would make a good distraction. Especially if something big is happening close by. I also knew that there would be prisoners there that would help me, because I’m just that likeable. But I didn’t do it from inside. Instead, I made sure to use what I had to break the walls from the outside. Maybe even, I don’t know. Aim for the cells on the upper floors for a specific, important ally. All the prisoners were grateful, and they helped me when I needed it most.”

“Oh,” Luffy says. “Wow! Okay, Usopp. That’s so cool. I get it now. Thank you!”

Usopp just nods.

Luffy turns to the crew. “New plan!” He says. “We’re going to break into Impel Down and try to save Ace. At the same time!”

Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

[notsosilentsister]

Letter to a new teacher

Your students looked a bit lost? I had students complain about me to my supervisor because my lesson had been so confusing that they had checked out after 5 minutes. They haven't done that in a while, so I guess, things can get better! Teaching can be hard on the ego; lord knows, it was hard on mine, especially during the first years. Got a lot of mixed feedback from the beginning, definitely cried about it on one occasion or two. But the truth is, finding a style that works for you is just a lot of trial and error, and you get quite a bit of a margin of error in most institutions. The stakes are not actually that high. Take a moment and consider, seriously, what is the worst that could happen?

So I've explained something badly, I've lost the class? Just means I'll have to explain it again. Maybe not the most efficient use of lecture time, but I'm sure some students would need a repetition anyway. If it's a key point, it's never enough to explain it just once. If it's just a footnote, I make a note not to put it on the exam and move on.

Honestly, the mere fact that you're paying attention to whether you've lost your audience already puts you heads and shoulders above some instructors I could think of from my personal experience. Explaining something in a confusing manner is an easy mistake to make, but it's also an easy mistake to correct. The students are bored? Well, some are going to be bored no matter what I do. The subject either holds some intrinsic interest for the student, or it doesn't, and if it doesn't, any bells and whistle I could use to get at least some momentary attention will only take a student so far anyway. It's true that a bad teacher can kill even the most motivated student's interest in a subject, but for that it usually takes somewhat more than just being dull. Also, ultimately every learner has to find their own way to the matter; to truly grasp something, you need to feel a personal resonance. I can tell you why something is interesting to me - I can't tell students why it should be interesting to them, because I don't know all their lifes and all their plans, and even if I did, I can't make that personal connection for them. If they're only here to get a certificate, binge all the knowledge the night before the test, to vomit it up on cue with the full intention to shed it all like so much ballast once they've handed in their exam, I'm not going to stop them, I actually think they should have that choice. (I've always side-eyed the sort of teacher who goes into it with the aspiration "to shape young minds"; I think the young minds should always be free to reject getting shaped. I've certainly had my share of students who clearly walked out of my lessons with perfectly pristine minds, and they should be free to do so - but of course they were clearly extremly bored!). You know which student is certainly not going to be bored? The student who's always on their toes, because they feel their instructor might call on them any minute and tear them apart in front of the whole class. They're not going to actually learn anything either, because the fear takes up too much mental capacity to process new information properly, but they are probably not going to vote that class "best class to nap through" in the yearbook (not gonna lie, I was pretty insulted about that one for a week at least). Obviously I'm not saying you'll either have to bore or terrodrize your students. Obviously good teachers manage to to do neither. But it can be a tricky balance to strike (some students are quite sensitive and feel easily over-taxed, others will feel easily understimulated if you don't challenge them once in a while, it's not always immediately obvious who's which type), and what I'm saying is, there's definitely a worse side to err on, in my humble opinion. You clearly want to see yourself as someone who holds themselves to certain standards. You might be surprised, but so do I. I actually think it's hugely important that teachers do. But these standards can't just be external standards alone - external standards are moving targets, in some ways you always could be doing more, there are some students who will always need more than you're capable of - your standards have to be internal ones, they have to reflect what's most important to you, and they have to be workable for you. My standards for example: Don't make students cry. I made a student cry once and it was the worst, it made every subsequent failure pale in comparision. Don't stand by while a student hurts (insults, mocks, undermines) another. Don't punish students for your own mistakes, always admit when you're wrong. Don't play favourites. These to me are the four mortal sins of teaching, the things that can really cause lasting damage. Dull and confusing is not optimal, but it happens, and the students will survive. These are the things that I need my students to trust me with: That I know my stuff That I give a shit That I don't take things too personally. Maybe they'll sometimes find me dull and confusing, but my experience is, if they trust me with these three things, I can work with them well enough.

[prosebushpatch]

@rebrandedbard tagged me! THANK YOU!!!!!

List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors! 

I’m very nervous these are not going to be varied BUT HERE WE GO

1. One of the many paper triangles that were being vaulted across the table finally landed smack dab in the middle of the book he was reading. 2. She threw herself into the sea. 3. Luka Andersen held still in the frozen chamber. 4. Hat leaned back in her pillows, gazing up at the twinkling lights and tinsel Cooking Cat and Mu had strung weeks earlier. 5. The echoes of a whimper peal from beyond the sewer grates. 6. He… wasn’t sure what to do. 7. Lukas ran a hand through his reddish-brown curls, scratching absentmindedly at his scalp, as he tried to focus on the textbook in front of him. 8. Lukas stumbled towards the tree with unwieldy roots, exhausted after a particularly rough night and long morning of sequestering himself as deep into the woods as he dared. 9. “Okay,” MJ interrupted the movie right as a bear being brought in for evidence flashed across the screen. 10. Luka flexed his four fingers against his coiled torso, staring at the thick purple prongs with tempered despair. 11. His fingers grasped the clasp of his cloak, pulling the hood tighter around his chestnut curls as he tried to block out the breeze. 12. Hattie gripped the thermos in her hands as she slowly climbed the steps to the manor that were slick with ice. 13. Chains that had once been taut with his weight hung from the wall, shattered at the ends. 14. Warm arms. 15. Snatcher turned the storybook Hat Kid had left him over in his hand. 16. The key clicked inside the box and the lid popped open. 17. He hadn’t noticed it at first, the soft chimes of a music box he had made with the help of a man named Thor once upon a time, but after a moment of listening to the gentle measures, Snatcher froze. 18. Hattie pushed the stool up to the stove and swapped her top hat for the chef’s toque that Cooking Cat had given her. 19. The specter dropped to the ground as embers crackled and snapped around him. 20. An hourglass shattered by ice cut through scarlet veins.

Hmm... I begin with a lot of holding/hands imagery, it seems... 9 was probably the most fun to write and I still chuckle when I think about it, so 9 is my fav and then a more serious favorite is 5! I like how that one sounds :D I’m tagging @lemonadesoda @banyanas @the-trans-anon @doodleimprovement @toxic-lavender annnnnnd anyone else who’d like to give it a shot! :D Enjoy!

[drazzilder]

Control

By Drazzilder 

Endeavor x Male Reader

R18+

An Anonymous request:

“Could i request an enji x male reader.

Maybe its during his redemption arc and the reader hates to see enji so down and depressed as apposed to his normal confident and loud self so the reader treats him to a nice date night where he lets enji take full control.

Rough sex, reader is a bottom, anal or oral, up to you. Some fluff date stuff before hand.”

Endeavor hasn’t been himself lately. The big man has been very solemn and quiet. He is a man of few words to begin with but now he barely says a word, mostly just grumbles. The other sidekicks notice this as well but all are too afraid to anything about it. You can’t help yourself and try to help him out.

Today he is in his office and the door is cracked open. Your curiosity is at a peak when you tip toe to the door and listen. The hero is speaking but it seems to be only to himself. You can barely make out the words but you manage to make out most of it.

“Why do I keep seeing the same dream?….Why am I never there?….I hurt them all so much…. Is having them move out the right thing to do?.... They deserve to be happy…” Endeavor starts to trail off as his words become more mumbled. All you know is that he is down, something is up and you wanted to find out. You don’t even bother to knock as you open the massive door. Endeavor doesn’t even look up from his desk when you slam your hands down on his desk.

The man sounds like he had to force out the word “Hello.” You don’t have to look at his face to know there isn’t an ounce of emotion showing.

“Endeavor! How have you been?” You say with an exaggerated tone, trying to brighten his mood; however, this seems to cause the opposite. When he looks up, you swear that he could kill with that look. You guess that maybe that wasn’t the best way to start so you try again.

“Sorry to be so over the top, I’m just really excited to go to this new restaurant in Tokyo! The wait list is 6 months to just get int but a friend of mine had to cancel so he gave me his spot.” Looking back at Endeavor, his face now goes back to a blank stare.

“That is nice of your friend.”

“The problem is that it is a reservation for two and I have no one to go with. I didn’t want the second seat to go to waste and eating by yourself is so lonely. I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

Those words made his nose flare and smoke come out of his nostrils. “Why should I go with you?”

“Lighten up. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come. You are away working so hard and you seem down lately. Maybe some time away from home could be good for you.”

The man sits there a moment in silence. You are starting to worry you might be fired for asking him to come to dinner with you but you are shocked when he finally speaks. “Very well. Where and when.”

“REALLY?!.... I mean meet me at the train station at 5, dinner is at 6.”

The hero goes back to look down at his desk which signals you to leave. You close the door and lean against it and sigh. Maybe you can find out what’s going on and maybe help him. You then stand back up and finish your day at the agency. After running home and changing, you meet the man himself at the train stations. He is in a full suit; you are just wearing a nice shirt and kakis. The train ride couldn’t be more tense, he never said a word as he followed you on and off the train. At the restaurant, you are greeted by a gentleman in a nice suit and seated immediately in a private corner. After the waiter takes your order, Endeavor just sits looking depressed.

“You haven’t said a word all evening, something has got to be on your mind.”

Endeavors gaze now turns into a harsh stare as he responds “It is none of your business!”

“Well, I finally got a word out of you.”

“What?”

“I’m just trying to see why you are acting different.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The man just stares blankly as you before looking down. “I-I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

He is about to leave but you grab his hand. “Endeavor, wait!”

He pulls his hand away and glares “Why do you want me to stay?”

“I heard you in your office.”  

His nostrils flare and his face now only shows anger. “You were spying on me?!?” He says much louder than he wanted.

“I didn’t mean to but you sounded like you are hurting.”

“You know I should fire you that.”

“I know but it is only because I care. You have been down recently and I heard you talking, I couldn’t help myself to try to figure out what is wrong.”

Endeavor sighs “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

He looks down and speaks under his breath: “This isn’t your problem.”

“But I might be able to help. You can tell me.”

He sits down and begins to tell you all about his family: how he hurt them, why they are gone, why he is living alone. He is trying so hard to atone his mistakes but he forgetting about himself. He has been alone for a few months and it’s hitting him hard.

“I guess that is everything….”

“I see.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Give me a second, it’s a lot to process…. It sounds like you are willing to change to help your family heal and be better. The only problem is you are forgetting something: yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you need to heal as well.”

“I am fine.”

“Look at yourself, the man you used to be was so full of life, loud and boisterous but now you are in a slump. You hardly spoke all day even when prompted.”

“Oh.” He just tilts his head down after his response.

“It’s ok that you are feeling guilty but you need to help yourself too. I bet you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror easily. I have an idea that might help after dinner. Are you willing to try?”

“If it will help me, then yes.”

“I think it might.” The dinner was delicious, no wonder it had a 6-month waiting list, it was the best food you ever had. You finished the meal with Endeavors favorite, kuzumochi, to try to cheer him up more. Soon, you are both back on the train and headed home. However, Endeavor follows you instead of heading back to his home. You arrive at your apparent and close the door behind him.

“What now?” The large man questions while standing in the middle of the living room.

“Sit down while I get something.”

Endeavor finds his way to the couch and waits for what feels like forever. He is about to get up and leave when he hears you coming back to the room. You are now only wearing a thong and begin to approach him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?” He starts to crawl backwards into the couch but can’t go any further.

“Helping you….”

“How is this going to help me?!”

“Your life has gone out of control recently, maybe you need to take control of something again.”

“What?”

“Take control and do what you want with me.” You say as you begin to sit down in his lap. He looks at you in complete shock as he stares unblinking.

“You are a man, my sidekick, I can’t possibly- “

You interrupt him by placing a finger on his lips. “Don’t think about that, just let go. It already looks like your body is responding.” You look down to see a large budge forming in his slacks. You look back up and see something is different; his eyes look almost glazed over. He pushes you off and you are afraid he is going to leave but he just takes off his jacket and grabs your face. He almost drags you off your feet has he begins kissing you all over your face. At first, they are gentle but then more and more forceful until your lips meet. Then he starts to push in full force with his tongue. The sweet flavor of the kuzumochi is still all over his mouth as he assaults you with his lips. You feel his arms go down to your chest and hold you tight has he lifts you up.

“Ooof” is all that comes out of your mouth when he slams the both of you on the couch, still kissing you. You lay under him for a moment until he stands up. The look in his eyes have changed again, almost looking primal as he starts to rip his shirt and slacks off. Now just in his underwear, you see that he is fully hard and large. You can’t help yourself and tease him seeing the number one here like this. “Looks like someone is excited. What are you going to do to me?” You finish your sentence with a wink.

The hero responds by grabbing your arms and flinging you over his shoulder. “Just shut up and do as your told.” He carries you to your bedroom. You are slammed down again and you look up to see the Endeavor has flames on his face. “My sidekick has been very naughty today spying on his boss? What would a good punishment be?”

“Oh, I’m sorry~” you reply back in a sarcastic tone.”

He grabs your ankles and flips you over. “I think a few good spanks should do….” Endeavor doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence when you feel his massive hand hit your rear end hard. You can’t help but moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he continues to spank you. By the 6th time, you are at your limit and tears are running down you face. You feel him grab your legs again and flip you over.

“I thought spanking was supposed to be a punishment?” He says with a smirk. You look down and notice you are now full hard. “I guess we should take care of this.” The big man grins and he takes a finger under your thong and rips it easily. Once exposed, you feel his hand grasp you, fully engulfing your member with the size of his hand. He starts pumping up and down as you start moaning again. You try to match his pace with your hips but he uses his other hand to hold you down. He must sense you are close again as he stops. “Not yet, you still need to be punished properly.”  Moving to the nightstand, he grabs a bottle of lotion and starts to pull down his underwear. You could tell he was big but seeing it fully in person was something else. He starts to rub lotion all over his cock and approaches the end of the bed with an evil grin.

“You are going to take all of this.” Is all he says as he lifts your legs. You feel his tip start to push into you. You slam your head back on the bed as he starts to going further inside, his girth is way beyond anything you had to handle before. It isn’t long before it gets everything inside of you but you can barely breath from the feeling. He then starts to move again, this time out. He almost pulls out completely before going full speed into you, his hips practically spanking you with the speed they are moving. You start to feel his hands getting hot on your thighs as he starts to get into it more. Endeavor is too into his own world to notice you already came but you can’t tell him even if you wanted to.

“You are such a naughty sidekick!” The motions are starting to intense as he starts to literally steam up the room with his sweat. Your body has gone limp from all of the thrusts but Endeavor is too busy to notice. Between the name calling and speed of the thrusts, you could tell he is getting close. Right before the big man climaxes, he just yells “You are going to take all of my cum!” His huge cock pumps semen deep inside of you, it’s so hot it almost feels like it is burning your insides. You do your best but the amount overwhelms you and some does leak out. He keeps up his motions as the twitching starts to slow. He finally stops after what feels like an eternity. Once Endeavor pulls out, yours legs flop down.

“Are you going to clean this up?” The hero almost demands as he is standing above you.

“I would but I can’t feel my legs right now. I will later if that’s ok?”

“It will have to do.” Endeavor then gets into the bed next to you. He shifts the both of you to the top and places the covers over you both. It isn’t long before you fall asleep in the man’s grip. You wake up the next morning in the bed alone, only the sound of a shower indicates that someone else is home. The shower stops and the door opens.

“Good morning.” He walks out in only a towel.

“I… I am sorry about last night.”

“I am off to get ready for work, you should do the same.” Is all he says as he gets dressed and walks out the door. You just quietly get up and get ready for the day. It isn’t long till you find yourself at the agency. However, the quiet that has taken over the agency recently is now replaced with the yells and demands of the number one hero once again. Nothing mean, just being a good leader and hero.

“What’s going on?” You ask a fellow sidekick.

“I don’t know but what ever happened, he seems to finally be himself again. He does seem less harsh now.” Is all she says before she rushes off. When he sees you walk in, Endeavor tells you in his loud voice to quickly get to work and check your patrol area.

“I guess he is going to pretend that nothing happened.” Is all that goes through your head as you log onto the computer. When you get your schedule, you see that you are working with Endeavor today, alone; something that never happens. You look up and see the hero walk past you with the same look in his eyes that you saw last night. You don’t know what is in plan for today but you can’t wait to find out.

[soulofapatrick]

The Pack Realises you’re in Love with Derek Hale 3/5

ISAAC - Peter Thornberry's POV:

Being the pack mom means that even showers are never peaceful and private, especially in the chaos that is the Hale House. As predicted there's a banging on the door as someone wants to come in, probably need the toilet as Erica and Lydia always take way to long in the upstairs bathrooms.

"Mamaaaaa," It's Isaac, and he's already unlocking the door with one of his damn claws but I honestly can't be angry with my first beta when he looks so innocent and lost as he pokes his head in, "I think I need a shower Mama."

Taking one look at the lanky boy as she steps in properly, shutting the bathroom door behind him, I sign softly and agree. All 6'1" of him is covered in mud and I'm guessing the red spots are blood from a brutal practice session, probably with either Chris Argent or Derek himself.

"Get as much of that mud off of you before you even thing about stepping in here with me," I warn, quickly rinsing the shampoo from my hair as Isaac complies. The boy towers me as he joins me, kissing my cheek as I let him under the water to wash all the mud and blood he couldn't peel off with his clothes. I go to get out but end up just watching as Isaac grabs the shampoo, turning to me and pulling the puppy dog eyes he's worked will get him whatever he wants, "You're going to have to get lower than that Isaac, I can't reach your hair properly when you're so high up."

Without thinking about he kneels, facing away from me and tilts his head back with his eyes shut. In any other situation this would be so wrong but honestly, we all live in such close quarters I barely pause before I rubbing the shampoo through Isaac's muddy locks. The pup keeps wriggling and whining probably because the others are all playing video games and he wants to go back to join them but at this rate it'll be a lot longer because I'm struggling to stop the shampoo running down into his eyes, "Stand still Isaac." I finally have to tell him and he surprises me by stopping so I quickly rinse out his mess of curls before letting him finish washing himself while I step out and begin to dry myself.

The only clothes available are my clean ones of Isaac's training filth ones so with I sigh I let Isaac dry himself with my towel then hand him my clothes before wrapping the towel around my waist. Isaac happily bounds towards the living room, squeezing himself on the sofa between Scott and Allison who both let out sounds of protest and they begin to rearrange themselves. I chuckle softly at the people who have become my family as I make my way towards my room, one of the only ones on the ground floor.

"Shit!" A screech of surprise leaves me when I collide with something solid, someone solid. Swallowing hard, my worst fear happens as I look up to be met with Derek's sunflower eyes, blushing redder than the roses in the garden as his firm hands feel like they're burning holes into my hips where they fell to steady me, "S-sorry Derek."

Before he can reply I've pulled myself from his grasp and am rushing to my room, holding tightly to the towel around me waist, only relaxing when my door shuts with a soothing click.

"FUCK!"

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 4 // Part 5

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[rent-a-bat]

In the end, no

Drabble #5

Promt: #87 “Don't be scared, I’m right here”

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: Thank you all who waited to see this one posted! and thanks to the one who requested it, im sorry it took this long but I had a serious case of procrastination. Hope you guys enjoy!

tw: character death

To say you were tired wasn't even close to how you felt.

You were exhausted. Mind, body and everything in between. You had been working nonstop for too long, you were starting to burn out. But as things started to ease out, you finally had time to relax. Today was the first time you'll be going home early and you no longer had to be the first one in the office to begin the day, which meant you'll finally enjoy your free time.

The trek from work to your home was long enough to allow you to list all the things you've stopped doing so far.

You haven't watched your favorite show, too tired at night to even look for it. You haven't read your book, started since the beginning of the year, and six months later still not even half finished. You haven't felt your bed, your body too tired to even feel how comfortable it was before sleeping. You haven't enjoyed your home, barely basked in its warmth and felt its love.

You haven't seen him.

That's what you missed the most. You would arrive too late to see him off before patrol, and your work was too early to say goodbye in the morning when he just came back.

A hand on your shoulder took you out of your trance. You jumped, your mind still somewhere in your thoughts. Your first reaction was to move away, but that only made them hold you closer, their grip on you too strong to break. Before you could panic, a laugh behind you made you react.

“Jason!” You shouted, getting out of his grasp as relief washed over you.

He smiled, clearly amused at your reaction.

“Hello, y/n.” His lips warmed you as he kissed your forehead. You rolled your eyes, not letting him get away with it.

Your fist collided with his arm as you scolded him. “Don't do that again.”

He laughed, holding you once more. Your body relaxing almost instantly.

“I won't do it again… maybe.”

“Hmm.” You answered, your arms circling his waist, pressing yourself more to him. It was an awkward position to walk, but you didn't care, it's been ages since you've been like this, and you weren't passing on the opportunity.

You walked for a few blocks in silence, taking your usual shortcut through the alley, Jason's presence enough to make you feel safe even in Gotham, before you talked again. “Hey, Jay?”

He made a questioning sound. “What?”

“Dick called.” You braced yourself for his reaction. Seeing as he was waiting for you to continue, you did. “He wants us to come for dinner tomorrow night.”

“He does now.” was his answer. You pushed yourself away to look at him, not leaving his arms.

“Yeah. He said, and I quote, ‘He misses his baby bird and wants to see him now that he's in town’” You said, your smile growing with his reaction.

He huffed, shaking his head, looking up at your building.

“Come on. Let's go for a little while and then we leave.” You tried to plead as you went inside.

“Are you sure?” He asked, already walking up the stairs, you followed him behind as he took the lead.

“Yeah. Besides, I like Dick.” He brushed against the walls as he turned to look at you, the hallway to your apartment barely wide enough for the two.

“Of course you do.” He gave you a smile that made you think he wasn't talking about his brother.

You turned away, not wanting to let him see you blush. ”And..., I want to say hi to Alfred”

You stopped at the open door, Jason moving aside to let you go first.

“I’ll think about it.” He finally said, your smile widening at his answer. With a kiss on his cheek you let the door close as you both were finally home.

Tomorrow came faster than you thought.

It was a nice dinner, even if Jason would rather eat his words than accept it.

You arrived at quarter past six, 15 minutes before you agreed, the nerves not letting you stay calm. Dick was already there before you could even knock, Alfred waiting by the door, as he came forward to hug you. You returned it just as earnestly, it had been a while since you last saw him and he definitely was your favorite of the brothers. Letting you go with a smile, he took you to the dining room, taking Jason with him by the shoulder in a half hug. Fighting to hold back your laughter, you followed, hugging Alfred as you passed him.

It was a surprise once you arrived, not expecting Bruce or Tim to be there as well, the two of them receiving you just as warmly.

Everything was great. Once in a while you would sneak a glance at Jason, the way he smiled and how he laughed told you he too liked these little moments with his family, when everything is simple, easy, and you loved seeing him like this, your heart a little warmer at the thought.

Bruce and Tim left after dinner, not waiting for dessert, saying they had business to attend to. Dick followed not long after, asking Jason to go with him. Which left you alone with Alfred, the two of you chatting over a cup of tea before cleaning up.

You helped Alfred wash the dishes and clear out the dinner before heading down to the cave.

You could hear a fight going on as you made your way down, shouts getting louder the closer you got. Jason was pacing as he talked, screamed, at Dick who remained silent, arms crossed while he looked at Jason, his troubled expression the only sign of his emotions.

"How's everything going, guys?" You asked as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, brow raised knowingly at them.

“It's going great” Jason's smile as he came towards you showing it was anything but. “Come on y/n, we're leaving”

“Jay, please, just think about it.”

“I said, no, Dick.” Jason said, taking your hand as he walked towards the elevator.

“What is he talking about?” you asked, pulling back to stop him.

“Nothing.” His answer was short, not looking at you.

"How is it nothing? I wouldn't ask you, beg you, if it were nothing." Dick sighed, pulling at his hair as he looked down, almost defeated.

"What is it?" You asked Dick, his head shooting up to look at you.

"It's this case we've been working on..."

"Don't tell her! She does-"

"No," You cut him off, "I want to know. What is it Dick?"

He shot a glance at Jason before he answered.

"We've been tracking an organization that's been involved in drugs for the most part, but as of lately, they've moved to weapons and human trafficking." He shook his head. "Guess they found a better way to make money."

"Those bastards." Jason said under his breath, huffing behind you.

"We've been following them in Gotham and Bludhaven for a while, but never got to the source." He looked at Jason, "that is, until Jason's last report."

You suck a breath. If they found the source then it means they could take them down forever. They could free not only Gotham and Bludhaven, but any other place they could have a base.

"We are going to the location. Take them by surprise, before they leave." Dick finished, crossing his arms.

You grabbed Jason's hand, feeling the heat of his body behind you. This was big, too important to let it pass and he knew too.

“When are they leaving?” you asked Dick, ignoring the look Jason was surely giving you.

“Right now.” he grimaced, “Bruce and Tim just left, they are on their way to the airport.”

You looked back at Jason, his eyes already on you. You could tell what he was thinking, you just got your time back, and now he was leaving, but you could also tell how much he wanted to help. That's why you knew what to say next.

“You should go, Jason.” The surprise on his face as you answered was one for the books.

“Y/n…” He began to say, still confused. You smiled in reassurance, taking his hand in yours.

“Even I know this is your best chance at getting them.” you squeezed his hand. “So, go.”

He stared at you for a while before he asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Go.” You patted his arm, giving him a little push towards his bike.

He stumbled back a few steps, his eyes never leaving you. He looked like a kicked puppy, and you couldn't help laughing a little.

“I’ll be fine , Jason." You fought for your smile to reach your eyes. "I'll be here when you get back."

“Okay.” was all he said after a long pause, barely a whisper, his eyes never leaving yours until he moved. He got into his bike, sending a quick message to Bruce to tell them he was going.

"I love you." He said before putting on the helmet, starting his bike before he left.

The sound of the engine almost covering your answer. "I love you too."

You watched him leave with Dick at your side, the cave suddenly too quiet for the two of you. Now that he had left you couldn't hold onto the smile anymore. You sighed, rubbing at your eyes to keep the tears threatening to come out at bay.

You paced the cave for a while, not wanting to stay still, too afraid of what would happen if you did until you finally stopped, letting your mind do the pacing.

You felt Dick at your side a moment after, his hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you.

“Don't worry y/n. I'll stay here to monitor if there's any movement in Gotham”, his hand on you a comfortable weight, “I’ll also be in contact with them 24/7. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know.”

You sighed again, something you've been doing lately, tension leaving your body at his words. At least there'll be someone taking care of him.

“Thank you, Dick.” He flashed you a smile, offering his arm to you

“No problem. Come on, I'll take you home.” You smiled in response, taking his arm in yours.

Like that, hours became days, days became weeks, and before you knew it, 2 months had passed. Two months since he left. Two months since you've been alone. No. You weren't alone, he was still out there, working hard, saving people, and yet, you couldn't help feeling that way.

Dick was true to his word, letting you know everything as it happened, day by day, he would call to update you on the mission. Even when there was nothing to report he'd still call you, sometimes to talk, sometimes to listen, you knew he was trying to cheer you up, and you were grateful for that.

Other days you would go to the mansion, spending time with Alfred, letting him guide you through the mansion, telling you stories about Jason and the rest when they were young or chatting through a cup of tea, and with Dick down in the cave, as the two of you checked on them, how they were doing, if they were okay. It had become sort of a routine as you waited.

You were making your way home when your phone went off, your boss sending you home earlier and giving you the next day free after spending the last weeks working overtime, threatening to fire you if you came back without resting. You checked the id before answering, smiling when Dick's name showed on the screen.

"Hey Dick! How’s everything going?" You answered cheerfully, your good mood coming out.

"Hey y/n"

"I just saw Bruce giving an interview. Why didn't you tell me they were back?"

"Y/n…"

“And why hasn't my boy called to tell me? I swear if he tries another of his surprises…” you stopped mid sentence, Dick unusually quiet for a call like this. Anxiety building up inside you before you asked, ” Hey… what is it Dick?”

"Y/n…"

"What?"

"Is Jason.."

"What happened?" you said, dread gnawing on your insides

"I think it'll be better if you come to the mansion."

"I don't see how going there would be any different from telling me now."

“…” His silence became unbearable, your patience thinning with every second that passed.

The last of it breaking as you shouted, "Dick! Tell me!", worry more than clear in your voice.

He heaved a sigh before speaking. "They managed to get most of the men, but their leader managed to escape. He and another guy got into a plane and Jason followed them."

You breathed in sharply.

"He got onto the plane. It was loaded with weapons, mostly explosives. It took off before they could go with him"

No.

"A fight broke and there was a shooting"

No.

“A missing bullet must've hit one of those crates and” he took a deep breath, “the plane exploded.”

No!

"It fell into the sea"

You held onto the wall, your legs giving out, making you slide down to the floor

"Where is he?"

"They've been looking all through the ocean nonstop. So far, they've found two bodies. They’re still looking for hi.., him."

“Don't you have a way of knowing this!? A signal, something?” You were shouting, not caring for the looks people were giving you as they passed.

"The tracker was on his helmet, we believe it got destroyed in the explosion, that's why they haven't been able to find him yet."

It couldn't be. This isn't happening. Not- not again. Not to him.

“Y/n-”

“I'm going there” you cut him out, ending the call.

The next thing felt like a blur, each of his words ringing over and over inside your mind.

The plane exploded.

They are still looking for him.

There's still a chance.

You took a cab to the mansion, barely paying attention to the ride. You jumped out once you reached Wayne Manor, running as fast as you could to the entrance, Alfred already there before you could reach the door, so you went straight down to the cave, Dick waiting for you at the elevator.

“Hey y/n…”

“Please Dick. Tell me it isn't true” you shook him by the shoulders, trying to to stop yourself from crying. “Please tell me it isn't”, eyes burning as you pleaded

“I wish it was” he grabbed your wrists, rubbing circles, trying to comfort you as much as he could.

You shook your head, casting down your eyes, not wanting to see the truth you'd find in his. You didn't want to believe it.

“Please, please please please….” You could feel yourself falling down, your legs no longer holding you for a second time this day.

Dick hugged you, keeping you from reaching the floor. “I'm sorry y/n”

“No!” Tears blurred your vision. Your arms rounding his neck as you hug him back, his hold on you tightening.

It was your fault.

Maybe if you hadn't told him. If you had stopped him before he left, maybe then he'd still be here, still with you. Still alive.

No.

You wouldn't have changed a thing.

You knew Jason, you knew he thought the same. He wanted to help, that's all he's ever wanted. To give a meaning to his actions. He wanted to help those in need, to be useful, to be good. That's why he went, your words only helping to ease the worry of leaving you alone. That's why you said it, and you'd never regret it, and neither would he.

It wasn't your fault.

A sound from behind made you look back. Batman turned from the computer, taking a few steps before removing his cowl. He looked tired, defeated. So different from the looks he had for the cameras not long ago.

You ignored the way he looked, anger rising like a fire making you move away from Dick.

“It was you!” You shouted across the cave. Tears sliding down your cheeks as you made your way to Bruce

“You did this!” you hit him on the chest, your fists colliding with his armor. His face was tired, eyes filled with sadness. He had failed him again.

“You had to look out for him!” Another punch.

“You had to save him!” you said through your tears, your fists losing force.

“Why didn't you save him?” you finally sobed, pressing your forehead against him. The fire burning away, leaving only ashes, your body suddenly cold.

“I’m sorry” was all he said as he held your shaking body while you cried. His warmth and the feel of his arms on your back a comfort around you, but not the one you wanted, the one you may never have again.

You stayed at the mansion after that. Once you had calmed down Dick took you to one of the rooms, giving you a little briefing of what was going on. Tim had stayed on the island, looking over the search in case they found him. Meanwhile Bruce tried looking with the satellites, see if any of the old trackers in his body were still active. If what you knew was true, there was no point on doing that. Jason had taken them all out long ago, not wanting any of them keeping checks on him. Still, it was something, better than nothing.

You felt empty, and yet, hope remained in you, like embers of a fire not quite out, waiting for any kind of fuel to light up again.

You stayed for a week before deciding it was time to go back, those days barely spent doing the bare minimum, crying yourself to sleep every night, trying to console yourself as much as you could, after all you only had so much time off work, you still had to live your life, try to move on and wait.

So you did.

You kept working, doing as much to keep your mind from spiraling that way, from staying as far from your apartment as you could. Still your home but one that's grown colder with every passing day. It was hard, sadness and despair threatening to keep you from doing anything every day, and yet you pushed. For him. Moping around was not something he'd like for you, even if he wasn't here, but he could, if they haven't found a body yet you could still hope, you could still wait.

Hope was slipping down like water through your fingers. You tried to hold on to as much as you could, as long as there was even the tiniest possibility, you would, you could still believe he was coming back, coming home, coming to you.

What else was left?

The sound of your phone woke you up. You checked the clock on your stand. Not yet time for you to wake up, and barely one hour sleeping. Another night of tossing around, unable to sleep, the thoughts in your head too loud to let you rest.

You grabbed your phone, the name on the screen no longer making you smile. You sat up, moving your covers aside, letting your feet touch the floor, the coldness of it waking you up.

You took a deep a deep breath, steeling yourself before answering, getting ready for whatever was going to happen.

But nothing in the world could have prepared you for what was going to happen next.

"Hello Dick." You said, breathing deeply through your nose.

"Hello y/n. How are you?"

"What is it?" You ignored his question, going straight to the point. Whatever it was, you could take it.

You could hear Dick pacing around, almost hear the gears in his head trying to think a way of telling you the news

You could take it.

"There's been news on Jason"

You could.

"They found him"

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, a wave of relief washing over you.

"You did!?" you shouted, "How is he? Is he- ?" You tried to ask everything at once, barely able to contain yourself before he stopped you.

"We don't know, y/n. The body-"

Your heart went still.

"It's been too long. "

The body.

"We are waiting for it to arrive. Run some tests, dental records, DNA.."

Not him.

"Due to his legal status we can't let them know it's him. We have to wait until he's back with us in Gotham"

"You're sure it's him?" you felt yourself asking, no longer connected to your body.

"There was no one else on that plane they hadn't found"

The last ember of hope went off inside you, leaving smoke to fill its place.

"Y/n?"

"I have to go."

"Wait, y/n! Let me come get you-"

"Goodbye Dick."

You ended the call.

Your phone hitting the floor at the same time you did, hugging you legs tight to your chest, tears burning your eyes, wetting your cheeks. The lump in your throat making it hard to swallow.

And just like that, as if a switch had turned inside you.

You screamed.

Screamed with every fiber of your being, your body shaking every time you did. Your tears falling down like rivers you wanted to drown in. You weren't crying, crying meant sadness, sometimes even happiness, an emotion so big it couldn't be contained inside, whose only way out is like that. This was so much more.

It was pain, full, raw, unbounded. It was despair and sadness, all coming out at once. It was your soul breaking, its shards leaving you with every scream, with every tear, making your face wet, your eyes burn, leaving your throat raw and hurting.

You did it until the smoke inside you left, leaving you hollow. You had to calm down, sobbing thickly, your vision blurry with drying tears.

You tried to breath, the air suddenly becoming too thick, making you dizzy. You could feel the walls pressing on you, too tight, too cold.

You were breaking, your chest hurt, like it would collapse any time now, taking your heart with it.

You needed to leave.

You left your apartment, not bothering to take a coat, welcoming the freezing air, letting it's bite bring you alive.

The streets were empty, fitting for the occasion, like they knew you needed to be alone. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back as you took a deep breath, and began to walk.

You didn't know how long you were out. Walking aimlessly around letting the pain take you whole, your mind no longer there, trying to escape the grief that consumed you.

You felt hollow, empty, and yet, so full at the same time. Full of fear, of sadness, of anger. Jason was gone, and you didn't know how you'll fill the hole he left inside you. You weren't sure you could. You could only hope you'd learn to live with it, learn to ignore the pain and maybe one day, heal. Just not today, right now you would mourn, let everything out, even if there was nothing left inside.

Your feet were hurting, cold biting your skin, making you shiver before you decided to head back home, taking your usual shortcut through the alley.

Your head was still somewhere else, not even stopping to think about the dangers of your actions. It was Gotham after all, and Jason was no longer here to protect you.

By the time you realized what you’d done, it was too late.

With your head down you made your way to your apartment, less of a home now that he was no longer here, hugging yourself tightly, trying to keep the warmth from leaving. The sole of your shoes echoed through the alley with every step, digging into your flesh, making it hard to walk. The sky rumbled in the distance, which meant you had to hurry if you didn't want to get caught in the rain.

A sound ahead of you took you out of your musings, a second pair of steps joining yours making you look up. A man appeared right at the entrance of the alley, hood up and hands tucked inside his pockets, he walked confidently, like the biggest fish in the pond. The faint light of a nearby post lighting up his face, you could see his eyes fixed on you, his mouth turning to a smirk, whistling as he looked at you.

“Hey pretty, what got you out so late at night?”

You lowered back your head, still moving forward.

“I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a beauty to be roaming here when I came to to see who’s coming, but am I glad it is” he kept talking, almost too close now, making you slow down a fraction as you tried to get out.

“Haha, what is it? Cat got your tongue?” you could fill him right in front of you, making you stop before you could collide with him.

“Is it because we're alone? You don't feel comfortable talking with me? Is it the street? Maybe you need to warm up a little, the street is too cold to be out like that. Don’t worry sugar, we can fix that right away.”

You began to panic. One you could take out, outrun him and lose him, but if he was bringing more. You tried to stay calm.

“Hey, boys! Why don’t we help them feel more comfortable.” You raised your head, fear almost taking over at his words.

From the same place the first one came, two other men joined him, each of them flanking you on either side, both just as big, and the three of them smiling, their eyes roaming your body like they could see what's underneath your clothes.

“Leave me alone.” you said, trying to sound as confident as you could.

“Heh, looks like you're not a mute after all.” He laughed, taking a hold of your arm in a vice grip

“Don't touch me.” he laughed again, turning to look at the others, both doing the same.

“Let me go!” you shouted, pulling at your arm, trying to hit him, kick him, anything to get you free.

“Feisty, we're gonna need to fix that. Can't have you misbehaving like that, can we?” He let you go with a push, making you fall to the ground, the three of them laughing down at you.

You shook yourself, wincing as you stood, your left foot probably hurt. Your mind was running a mile per hour, adrenaline pumping through your veins with every breath, trying to come up with a wayout, a way to escape. You tried to look at your surroundings, taking deep breaths to calm you down, nothing good comes out from being anxious.

You were surrounded by residential buildings, maybe you could scream, ask for help, but screaming in Gotham did the opposite, people ignoring it for the sake of remaining safe.

You could bolt it, turn around and run as fast as you could, go back to the street and hopefully they'll avoid going after you. The guy on your left seemed to think the same, his hand going for the gun on his hip.

You could try calling Dick, or Bruce, but something told you he'd shot you the moment you even tried to pull out your cell phone. Maybe they were already on their way, looking for you, seeing how distressed you were by the news, but maybe not, maybe they were trying to give you space, let you sort things out. Alone.

You were trapped.

“Don't worry, we’ll be leaving soon. Ride's almost here.” the man on your right said, his smirk getting wider.

So much for being calm. You began to panic, breaths coming short as the men in front of you laughed, snickering between them, watching you crumble.

The sound of tires screeching behind you had you covering your ears, the echoing almost deafening, freezing you on the spot.

No. Not like this. They can't take you away.

You closed your eyes, as if it could somehow block out the world, make it turn into a dream, a nightmare you would wake up from. The pounding of your heart too loud on your ears to hear anything else, almost missing the presence behind you.

Your body moved on its own, going backwards like you could escape from it. The sound of someone coming closer hitting like a bullet with every step. They walked with confidence, fast, like an animal who had caught its prey, sure they couldn't escape.

You could feel your heart fall as you collided with a body, stopping you from moving any further, making your eyes burn as you tried not to cry, not in front of them. You jumped as he held you, his chest shaking behind you as he laughed.

The way he laughed sent shivers down your spine, the hands on you too hot. Too wrong. He squeezed your shoulders once before you felt the air on your back, freezing you as he moved away, his hands sliding down your arms as he bent down, his face getting closer to your ear.

“Don't be scared” his breath felt hot, making you whimper, no longer able to hold it in, letting your tears fall freely as you cried. Closing your eyes tighter, not letting them open.

You could feel him move in front of you, his face still close, nuzzling your neck as he whispered, “I'm right here.” You let out a sob, the force of it bringing you down.

It had to be a dream, it had to. There was no way this could be real, for he voice that spoke just moments ago was supposed to be dead.

Your love.

Jason.

The men that held you captive went silent. Holding their breaths at the sight of him, the Red Hood. The deadliest vigilante in all of Gotham crouching in front of you.

He raised his hand to brush away your tears, kissing your forehead before he stood up

“Keep your eyes closed.” he said. You let out a huff, only he could sound amused in a situation like this.

The whole thing was over in seconds. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones cracking, the smell of gunpowder flooding your nose with each shot fired, all of it filling the silence. One by one, they all went down, their screams stopping as they each fell. Only when the last of the bodies hit the ground were you able to relax. Your eyes still closed for another reason entirely, now wishing it’d be anything but a dream.

How could you live if it turned out to be just that, if you opened your eyes just find yourself back at your apartment, your tears still fresh and Jason still gone, dead once more.

“Y/n.” You heard him call your name, his voice ever so soft, cautious not to scare you.

You heard him shuffle, crouching once more in front of you. His body blocking the cold air of the night.

“Y/n… Look at me.” he held your face like you were precious, delicate, capable of breaking at the slightest movement, the pads of his thumbs brushing your lashes, trying to coax your eyes to open.

You shook your head, feeling tears fall again, the hands on you catching them before they fell to the floor.

“Please.” he pleaded, his voice full of want, of longing, as he whispered the word, his forehead warm against yours as his hands fell to your neck, rubbing your chin and behind your ears trying to get you to open, to see.

You took in a couple of breaths, steeling yourself before opening your eyes, the faint lights blinding you after having them closed for so long.

The moment you could focus on the person in front of you making you sob. The sight of him threatening to make you cry for the third time this night. He looked just like the last time you saw him, a couple of scratches here and there, but the same nonetheless. The same face, the same smile, the same pair eyes full of warmth, full of love as they looked at you.

You raised your hand to his face, slowly, careful, still not believing this was real.

“Is it really you?” you asked, voice shaking as you looked into his eyes.

“It's me.” a faint smile drawing on his face as he answered, placing his hand over yours, keeping it in place.

You cast down down your eyes, head hanging low as you shook it, not sure if shaking away the tears or something else.

His other hand came up, his fingers hooking up under chin, warm and gentle as he made you stop, tilting up your head, guiding you to look at him.

“It's me.” he said again, his eyes filling up with tears as he held your stare.

You grabbed his hand, placing it against you like he did with yours as you let out a laugh, happiness bubbling inside you before exploding, flinging yourself to hug him. Your arms tight around him, trying to bring him as close as you could. The force of your hug almost made him fall back, losing his balance before he recovered, putting his arms around you as he returned the hug just as fiercely, careful not to hurt you.

“It's you.” you said it over and over like a prayer.

You stayed like that for a while, basking in each other's presence, finally together. You weren't sure how much it had passed before you both let go, a thunder rumbling in the distance reminded you of your situation. You had to hurry if you didn't want to get caught in the rain, and yet, none of you made the effort to move.

A thought came to you as you looked at him, a memory of a conversation that now feels from too long ago.

“You promised you wouldn't do it again.” You said, your fist colliding with his arm.

His hand went to the spot you hit, feigning hurt as he laughed. “I said maybe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, too happy to stay mad at him. Not when he was here, when this wasn’t a dream.

With that thought you held him again, nuzzling your face to his chest, inhaling his scent, his hands rubbing up and down your back before settling on your waist, drawing you closer to him.

“Thank you for coming back.” you whispered softly, not sure he would hear you.

“Thank you for waiting.” he said in the same way.

You kissed as you both embraced, your arms around his neck, pressing your bodies tight against each other, the warmth between the two enough to ignore the cold as it began to rain.

Tag list: @togasknifes @thelindalorian @fizassyeda @apric-t @brightjimini @candlestudy @dickgraysonsscrumptiousbooty @profoundgreenturtle @little-miss-naill @drebi-san @vanessafinessa473 @hamilstuck99 (Message me if you want to be added!)

[wordsfromthesol]

The Interview: The Sequel

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @togasbetch @malfoys-demigod  @pricetagofficial Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Requested: @the-house-of-auditore-frye Word Count: 1,378

Part One

The reality of the situation slowly began to set in. Everything seemed to hit you at once, just as you slung your leg over his motorcycle. Your entire body went stiff as you sat in silence for the entire ride. You didn't even question where you were going. The haze cleared from your eyes just as Dick pulled into the familiar building. You let out a sigh of relief when you noticed where you were.

**

Dick could tell the kidnapping jolted you more than you wanted to admit. He didn't bother going to your apartment, and you didn't say a word as he led you inside his. Almost an hour had gone by, the two of you sat on the couch watching some mindless tv show. Dick was beginning to worry.

"Y/N, are you sure you're okay? They didn't hurt you?" His eyes desperately searched yours.

"I just…I don't want to be alone tonight." You mumbled as you buried your head into his shoulder.

Dick acknowledged your request by pulling you further into his arms. It was there you fell asleep.

**

This nonsense had been going on for three months. Every time you met up with Dick, there seemed to be swarms of paparazzi. Why did they even care about some Gotham playboy? Wasn't there a better celebrity to stalk? You let out a frustrated sigh as you saw someone photographing you walking into your office building. As if on cue, your phone began to ring.

"Dick, what a surprise…"

"Uh…did I do something?" Dick was clearly not expecting to hear the agitation in your voice so early in the morning.

"Yeah, an interview." You couldn't hold back the sarcasm.

"Right, about that. Bruce is having a charity gala this weekend. Can you make it?"

A smirk spread across your face, "One condition. You gotta tell your family about this little ruse."

"What? Why?" Dick seemed almost disheartened at your request.

"I may have made a bet. With Tim. And this situation is going to make it seem like I've lost. When I totally have not." You tried not to get into the specifics of the bet. It didn’t matter.

"You made a bet that you wouldn't date me?!" Dick figured it out anyways. Guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.

"Do we have a deal or not?" This was not a conversation you wanted to have right now.

"Fine…" Dick huffed out, clearly annoyed.

**

Everything appeared to be going smoothly, you were making your rounds and talking to everyone of importance. Yet something was gnawing at you. All these girls, they just threw themselves at Dick. You were pretty sure you even saw one of them trip another just so they would get there first. Watching the show, you lost track of just exactly how many glasses of wine you had drunk.

"Shit" you mumbled to yourself. Stumbling over to a table, you sat in the corner brooding over the whole ordeal. Thankfully, Tim soon joined you.

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but before he could you blurted out, "I didn't lose! Dick told you, right?!"

Tim burst into a fit of laughter, "Don't worry, he told me. But may I remind you, there's still 6 months left before that 3-year mark." He looked you up and down before turning his gaze towards his older brother, "I'm not worried."

Your mouth hung open. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Oh nothing…" Tim hummed to himself. Before he could tease you further Dick walked up and enveloped your hand with his.  

"Let's get out of here." His eyes were locked onto yours, not even acknowledging Tim's presence. All you could do was nod. As you rose from your seat, Dick wrapped his arm around you.

"Thanks," you whispered in his ear as he led the two of you to safety.

**

Only two months left, you thought as you walked into the office. You didn't understand why, but you knew this fake dating thing needed to end. After all, how were you actually supposed to date someone? Dick had to understand, right? It’s not like he actually wanted to date you after all.

However, all your thoughts of ending this fake relationship were gone by the end of the day. The office drama was absolutely abhorrent and to top it off you were reprimanded for not meeting a project deadline.  Needless to say, it had been a long day and you needed your best friend. So once the clock struck 5, you headed out towards Dick's apartment. A huge grin was plastered across his face as he swung the door open to greet you.

"You aren't allowed to be this happy if I'm in a shitty mood." You retorted as you pushed past him and sat on the couch. "Wine please," you pleaded with a huff.

"Aw, and why are you so grumpy my little sunshine?" Dick questioned as he sauntered into the kitchen to oblige your request. Dick listened patiently as you ranted about your day until it was time for him to go on patrol. "Alright, I'm headed out. Don't leave too late and don't forget to lock the doors."

"Okay dad…" The sarcasm dripped from your words as you rolled your eyes.

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he turned back towards you, "Don't act like I didn't see you leave here at 3 am last week." You simply stuck your tongue out in response.

It was just past 4 when Dick crawled in through the window. Beaten and battered, his face lit up when he saw you asleep on the couch. He carefully scooped you up and placed you in the bed before he hopped in the shower.

You awoke to the sound of the water turning off. Shit. I fell asleep. Quietly, you pulled the covers back and slung your legs over the side of the bed.

"Don't you fucking dare." The stern words had come from the bathroom. "It's 4:30 in the morning. You can sleep here, I'll take the couch."

You knew protesting would get you nowhere and frankly you were too tired to go home. "Fine. But don't be ridiculous, there's plenty of room." You curled up in the comfort of the blankets. "Besides," a yawn interrupted the thought, "you're exhausted and probably bruised."  

**

"Tim, I don't think I can keep doing this…" Dick thought about you fast asleep in the next room.

"I told you it was a stupid idea to begin with." Tim scoffed at his brother's easily avoidable dilemma.

"It just slipped out, what was I supposed to do?!"

"How many alternatives you want?"

"Okay well I couldn't think of any at the time." Dick unsuccessfully tried to validate the decision once again.

"That's because you want it to be true. I saw how you looked at her at the gala last month."

"You just want to win your bet." Even Dick knew that wasn't true, but he continued grasping at straws.

"If that's what you think. Either way, you can't keep this up forever you need to tell --" Dick quickly hung up the phone as he saw you standing in the doorway.

"Was that Tim?" You tried to remember the bits of the conversation you had just overheard.

"Uh…yeah. Just talking about…a case."

"You know, given your alter ego, I feel like you should be better at lying. First the interview, now this."

"Wha--lying?" Dick was clamming up. It was as if you had some imaginary hold on him.

"Dick?" You raised your eyebrows and waited for the truth to grace his lips.

"Fine. I can't. I can't do this anymore. This fake shit." Dick ran his hand through his hair as he collapsed on the couch. "I don't want it to be fake." The sentence knocked the wind from your lungs. You never thought that was an option.

"How long?" Those were the only words you could get your mouth to form.

"Since the day I met you." Dick tried to bury his head in his hands, but you forced his gaze to meet yours. You searched his eyes for any kind of deception. It felt like time had stopped. Finally, the world sped up again as your lips crashed into his. 

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[wisp-of-thought]

I met you when I was young. We were both young, but now I see it. I was 15 and you were older and kind and spent smiles like they cost you nothing. Maybe it was this illusion of abundance that originally tipped me into the fall but you were everything I never thought could exist for me.

My best friend introduced us in passing. I met you mid-morning in the middle of the week in the middle of a bustling hallway. Maybe this was the first sign that we would never be anything all the way. You made a joke about my name but it was all in good fun and to hear my name on your tongue made my palms prick. All I saw was your smile, brilliant enough to blind. It hurt to look at you too long, but I did it anyway. I was always a little bit of a masochist I suppose. You will learn this soon enough, when I love you so hard it hurts. When I manage to turn this soft thing between us sharp. But in fact, you won't. You won't learn this. And perhaps that is where we begin to fall apart. Or when I do. I begin to fall apart. Because we never seemed to do much of anything to you. We never seemed to touch you at all. While we tore me apart. Or I did. I guess it was always me doing the breaking, wasn't it?

We leave after last period to get lunch from the place near school you swear has the best fries. We miss 3 busses trying to figure out the route, the last one is on me because I can't run in flats with my school bag. While I walk, you sprint across the parking lot to buy our tickets but we're already too late. I don't want to watch the movie even if it's only 5 minutes in. I want to leave. I've wanted to leave since we waited for your food in awkward silence for 15 minutes but I swallowed and called it first date nerves even though we never said it was a date and I know now that it most definitely wasn't. And that's how things always were between us, weren't they? Me being let down by my own expectations of you. Me taking your kindness and taking and taking and taking even what wasn't there?

You let me pick what we watch instead since we're already here and pay for my ticket. I return the cost to you in the dark of the theatre. The movie is bad. In fact it's awful. I lean away from you and bite my nails during the sex scenes I didn't expect from the trailer. I wince every time I hear you shift, so sure you hate me as much as you hate the film, quietly begging for it to be over. We leave after it's done. I apologize. I didn't know it would be that terrible. You tell me we totally could have caught the original one we came to see and I nod, holding back tears that taste like shame. But you mean nothing by it.

It's summer, warm and sticky, walking across the parking lot.

I fell out of love with you then.

I didn't know it in that instant but looking back on it, this is the exact moment.

I realize there is nothing here. Nothing between us but space. There is nothing here, and the question is seeded if there ever was. The thought takes many weeks to root and bud. Months to flower and come to fruition. But it is planted here. Here, I keep searching for a feeling of comfort even if just in your presence but there is nothing to find. My stomach turns at my mother's missed calls, she's wondering where I am, who I'm with, and I'm panicking because I am still young. You offer me nothing but shrugged shoulders and it is worse because I know you mean well. Or rather that you mean nothing by it. And suddenly I know that I need you to say something. I need you to say something that matters right now. Or there will be nothing to come back to tomorrow.

But you don't. You don't walk me home. You walk me to the street across from my father's apartment building. Nod. One hand wave. See you later. Walk back across the street before the light can turn red again. You don't look back. And of course, I only know this because I look back. Stare after you. Not heartbroken yet. But gently being let down. For the next few days I would rather not think about you. I try many times to remake how it happened in my head but I'm grasping at threads. There is too little material to sew a new tapestry memory from stray comments and wayward touches.

After this butterflies were not summoned at the sound of your name, funny how easy delicate things die isint it. After this, I did not feel the tug of your orbit's gravity pulling me closer to you in a crowded room. Your words sounded less and less divine to me, I think this is because I started hearing what you were saying instead of what I wanted you to be saying. After this, the poetry about you turned sad, then angry, then ran mostly dry. There were no more tears shed over you in the bathroom around the corner from the theatre classroom because your promises were pretty coloured tissue paper flowers to me now. Good for decoration and conversation, but they would tear easy, for they were never meant to last. Never crafted to be put to the test.

We try again a few times. Every once in a while I find you at my locker at the end of the day and we try again. Painfully awkward, but we try again and again and every time I think it's over you're there again. Here is where you instill in me the inability to get over you all the way. You do it by accident. Or at least mean nothing by it. And I begin to understand this the hard way. It's hard because everything means something to me. For I have spent my life trying to squeeze enough from the nothings cast my way.

You ask me out of the blue if I'd like to go for bubble tea and I say I've never tried it so we do. My mother is at work and my sister is in school and no one is at home to expect me and I feel sickeningly giddy at the little rebellion. The silence is only half as uncomfortable as before. The other half-emptied of expectation and filled with acceptance. But the place is closed and this time I laugh at the inconvenience fate keeps gifting us. I tell myself it's a sign. One I'll look at later. We go somewhere else. Somewhere convenient. Somewhere familiar.

You buy me an iced coffee we playfully push the two dollars back and forth across the table as I insist to pay you back and you refuse. As a gentleman. As a friend. The spell is broken when you ask about a scar and I realize I could never tell you. Well, I could. But I don't want to. That someone like you would never understand. And you let the subject drop so easily. You let it all go so easily. Instead you check the bus schedule and walk me to my stop. You get on your bike and ride down the street and you don't look back.

Another time you meet me at the mall. My father asks to meet you so he does. You are the first boy I know that he ever meets. But of course, this means nothing to you. And so I try to let this mean nothing to me too. I link our arms together and it's easier to touch you. Without anticipation. You leave me after we eat cinnamon rolls and do not look back. And I always find myself looking after you. A part of me brought back to the piece of myself left in that movie theatre parking lot in the afternoon sun. But I don't ever really love you again after that.

And I am better for it.

We are better for it.

I am glad I still have you.

For I don't know what would have become of us if not for your careless gaze and fickle heart.

I do not know what would have become of me.

And I am grateful now, for the falling out of love.

- #1: reflections on falling out of unrequited love with him

[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there... 

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :) 

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One) 

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming.  It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good.  He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body.  He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him.  He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away.  He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.  

And then his alarm goes off.  

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock.  He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex.  Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college?  But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.  

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off.  He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed.  He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage.  They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things.  And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.  

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly.  The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age.  Maybe he should call a doctor.  He laughs to himself.  Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.  

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom.  In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes.  Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket.  Two seconds, it takes.  Is that really so hard?  

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again.  It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more.  Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed.  His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower.  It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in.  Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky.  He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it.  Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.  

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him.  Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart.  He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life.  Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down.  But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.  

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.  He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own.   Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand.  The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.  

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him.  He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed.  He’s been too pent up lately.  Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers).  Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time.  But those have faded away over the past year or so.  Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs.   “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite.  A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor.  Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy.  “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says.  Maybe it’s not.  It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable.  His husband is home -- he should be happy.  Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch.  They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people.  “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight.  But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent.  He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.  

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says.  “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks.  Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table.  Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.  

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag.  “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face.  He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though.  “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips.  “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer.  Shouldn’t be more than a week.”  

“Ah.”  

Sean taps his fingers on the table.  Blaine sips from his water bottle.  There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.  

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.  

“Great,” Blaine says.  “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”  

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him.  He feels like they should talk about something.  What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out?  Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went.  Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it.  Nothing really feels like a good conversation.  

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers.  “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk.  “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”  

Blaine laughs into his water.  “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”  

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “Shame I missed that show.  If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug.  “I’ve got some errands to run.  Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”  

“We’ll see,” Sean says.  “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight.  There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine.  It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him.  He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo.  He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve.  He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class.  But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.  

He finishes off the sandwich without a word.  It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.  

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat.  He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope.  “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”  

Blaine takes it with interest.  He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni.  But something from McKinley?  That just seems weird.  It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion.  He has no idea what it could possibly be.  

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it.  “My old glee club teacher is retiring.  He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate.  Cute.”  

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table.  “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.  

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.  

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying.  “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing.  That is, unless you’d like me to go.”  

Blaine stares hard at the paper.  It’s not like he couldn’t go.  He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend.  In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem.  “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,” Sean says.  “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers.  Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.  

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air.  There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.  Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while.  Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up.  The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race.  The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes.  “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again.  Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”  

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park.  Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip.  Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives.  She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly.  Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much.  Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs.  Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.  

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries.  She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news.  “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back.  The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.  

Santana nods.  “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct.  Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down.  With no bra.  She had on no bra.  I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases.  They begin to walk down their usual path.  They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.  

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues.  Blaine arches an eyebrow at her.  “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted.  Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me.  I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her.  And play with her tits.  I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman.  “Or, you know, find out her name.”  

Santana looks at him sharply.  He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions.  “Her name is Liz.  I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.  

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly.  “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you.  You’re trailing me by nearly a foot.  Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it.  He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day.  “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.”  He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.  

She gives him a concerned look.  “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits.  They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park.  “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking.  “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning.  I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks.  They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them.  “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”  

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated.  “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that.  She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park.  But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.  

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing.  She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns.  “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.  

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp.  “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy.  And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”  

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy.  He loves his job.  He loves his little apartment.  He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world.  He and Sean are…  “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?”  He begins to walk again.  He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana.  But she rolls with it.  

“He’s retiring?  Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh.  “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”  

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says.  “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail.  Who sends invitations through the mail these days?  Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks.  He’s been back and forth on the idea all day.  Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again?  Possibly?  Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely.  Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.  

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over.  “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations.  Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there.  Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college.  He does remember Funny Girl.  “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air.  “You keep in touch with everyone, right?  Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk.  “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .”  Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school.  At least on a regular basis.  For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.  

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says.  She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce.  It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head.  “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly.  Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”  

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says.  “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own.  He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.  

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues.  “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds.  “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”  

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life.  She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio.  Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.  

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina.  “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons.  What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to.  Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut.  You know she’s already taken a new lover ?  She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies.  I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers.  Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor.  Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again.  Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend.  He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods.  They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children.  Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.  

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world.  “Goddess among women.  We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.”  Santana laughs at her own comments.  “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively.  He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.  

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away.  “No,” she says simply.  “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”  

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.”  A fond smile climbs on her lips.  “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back.  I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent.  And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.”  She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects.  For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart.  Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students.  And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation.  Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.  

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs.  “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened.  But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt.  (God, he remembers all of Kurt.)  He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt.  There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel.  A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction.  And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.  

And yet he did.  

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like.  Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now.  But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name.  Funny how things can change.  Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it.  The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that.  Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise.  “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something.  But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile.  He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there.  He hasn’t thought about him so long.  But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way.  “I think we should do it.  Go back.  I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head.  “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.  

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other.  Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.  

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom.  They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping.  She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties.  They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs.  The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.  

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night.  He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.  

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow.  But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport.  Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him.  Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday.  He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.  

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there.  He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same.  The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points.  Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school.  It’s a bit surreal.  

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar.  Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake.  He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket.  He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.  

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm.  He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance.  God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice.  Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

[mygodyouredivine]

The Hell In Your Eyes - 2

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things. 

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mild blood

Word Count: 3498

Previous Chapter 

It’s 5 in the morning. 

The sun isn’t even out yet and you’re standing in the kitchen, dressed in your pajamas, preparing smoothies. You thought you’d be used to waking up early, considering how you always used to make smoothies before everyone else woke up, but apparently your recent ‘break’ has thrown off your internal schedule. In fact, if not for FRIDAY’s not-so-gentle reminder of your morning plans, you wouldn’t have gotten up in time.  

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mason jar you’re holding.  

It won’t happen again.  

It can’t.  

Not when you’re already in everyone’s way, always leeching off of Tony’s money, always causing trouble for Steve and making Bucky worry. Not when Natasha always feels a need to look after you and Wanda constantly checks in. Not when Sam and Clint feel obligated to train with you and Thor treats you like you’re going to break — going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and then cut and bleed all over the tower’s expensive, clean floors.  

No. If you can’t even do something as simple as making smoothies for the people you’re always inconveniencing, what use are you? 

Your fingers tighten and you can feel your nails digging into the hard glass of the mason jar. For a second, you wonder if it’s possible for you to scratch the class. You clench your fingers — hard — in an effort to break the glass. Just once, you want to break something else. But as you loosen your grip, you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that the jar is just as pristine as it always was.  

Not a single crack. Not even a scratch.  

The jar is fine — the jar is always fine. But your fingers are dented and your joints are sore and you’re so tired of this. Of always being the one who is damaged. The only one who is ever damaged. Everyone else is always unscathed and no one else ever breaks.  

You drop the mason jar. 

Shit. 

It falls to the ground and you watch as it shatters all over the floor.  

Maybe Thor is right. Maybe you are going to shatter one day, just like that mason jar. 

But it’s not going to be today. Breath quickening, you furiously remind yourself that it’s okay.  

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.  

It’s not you on the floor. Maybe one day it is going to be you, lying there broken and useless and fractured and gone, but right now, it's not. You’re still full and whole and not broken and the glittering glass fragments on the floor aren’t you. Looking back down, your eyes catch on droplets of red. Your breath stops and the air in your lungs still. Sure, the glass on the floor isn’t your ground-up soul, shattered and crushed, but the blood is yours. 

There are specks of blood splattered amidst the glass, staining the kitchen’s pristine floor. And you know it’s your blood because you can feel it dripping from your fingers where the glass cut into your skin and you can’t help but stare as a drop of it rolls off your middle finger and falls to the ground and you flinch as it lands in a little crimson circle.  

It’s pretty, though.  

And you can’t look away as another drop falls, landing directly on top of the previous one, doubling the size of the puddle. For a second, you wonder how much blood it would take to cover the entire floor — and if your body has enough.  

But then you hear footsteps approaching and you hastily kneel onto the ground, furiously attempting to clean up the mess you made, to fix it. More blood trickles from your fingertips as you desperately grab at the broken pieces. You’re making it worse.  

The glass blurs and you frantically blink, trying to rid yourself of the tears beginning to form in your eyes. The last thing you need is to cry — for your tears to mingle with your blood — for you to appear even weaker than you already do.  

But you are weak. You can’t even win this battle — against yourself, and you feel the tears overflow and you watch as they fall, turning the dark red into a lighter pink. 

It's a pretty pink. 

It’s a pink that reminds you of the first lipstick you ever bought. You and your best friend had gone down to the convenience store after school, sneakily carrying the lunch money you’d both saved. You remember counting the coins together and excitedly running towards the makeup aisle, where the both of you promptly agonized over the perfect lipstick for the better part of an hour.  

Eventually, you settled on a sparkly little tube of lipstick — more of a chapstick really, and you can distinctly recall how it smelled like heaven and tasted like strawberries, and how it always tinted your lips just the slightest bit pink.  

But right now, the pink you’re staring at isn’t lipstick, and you can very clearly make out two feet standing before you. Looking up, you meet a pair of eyes. Blue, like the sky on a sunny day. It’s a blue filled with promises of picnics and lemonade and daisies, of innocence and childhood, of strawberry lipstick. And in this moment, you want nothing more than to drown in that blue. 

Maybe if you bleed enough blood and cry enough tears you can drown in it. Maybe you can drown in the perfect shade of pink while staring into the perfect shade of blue.  

______________________________

For such a muscly man, Thor’s fingers are surprisingly soft.  

The god is currently standing before you, carefully bandaging your cut hands.  

“My lady, I thought you specifically told me that blood smoothies were not appetizing.” His attempt at humor brings a smile to your face, but you can’t do more. Shrugging, you answer. 

“Well, I guess I’m just a hypocrite.” His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow, and you can tell he’s about to reassure you. You hurriedly continue. “Even the best of us make mistakes, Lord of Thunder.”  

Thor’s eyebrows relax again, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Relief courses through your veins. You wonder if Thor can feel it in the blood that is still leaking from your fingers. Gently, you tug your hands out of his grasp, just in case. Sending out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever prompted you to wear your black sweatpants today, you try not to grimace as the fabric brushes against your injured legs. At the very least, they conceal the blood. 

Thor doesn’t need to know about those. It’s bad enough that he’s already seen you dissolving into an emotional puddle earlier, not to mention how the literal King of Asgard had cleaned up the mess you made and is now attempting to inspect your hands again.  

“Were you planning on making the smoothies this morning, my lady?” Thor’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you look up, meeting his poorly-disguised-concerned gaze. 

“Yup.” You nod, popping the p . “I’m glad to be back, and I wanted to start making you guys smoothies before your morning workouts again. I know for a fact that whatever concoction you made yesterday was an absolute disaster.”  

Thor looks sheepish as he smiles, his hands running through his short blonde hair. “My brother would agree with you.”  

At this, you suddenly remember. You need to get Loki’s smoothie preference, as well as the time he wakes up. You know everyone’s preferred flavors, as well as their morning routines, to ensure your smoothies are always as fresh as possible.  

“Speaking of Loki, when does he wake up?” 

Thor shrugs, a confused look flitting across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t really know. Loki and I haven’t inhabited the same space in quite some time, and I am not familiar with his routines.”  

“Oh.” That would be slightly hard to work with. “Uh, well do you know what type of smoothie he might prefer?” 

Thor’s lips turn down into a pout. “I don’t think Loki would like any type of smoothie, my lady. Yesterday he made his distaste for smoothies quite clear."  

Before you can interrupt and remind him that his smoothie most definitely tasted nothing like your smoothies, he continues with a wink. "But I suppose if anyone could make a smoothie Loki does approve of, it would be you, my lady."  

You know Thor is somewhat disappointed by Loki’s lack of enthusiasm towards his smoothie. It’s easy to detect, even under his charming antics. Thor’s lips turn downward when he is upset, and he always picks at his nails. Sometimes he will suck in his cheek, and that’s when you know he is truly in a mood. But Thor never stays sad for long.  

His expression has brightened up again, and Thor is back, his ever-chipper energy once again emanating from within his warm eyes. There’s not a single trace of conflict in his eyes, and you wonder, for the hundredth time, how he does it. Thor has seen so much death — caused it, even — and been through so much pain, yet he is always able to hold it together, always able to smile and laugh and come back stronger. 

Thor is the embodiment of the word 'golden'. No matter how much dirt and grime Life layers on top of him, nothing could ever dim his luster.  

You think you're closer to being the dirt and grime than you ever were to being gold. 

“Thanks Thor.” 

______________________________

In the end, you settle on making Loki Thor’s favorite smoothie. After all, Thor is the only other god here who has dined on the finest Asgardian delicacies, and if he likes your chocolate-strawberry smoothies, you just hope Loki does too.  

The only difference is, Thor prefers his smoothies absurdly sweet. Whether it’s his insane metabolism or the ten thousand calories he burns a day, he never seems to be affected by the hundreds of grams of sugar you’re sure he consumes.  

You’re carefully pouring the smoothie into two mason jars when Nat comes into the kitchen. You smile and motion towards her drink sitting on the counter. Natasha prefers a green smoothie, packed with kale and spinach and cucumbers and ginger — not the best tasting thing you’ve ever made, but it must do something , ‘cause Nat looks like she doesn’t understand what the word ‘bloating’ means.  

The redhead raises an eyebrow, motioning to the second mason jar you’re carefully pouring. “Does Thor drink two of those every morning now?” 

“Well, no. This one's for Loki. I don’t know what he prefers, so I thought I’d make him Thor’s favorite for now. Except without the whipped cream and excessive number of chocolate chips.” 

Nat’s other eyebrow raises. “You’re kidding right? Angel, stay away from Loki. He’s a dangerous man. He’s deranged and unstable and selfish. He’s not going to appreciate your smoothie.” 

And with that, all the self doubt rushes back in. The self hatred that Thor’s fingers had smoothed away, the shame that bled from your fingertips, it all rushes back in, pumping through your veins and into your heart.  

“Do you appreciate my smoothie?” You hadn’t meant for it to come out, and you certainly hadn’t meant for it to sound so insecure. 

Nat’s eyes widen, and she hastily retreats. “Nono Angie, that's not what I meant. Come on, you know all of us love your smoothies. What I’m trying to say is —” her fingers meet her forehead in a gesture of frustration “ — we appreciate and love you for all that you do, but Loki won’t. He’s too arrogant and he definitely thinks we’re all beneath him.”  

With that, she moves closer to you and envelopes you in a hug. Natasha means well, you know that, but she doesn’t realize how her words come off — how she just backed up the little voice inside your head, repeatedly telling you that you’re worthless. You wonder if she even wants your smoothie, or if she just humors you. And then her arms retreat from around you, and she steps back. 

“Sorry Angie, but I’ve got to go now. I love you — we all do. You know that right?”  

You nod, and smile. “Thanks Nat. I love you too.” 

______________________________

Natasha’s smoothie has separated. The blended ingredients have floated to the top, and the green liquid has settled below. The abandoned smoothie sits on the edge of the counter, where she left it, only reaffirming your suspicions that she didn’t really want it in the first place. Dimly, you consider dumping Loki’s smoothie out. Maybe Natasha is right. But you don’t really want to waste any food, so you move to put his smoothie in the fridge. Maybe Thor will drink it later.  

(If he even likes them.) 

But as you open the fridge door, you notice the plate of leftovers you snagged yesterday is gone. The saran wrapped plate is missing, and you don’t think anyone would have taken it, except…? You look around for the plate. It’s not in the sink or left on the counter, nor lying in the dishwasher. You find it in the cabinets, placed directly on top of its companions.  

You’re confident that no one in this tower would clean their plate after eating, except maybe Steve. But Steve isn’t here — he made his famous lasagna last night because he was leaving for a mission early today. So really, that just leaves Loki.  

Is it possible that Nat was wrong? 

Did Loki take the food you left for him? And ate all of it? And cleaned up? 

You suddenly remember yesterday, walking in on Loki scrubbing blood off the floor. You can’t say you were surprised Thor had left a mess, but you were somewhat surprised Loki was cleaning it up. Maybe it is possible then.  

So you decide to bring the smoothie to Loki. 

First, you make a quick stop at your room. Your legs are really starting to sting, and you don’t want the sweatpants to dry onto your skin. Damn. You’re going to have to wash these again, and you just did laundry. But it’s okay, and soon you’re walking out of your room, clad in another pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, holding Loki’s smoothie. 

You take the elevator and press the familiar button of Thor’s floor. Mentally, you’re once again debating whether or not this is a good idea. You’ve almost decided to just turn back when the elevator doors slide open and you make eye contact with Loki, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway of his room, one foot inside the door and one foot in the plush carpet of the Odinsons’ shared living room.  

His eyebrows are raised comically in an expression of surprise, and for a second you don’t see the intimidating god. 

But then the moment passes, and he straightens, eyes narrowing, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Can I help you?” 

A part of you — a large part of you — wants to leave immediately. To apologize for disturbing him and go back to your room. But another part of you, the one who caught a glimpse of Loki before he threw up his defenses, roots you to the ground.  

“Actually, yeah. I made you a smoothie.” You stick out your hand, ignoring the way it trembles slightly. “I know Thor’s smoothie probably tasted like shit, so I thought I’d make you one to show you how it's done.” 

When he doesn’t move, you step further into the living room and set the smoothie down. One of Thor’s hoodies is lying haphazardly across the coffee table, so you pick it up. Loki is staring at you. 

There’s an awkward silence, and you wish he would say something. Anything. But the raven haired prince is as stoic as ever. His eyes are still boring into your own and you can’t help but notice how strikingly different they are from Thor’s.  

Somehow, you’re engaged in a staring contest with the god — and you don’t really want to lose. In an effort, perhaps, to prove to yourself that you’re not weak (especially after the morning’s incident) you resist the increasing temptation to blink. You don’t want Loki to think you’re scared of him, even though you may be a bit wary , and you continue to stare into his eyes. 

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true, Loki has a very — empty soul. It’s neither warm nor cold, just vacant . It’s almost as if you’re staring into the eyes of someone long dead.  

With that, you shiver, and surprisingly, Loki breaks the intense eye contact. He looks away then, and his head tilts downward.  

“Right then. I’ll just be on my way.” You hold up Thor’s hoodie. “I’m going to do some laundry. Do you have anything that needs to be washed?” 

You hope he doesn’t ignore you. You really don’t need that today. You just need to be productive. To do something — to help someone. And maybe he senses that, because Loki actually nods and walks back into his bedroom, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the lavish living space.  

A few moments later, Loki reemerges, effortlessly holding a laundry hamper.  

“Would you like me to take this down?”  

You’re a bit stunned by his unexpected and considerate offer, but your desire to prove yourself shines through.  

“Nah, I got it. Thanks.” 

With that, you lug Loki’s hamper and Thor’s hoodie out of their room, leaving Loki’s smoothie — and an intense hope he drinks it — behind. 

______________________________

Loki is an unbelievably neat person.  

His dirty clothes are folded — inside his hamper. And organized by article, as well as color. You don’t think he realizes how — awkward — it makes the entire process. After carefully shoving his button downs, slacks, sweaters, and jeans into the washer, you’re left with an interesting assortment of clothing.  

His undershirts are ridiculously soft, and you resist the urge to snag one. This isn’t Thor, you remind yourself. After piling them in, you stare at his hamper. Loki has folded his socks, which are paired together. You sincerely hope the washer doesn’t decide to eat one of them, as you doubt he understands the Midgardian concept of missing socks.  

Below his socks are… Loki’s boxers. You wipe away the mental image your mind involuntarily conjures and quickly dump the rest of the clothing into the washer, without touching anything.  

With that, you throw in Thor’s hoodie and your sweatpants, start the cycle, and leave, shaking your head.  

On the way back to your room, you realize that Loki has a very limited closet. All of his laundry had barely filled up his hamper, and you notice how most of his clothing consisted of somewhat uncomfortable items. You haven’t seen him around due to your break, but from his clothing you can assume that Loki has a very different fashion taste than Thor. Mentally, you make a note to slip him some of your oversized hoodies when returning his clothes.  

______________________________

You’re immensely thankful for Thor. He always seems to have the best — or worst — timing, and this time he has saved you from a rather embarrassing situation. 

You’re pulling Loki’s clothes out of the dryer (having already stolen Thor’s hoodie), and you’ve just started to fold his clothes. So far, you’ve shoved a forest green hoodie at the very bottom of the hamper, and you’re in the process of carefully layering Loki’s sweaters over it. Thankfully, the dryer is still mostly full, and you haven’t been confronted with the dilemma of handling Loki’s underwear again.  

Luckily, Thor walks in before you have to.  

“Are you doing Loki’s laundry, my lady?” His voice startles you and you jump, but manage to not drop Loki’s earthy brown sweater.  

“No,” you deadpan, “These are all mine.” 

Thor smiles that smile you’re so familiar with, and you can’t help but grin back. “Well, let me take it from here.” His grin falters for a moment, and he looks more serious when he continues. “Thank you Angel, for giving Loki a chance. I know he can be — difficult. And I wouldn’t blame you if you only saw the villain.” 

You meet Thor’s eyes, always filled with emotion — whether that be happiness or warmth, sadness or anger, and you think back to another pair of eyes. Soulless. You think of Loki, and you think of how you’ve seen those soulless eyes before; every single time you look into a mirror. And for a second, you let yourself believe that maybe Loki’s soul wasn’t voluntarily taken from him either. Maybe his cruelty is his defense, just like yours is the fake-happiness that you wear as a shield. 

“It’s no problem Thor.” You smile, your shield intact. “I couldn’t let him suffer with your smoothies forever, no matter how villainous he might be.” 

______________________________ 

Cruelty is just loneliness disguised as bitterness.  

- Tom Hiddleston 

______________________________

Previous Chapter  Next Chapter

~

~

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

[bakubabes-tatakae]

Request by @ellechanwrites : HAPPY 2K BBY! 💖🥳🥳 You deserve it and more. 😘 for the 2k event, can I request #2; 5; 11 and 12 (i know u said up to 3 prompts only but 🥺) from Choice 2 — for my Yami. 💕 Love youuu. 💋

I'm sorry this I so late wifey, but I really hope that you like it. 🥰❤️

Claimed || {NSFW} Yami x Reader

Event Masterlist | Tip Jar 📬

Warnings: smut, fingering, 18+ content, unprotected sex, dirty talk, language, public sex

Word Count: 1k

Yami Sukehiro could never hide his jealousy in front of the other citizens of the Clover Kingdom. It was something that he was beginning to be known for. You were known to strut around the streets of the capital in the tightest pants you owned, turning heads with every step that you took. And you would never admit it, but you did it on purpose. Making Yami jealous was your favorite pastime.

Yami absolutely hated it. He hated the way the other men would look at you, like you were a piece of meat. The way their eyes scanned every inch of your being always made him want to slice them with his katana. He listened as the whispered words of men in the capital slowly filled his ears. Praises of you leaving their lips, not realizing that the Black Bulls captain was right behind them.

But you liked their gazes. As much as Yami hated that fact, you craved the gazes that you got from them all.

So when Yami followed behind you as you spent the day in the shopping district he couldn’t help but feel those pangs of jealousy flooding through his body.

As those eyes once again were stuck to your figure as you happily went about your day you felt a hand grasp your shoulders harshly, pulling you away from the eyes that laid before you and into an alleyway.

Yami spun you around and pushed you against the brick of the building behind you. He was angry. He had never felt this angry about the situation before. You sensed something different about him as his deep voice boomed before you. “Why do you let others stare at you like that? Do you like the attention?” You swallowed hard, unsure what to do as Yami’s entire demeanor changed. His hands dropped from the wall and grabbed at the front of your tight leggings. “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I do this.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yami had always been a private person. He had never liked to do anything other than hold hands and the occasional kiss to the cheek around other people. Now his hands were everywhere. His lips touched your neck as his stubble slowly tickled your delicate skin. “This isn’t like you Yami…”

Yami smirked as he stopped moving and placed his hand under your chin, tilting your face up to look him in the eyes. “I want to mark you in front of everyone.”

You looked down the alleyway to the bustling market just on the other side. You knew that someone could have walked down at any moment. A rush hit you as you thought about that. You placed a hand on Yami’s white tank top and balled it up into your fist. “I dare you.”

The normal laugh that would have erupted from Yami was quiet. His laugh came out as a quiet snicker as he grabbed your wrist in his large hands. “Say that one more time and I’ll make sure you can never walk again.”

A satisfying grin painted your face as he waited for the words to leave your mouth. “I dare you.”

Yami spun you around with force and pushed you against the wall. His body weight pressed against you as his stubble rubbed against the cheek beside your ear. His words sent a shiver down your spine. “Never forget this Y/n.” A soft kiss was placed on your skin and you leaned into him. “When you agreed to be mine, you gave me the right to do whatever I wanted with you.”

His hands slowly slid down your sides and grabbed your waist, pulling on your leggings and tugging them down your legs. His knee pushed its way between your legs and pushed them apart. A slight moan left you as you felt his hand slide between your parted thighs, slowly pushing the fabric of your panties to the side. His fingers plunged into you, sending your body back into the wall. You tried your hardest to stay quiet, but Yami was having none of that. The quieter you tried to stay the faster his fingers moved.

His hand suddenly pulled away, a whine leaving you as you felt the sensation of bliss leave your body.

Yami smirked and pressed his lips to the back of your neck. “Now it’s time for the real fun.”

You heard his belt come undone as you prepared yourself for what he had in store. Yami grasped his length and pumped a few times before pushing your panties to the side again.

With a quick thrust Yami let out a grunt. He waited a moment for you to adjust to his girth before continuing. Each roll of his hips threatened to have you hollering his name. “Come on doll, just let me hear you a little.” His hand wrapped into your hair and tugged, a slight sound coming up from your throat. “You know I like it when you say my name.”

Your voice was small as his name left your lips. “F-fuck, Yami.”

But that wasn’t enough for him. He pounded in and out of you in an attempt to make you louder. “What’s my name darling? Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

He pulled your head back more and pressed his lips to your cheek. “You can do better than that.”

The volume of your next words made him chuckle, your walls clamping down around his cock. “You, Yami!”

“That’s my girl.” One final hard thrust pushed you against the wall, his weight pressing into you again as he emptied himself out inside you.

His voice was raspy from exhaustion as he praised you. “You always take my cock so damn well, darling. But from now on, when you make all the men go crazy, I’ll give them a show to remember.”

Another shiver ran down your spine. This was a new side of Yami that you could get used to.

Taglist: @monic00l @strangeinternetwasteland @rowley-with-ackerman @chaoticsimptown @ellechanwrites @bonnisimpparker @impinthecloset @nikiniki743 @thorinsraven

[cinnaminsvga]

A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could -  you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him.  “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

[evermoreholland]

Falling | Professor!Tom

PROFESSOR!TOM X STUDENT!READER

summary: you couldn’t help but fall for your professor

warnings: student/teacher relationship

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i can’t help but be so proud of this fic. i have never written something like this before and i’m so thankful that tom looked so gorgeous in that interview omg and inspired this! hope you like it <3

It’s Monday morning of the first day of the semester. Your feet hurt. You have walked for what feels like hours but in actuality was only around 20 minutes. You didn’t expect the walk across campus to be so torturous. It was hot outside and you, being the cozy and almost lazy person you were, wore a sweatshirt instead of fitting the weather. You instantly regretted scheduling your British History class at 8am. You were tired and you should have known not to schedule a morning class.

You walked up the stairs to enter the History department building and made your way to your classroom. You walked across the hall for a couple of minutes, searching for the designated room. You were about 5 minutes early, wanting to make sure you had time in case you got lost on the way across campus. You pushed open the door to reveal an almost empty classroom, only a couple of students already there. You made your way into the room to find a desk, muttering a quiet “hello” to the professor whom you haven’t gotten a chance to look at yet.

“Good morning,” he greeted. His thick British accent filled the room. Once you placed your books down and took a seat in the front of the room, you looked up to see the professor who would be teaching you this semester. His name was Professor Thomas Holland. Brown eyes and curly brown hair. A nice smile. A black lightweight turtleneck clung to his torso and he gave the few students in the room the brightest smile you have ever seen from a professor. You have only heard a few things about Professor Holland. He was young and well-accomplished. Most if not all people loved him and thought he was an outstanding professor.

Professor Holland walked towards your desk and you averted your eyes away from him. New teachers always scared you. Meeting new people was often terrifying, especially if it’s someone as accomplished as your professor. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Professor Holland.”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. You couldn’t understand how a professor could be quite this young. He looked to be around 26 if you were guessing. “Nice to meet you, Professor.”

“Likewise,” he smiled. “I’m looking forward to having you in my class.” He took a moment to run his fingers through his hair. He turned his head when a group of students walked into the classroom. “Looks like we’ll be starting soon. I hope you end up liking British History, Y/N.”

Professor Holland walked over to greet the rest of his new students and then began teaching the lesson. The lecture passed by slowly. You participated a lot at the beginning of the seminar, but towards the end, you began to slip away a bit. You enjoyed listening to Professor Holland speak so passionately about British History but you were exhausted because of your lack of sleep from the night before.

After about an hour Professor Holland said, “Class dismissed.” You got up and collected your supplies before leaving the classroom. Just as you were about to leave, Professor Holland approached you by the door. “Can I speak with you for a second, Y/N?”

“Of course, Professor,” you replied quietly. To be quite honest, you were scared to speak with your professor one-on-one. Maybe he had noticed that you were not paying much attention during the end of class. You didn’t think that Professor Holland would be rude to you, but confrontation wasn’t usually a fun time.

The man pulled a chair towards his desk before sitting down himself on the opposite side. “Have a seat, Y/N.”

You walked to the chair quickly and sat down giving all of your attention to your professor. “Is everything alright, Y/N?” Professor Holland asked, arms crossed over his chest. His voice was gentle and his company inviting. “You seemed to be zoned out towards the end of class today. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“My apologies, Professor,” you said shyly.

“My class wasn’t too boring, right?” He joked. He reached over to grab his cup of what you assumed was tea and took a sip. His long slender fingers grasped onto the cup as he took another sip and placed it down. It was hard not to stare at someone as attractive as him. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you felt an attraction towards your history professor.

“Not at all,” you said.

“Then what seems to be the issue? You can talk to me, Y/N. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable here,” he reassured you. You had never expected this type of interaction to happen between you and a professor. Most people wouldn’t care that you were zoning out in class, but Professor Holland did.

“I just didn’t sleep well last night,” you said nervously. “But I did enjoy your class nonetheless.”

“I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed my class, Y/N,” he said and then got up from his chair, and you followed his actions and got up yourself. “University means no sleep so I get it. Coffee and tea do wonders, though.”

“Noted,” you laughed and he followed suit. “Thank you, Professor Holland.”

“No worries,” he said as he led you to the door. “If you need help reviewing the rest of the notes, I’d be happy to meet with you sometime. Your ideas in class were incredible. I’d love to hear more from you,” he complimented.

“Thank you, Professor. I would really appreciate that.”

“My office is on the second floor. Room 203. How does tonight at 7 sound?”

“Sounds great. Thank you,” you said and then left. You were grateful that Professor Holland wanted to go over the notes with you. You also felt a pang of excitement consume you. You didn’t understand completely why though. He was your professor and that was it. It doesn’t matter how insanely attractive he is, he is your educator and nothing more than that.

You went to the rest of your lectures for the day, none of them being as interesting as Professor Holland’s was and no one nearly being as attractive as he was. You went back to your dorm room after your last class to do some assignments, eat, and change before meeting with your professor. You decided on wearing a light short-sleeved shirt and some jeans, much different than what you were wearing to class this morning. You let your hair down, grabbed your books and notes, and made your way to Professor Holland’s office.

To say that you were feeling nervous may have seemed weird, but it was true. You approached the history department and you let out a breath that you had been holding. You took the stairs to the second floor. You walked down the halls to find your professor’s office and made it out to be the only room with its lights on. You knocked on the door about three times. You heard shuffling footsteps from the other side of the door. Professor Holland opened the door and gave you a bright smile.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted sweetly. Tom was wearing a black t-shirt and blue jeans, unlike what he wore this morning during class. “Come in.”

“Thank you for reviewing the notes with me, Professor,” you said as you walked further into his office. “My pleasure,” he muttered.

“Y/N, do me a favor?” Professor Holland said as you both sat down at his desk. “Cut the formalities when we’re one-on-one together. Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Tom,” you said, his name almost foreign on your tongue. “Are you sure that’s appropriate though?”

“Maybe not,” he laughed. “But Professor Holland makes me feel old, and I’m only 26.” You pulled out your notebook from your bag while Tom opened up his computer to view the slideshow. “How did you become so accomplished at such a young age?”

Tom laughed and put his arms behind his head, getting comfortable. Almost. “That’s a story for another time, darling.”

You almost felt butterflies in your stomach by hearing him call you that. “Okay, Professor Holl- I mean, Tom.”

“Why don’t we get started, shall we?”

You both reviewed the notes for around an hour. Casual small talk filled the room whenever you would write things down in your notebook. Tom was intelligent, but you already knew that. He was charming, sweet, and most importantly, he made you feel comfortable in his presence. He never made you feel stupid whenever you were confused about something or when you would ask a question. Once you were finished reviewing the notes, Tom gave some extra material in case you wanted to review. “Let me get one more book for you that I’d think you’d enjoy.”

He got up from his desk and made his way to the bookshelf in the back of the room. He picked up the old book and gave it to you with a smile. “Keep it as long as you need. It’s really good, and I’m not that much of a reader so that’s saying something.” You couldn’t help but absolutely love Tom’s smile. The way his eyes crinkled and the way his skin glowed made you feel more attracted to him. You grabbed the book from him and your fingers brushed together slightly. The butterflies came back again.

“Thank you, Tom. Thank you for everything. Again,” you giggled. “My pleasure, Y/N.”

A few seconds of comfortable silence filled the room until Tom said, “It’s getting pretty late, darling. I have some papers to grade and you should get back to your place.”

“Sorry for keeping you, Professor.” You felt that it was appropriate to go back to formalities, even though you didn’t want to.

“Don’t feel bad, Y/N. I’d love to talk to you. Hopefully, we could do this again sometime.”

“Thank you, Professor. Have a good night.”

“Same to you.”

You didn’t know how to feel. Was Professor Holland being too casual with you? It was only the first day of his class and you already have been in his office. You knew that even a friendly relationship with your professor could be risky. You didn’t want to get Tom into any trouble, no matter how nice getting to be with him sounded to you.

--

Four weeks passed by. You participated in lectures frequently. You hadn’t stepped foot into Tom’s office since the first day. You wanted to spend time with him but it felt informal to do so if you genuinely didn’t have any questions about the material.

Tom dismissed class for the morning and he stopped before you could leave the classroom. “Y/N, I’d just like to talk to you about your paper. Can you spare an hour?”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Let’s head to my office upstairs,” Tom said. You both made your way up to his office together. Tom locked the door behind him and pulled out a chair for you to sit at. “Y/N, let me be honest with you,” he started.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You asked embarrassingly. You spent hours working on that paper but you did do it when you were extremely exhausted.

“The exact opposite actually,” Tom clarified. “Your essay was really well written. I just wanted to spend some time with you.” You were shocked, really.

“Excuse me?” You asked quietly and Tom’s face fell.

“I totally read this wrong, didn’t I?” Tom put his face in his hands, obviously stressed out and overwhelmed. “Shit, I’m screwed.”

“Tom, calm down. I’m just confused.”

“I just thought we could talk but now that I’m realizing it, I’m being very inappropriate, aren’t I?” Tom got up from his seat and began pacing around the room. “Tom, it’s okay. Let’s just talk about the extra course material you gave to me the other week.” Tom was glad that you were able to be so cool about the situation and switch subjects fairly quickly.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

You talked about the book you had read from Tom’s collection. Tom continued to be amazed by your insight and intelligence and he couldn’t help but feel a connection between the two of you, even if it was forbidden to pursue.

“Overall, I really liked the book. It had a very interesting perspective about the war. Thanks, Tom,” you concluded.

“No worries, Y/N. Seriously anytime,” he replied gently. He picked up the book that you borrowed and went to put it back on the shelf where it previously sat. “Want another book to read?”

“Sure.” Tom picked up another book and brought it to you. “This one is ahead of where we’re at in class but I think you can handle it,” he laughed.

“Thanks,” you said as you grabbed the book from him. You met his eyes and he was already looking at you. His jaw clenched when you met his gaze but not in an aggressive manner. It seemed like he was nervous and conflicted. “Everything alright, Tom?” You couldn’t help but ask him.

“Y-yeah,” he stumbled over his words nervously. “You’re just really bright, Y/N.” Coming from someone as accomplished as Tom, his compliment meant a lot to you.

“Thank you, Tom,” you replied shyly. “You too.” You stood up to meet his gaze. You were face-to-face and you could almost feel his raging heartbeat. You felt the tension in the air and you could have sworn that Tom briefly glanced towards your lips. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to you. You grabbed his cheek and his mouth went agape.

“Too much, Professor?” You whispered. He shook his head and closed the gap between the two of you. He kissed you with intensity, something that you had been longing for. He wrapped his arms gently around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You continued to kiss him, your hand moving along to his curly brown locks to playfully tug at them, but he finally came to his senses and pulled away from you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Professor?” You looked at him with innocent eyes. “I wanted that just as much as you did.”

“You’re my student, Y/N. No matter how much I enjoyed that, it can never happen again.”

“Okay, Tom. Whatever you say,” you grabbed the book he gave you and put it in your bag. You slung the bag over your shoulder and began to leave his office. Your hand was on the doorknob but then Tom stopped you. “Wait.”

“Yes, Professor Holland?” You turned around to look at him.

“Stop with the formalities and come here,” Tom said. You made your way back to him. “Yes, Tom?”

“Promise me you can keep a secret?” He didn’t need anyone knowing about this if it were to go any further, and boy, did he want it to go further.

“I’ll have you know, Tom, that I’m full of many mysteries,” you whispered as your hand found your way back into his hair. “This can just be another one.”

“You’ll be the death of me, Y/N,” he said and then kissed you. It was probably the most intense kiss you had ever experienced. This was wrong which made it feel so much hotter.

He pulled away to kiss along your neck. “This is wrong,” he mumbled.

“Then why are you still kissing me, Professor?” He looked up to you and stared into your eyes.

“Because I’m falling for you, and that feels right.”

[let-them-read-fics]

Yours Truly (Pt. 2)

Requested By: Some of you!

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

AU: College

Word Count: Part 1 -> 9,786 // Part 2 -> 7,433

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Pining, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Here's the second and final part of the imagine, gang. I hope you enjoy the adventures I wrote for you! Let me know about your fav part(s)!

♡ Happy Reading ♡

Part 1 -- Click Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

5.) Epiphanies

A Week Later

"Yuqi, why the hell did you drag me here? I'd so much rather be writing…" you shove your hands further into the pockets of your hoodie and look at her with a scowl. Rows of people fill the bleachers around you, everyone excited for the football game that's scheduled to start soon. Happy couples sit together all around the stadium, and the sight only works to remind you of how weird things are with Jisoo right now.

"One: it's a Friday night and you need to let loose, and two: I wanted to come, so you have to tag along by default. The rules of friendship are very simple, Y/N," she trails off, tilting her head at you with a smile. 

"Well I am gonna go get some food," you imitate her, "Do you want anything?" You stand from the bench and look down at her, noticing how her permed hair sticks up in a few different places. You smooth it out for her as she answers, "Nachos, please." 

"Alright, dork. I'm sure the line's kinda long, but come look for me if I'm not back in 20." She pats your butt as you leave, and you just shake your head with a smile. 

"--I know! Did you hear about Lee's new girlfriend? I heard she got in a fight with his ex last ni--"

"I'm fucking starving bro."

"Yeah, they totally hooked up at Jackson's party!"

Various conversations work their way to your ears as you walk towards the back of the line, but you attempt to not get too invested in the gossip. As welcoming as your school tends to be, even it has its fair share of scandals and drama. You've never been one to care about rumors though, and you don't plan to start now.

"I heard that Jisoo likes someone." 

Funny how plans can change in an instant, don't you think? 

You can't find it in yourself to ignore the childish desire to eavesdrop, so you listen in as the line slowly shifts forward with each new customer served, doing your best to be inconspicuous. 

"Supposedly she's been into them for a while but they don't know about it. I guess Lisa is planning to get them together tonight or something, I don't know." You recognize the brunette speaking as Seulgi, a dance major that you share a couple classes with. She's talking to Yeri, whom you've seen a few times in passing. 

That must be why she was defensive about the kiss; she has feelings for someone else. 

"Ooh, that'll be interesting. I can't say that I'm not disappointed, though; now Jisoo's gonna be off the market." The shorter girl frowns, basically reading your mind with her statement. You've never fooled yourself into believing you have a chance with Jisoo, but knowing that she'll be whisked away by some lucky classmate of yours definitely isn't an easy pill to swallow. 

You pass the remaining wait time by imagining who that person may be. Jisoo has a lot of friends, but you've never seen her around campus with any particular love interest; she always puts her studies first, deciding that her education is far more important than any potential relationship.

You remain lost in your thoughts until it's your turn to order.

"Hey Y/N, what can I get for you?" The cashier greets, resetting the register as she grins at you. 

"Hi Yeji," you smile back, happy to see your old friend again after what feels like forever. Your busy schedules have kept you from hanging out much lately, but seeing her now is something you're grateful for. "I'll take two waters, a medium nacho, and 1 hot dog, please." 

"You want everything on it?" She asks in reference to your last request, assuming you still stick with the order you used to go with in your childhood. 

"You know it. And make sure to--"

"--spread the toppings out well. I remember, girl." She says with a wink, turning around to get started on your order. The familiar interaction warms your heart, aided by the idea that some things never change. After she packages your things up in a convenient little container, you thank her and pay, walking away with a promise to meet up at the school's café next week.

About halfway back to your seat, something unexpected happens.

"Rosie, we can't buy out the whole place. This is the 4th trip we've taken back here and the game hasn't even started yet!" You freeze as you round the corner, almost dropping your food as Jisoo's low voice sounds off nearby. 

"Unnie, I didn't even get to eat much of the other stuff at all! Lisa and Jennie stole it and shared it with everyone else," the artist pouts, rolling her hands into fists at her sides like a toddler. 

"Fine. But this is the last trip I'm taking." She warns, rolling her eyes when the Australian attacks her with a flurry of kisses. "Yah! Let's go before we miss something." She says, pushing her off of her with a smile on her face. 

Even her voice makes your heart ache, and it reminds you of what her kiss felt like against your lips. It was short, no doubt, and barely there; but the sparks remain, waiting to be reignited anytime she's around. Maybe you're just destined to pine.

----

"There you are! I was literally about to go steal some food from Shuhua because you were taking so long." 

"Yeah, yeah," you say, sitting down beside Yuqi with the cardboard box in your hands. "You're lucky I love you enough to pay for this. Now I'll have to survive on 3 grains of rice and ramen for the next few weeks." 

"Oh, the struggles of being a broke college student." She says woefully, clutching her hands together in front of her chest to add to the effect. 

"Precisely," you agree, scooting closer to offer her some nachos. When she tries to greedily take the whole tray of them, you're quick to stop her. 

"Ah, ah, ah," you warn, pulling her wrist back down. "We're sharing, chica." She huffs, but eventually settles down and decides to shove her face full instead of protesting anymore. 

Now, with your best friend happily eating, you relax and begin to prepare yourself for the match. 

--

"LET'S GO!" You shout with Yuqi, chanting together as your school's anthem echoes throughout the stadium. The rival team has been behind the entire game, but they closed the gap in the last few minutes and now it's neck and neck. Your band plays loudly to encourage your team, and it seems to be working; they manage to repeatedly hold the others off and keep them from scoring. 

It's the start of the fourth quarter now -- the home stretch. With their spirits still high, your team continues to keep victory out of their opponents hands. The black paint underneath their eyes is really streaked now, showing all the effort and sweat that they've put into the game so far. A beautiful sunset just previously gave way to a rapidly darkening evening sky, allowing some stars to peek out now.

"My high school team sucked; this is epic!" Yuqi says, making you laugh. You tear your eyes away from the heated game to say something to her, but all thoughts soon disappear from your mind and you stop mid-sentence. 

She notices your sudden silence and looks at you, only realizing what's happening once she follows your line of sight. Jeong is standing against the metal fence that borders the track, mingling with everyone at the bottom of the bleachers. That doesn't bother you, but what you see next certainly does; you spot Jisoo beside him, giggling at something he said as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. 

"Oh shit," Yuqi breathes out, fully grasping the weight of the situation now. She doesn't even attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt, because he knows how in love you are with Jisoo and yet there he is, flirting away. He's the only other person besides Yuqi who knows of your feelings for the brunette, and you really trusted him with it. Clearly that was a mistake. You blink a few times and set your jaw, quickly looking away as he moves closer to whisper something in her ear over the noise of the crowd. 

"I'm gonna head out to the car. Just let me know who wins," you mumble, brushing past her on your way toward the exit. You know there's no way you'd be able to focus on the game anymore after seeing that, so going is your best option. She catches your arm before you can slip away, and says, "Wait, I'm coming with you. And don't even try to tell me no; I can always watch highlights later. I'm not gonna let you be alone right now." 

Knowing it's pointless to argue anymore, you nod once and wait for her to gather up her trash and coat. "Let's go," she says, taking your hand after tossing her garbage in the can conveniently placed at the end of your row. She squeezes it a few times for reassurance, and a bittersweet smile works onto your lips at the gesture. 

You don't notice how Jisoo's eyes follow you, every fiber of her being yelling at her to go after you. She hates seeing you sad, and although she isn't 100% sure of the reason for it now, all she wants is to cheer you up. 

"So, Jisoo. Do you have any plans after the game?" Jeong smirks, quirking a brow suggestively at his own question. Jisoo grimaces, saying, "Yeah, I do. I have to study." She tries to find you in the crowd again, but it seems that you've already slipped away. 

"We're throwing a party tonight, you should come." He leans a little closer to her, but she takes a step back. The only reason she's even talking to him right now is because Lisa introduced them, and it would be impolite not to. She turns him down, yet again sneaking a glance around the stadium. 

"No wonder Y/N's too chicken to ask you out; you're hard to get, but I don't mind a challenge." Her head whips around at his statement, heart regaining that familiar uptick at the mention of you. "What?" She blinks, not believing her ears. Surely she was just hearing things. 

"I said I don't mind a challenge," his words come out slightly slurred, and the effects of the alcohol he's been drinking are beginning to show themselves in all the wrong ways. The more he talks, the less Jisoo can stand him. "Look, Jeong -- I'm not interested. I'm sure there are other girls here that would love to get to know you, but I'm not one of them. Now, if you'll excuse me," she says, turning her body to the side to maneuver around him and get to the stairs. He lets her go without another word, his pride too bruised to come up with a more fitting response than a muttered insult. 

She makes quick work of getting to the parking lot, where she spots you approaching Yuqi's car, head hanging a bit. Seeing you upset saddens her, and she's determined to find out what's wrong. 

"Y/N! Wait up!" The shout catches your attention, and you slowly spin around. Jisoo begins to jog out to you, and a scoff slips past your lips (though you don't put much effort into stopping it). You're hurt, and half of the reason for your pain is staring right back at you like nothing happened. 

"What do you want, Jisoo?" You sigh, not looking forward to where this conversation will most certainly go.

"I want to talk, Y/N." She's in front of you now, scanning her eyes between yours to gauge your reaction. 

"What is there to say? Just go back to talking to Jeong; you looked like you were enjoying yourself." She can hear the jealousy laced in your tone, and things finally -- finally -- begin to click for her. 

"Is that what this is about?" She asks in reference to your sadness. The question isn't accusatory at all; she's genuinely trying to piece things together. 

A disbelieving laugh leaves you at that. How is she still so oblivious? "Yes, Jisoo, it is. I just had to witness someone who I thought was my friend flirt with my crush. So yeah, that's what this is about." Sensing that she doesn't know what to say, you decide to conclude things for her. This is already pitiful enough, and you'd rather spare the both of you from having the "it's not you, it's me" talk. 

"Look, I get it. You don't like me back, and you were only trying to be friendly by inviting me to the rehearsal that night. Just please, for the both of us, forget it even happened. Forget all of this. It was a mistake, and I won't do it again."

Jisoo hates that you're jumping to conclusions without even knowing her true feelings; you automatically think that she couldn't possibly feel the same, and you use her moment of silence as a form of evidence to prove that. The complete opposite is true, though you'd never give her enough time to straighten out her jumbled thoughts and tell you that. 

She finds her voice when you turn away, and she reaches out to touch your hand. "Stop, you've got it all wrong." Your eyes glance down to your intertwined hands, but you wiggle out of her grip with a heavy sigh. Over your shoulder, you shakily say, "You don't have to pretend for me, Jisoo. I'll be alright. If he makes you happy, then so be it." 

With that, you get in Yuqi's car and tell her to drive away, leaving Jisoo to deal with the sinking feeling in her chest that worsens as the car's tail lights grow dimmer and dimmer in the distance. You're gone, and she really has no idea how to come back from this. 

6.) Broken Hearted

The next few weeks were hell. You avoided Jisoo as much as possible, too embarrassed to face her after what happened and too weak to be close to her again. You'd surely fall even harder if you allowed yourself to grow any closer, so you didn't take the risk. How could you? Falling alone isn't an enjoyable experience, and you've been teetering on the edge of no return ever since that afternoon at the daycare. 

It was hard enough to escape her hold -- her face was everywhere, plastered on ads and bulletin boards all throughout campus, on reminders and sign ups for student council. You used your sick days in order to hide away in your dorm and block out the world, only being comforted by Ryujin when she wasn't busy with her own life or Yuqi when she could spare a few hours. They always made sure to care for you as much as they could, knowing first hand how tough heartbreak can be -- especially with the added stress of schoolwork. 

One person you thought about often was Jeong. Every time he'd cross your mind, dirtying up your brainwaves with the mere notion of himself, you'd grimace. He didn't deserve the attention, and yet you couldn't help but question why he did that to you. He hadn't reached out since that night, likely due to Yuqi giving him a piece of her mind after the game. He made it clear that he wasn't sorry, and that if given the chance, he'd play his cards even better and hopefully score a date with Jisoo. 

Maybe that was the worst part of it all. Hearing that it hadn't just been a stupid thing he did because he was drunk; he realized the weight of his actions, and he'd do it again, over and over, without caring about how you fit into the equation. That football game was simply a turning point, hidden in plain sight as an unassuming night for you to hang out with Yuqi. But you learned more then than you had ever intended to; Jeong's selfish, and he probably never even cared for you in the first place. The idea of that makes you feel dirty -- like you wasted so much of your time with such a horrible person, sticking up for him and defending his name when he wasn't around when he never even deserved that in the first place. You wish you would've known who he really was back then; you would've stayed away. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jisoo was struggling much like you -- minus the whole "betrayed by a best friend" situation. Every time that she showed up in class, she hoped with every piece of herself that you'd walk through the door and grace the room with your presence. You seldom ever did, though -- but when you ran out of free days of absence and were forced to attend class in order to keep your grades up, you never even uttered a word to her. She'd make it a point to ask questions in class, hoping that hearing her voice would bring something out of you, as yours did to her. She longed to talk to you again, if only for a minute; but your resolve remained strong, and her determination grew weaker as the days went by. 

Being the person she is, though, she knew giving up wasn't an option. After a few weeks of that cycle, greeting stands were placed at the front doors of each complex on campus, manned by different members of the council. She came up with a story for the administration on the fly, using her people skills to convince them that it would be good for student morale and getting more people to join clubs. It was a great effort, but she underestimated your avoidance skills; you thwarted her plans again, slipping right through her strategically linked fingers. 

Eventually, she lost hope. She exhausted every option she knew to try, and the girls ran out of new ones as well. Seeing their unnie so upset saddened them, and they did all they could to cheer her up in any and every way they knew how. 

7.) Premiere Night

"Y/N, get up. You're gonna shower and get dressed if I have to force you to do it myself." Yuqi commands, blasting into your room and flipping on the overhead light that shines far too bright for your liking. 

"Mmm," you groan in protest, not even bothering to roll over. 

"I mean it; don't test me, you know I'm true to my word."

"Why, Yuqi?"

"Because we're going to the performance tonight. The big show that everyone has been going on about is premiering, and you're coming with me to see it."

"I can't do that." You say, her words sobering you up from your sleepy stupor.

"I know who the lead is," she informs, already knowing about your reasons for being hesitant, "and that's precisely why we're going. You can't keep living like this, so either go get your girl, or agree to be friends with her and work past what you're dealing with." 

"You sound like a mom at the end of an 80s movie."

"80s movie moms are valid, so I'll take that as a compliment. Now go!" She shouts, shoving you off the bed. You tumble to the floor in a heap of blankets and pillows, still managing to hit your funny bone as you let out a pained groan. 

"Remind me to slap her later, Ryujin." 

"Will do." She salutes, reaching a hand down to help you up. With one last glare at an annoyingly bubbly Yuqi, you head to the bathroom to shower. 

----

"How do I look?" You ask, looking yourself up and down in the skinny mirror attached to the wall. 

"Is it gay if I say I'd ask you out?" Yuqi asks with a smile, fanning herself animatedly when you strike a pose. 

"Very much so, yes." 

"Well, hand me the rainbow suspenders, then." 

You push her over with a laugh -- the first real one you've shared in a while -- and wrap her in a hug. 

"Thank you, for real. I don't know where I'd be if I didn't have you." You say against her shoulder, pulling back to look at your roommate and add, "Either of you." The three of you settle in for a group hug and tell a few more jokes before Yuqi finally drags you out of the dorm. 

----

"How does it feel to be back in society?" Yuqi whispers, leaning in close to you to read the seat numbers printed on your tickets. 

"As lame as ever." You add, amusingly unenthused. 

"You're never gonna convince Jisoo to date your dumbass with that attitude." She retorts, feeling a little guilty when she sees your expression change upon hearing her name. You're afraid to see where the two of you will stand at the end of the night, so saying it's still a sore subject is the understatement of the year. 

"I'm messing with you, dude. If she doesn't want to be with you, then it's her loss; but I highly doubt that's the case. I've heard she misses you a lot." For once, Yuqi's words are halfway encouraging to hear, and you let out a light smile. 

"Well I'm prepared to worry about that whole situation later. For now, let's find our seats and enjoy the show." Your best friend quickly agrees, and the two of you squeeze through the crowds in the aisles to get to your row. 

----

"Jisoo, I promise you'll do well. You've been practicing for months; you've got this," Soo-hyun says, rubbing his co-lead's back in reassuring circles. The certainty in his deep voice gives Jisoo some semblance of security, and she stands to look at him with one final, nervous sigh. Stage fright has never been this big of an issue for her, but the size of the crowd and the idea that you might be out there scare the hell out of her. She wants you to be there with all of her heart, but she doesn't know if she'll be able to handle watching you walk away again. The past few weeks have been torture, and she misses your presence and witty remarks more than she ever thought possible. 

"Thank you, Soo-hyun. I'll meet you out there in a couple minutes, just let me collect myself."

He nods and says, "Take your time. I'll let Mrs. Choi know," before leaving and shutting the door behind himself. Now alone again, Jisoo digs through her personal bag that lays neatly on the small futon of the dressing room. When her fingers come in contact with that familiar material she's spent hours staring at, she bites the inside of her cheek and unfolds it for the millionth time. Multiple poems and blurbs litter the page, accompanied by cute doodles and cartoons here and there that give it a personal feel. She's spent the time away from you methodically working through the different writings, restraining herself from reading all of them in one setting so that she can have new content from time to time. 

She's down to the last one, now, and a surprising sort of realization hits her when she reads it. It instills within her a sense of determination -- determination to get you back and set things right, one way or another. She makes a plan to find you after the performance.

-- After The Performance -- 

It was even more spectacular than you ever imagined it could be. The school spared no expense in getting the best props, employing the most skilled technicians on hand, and recruiting the best artists that the school had to paint the backdrops. Everyone behind the scenes worked tirelessly to produce the best show possible, and their efforts really paid off. 

And, of course, you can't forget the actors. 

The entire cast was incredible, their talent matching some of the world's most sought-after stars. Every part was played to perfection; even the smaller, supporting roles were acted with passion, really bringing the piece together as a whole. The production left you wanting more, too inspired and awestruck by the amazing performances to be content with just seeing it once. So, after numerous calls for an encore, the cast returned to run through a few of their key scenes. 

---

As the cast takes their final bow, large cannons placed on either side of the stage shoot out bursts of colorful confetti, and you watch it flutter down around them. Some try to catch a piece or two to add to their scrapbooks, wanting to have a trinket from their college years, while others just hug each other and twirl around with content smiles on their faces. The crowd continues its loud cheering, and eventually you find the courage to sneak a glance at Jisoo.

To your surprise, she's looking right back. 

Her eyes hold a mixed softness; she's proud of herself and glad that you came to support her on such a big night, but part of her wants to escape the busyness of it all and tell you everything she's been feeling. She'd be content with looking at you forever, she realizes, as she studies you. You're the true star in her eyes, always shining so bright and making everyone feel at home whenever they're around you. She hopes you know how special you are. 

Mrs. Choi approaches the cast from stage right, gathering their attention to congratulate them and commend them for their performances. Jisoo reluctantly looks away from you, unsure if it's the last time she'll be seeing you tonight. The thought upsets her, but there isn't much she can do about it right now; so, she gives her attention to her professor and flashes that smile that makes everyone weak in the knees. 

You knew it was just a matter of time before she'd be pulled away and immersed in some conversation about the show, but the selfish side of you never wanted her to look away. No matter how confusing things may be because of all of your unresolved issues, she still looks at you like she always had before -- her gaze is kind, albeit bittersweet, but it's full of care. Seeing her like that makes you feel like even more of an asshole than you already do -- maybe you should have just listened to her at the game. Running away was an immature choice, rooted entirely in your own sadness in that moment as you deprived yourself of any explanation she could've offered, though you can't judge yourself too harshly. The situation is complicated, and you still don't know whether to hate yourself for running or go easy on yourself in light of what happened. 

When Yuqi sees you stand up and shuffle towards the end of your row, she sends you a warning look. 

"Dude, I'm not gonna run away. I'm literally just gonna step outside for some fresh air, I promise." She visibly relaxes, no longer having to prepare herself to wrangle you back into the seat. 

"Fine. But if you aren't back in 15 minutes I'm coming to track you down. You really need to talk to her." 

You sigh, nodding in agreement. "I know, trust me. Just let me get my thoughts together first." She sends you off to do just that, but not until the two of you complete the special handshake you made up all those months ago. 

---

Brisk air rushes over your skin in waves the moment you exit the side door of the building, automatically sending goosebumps to raise in its wake. It feels nice, though; it grounds you, and works to cool off your heated skin. The atmosphere inside was thick with the tension you've been feeling ever since what happened that night at the game, and its effects were only heightened by the raw performances of the evening. Passion and longing were the driving factors of the play, ironically, and many of the scenes drew eerie parallels to your current situation. So, it's no wonder that you're thankful to step away from it all for a bit.

You greet a few stray audience members that're puttering around outside as well, opting to walk down a little further away from them and lean against the building. The wall's brick material feels rough against your back, lightly scratching it whenever you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You don't mind it, though; it's oddly nostalgic, somehow. 

When you hear the door open again, you think nothing of it. The metal hinges latch just the same as they had for you, so there's really no reason for you to even look up. However, that all changes when you feel someone's eyes on you.

Unprepared is leaps and bounds away from being a fitting statement to describe how you feel in that moment; Jisoo stands merely 10 feet away from you at most, right next to the stage door that she just came out of. Her hands fiddle with the drawstrings of her costume, seemingly always needing to be occupied when she's nervous or unsure of herself; it's a habit you've picked up on after seeing it so many times. 

The longer you look at her, the more you want to look away; she's so beautiful it hurts, and the silence is eating away at you. You can't blame her, though; neither of you know what to say or do, and the only thing you seem capable of is staring at each other. When you break the intense eye contact you were sharing to turn away, only intending to take a minute to collect yourself, Jisoo is suddenly set in motion. 

She's afraid you'll leave again, and she's prepared to fight even harder for you this time.

I love you as the stars love the night sky

A fateful, cyclic romance

A game of eager greetings and reluctant goodbyes

Those words -- ones that you remember penning one day in class while completely entranced by Jisoo -- roll from her lips effortlessly, as if she had spent time committing them to memory. She had, in fact; whenever days passed without her even catching a glimpse of you, she always found herself unfolding that note again, tracing a finger over the curve of your unique letters as she reread the poem. It always brought her comfort to think that you were in just as deep as her, and a similar sense of hope blossoms in her chest now when she spots an unbelieving smile tug at the corner of your lips as you slowly turn to face her again. 

You're still into her, and she's falling even deeper at the realization. Maybe she didn't lose you after all. 

She takes calculated steps towards you and breathes a sigh of relief when you stay put, not showing any signs of running. The wheels in your head are going into overdrive now, turning and churning as you process her little recital, and she prays with all of her heart that you won't be upset once you put two and two together. 

"How did you…"

"You dropped it one day, and I picked it up. I meant to give it back to you, but I guess I just never got around to it." She feels a little guilty for keeping it as long as she has, but it's served as a way of keeping you close during your time apart. Those bits and pieces of you, scattered around on that page, encapsulated by the annotations and doodles you so kindly left behind, have stayed in her heart. Ever since she discovered it all that time ago, it's never been very far from her; she cherishes it more than you'll ever know. 

"You didn't show it to anyone, right?" Your voice is laced with worry, lowered a bit to keep others from overhearing. 

"No, no! Of course not. I just… kept it for myself. You're really talented; I couldn't stop reading your stuff." 

"Thank, I guess?" You awkwardly chuckle, still a bit rusty on how to interact with her after everything. Plus, to be fair, having your crush read one of the love letters you wrote about her is a bit unheard of. Newfound territory, you think to yourself.

"How long?" You ask after a minute of silence, only realizing how loaded your question is after it slips past your lips, turning into a puff of steam in the chilly atmosphere. "How long have you… felt that way about me?" You quickly add, "Assuming that you feel what the poem says, of course." 

An amused smile tweaks her lips at how cute you are. "I do, Y/N. I always have; ever since that afternoon at the daycare." 

"Really?" The question is quiet, full of childlike disbelief. 

"Really. It was always you." She says it freely now: unafraid.

The sentiment is sweet, but memories of the football game come flooding back and you're reminded that as much as you want to skip this next part, you still have things to discuss. 

"What about Jeong?" 

"What about him?"

"Did you ever like him?"

"No. The girls thought so, but it was just a misunderstanding. That's why Lisa introduced us at the game; she thought I had a crush on him, but I told her that you were always the one I was looking at. I told all of the girls that, after that night." 

Her confession renders you speechless -- only capable of listening and nodding every now and then. She takes advantage of your silence to finally explain herself and tell you everything she's been dying to. 

"I didn't know you felt the same until our talk in the parking lot. I mean, I was hopeful after some of the moments we had, but I didn't know for sure until then. I wanted to beg you to stay and hear me out, but you left before I had the chance."

You blink a few times as the reality of her words begin to sink in. "I had no idea…"

"Yeah, well…" she trails off, unsure of what to say next. She's forgiven you for walking away, knowing you were just hurt, but the whole situation still left a bad taste in her mouth. So much pain could've been avoided for the both of you if you had just listened.

"How did they take it?"

"They yelled at me for waiting so long to tell them, but then they tried to help me get you back. Remember those student council booths?" She leans in a little closer to ask that last line, her lips pulling to the side in that iconic smirk of hers. 

You audibly gasp and point at her animatedly. "I knew that was you!"

"Mhm, pulled some fancy-sounding excuse out of my ass to convince the board, and boom; 20 brand new tables set up the next day. I still can't believe you managed to slip past them, though. I mean, c'mon, have you seen how talkative those kids can be?" 

"Trust me, it wasn't easy," you laugh with her. "I had to sneak to the back entrances like a drug dealer." 

"I can totally see that." 

"I'm dedicated, what can I say?" The stupid hair flip you do makes her laugh even harder, clutching her stomach as those beautiful sounds slip past her lips. 

As your shared laughter eventually turns into soft chuckles, she smiles at you, saying, "I really missed this. I missed you, so so much." 

"I've been a wreck without you, Jisoo. It's honestly embarrassing." 

She looks at you with something new shining in her eyes, and she carefully contemplates what she's about to admit. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course." 

"I rarely cry, Y/N, but I did over you. So you have no reason to be embarrassed. It seems like both of us were pretty bad off." She looks down after saying that, scuffing her foot against the concrete of the sidewalk. Being vulnerable isn't usually easy for her, and she never really lets people see that side of her -- not even the girls. She feels like she has to stay strong for them to keep things running smoothly, but she fails to realize how important her own feelings are. You're different, though; she feels like her entire collection of secrets would be safe with you, and you make her feel secure enough to be open like that. 

When she feels you step closer and hook two fingers underneath her chin, her eyes dart up to yours and her heart speeds up. Your other arm hesitantly wraps around her waist, giving her plenty of time to step away and deny you. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that she couldn't possibly want someone like you that you're genuinely surprised when she steps further into your embrace, pulling your arm tighter around herself. 

Her right arm comes to rest loosely on your shoulder as her other hand caresses your forearm, rubbing various patterns against your smooth skin. "I tried so hard to get you to pick up on my flirting," she starts, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck as she holds you close. "Every touch," she runs a finger down your arm, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake. "Every look," she moves her hand from your neck to your cheek, cupping it sweetly as she gazes into your eyes. She strokes your skin with the pad of her thumb, smiling beautifully when she feels you nuzzle into her hold even more. 

"And that kiss…" she says, sounding breathless at the mere thought of it. "I wanted it to last forever." 

"Why didn't you tell me that, then?" You ask, not even a trace of anger in your tone. You're determined to let go of all the hurt and fear that your misunderstandings have caused, opting instead to finally get the answers you've wanted for so long. "After I came back from putting Aera to bed you were just… different. And then when you said it was just a part of the script--"

"I know. I was afraid that if I let myself have you like that -- if I let you in all the way -- there'd be no going back." When she sees the confusion building in your eyes, she continues on. "I don't usually let myself get distracted; I can't afford it. You know how seriously I take my studies." You nod, recalling the numerous times you've found her in the library until it closed, studying hard for the exams everyone knew she'd ace. "But you wiggled your way past every line of defense I ever put up. You became my favorite distraction." A dopey grin tugs at your lips at receiving that title, and you subconsciously hold your head a little higher.

"But I wasn't prepared for that. You make me feel things that I've never felt before, and I really didn't think I could afford to let myself have you. Not fully, anyway. I could deal with a crush; I told myself I could keep you close enough that I wouldn't miss you, but far enough that I could keep myself protected."

"What changed?" You ask, smoothing your hands over the small of her back, feeling the heat radiate from her skin. They've worked their way under the hem of her shirt during your conversation, subconsciously seeking to share her warmth, and Jisoo has been acutely aware of it the entire time. 

"When I saw you walk away like that I didn't know what to do with myself. I've had people leave before, so it's not a new thing; but I never missed them like I've missed you."

A bittersweet, melancholic look settles on your face at that; she deserves every good thing that the world has to offer, so knowing that you played a part in her sadness -- whether it be direct or indirect -- disheartens you a bit. 

"But you're here now, and that's all that matters." She says, leaning her forehead against yours. 

"And I'm not going anywhere," you affirm, holding her even closer than before. She brushes her nose against yours with a quiet sigh, relieved to be in your arms, caught safely in your warm embrace. If falling feels like this, she's more than okay with it. 

"Can I?" You ask, glancing down to the heart shaped pillows you've dreamt of having against yours again. 

She nods, uttering a soft, "Please", as she tilts her head to the side in expectancy. You close the remaining distance, bending your knees slightly to tighten your hold on her waist and pull her flush up against yourself. Both of her arms wrap around your neck now, occasionally coming down to tilt your head and allow her better access, or run her fingers through your hair. It's sensual and meaningful, but an air of urgency hangs in the air, thickening it the longer her lips are on you. Both of you are making up for lost time, so it's no wonder you're so eager. 

She takes your bottom lip between her teeth as she backs you up, pressing you against the brick wall that you had migrated a few steps away from during your conversation. If she were kissing anyone else, perhaps she'd care about the strangers staring, or what they might say; but as she stands here, feeling your hands explore her body in the ways that she's dreamed of and your lips kiss her senseless, that's the furthest thought from her mind. Her hands grab at the collar of your shirt, balling the material up in her palms as she pushes her lips against yours from a new angle. 

When you eventually pull back for air, you can't help but say the phrase that's been sitting on your mind for weeks. "I love you." 

Her heart speeds up to match yours, both of them racing as you look at each other with giant smiles on your faces. "I love you, too. If you hadn't already guessed that," she chuckles, leaning up to kiss you again. This one's more innocent, though -- full of giddiness as you replay each other's declaration in your minds. 

"Y/N L/N IF YOU AREN'T OUT HERE--"

Yuqi bellows loudly, blasting through the side door and out into the chilly night air. The metal smacks against the wall from the force she exerted, and you physically cringe at the sound. Jisoo does the same, quickly pulling away to find out what's going on. 

When Yuqi's line of sight settles on the two of you, her eyebrows raise and a smirk lands on her lips. "Well, well, well. Looks like my work here is done," she says, cocking her head to the side self-assuredly when she sees how swollen both of your lips are and how mussed your clothing is. You send her a look that she registers as "Get lost", and she retreats back into the performance hall with her hands raised in surrender.

"Idiot," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you watch the door close behind her, its poor hinges still recovering from her assault. Jisoo's giggle makes you turn back to her, finding a breathtaking smile forming on her lips. "You're so cute," she coos, poking your cheek, "especially when you blush like that." 

You fight the bashfulness that attempts to take over, managing to cock a brow at her and say, "Hey, watch it -- I might not be so kind in my next poem if you don't stop teasing me." 

"Aww, don't be like that, baby." 

She tenses up after realizing she let that pet name slip out at the end, but your smile only widens. 

"Say that again."

"Baby," she drawls in her signature sultry tone, stepping closer to you again. 

"Mmm, I could get used to that." You hum against her lips, pressing yours to them at the end of your statement. 

"Good, because there's more where that came from." 

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," she settles into your arms again, looking into your eyes with so much love you nearly swoon. "This is only the beginning for us."