#i mean i will be going to the second round of exams w her so i guess people from my course who do the first round can tell me

[ambreiiigns]

exam for the class that i Do like is gonna be three questions (Good i love questions bc i can't start a discussion on my own. and according to my bestie who already did these classes two years ago prof is really cool and Will settle for whatever as long as it's clear that i Get It and i do get it) and the exam for the class i do not care for will be three bits from the book (one of which i can choose) that i have to comment on. not sure what that means but i can definitively bullshit my way out of that 😎

[tobiramamonmari29]

outside perspective:

Inside a young couple's home, in the bedroom, a yawn broke through the tense silence.

On his double bed, the newlywed was rolling from side to side in the middle of a dream. he was the only one who still slept at those hours, while Kakuzu her husband seemed to have something to do, especially now that he had found a remote job, being able to work from home. A firm hand then knocked on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

kakuzu- Hidan, I made lunch, hurry up or it will be cold.

From their bed, Hidan responded with a nonsensical mumble that all one could understand was 'eat'. Letting out a long look, her husband walked away down the long hallway leading to their kitchens.

when the burly man finally rose from his bed, he let out a long cry of relief. The gray haired boy walked across the room naked, trying to fully wake up. Finally, he stopped in front of a large mirror.

Hidan- W-wow… is that me?

hidan almost didn't recognize himself in the mirror. Yes, he knew he'd put on a few pounds over the past few months, but until now he hadn't stopped to admire the real effect his life as a pampered husband had had on his body.

if there was anything left of the little boy he was when he was still single, it was buried under several inches of sausage, all over his body. honestly, it had been impossible to control her eating with the strains of her final college exams, so no wonder why her ass had been getting so plump lately.

holy Jashin, he had become so plump that none of his usual clothes fit him anymore, his belly had grown outwards into a beer pouch like he was a man of forty who only lived in bars to drink their pint, and over it had begun to developsoft male breasts.hidan scratched his neck under a second chin, he slid a hand to his waist under his stomach feeling how heavy he had become lately, mesmerized by the long wriggling of his own flesh, not only on his waist but all over his body , from her thick legs to her calves.it was amazing.

Another blow, less strong than the first, distracted him from the image on the mirror. Hidan picked up a bathrobe, struggling to tie it around his round waist, and cleared his throat.

Hidan- Come in, kaku, I'm up.

Kakuzu-Hidan, I brought your breakfast. don't you feel well my love? Kakuzu entered, leaving the loaded tray above a table. He's worried because I didn't come running to eat?

naturally, her husband's jaw dropped to the floor when he saw Hidan's new figure after his bathrobe was cracked on the side, this boy was huge, how in the world he had managed to put on so much weight. kakuzu, with a smile on his face, looked back from the middle of the room, fucking thighs. He hadn't really paid attention to Hidan's weight, now he regrets he would love to do things to him right now.

Kakuzu- damn, Hidan... how are you, my love? what happened to you ? I mean to your bathrobe finally no! Shit, I'm going to bleed my nose...

He walked over to his young husband, his eyes fixed on the boy's waist and the way the lace of the bathrobe was digging into it. shit, the tissue was so lucky, he would like to put his hands in it. Hidan swallowed the bacon her husband had brought her, cleaning his mouth with his sleeve.

Hidan- Hey… of course it's just a small problem, no need to worry it's just a piece of fabric. without you around, I've let myself go a bit…I guess now that working from home… Will it be better?

he blushed when he noticed that Kakuzu still had his eyes on her stomach, and even more so when the little lace that held up her robe suddenly gave way to the pressure of her swollen belly, exposing her limp hairless body to her husband.

Hidan- urgh…ups…

it was awkward for a few seconds that kakuzu didn't say, especially because Hidan kept stuffing his face with his huge breakfast until kakuzu took it away, then don't come back he couldn't take his eyes off the big belly nude of the boy, during the whole discussion. it was a problem he hadn't provided.

Kakuzu: And finally... we'll need to find you some new clothes, kid. But before that, you still need to be fed, a dessert won't hurt you.

All in all, Hidan will not necessarily need to lose weight. it seems that her husband is a real pervert and he really really likes it. Especially since he hadn't let go of his hands from his belly which he continued to caress obsessedly.

END.

[fenharel-apologist94]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you for the tag @transprincecaspian! I didn't want to overload the original post by @melisusthewee, but you should go check it out to not only see her lovely OC, Quinn, but also to see hopefully see who else is doing creative work in the DA community!

Annnndddd of course I'm working on Tea Leaves and Sweet Dreams ;w; What can I say, I am compelled by two nerds who are terrible at understanding emotions. and by procrastinating writing the second to last chapter of NADAF shhhhhhh

TLSD preview - Chapter 5: Honey Chamomile

Kieran mulled over this new information as they rounded down the last block to his apartment. 

“What compelled you to keep applying, if it was so difficult to get in?” He asked.

“I love studying the Fade.”

“It’s as simple as that?”

Solas inclined his head. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Wasn’t it hard to get rejected so often?” During his application process, Kieran had been anxious to the point of nausea at the thought of receiving just one rejection letter. 

“I won’t deny that it was, but not being able to pursue what I loved was even harder.” Solas’ gaze drifted ahead of them as he lost himself in thought. “There’s so much to learn about the Fade, and so few have ever truly done it justice. To play a role in developing that knowledge…I can think of no greater calling.”

From the conviction in his voice, Kieran had no doubt that Solas believed that to be true. Unconsciously, he muttered, “I envy that.” 

“I’m sorry?” Solas refocused on him, making him aware that he had spoken out loud. Shit.

“I-I mean, it’s amazing you’ve found something you’re so passionate about,” he stammered. He added honestly, “I can’t say I feel that way about anything myself.”

Several moments passed before Kieran realized that Solas had drawn to a halt. Confused as to what he had paused for, Kieran turned to face him. He regarded Kieran with the same expression as one would a complicated puzzle, his mouth pulled into a frown and his brows knit tightly together. The sun had fully vanished now, leaving the streets dark except the warm glow of street lamps. 

He had the distinct impression of being cornered, despite open, empty streets around them. An obscure feeling, small and fearful, tightened in the depths of Kieran’s gut.

“You do have a passion,” Solas said simply, as if declaring the weather. 

The feeling snapped, like a bowstring drawn too taunt. Keiran whirled back around and began walking again, this time quicker than before. He could hear Solas hastily following suit. 

“Kieran,” he tried again, “you do have a passion. I’ve seen it – when you talk about magic theory.” 

He knew his reaction was a bit much, but he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t even know why. Normally, he would just brush off such a statement. But for some reason, it was because of Solas. Kieran couldn’t get home fast enough. 

“That’s not a passion.” The word felt foul on his tongue. The ghost of memories flickered in the back of his mind, and he moved faster to banish them. “I have to care about magic theory because it’s part of my degree.”

“That’s not true.” Solas’ breath was coming out short in his efforts to keep up with Kieran. His own breath burned iron in his throat. They must be a sight, he thought, as they both rushed down the stone path. 

When Kieran didn’t slow down, Solas made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. Suddenly, Kieran was being turned around by a hand on his wrist. 

His heart leapt into his mouth. At first, all he could see were Solas’ eyes, their amber-gray depths alight with a curiosity that set his every nerve aflame. 

“If that were true, then explain to me why you came into the lab today,” Solas demanded. “You’re exhausted. You have midterm exams tomorrow. You could have been resting or studying and you still came to the lab.”

Kieran couldn’t help but flinch, and Solas’ grip on his wrist tightened. It wasn’t a hostile gesture — rather, it was grounding, if insistent. Conflicting emotions, both old and new, warred within the confines of Kieran’s chest. 

This is so dumb, he chided himself angrily. You should have just laughed this off like you always do. 

So why didn’t you? 

“I don't understand why you’re so avoidant about this,” Solas breathed. 

Kieran hunched inwards despite himself. The words slipped from the heart that sat heavily on his tongue before he could stop them. 

“Why would you? We barely know each other.” 

ALMOST FORGOT THE TAGS! I tag @nightmarist, @tsuraiwrites, and @theleadcinnabon if they'd like to share anything - always no pressure (and if you don't want to be tagged in things, let me know in a DM! :) )

[bsdtakanenohana]

Okay. Instead of writing about any of the things I said I was going to write about, I decided to do some detective🕵🏽‍♀️ work and search for wtf was going on with this character interview (because I do what my ADHD wants to do, sorry)

First off I couldn’t find anything confirming if it was Studio Bones or Asagiri writing it, but I’ve seen way more people (without sources, so bear in mind) say it was Asagiri than Studio Bones. Even then the majority of the fandom can be wrong but let’s go with the idea they’re right.

Secondly, this is the original text of the interview in question.

Third, these are the two variations of translations going around, the first one being what trusted fan translator @/popopretty said was more accurate. A different fan translator made the second.

I know this isn’t the most accurate way of doing things, but I used multiple translation sites online to see which one was correct. And popopretty is correct. Everything translated question two as saying “i can shape [marriage partner] to suit my tastes”. Not that he would shape himself.

Everyone on the twitter thread who was reading the mistranslation said it makes sense that that mistranslation (which they thought was real) was correct because the other one is ooc. Some cited Dazai in the anime saying “I like all kinds of women”. So I searched through Dazai’s Entrance Exam LN to see if he said the same thing there. And he did. (He also said a little more I might mention in another post). So the claim that him saying he would change a woman to be what he wants is ooc, not because he doesn’t manipulate people, but because he’s already stated he doesn’t have a type. And Entrance Exam Dazai is 20 and has barely joined the ADA. If anything, he should be saying something more along the lines of what the Dazai in the interview said. Which makes me want to believe fans are wrong and Bones was behind the interview. Because why would Asagiri so blatantly contradict himself? It’s also not as if he forgot how he originally characterized Dazai because so much was in his mind. This character interview came out in May 2016. Season one was being released at this time, the season that has Dazai say “I like all kinds of women”. You could say, “well if the animation company knew what Dazai should say too since it’s in season one, why didn’t they repeat it in the interview? It’s valid no matter who wrote it because of that.” I’ll have to point out that companies care less about the characters whose stories they’re adapting than fans (and of course the original author) so even if they know something blatantly contradicts what they’re saying they’ll say it anyways.

I was also interested in question 3. It made no sense in either translation. “I’ve never experienced it, so I don’t know” okay so he’s never experienced partner betrayal. “If it’s about ‘setting her up so she betrays me’ then I have though”. Okay how do you set someone else up to betray yourself, that wouldn’t be a betrayal because you manipulated them into acting that way? Also, you’re contradicting what you just said about not experiencing it. (I could go round and round w/ this lack of logic so let me stop here). Not to mention, that would mean he would have been in an exclusive relationship in order for it to happen, and even those who believe slutty Dazai is canon don’t think he’s ever been in an exclusive relationship. Second translation says, in the question “marriage partner”. Well that changes some things! Of course Dazai’s first part of his answer is going to say “i don’t have experience so I don’t know” because he’s never been married! “but if it’s me being ‘tempted into betraying’ then I have done such a thing” Wait you were tempted into betraying your marriage partner? But you’ve never been married! So I went to use the translators online again to figure it out.

First of all the translation that we deemed more correct for the second question is less correct for the third question. As seen in the original interview:

This phrase is used in both questions. This directly translates to “marriage partner”, not simply partner. So question three is talking about a wife the same as question two, which means there’s no way he could ever have experienced anything relating to someone betraying him or setting up someone to betray him since he’s never been married.

Also in some (but not all) online translators that I used it said “betray” was actually “cheat”. Even though it was only a couple of them saying that versus more saying it was plain betray, I think it makes more sense to ask this question about cheating rather than just general betrayal. Since all cheating would be a betrayal, but not all betrayal would be cheating and it gets kind of ambiguous as to what the heck is going on if you’re talking about general betrayals versus something very specific like cheating. Question one was also a specific question. Only question two was more general because it was asking about types. Based on the other characters responses, I think it makes more sense that it was referring to cheating. Now that we have that cleared up, we can try to make sense of the questions.

Translation 1– Q: “what would you do if your marriage partner cheated on you” A: “I’ve never experienced it so I don’t know” (makes sense) “ if it’s about ‘setting her up so she cheats on me’ then I have though” (uhh what? You’ve never been married)

Translation 2– A: “ I don’t have the experience so I don’t know. But if it’s me being ‘tempted into cheating’ then I have done such a thing.” How could you have been tempted into cheating on your marriage partner if you’ve never been married? It’s still isn’t making any sense, and when I was translating this on different websites, it was cutting it off after he said “tempted into betraying/cheating”/ “setting her up to betray me”. “Then I have though” and “then I have done such a thing” was not there at all. I don’t know where either of the fan translators were getting that from. But without that thing at the end, the sentence wasn’t complete.

So I went to the translator that I use for my fanfic titles. And this one, even though it too stopped when Dazai was talking in quotations, the rest of the sentence made sense and it was a finished sentence. Plus with the context that betraying is most likely referring to cheating, it really made sense.



Basically he’s saying he’s tempted someone who was married (to someone else) into cheating. Which makes sense considering we all know he flirts with women.

And I would say that this actually slightly supports my position that he has not slept around because he says he’s made people act in a way that would lead to them cheating, but they never actually did anything. Which means when he was flirting with woman he knew was married, which is still wrong, he didn’t even so much as kiss her. But if he was the womanizing type that doesn’t care about others/women (which one would have to be to be a womanizer) and we’re taking quotes at face value to justify this interpretation, then wouldn’t he have actually gone through with having them betray/cheat on their partner? Not just tempted? Even if it was only to kiss someone who was married if he didn’t want to get even more intimate with someone taken? I know it’s not much proof and it’s a little off-topic. I just thought I should mention it.

So in conclusion: he’s still a mysterious man when it comes to some of his motives, especially but not limited to whatever the heck is going on with him and women.

(ignoring the new episode)

So that quote from that character interview about Dazai saying his ideal marriage partner is “any woman because I can shape her to suit my tastes” has been “proven” to be a anime-only thing by Studio Bones

EDIT: I’m getting some people saying it was from Asagiri and now from what I can tell it actually was. But it was released to promote the anime so it was for anime onlys. Which puts us back at square one.

[blooming-violets]

I am full to the brim w tasm requests. so I will empty the contents of my brain below. Do with them what you will.

1: Peter teaches reader to skateboard with the good old hands on her hips/ holding her hands deliciousness.

2: Reader who struggles to sleep during the night when shes by herself has the best sleeps when she's napping with Peter during the day, she suggests that he stays the night so she can get a good sleep before an exam, this becomes a regular occurrence, friends to lovers plot ensues.

3: Reader discovers that Peter carrys round a photo of them together in his wallet and just MELTS

4: Some ANGST (kinda): reader is unwell and has been for a while, she is scared of her future and scared that peter will leave her so she doesn't tell him right away, he finds out anyway and is heartbroken for two reasons. 1: she is suffering and 2: she thinks he would leave her for a reason like that

5: More ANGST: Peter still talks about Gwen, alot. Reader feels like she will never live up to what Gwen was to Peter so she confronts Peter about it.

I HATE WHEN YOU PUT SO MUCH GOOD SHIT IN ONE ASK. How am I supposed to pick?!?

I'm feeling fluffy right now. I'm doing 1 and saving the others for my angsty nights.

[TASM!Peter Parker x Reader, flirty friends is what I would describe their relationship as, not quite at the dating stage but getting closer]

Peter teaches reader to skateboard with the good old hands on her hips/ holding her hands deliciousness.

You loitered around the skatepark with your camera in hand. It was golden hour and the lighting was perfect. The sun cast a warm glow over cold concrete and the clouds had turned a deep orange. You knelt down beside the half pipe and aimed your camera at Peter. You followed him with the lens until he launched off the other side, bending his legs and grabbing the board with his hand as he spun through the air. The sound of your shutter clicking away filled your ears. You immediately pulled the camera from your face once he landed to look at the results. You felt Peter jog up beside you as you flicked through the pictures.

"How did I look? Did I look cool?" He asked through breathless gasps.

You tiled the camera to show him your favorite picture so far. It was a silhouette of his lean body bent high in the air as he blocked out the sun rays. You were pleased with the clear focus you had managed to get and, with a little editing, the colors would really pop.

Peter leaned over your shoulder and studied the picture. You could smell the sweat and fresh air clinging to his black hoodie. The smell was familiar and intoxicating. It made you want to lean in closer and burry your face in his clothes.

Instead, you made a snarky comment back at him, "Nothing I could do would ever make you cool, Parker. You're a lost cause."

Your favorite of his goofy smiles spread across his face.

He nudged your shoulder with his, "Well, you really worked your magic then, because I look great. Let me try to take one of you next! Come on. We'll trade."

He tried to grab the camera out of your hand and shove his skateboard at you but you backed away.

"Are you serious?" You asked him with an incredulous look.

He laughed, "No, I'm Peter."

It took a second to process what he had said before you broke out into a groan, "Oh my god. Even your dad jokes are terrible. Remind me why I'm friends with you?"

"Because I'm the only one who'll talk to you," he said with a shrug.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, "I mean, you're right but you don't have to be so blunt about it. I have feelings, you know."

Peter threw his board on the ground and pointed to it, "Use your feelings and get on my board then."

"That doesn't even make sense," you mumbled under your breath.

You carefully placed you camera down on top of your bag and gave Peter a deadpan look before stepping onto the skateboard. Your foot immediately slipped out from under you causing him to have to leap forward to catch you before falling.

"I'm going to die," you stated mater-of-factly.

Peter chucked and nodded, his hands still wrapped around your waist to hold you up, "You're absolutely going to die. Do the half pipe next. It'll be hilarious."

"I hate you." You tried to step off but he held you firmly in place. "What are you doing?"

"I'm teaching you to skate!" He grinned at you. The sight made your heart melt. You were suddenly very aware of his hands on your waist. His pinky finger had slipped under the hem of your shirt when you moved and was brushing against your bare skin. You tried to repress the jolts of energy that were radiating through your skin. If learning to skate meant keeping Peter's hands on you then you'd be forced to entertain that idea.

"Okay, fine, but I'm not doing anything dangerous. I really should be wearing a helmet and pads. Actually, you should be wearing a helmet too. It's rather irresponsible of you. Maybe we should go buy a helmet first. You know, I think I saw a bike shop around the corner. I bet they have som-" You were cut short by the yelp bursting out your mouth as Peter suddenly started to roll you forward.

"Shut up," he ordered. "You're talking too much."

"You're an asshole."

He ignored you and nudged your foot with his, "Put one foot here and the other over here."

You copied his placement and already felt a little more steady. Still, you reached your hands out to place on his shoulders for more balance. "Now what?"

"I know you're too stubborn to actually learn anything so I'll just push you around."

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as he rolled you forward. The corners of your mouth tugged into a smile, “Look at me. I’m skating. Watch out, Tony Hawk. I’m coming for you.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. He took a step away from you and watched as you almost fell backwards but managed to catch yourself at the last second. “Yeah, I don’t think Tony Hawk has anything to be worried about.” 

He returned to your side and gripped firmly around your hips, picking up his pace as he pushed you to towards a ramp. You squeezed your eyes closed and fully prepared to fall but Peter easily managed to move his body with yours to push you to the top in a fluid motion. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Can we be done now?” You asked. 

“Sure. If you go down the other side of the funbox by yourself.”

“What the fuck is a funbox?” 

“It’s the thing you’re standing on top of, dummy.” Peter tapped his foot against the square platform the two of your were on. There two ramps on either side. Neither of the ramps were very steep but any incline to you felt like you’d be careening down the side of a mountain. 

You adamantly shook your head, “No way. Not by myself. Hold my hand.” You held out your hand for Peter to take. When he refused to accept the offer, you shook your hand and whined, “Peter! Take my hand.” 

He sighed and obliged. You realized you hadn’t ever really held hands with him before. You liked the way it felt as his long fingers wrapped protectively around yours. You took a deep breath and looked at the small hill in front of you. You were suddenly determined to do this. 

“Bend your knees,” Peter whispered. Something in his voice had changed. He sounded softer. You snuck a quick glance at him from under your lashes. There was a look on his face you hadn’t seen before. A longing. It made your stomach flutter. You did what he said and gave you knees a bend. “Good. Now lean forward. Just a little so the board will tip in that direction. I got you. I won’t let you fall.” 

It was the way he said it that made you believe him. He wouldn’t let you fall. It instilled a confidence in you. You took another deep breath and followed through. The board tipped forward, the angle of the ramp causing you to pick up speed, and you were off. Your hair blew back in the wind and you felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins. Peter ran beside you, his hand held firmly in yours, and his arm hovering behind your back, ready to catch you at a moments notice. You let out a thrilled laugh as he slowed you down to a stop. 

“I did it!” Your eyes were bright with pride and you beamed happily at him. 

He responded with equal enthusiasm and wrapped his arms around your waist to hoist you into the air, giving you a quick spin, and setting you safely down on the ground. He kept you close to him with his hands lingering on your sides. His eyes locked with yours and your smile slowly faded as you stared up at him. You weren’t sure why you were breathing so heavily but you were finding it hard to catch your breath. For a beautiful moment in time, you stayed locked in each others gaze like two magnets forever destined to be pulled together. A shift had happened. A change in the air. The way he was looking at you almost too much to handle. 

“What?” You whispered. 

“I-” Peter voice was so soft you could barely hear him. “I want...I want to-”

[arcanadreams]

That time you and your demon boyfriend went viral

hi yes hello obey me fandom!! my name is Gabbi and i have never played a single second of the actual game but i have read enough fanon content for the past year to have this idea swimming around in my head and now i am finally letting this accursed thing out of my brain and putting it in yours

also i’m only doing the brothers because any more than that and i’d have an aneurysm probably. oh and shoutout to @obeythebutler and @beels-burger-babe for inspiring me with their works to feel brave enough to write for this fandom

Lucifer:

You and Lucifer go viral on Asmo’s Devilgram story!

You’re in the kitchen helping Asmo with dinner duty and singing along to one of your playlists of human realm music that you like to show him.

Asmo starts filming your cute little dance while you stir the pot on the stove because you are just adorable!

About ten seconds into him filming, Lucifer appears in the doorway with quite the stern look on his face. You know, the one that comes right before a “MAMMOOOOOON” and strikes fear into the heart of all those with functioning eardrums. That one.

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell y’all to shut the fuck up, but then there’s a lull in the music and the eldest can hear your voice ever so slightly above the song’s vocalist and he freezes.

Man stops in his tracks like someone just smacked him in the face with a midair volleyball.

Asmo can be heard stifling a laugh behind his phone.

Lucifer’s face gets so soft and he almost, almost, loosens his metal-rod-through-the-ass posture before you notice him and give a little wave and ask if you and Asmo were being too loud like the considerate darling you are.

Lucifer clears and his throat and says something like, “No, you aren’t. I was just coming to check on how dinner is coming along,” and leaves, after which Asmo immediately presses the post button.

Screenshots of Lucifer’s heart eyes for you go absolutely viral because every demon on Devilgram goes absolutely feral for seeing the eldest demon brother lose his dignified composure. It becomes a meme template. “Get you someone who looks at you like Lucifer looks at MC” and “me at the delivery demon when he shows up with my spicy bat wings” posts become commonplace. (Asmo thinks the memes are totally worth getting strung up with Mammon for laughing at them.)

Mammon:

Much like Lucifer, you and Mammon end up going viral off Asmo’s Devilgram. (Noticing a pattern here?) 

He pulls a silly prank on your asses and honestly I don’t know how you fell for it. But hey, they say “idiots in love” for a reason, so...

You and Asmo are sitting in the common room of the House of Lamentation just chillin. Well, he’s chillin, you’re on the floor studying for an upcoming exam.

The video starts in the middle of a conversation you and the avatar of lust were having.

“No, Asmo,” you say. “Mammon and I don’t use pet names for each other.” Now that’s just a darn lie, and every demon and crow within ten miles of Mammon and you together knows it.

“Really? I find that very hard to believe, MC.~” 

You sigh in response to Asmo’s teasing. “Okay, he has a lot for me but I’m just not much of a pet name person, y’know?” The rest of the exchange goes like this:

“Oh, I totally get it.” *pause* “Hey MC, what do human world bees make again?”

“Honey.”

Cue a sheepish Mammon sticking his head in the doorway at the bluntness of your tone when you answered Asmo.

“Yeah, babe?” he looks like a puppy left on the side of a highway oh my god hUG HIM-

Asmo turns the camera back to his smug ass face and in the background you can be heard tripping on the damn carpet trying to get up and hug your mans. (”MAMMON GET OVER HERE SO I CAN HUG YOU” “W-WHAT? I THOUGHT YA WERE MAD AT ME?!?!?!?!”)

Leviathan:

Streamer Levi? Streamer Levi.

You guys go viral the first time you make an appearance on one of Levi’s weekly (insert cool Devildom streaming service name here) streams. 

It’s completely unintentional. You had been asking him for weeks to play with him on there, but he’s the avatar of envy after all. He doesn’t like sharing his partner, even if it’s with random strangers who have no real access to you.

However, he has his stream on a Thursday instead of a Friday one week, and you come into his room carrying dinner because 1) You didn’t realize he was streaming and 2) No matter what he was doing, the boy needed to eat. It wasn’t unusual for you to bring him dinner, so you had no idea why he was blushing and stammering even more than usual this time in particular. Boy was speaking in beached whale trying to tell you what was wrong.

Then you notice his screen. Oh! “Hi chat!” You wave, setting Levi’s food down on his desk in front of his keyboard. “M-MC!” He full-on whines, slamming a hand over his mouth afterwards when he remembers his viewers could hear that.

Honestly, they’d meme the fuck out of him if it weren’t for the fact that they are FINALLY SEEING HIS HENRY!!! THE MYSTERIOUS MC!!!

Chat is bombarding you with questions while you make Levi eat dinner. And by make him eat dinner, I mean literally feeding this man forkfuls/spoonfuls while he games because you love how flustered he gets when you do that. 

Does it impact his score? Absolutely. Does he care? Not really when you’re pampering him like that.

You start answering chat’s questions about you while he’s chewing so he can’t tell you to stop LMAO-

You’re a natural on stream. The VOD becomes the most popular on Levi’s account in a matter of hours and soon cute highlights compilations of you and him on that stream start making the rounds on Devildom Twitter.

Satan:

There was buildup to Satan going viral, similar to Levi in a way. 

Satan does have a Devilgram, but it’s basically a white woman’s Instagram with added book reviews for variety. Unless you’re a reader his account is pretty boring: candles, books, fireplaces, and cats.

However, after you two started reading together fairly often he began posting pictures of your legs draped over his while you sat together. They’d always be captioned with vague ass pretentious literary criticism. 

This goes on for months, and he gains a lot of (horny) followers after the leg pics start up. He doesn’t really get why but you both joke that it’s because you have some damn nice legs and I mean neither of you are complaining about the new following.

You two go viral when he finally shows your face, entirely by accident.

The post is a video, which is already strange for him and grabs attention. In it, you’re scoffing and reading an excerpt of a book, mocking its understanding of female anatomy.

“I’m quoting here, Satan: ‘her breasts bouncing around like giant pacmen.’ I’M SORRY?? THAT ISN’T HOW BOOBS WORK SIR. WHY ARE MEN ALLOWED TO WRITE?” 

(fun fact that is a very real quote from a very real book I really read last month pls save me)

Originally the camera is focused on your body, with your head out of frame to protect your privacy, but your righteous anger made Satan laugh. Like, a real laugh. The one that makes you and everyone in earshot wonder if he truly was never an angel cause he sure as hell laughs like one but anyway-

When he threw his head back, his DDD angled up just a tad without him noticing, and your face was in view for like .2 seconds. Screenshots of it are making the rounds on Devilgram almost immediately: FINALLY THE LEGS’ OWNER HAS BEEN FOUND.

Satan apologizes profusely but you honestly find it funny and you two opt to just start taking selfies while reading with both of your faces in them from now on. 

Asmodeus:

I’m gonna be real with you: you and Asmo go viral all the time. Pretty much everything Asmo posts can be considered viral because of his social media following and his status as one of the seven avatars of sin.

However, there are some fairly cute highlights to be pointed out among the times you were both featured in a post that blew up.

Your favorite is probably that time Asmo livestreamed on of you guys’ ‘Nail Nites,’ as you call them.

You’re both on the floor, doing your nails and kicking your feet back and forth while talking to chat. A lot of the questions are about your relationship, and there’s a lot of flirting back and forth between the two of you.

A particular clip of the stream does blow the fuck up on Devilgram, though, when someone screen records it and posts it with a bunch of heart emojis edited over it.

“’What colors do you think best describe each other?’ Ooo, that’s a good one, chat!” Asmo claps his hands together excitedly, making sure to be  careful of his nails.

Pretty much everyone expected you to say pink, but you surprised both your boyfriend and your viewers when, after a pensive few moments, you replied with “Hmm...probably yellow or orange.”

“Can I ask why, darling?” Asmo tilts his head in confusion. I mean, yeah, those colors look good on him, but he doesn’t wear them often so he’s wondering about your thought process. 

“Well, in the human world those colors often represent happiness, optimism, and positivity. You’re always the cheerful presence I need in my life when things get hard, so you have the vibe of those colors.”

Asmo proceeds to burst into tears and hug you, messing up both of your nails and prolonging the stream since you both have to start over. But neither of you particularly care. 

Fun fact: Asmo has the clip that demon made of that portion of the stream saved on his DDD and watches it whenever he feels sad.

Beelzebub:

Beel and you probably go the most viral out of everybody. Like this moment is an entire phenomenon across the Devildom internet. 

It’s a video, or well, multiple videos, taken at the end of a Fangol game that Beel’s team had just won. Everyone is cheering and going crazy, yourself included, and you just really wanted to congratulate your boyfriend.

So, like the rational person you are, you elect to climb up onto the railing of the bleachers and wave to get his attention. 

You were absolutely fine up there, and sat all comfortably motioning Beel over to you. He notices, of course, and jogs over, standing right beneath you and looking up. (Back where you were sitting, Mammon is screeching like a hyena in heat and Belphie, who is laying down, has one eye open to glare at him. The youngest knows Beel would never let you hurt yourself; you’re fine.)

A bunch of assorted demons at the game has started filming while you were sat atop the railing since you were rather noticeable. Therefore, there’s a shit ton of different angles of the adorable events that follow:

You slide off the railing, landing right in Beel’s waiting arms bridal style. You’ve got this brilliant smile on your face as you pull his helmet off. None of the DDDs filming can hear it over the crowd noise, but Beel asks you why you just went through all that trouble and you tell him it’s because you wanted to tell him how proud you are.

Soft boy’s chest puffs up and he smiles this big cheesy smile at you reach up to run a hand through his hair. You feel him practically purr at the contact, and with a laugh you pull him in and plant a big ole smooch on him.

The crowd, at least those of them that can see, scream. Everyone is running high on adrenaline and happy emotions; something that cute causes a ruckus!! When you pull away Beel proceeds to put you on his shoulders and you celebrate with him and the rest of his team.

The videos of you two being adorable go completely viral and there are some threads dedicated to stockpiling every single angle taken of the event. Beel is completely oblivious to the attention but you have a lot of them saved on your DDD.

Belphegor:

If you think Belphegor has any sort of social media presence whatsoever then you are sorely mistaken. (Well okay he actually does run some anonymous troll accounts to meme on Lucifer’s posts but that’s neither here nor there-)

Therefore, naturally, you two go viral off of Asmo’s Devilgram. 

Okay so someone in the obey me tag the other say headcanoned that Belphie will go out of his way to nap in ridiculous places and my brain really took that and RAN WITH IT.

So what happens is that Belphie will fall asleep in the fucking weirdest places. I’m talking on top of the fridge, underneath the dinner table, on top of bookshelves...you name it, he has slept there, no matter the effort it takes to get there in the first place. 

And, ever since you two started dating, you would join him. Sometimes it involved putting yourself at risk of great bodily harm, but the little smile he gave when you he saw you fucking scaling the countertop to reach him made it worth it.

So anyway, since Beel adores the both of you to no end, he takes pictures whenever he sees you two napping together, whether or not it is in a crazy place. He sends these to the family group chat because he thinks they’re adorable.

Over a span of weeks to months, Asmo has built up a stock of images of you and Belphie cuddles up in seemingly impossible places. Once he has about ten or so, he posts a compilation of them to his Devilgram with some cheesy ass caption like “The things we do for love <3″.

They become a meme SO QUICKLY. Like UNBELIEVABLY quickly. 

The picture of you and Belphie sleeping on top of a bookshelf, in particular, is a big hit. Memes abound.

“If my girl doesn’t climb up a bookshelf to cuddle my ass, she don’t love me.” “Get yourself a partner who scales bookshelves just to be with your ass.” Etc etc...Belphie doesn’t give a shit but you laugh at a lot of them so he sees that as a good outcome.

[xmint-conditionx]

tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (5)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START  / RREV / NEXT

Ms Iroi always tries to engage him in conversation whenever she comes in, asking questions and chatting to herself in a fruitless attempt at helping him recover his 'lost' memories. Most of the time, Kakashi is indifferent to her presence and always has a magazine handy as an excuse not to talk.

Today, Iroi is in a particularly good mood, humming to herself, greeting him with an energetic, “How are you doing today!”

Kakashi grunts a noncommittal response which doesn’t do much to discourage the woman’s good mood as she runs through a check-up routine.  

“You should try watching U.A’s sports festival tomorrow. I hear it’s going to be particularly spectacular this year,” she says as she pulls the blinds on Kakashi's window, blocking out the distant city lights. 

U.A? he recognises the name. Kakashi glances up over the pages of HERO!! MONTHLY BREAKDOWN. It is the third time he has read this issue.

“You know, since you like reading those hero magazines, I figured you would be interested in watching the ‘next generation of heroes’ debut,” she continues, noting his attention, “U.A always puts on a good show.”

Kakashi frowns. The problem with his amnesia cover story is that he is still trying to figure out what he can get away with not remembering. So far the doctor’s seem content to chalk up the disappearance of his long term memories to a ‘quirk’ accident but were always more concerned when he failed to recall basic factual information. Something to do with different parts of the brain being responsible for different types of information.

 “Watch how?” He settles on asking. U.A. was supposed to be a hero-training academy so whatever this ‘sports festival’ was was worth checking out. 

“Oh,” Iori pauses to think, “I, ah, think channel 2 with be covering it?” she hesitates, “You know what. I’ll look it up and let you know later. Sorry, I can’t carry my phone around with me while on shift.”

“Thank you.” He smiles and makes a show of returning to his magazine to dissuade further conversation.

Later the same evening, just before the end of the evening shift, Iori pokes her head into his room again. She is out of uniform, long hair untired, waving to catch his attention.

“The coverage is on channel 2 and starts at 11am,” She holds up her portable communication devise like it means something.  It probably did mean something. The frequency by which people checked them suggested it had a function beyond basic communication. He has held off attempting to steal one because, unlike pens, people would notice and care if one went missing.  

“Have fun watching! Oh… also, I forgot to ask…”

Kakashi raises a brow.

“I have a bunch of old gossip magazines. Mum used to read them all the time and there are a few hero-themed ones in the mix. I can bring them in if you want more stuff to read.” 

“If you want.” Iori must have noticed him re-reading the magazines. 

"I'll bring them on Friday!"

Iori had been unsubtly hinting that Kakashi might have had a history in heroics. It definitely wasn’t because reading information on a page just made sense when compared to the barrage of conflicting reports the television gave him. A few weeks with only the television as his information source has him writing off most of its information as useless or propaganda.  

…

...

“HEELLLOOOOO, LISTENERS!”

Kakashi stares dully as the video footage, which had been giving him a bird’s eye view of a positively massive stadium, changes to a sweeping shot of what must be thousands of people crammed into seats. It almost makes him claustrophobic just watching it.

“WELLCOME TO OUR ANNUAL U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL! THE HIGH SCHOOL ADOLESCENT RODEO YOU ALL LOVE TO WATCH. CAN A GET A ‘OH YEAH!’”

As if of one mind, thousands of people leap to their feet screaming. The camera angle changes again to show a grinning blond-haired man, seated at a desk and pointing enthusiastically at the camera. All these shot changes are going to give him a headache. Kakashi is already having reservations watching this and its only10 minutes.

“Thank you! You’re an AMAZING audience!”

 It almost reminds him of the final Chunin Exam stages -if the Chunin exams had had three times the audience - which always involved some sort of combat display.  There hadn’t been any public Chunin Exams recently for reasons such as a large portion of Konoha being flattened by Pein.

“FIRST UP ARE OUR FIRST-YEAR EVENTS! And what an exciting round of events they are, perfect for debuting our newest students! Give us a shout so they can feel your support!”

Another loud shot as thousands of people yelled in unison.

“Come on! Louder than that! These are your future Heroes I’m talking about! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!”

More yelling. Kakashi turns down the volume.

“But! Wait just a minute!! We're not only here for our Hero students! As I'm sure you all know, behind every great hero is a hardworking support team! GIVE IT UP FOR our Support, Management and General departments who are also competing for a chance to face off in the finals!”

Kakashi sighs. He is getting the sense that this might be more for entertainment than utility purposes, conforming to the general trend of Hero-related stuff being flashy. Different from the Chunin exam which had deadly consequences if not taken seriously.

“Hey. Hey! HERE THEY COME NOW! OUR STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE FIRST YEAR STAGE!”

What follows is an overly dramatized race where the only thing of interest to him are the obstacle types, including robots, - mobile mechanical weapons of some sort that produced a lot of environmental damage but were taken down fairly easily- and explosive devices that acted a lot like explosive tags. Then there was a team elimination round and one-on-one tournament fights after which the coverage shifts to the second year and third year stages.

He uncovers the sharingun only to discover that, while its memorisation function worked fine, the part that translated the movements into muscle memory felt off. Perhaps, the replication and copying component of the eye didn’t work when viewing a technique through a screen rather than in person. Interesting. As there wasn't anything particularly impressive technique-wise during the events he counts the new information as a net gain. 

The student-heroes – he is not sure if there is an official term for a hero in training – barely match Konoha’s academy standard in their taijutsu and physical conditioning though there was marked improvement between first, second and third-year groups. These students were what...between 14-18 years old...and yet most had the skill level of an academy  students and fresh genuin with only a few notable exceptions?

Sure, there were - honestly ridiculous- versatile and powerful bloodline abilities being thrown around like nothing, but ninjutsu techniques only took a shinobi so far without a strong base to work from. He shakes his head, reminding himself that these kids - because what else did you call combatants who hadn’t graduated yet- weren’t shinobi in training and would be policing civilians and engaging ‘Villains’ of similar skill levels. It was obvious that the students favoured non-lethal takedown methods and put little to no thought into stealth and misdirection during fights. 

Different words…different priorities. 

As Kakashi has yet to see any evidence that the country, Japan, was at war with another he thinks the skill level displayed might be serviceable. There were also no major conflicts between the country’s large cities over farmland, water sources and the like. Obviously, this place had sorted out the resource and distribution issues usually encountered when supporting such large populations. Or, who knows, maybe everything on the television was a carefully constructed lie to lull people into complacency.

Now he has seen an example of hero-students, he better understands the low combat ability demonstrated by the police. It also gives incite into the blurry recordings of Hero/Villain confrontations which played on repeat across the various ‘news’ reports. They all tended to hover around Chunin or maybe Special Jounin in terms of skill. He knows generalisations are dangerous so, until he saw the combat in person, he would exercise his usual level of caution. There were bound to be outliers after all-the impressive brute strength of the number one hero comes to mind- and there was no telling what advantages a bloodline ability might provide. Absently, he makes testing the susceptibly of people without chakra to genjustu as something to figure out sooner rather than later.

He sighs. This is why he hated the television. Whenever he watched it, he came away increasingly confused, with more questions than he had answers. Not to mention anything useful being constantly interrupted with information detailing one of the many products that he could apparently buy here. It irritated him to no end. 

...

...

The chakra collecting seal is ready before the week is out. Mostly ready...it was ready enough.

Kakashi returns to the roof. Sitting cross-legged, back against the stairway entrance, he works his way through the 100 or so pens, cracking them open and tapping out ink into a large bowl, stolen -like the pens -from hospital staff.

The mix of black, blue and red ink is gluggy, forcing him to add water to thin the solution out. Once satisfied he pulls out an appropriated scalpel – one of a growing collection hidden alongside his pens because having a stash of weapons is never a bad thing- pricking his middle finger, watching the blood drip and curdle with the mixture. The blood would be absorbed into the ink, allowing it to conduct chakra. He mixes everything with pair of disposable chopsticks, taking care not to spill it on the ground or stain his hands.

The whole process reminds him of other insistences where he had improvised fuinjutsu ink in the field. The last time being during his final Anbu missions where he had created a body storage scroll from scratch after unexpectedly losing a squad mate on what should have been a simple intel retrieval mission. Not a particularly fond memory but a memory he was stuck with.

Since his demotion to Jonin-sensei there had been fewer of those sorts of missions. Not that being a Jonin-sensei had been easy – considering all his students had gone off to find other teachers he didn't even think he had been particularly good at it - bringing with it its own special brand of stress, culminating in a stint as Hokage, a fourth war and him stuck here. He is pretty sure his experiences aren't universal. Team 7 was just cursed to fail in increasingly spectacular ways.

He lets out a heavy sigh, leaving his airways open to a sudden gust of cold wind which carries the scent of cleaning chemicals from the hospital and oil from the road straight up his nose. He exhales forcefully and mentally bumps finding a face mask up his list of priorities. It would be good for hiding his features and dulling the artificial smells of a city housing over a million people.

The sound of wind whistling around the building almost blocks out the echo of feet in the stairway, approaching his location. In one smooth motion, Kakashi stands pushing the remaining broken pen back into the vent, nudging the cover back in place with his foot. Carefully he holds the bowl of ink in his injured arm and a scalpel in the other. Kakashi steps back against the entrance so the outward opening door would hide him from whoever came out.

A crying kid comes barrelling through the door.

Well, not completely crying, more like sniffing loudly, eyes all shiny. He even recognises the kid from the U.A combat demonstration, as improbable as that was. It is the first year hero student with the speed-enhancing ability which, seeing him up close, probably had something to do with the strange growths coming out of his caff muscles. High speed movement put enormous strain on the body so he could reasonably conclude that the kid was physically resilient to acceleration stress and similar forces. Not resilient to stabbing though....

Kakashi forces himself to relax, his scalpel lowering ever so slightly. Lucky he had heard the kid coming or he might have accidentally hurt him. A few weeks of reduced sleep coupled with a lot of time to ruminate on past missions and failures has put him on edge. This was exactly why he disliked taking extended breaks. 

Maybe, Kakashi should start relocking the stairway if he was planning to make regular trips up here because the young male probably hadn’t had the roof in mind as a destination. Kakashi knows from experience that, unless you were injured or a member of staff, there were few good reasons to wander around a hospital at odd hours.

With the hero-student distracted sniffling into his arm, Kakashi slips around the door and back down the stairs. He hadn’t planned on applying the seal on the roof anyway. Too exposed to the elements and the concrete was too rough for the delicate line work.

He continues mixing while he walks, having mentally mapped the hospital well enough to know which hallways to use and which to avoid. There is a surgeon with some sort of heat-sensing vision who works late most nights that he must be careful around and a nurse with a weak proximity based empathic ability working in paediatrics. Both obstacles force him to take a meandering detour on his way to the ground floor and  the larger shower blocks which housed  cubicles the size of small rooms. Enough smooth floorspace for the expanded seal design and easy to clean afterwards. He supposes he is lucky, some complicated fuinjutsu required several meters worth of floor space. The containment on Saskue’s cursed seal comes to mind and he is glad that this seal is infinity smaller.

Not one to waste time knowing that nurses and patients regularly used the space even this late in the evening, he immediately slips into a cubicle upon arrival. Flopping onto the floor he pulls out the paintbrush he had had scour the hospital for and eventually to steal from the children’s ward. Carefully, he begins the slow process of application.

…

…

The final seal design is circular, about the size of his splayed hand, positioned on his uninjured shoulder just above where his Anbu seal had previously sat. The sleepwear provided by the hospital had sleeves that extend just past his bicep. It hid the design, for the most part. The final visible seal is a bit bigger than he had predicted or planned for. If this were a proper infiltration mission, where blowing his cover came at the price of death, he would be in big trouble. If this were a proper mission, he would have waited before applying this. An unnecessary risk. He itches the back of his head, turning from where he is craning his neck to see the seal, gathering up his supplies to be thrown in one of the hospital’s many rubbish bins. Kakashi lets out a breath. Maybe, this whole ‘trapped in a different world’ thing is affecting him more than he was willing to admit and making him sloppy.

He pulls down the sleeve so it mostly hides the design. Not like the doctors here would recognise the significance of fuinjutsu, he reminds himself, even if their questions would be annoying to deflect.

He pumps chakra into the seal and a jolt akin to lightning runs down his limb. It activates without issue and Kakashi grimaces as his chakra is slowly drained and collected. The rate of the drain is pathetically slow. Three years too slow. But, between this and his sharingan - which was always active and draining chakra- he can’t risk making it quicker. Despite the relatively low-level threats around him, Kakashi is, first and foremost, a Jonin in an unknown territory who is already taking risks simply making and applying the seal. He can’t afford to impair himself with poor chakra management on top of everything else.

Kakashi pops his head out of the cubical, scanning the shower block. Nothing of note has changed and he darts out, intent on returning to his room. He is tired and it would be a long, tiresome week as his body adjusted to the strain as well.

NEXT  

[babyloposts]

“It’s Not Safe”

OneShot

Warnings: angst, mild language, violence, references to non-con acts, unresolved ending

Pairing: Azumane Asahi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.2k+

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Head Canon: none

Summary: The only thing worse than arguing with a s/o is being ignored by one. After a big argument about the future of Y/N and Asahi’s relationship, Asahi chooses to ignore the problem instead of talking it out. As a result Y/N takes the situation into her own hands, but it comes at a cost. -in which Azumane Asahi has to make a tough decision to secure a future together-

A/N: This one made me soft. Kind of out of my comfort zone, but I hope you like it. If you like my writing send me a request or a prompt and check out my other work. Thanks guys ;)

Y/N couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t Asahi.

The argument they had earlier played over and over inside Y/N’s brain. Why couldn’t Asahi just be reasonable. Of course she wanted to continue their relationship after high school, but it wouldn’t be that simple.

Y/N’s choice to study abroad was not an easy one to make, but she had to follow her dreams no matter what. She just wished that Asahi wasn’t so upset when he found out.

-

“What do you mean you’re leaving? W-we just took entrance exams last week. I thought you were going to a college in Japan.”

“That was the plan originally, but I got a scholarship to study in the US. I’d be crazy if I didn’t take this opportunity.” Y/N tried to explain to a clearly hurt Asahi. He sucked at hiding his emotions even when he tried to his hardest to mask his feelings. She reached for his hand, and took it hesitantly.

“You’d be crazy for staying here with me?” He mumbled. Y/N’s head dropped to look at the ground. She couldn’t face those sad eyes. It was enough to make her want to stay.

“We can make long distance work, can’t we?” It was less of a question and more of a desperate plead. She didn’t want to lose Asahi, but Y/N had to think about her future first. Asahi dropped his hand from her grip and put some distance between them.

“I guess you’ve already made up your mind then. Don’t let me stand in your way.” Asahi brushed by her almost fast enough that Y/N couldn’t attempt to stop him.

“Asahi please. Can we talk about this more.” Tears clouded the girl’s line of vision and she clung dearly to Asahi’s strong arm. She feared letting go meant the end and she wasn’t ready for that. There was still time to work through it.

Asahi sighed. He hated himself for not being strong enough to keep Y/N. He hated himself for giving up so easily, for being such a coward. But, there was nothing more he could say.

“You don’t have to say anything else.” Asahi maneuvered his arm out of her grasp and faced her one last time. “I know you’ll do great, Y/N. I’ll always believe in you.” He gave her a gentle head pat. It was a sign of affection they used often when in public. Usually it was loving and reassuring, but to Y/N it felt solemn.

There was nothing more to do other than to watch Asahi walk away from her. Tears brimming over her eyelids and staining her cheeks. Would this really be the last time she ever saw him?

Y/N replayed earlier’s events in her mind more times than she could possibly count and each time her ducts gave in and the tears started flowing. All she wanted was to talk to Asahi so they could still be on good terms. Even if he wanted to break up she still wanted to keep in touch with him. They were best friends after all and ending a two year relationship like this... Y/N couldn’t let that happen.

She tried calling, texting nothing worked. Asahi wouldn’t pick up his phone no matter how much Y/N blew him up. She felt defeated. He didn’t want to talk to her, she thought. Even though she was discouraged, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time. She would no longer be complacent. She was going to get what she wanted without a second thought about it. She was going to the Azumane residence.

-

The street was quiet and dark. It was a bit ominous as well. Dark corners and lone street lights cast unsettling shadows onto the houses along the road. Y/N reassured herself that she was being ridiculous and was perfectly fine to walk down the street she’d been on countless times before.

The route was clear in her head, but everything always looked different at night. It seemed the surrounding area was completely different. Did she get lost somewhere along the way? Did she take a left at the street sign, when she really meant to take a right? Y/N didn’t know everything felt so foreign to her now.

As she neared a somewhat familiar street corner a shiver shot through her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at full attention. Her eyes darted all around her checking for anyone who might’ve been following her. The street was empty, but she could’ve sworn she heard someone.

“Hello?” Y/N called out into the dark street, only hearing the echo of her voice in response. She flipped her hood on and began to take off in a direction that was familiar. As she rounded the corner onto Asahi’s street a tight grip on her forearm pulled her into the darkness of an abandoned alleyway.

“Wha-!” She screamed but was quickly silenced by a hand slapping over her lips.

“Calm down girlie. We’re not gonna hurt ya.” A gruff voice rasped next to her ear. “We just need you to empty your pockets without disturbing the residents, okay?” Another man had Y/N’s hands held firmly above her head while the other kept her quiet and flashed a pocket knife in her face.

In a panic, Y/N began kicking wiggling and screaming with all of her might. She was able to get her hands free, but unfortunately wasn’t fast enough to get into the safety of someone’s house.

The muggers had recaptured Y/N just as fast as she escaped with her now pinned on the floor a knee perched on her sternum and the knife pressed against her cheek.

“Please, stop! I- I can’t breathe.” Y/N choked out.

“Do you think this is a game little girl? We could have done this the easy way, but now we’re gonna take what we want by force and have a little fun while we’re at it.” The partner agreed and took the knife to keep her in place as the man searched Y/N’s pockets.

“No! Stop!” She cried out as they began searching inside of her shirt and her leggings. Y/N prayed to any God that was listening to get her out of this situation. If only she had stayed home, she wouldn’t have come across these creeps.

“Shut up, before I cut up your pretty face.” The man holding the knife pressed it up against her cheek, breaking the skin.

“No please. I’m sorry, I have no money. Please don’t hurt me.” A hand muffled Y/N’s cries once again. She struggled as much as she could, but it was no use. All she could will herself to do was cry and wait for the suffering to be over.

As Y/N felt a calloused finger slip down her torso and closer to her legs, suddenly a great weight had fallen upon her.

“Fuck!” The man on top of her cried out. Y/N’s eyes widened and she saw the other man get knocked out beside her. She couldn’t help, but let out a scream. She stopped herself when the weight was lifted from her torso and she was raised from the ground. When her vision finally cleared she saw it. No she saw him. Asahi with a baseball bat, dragging her towards his house.

“Y/N, just keep running okay?” An exasperated voice blessed the girl’s ears. Her feet were moving on their own, she was in pure shock.

“A-Asahi?” Her voice broke out into a whimper. He looked back at Y/N only for a moment, but in that moment she could see all the anger and fear that was displayed on Asahi’s face.

“We’re almost there.” Asahi continued to drag her along until they were safely inside the walls of his home. Y/N fell to the ground as he pushed her inside and she struggled to catch her breath. What just happened?

Asahi checked the windows, closed the blinds, and locked the door before turning to her. He was panting, sweaty, and shirtless. His face was unreadable. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“Asahi I...” she tried to find the words to say anything, but to break the tension, but her brain was empty. No words or sentence to be found.

Asahi shuddered. Without thinking twice he threw her over his shoulder and carried her up to his bedroom. Y/N was placed softly on the plush comforter of Asahi’s bed. She watched him as he let out the deepest of sighs before stepping out of the bedroom and down the hall.

He returned in about a minute with a damp wash cloth that he pressed to her cheek. His face was so close to hers. In just the few hours that they’d been apart, Y/N had already grown to miss his face. Without thinking she reached out and grazed her fingers lightly along his jaw. Asahi shuddered and pulled away quickly.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide and her lips parted slightly. “Asahi... I-I’m sorry-”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Asahi’s gaze fell to her shoes that were stained with mud.

“I wanted to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?” His voice rose slightly, but no malice was laced in his tone.

“I don’t like how we ended things Asahi. We need to talk.” For what felt like the millionth time today, Y/N’s eyes began to water.

Asahi sighed. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having at least not right now. “Y/N... right now I’m just worried about you being safe.” He pressed the cold rag back to her face. “Are you... okay?” Obviously she wasn’t okay. She had just gone through something traumatic, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

All Y/N did was shake her head. With that Asahi wrapped his arms around her and it was his turn to let some tears spill. “Did they touch you?” He choked out.

“N-no.” Y/N whispered. “Not like, that.” Asahi held her close to him. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but he had to talk eventually and if he didn’t do it now, he wouldn’t know when he’d get the courage to do so. He let go of Y/N’s torso and looked into her eyes.

Y/N could see a plethora of emotion in his hazel irises. He was sad, scared, angry, serious, loving all mixed in one. The intensity of his gaze terrified and comforted her at once.

“You can’t... you can’t do that. Why would you scare me like that Y/N?”

“I just wanted to talk to you. I was so sad about earlier and-”

“It’s not safe! It’s not safe for you to be walking around late at night in this neighborhood. You’re too frail and you’re lucky I was out on a run. What if I wasn’t there? They could have seriously hurt you, or killed you, or-”

“I know. I know, but you were ignoring me.” She whimpered. Being lectured by him was worse than she could have ever imagined, but even so at least she knew he cared. At least he was being honest and not shutting her out like before.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you, but talking to you... seeing you and knowing that I can’t have you hurt me. And I can’t stand to hear you say you don’t want to be with me anymore.” Asahi averted his eyes from her gaze. His new found courage quickly dissipated after his confession. “Never mind. It’s dumb. I’m dumb.”

“No. Baby you’re not dumb. Of course I want to be with you. I love you and I just wanted you to talk to me. This is all I’ve wanted the whole time.” Y/N grabbed Asahi’s face in her hands. Their eyes were fixated on each other’s gaze, not breaking the contact for even a second. The couple had never felt closer than they are now.

Still Asahi had that twinge of fear in the bottom of his gut. “I’m not ready.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N’s head cocked to the side and her gaze softened.

“I’m not ready to talk about you leaving it still hurts too much. Can we just wait til the morning?” Asahi knew that wasn’t what she wanted, but he was going to allow himself to be selfish for once. He always put her needs above his own, but this time, she’d wait for him.

Asahi’s eyes were pleading and she could do nothing but nod her head. “Sure. We’ll talk in the morning.” Asahi’s forehead rested against hers as the two embraced. Asahi picked Y/N up by her waist and laid her down on the bed. He pulled the oversized sweatshirt he gave her over her head and pulled off her shoes and her tattered leggings leaving her in just a tank top and panties.

“Thanks.” She whispered. She crawled underneath the sheets taking a deep breath. It was the first time since before their argument that she had felt any sort of relaxation or comfort.

“I’m going to go shower really quick.”

“No stay with me.” Y/N grabbed his hand as quickly as she could pulling him back down to the bed.

“But, I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care. I’ll change your sheets in the morning, just please don’t leave me Asahi.” He nodded and kicked off his sweatpants. He slipped in next to Y/N and wrapped his arms around her. The two were comfortable in their embrace and she relaxed in the warmth of his body.

“Tomorrow.” Y/N whispered soundly.

“Tomorrow.” Asahi agreed.

[aalissy]

Game Night

Day 3 is done! This does contain spoilers for Truth so if you haven’t seen that episode yet please do before reading this!! That being said I need more reveals like this hehe. Anywho, I hope you enjoy <3 <3

AO3

About to enter her first class of the day, Marinette was paused in her tracks by an arm yanking on hers. She let out a startled yelp as she was dragged away from the classroom door before she turned around and met the wide eyes of Alya. With a small scowl, Marinette rubbed on her arm after her best friend let her go. Giving a small huff, she pouted, “What was that for? For the first time ever I’m on time to class and now we’re going to be late!”

“I need to speak to you,” her friend said urgently, a look of regret entering into her hazel eyes.

Marinette nodded quickly, “Ok. Is something wrong?”

“Kind of,” Alya ran a hand through her hair frustratedly, “I know we haven’t been able to hang out as much because you’ve been busy with the bakery and homework. I mean, that’s why we set up the games night later because you, me, Adrien, and Nino are all finally free today.”

“Oh no,” she sighed quietly, “Can you guys not make it?”

Alya glanced away before meeting Marinette’s gaze once again, “Well, here’s the thing... Nino and I can’t come because I suddenly got swamped with babysitting the twins and he got grounded after we got our exams back. But, Adrien’s still free.”

“I don’t know, Alya,” Marinette murmured, her eyes glancing down at the floor as she nibbled on her lip, “It’s not going to be as much fun without you and Nino and I still have a lot of work to catch up on anyway. Don’t you think I should just cancel and reschedule for a different time?”

“No way, girl!” She spoke decisively, “You’re almost never free and you’ve been absent from all of our recent meetings! You need to have some relaxation time.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably, “But it would be just me and Adrien. You know I’m still working on just being his friend and Luka and I broke up not that long ago.”

“Which is why you should totally do this!” Alya gave her a wide smile, reaching out to squeeze her shoulders tightly, “Prove to yourself that you really can be a great friend to him. And besides, it’s not like you and Adrien have never played video games together alone before.”

She giggled, shaking her head amusedly at her friend, “Alright, I’ll do it. But only because you’re right. I really do need to spend some time with friends. I swear I’m going to die from stress alone.”

“I don’t know how you do it girl,” Alya bumped her shoulder with hers playfully as they began to walk back to their classroom.

“Me neither,” Marinette sighed quietly to herself. Sliding into her seat, however, she turned back to Alya, “We are definitely going to need to find another time where it can be all four of us though.”

Alya nodded her head quickly, “Oh, of course! I’ve finally learned a few tricks in Ultimate Mecha Strike III that I think might let me win a few rounds against you.”

“Psh, good luck with that!” Marinette snickered quietly to herself before their teacher entered the classroom and began her lesson.

Listening to her lectures that day was a lot more difficult. Half of her thoughts were still stuck on whether or not she would be able to handle acting like she was just a friend to Adrien. The other half of her thoughts were plotting. Where she’d go if there was an akuma attack, how she was going to keep the miracle box away from Adrien’s sight, and how to keep the kwamis quiet during their playthroughs.

Marinette still scribbled down notes, of course, but every so often she would glance out the window during her lectures, certain that there would be another akuma attack to ruin her day. Her leg jostled restlessly throughout the entire day, hoping that Hawkmoth would send it before her game night with Adrien.

No akuma came, however, and Marinette was left to sigh silently to herself as she trudged out of the classroom, positive that Hawkmoth was just delaying the inevitable. The warm sunlight that beamed down upon her face when she stepped outside didn’t do much to lighten her mood. She was about to begin her walk to the bakery when a hand touched her shoulder.

With a startled yelp, Marinette whirled around, meeting the wide, green, sheepish eyes of Adrien Agreste. He gave her a crooked smile before rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry, Marinette. I couldn’t help but notice though that you looked down. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” She panted out, a hand on her chest as she attempted to calm her racing heart rate. Feeling awkward, she tugged on her backpack straps, “W-well, I mean, I am kind of upset that Nino and Alya can’t make our games night. Did you hear?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Nino told me, and actually that’s what I came over to talk to you about.”

Marinette felt a relieved smile form on her face. He was going to cancel too, wasn’t he? Good, that meant she could spend more time preparing for Hawkmoth’s akuma. She ignored the brush of disappointment that she felt over yet another missed opportunity to spend time with friends and opened her mouth to tell him she was fine with him canceling.

He stopped her before she could, though, beaming down excitedly at her, “Do you mind if I go home first and drop my stuff off before meeting you at the bakery?”

Oh. Marinette blinked a few times. He wasn’t canceling on her. Happiness filled her as a small smile formed on her face. Hawkmoth and her duties as Ladybug could wait for one afternoon then. Alya was right, she really needed a night out with friends.

Her smile grew wider and more teasing as she nodded, “Of course not, Adrien. Take all the time you need before you come over and get absolutely destroyed.”

“Hey!” he said mock-offendedly, “I’ll have you know that I’ve gotten a lot better since the last time we played against each other. Who knows, I might even surprise you.”

Adrien gave her a playful wink and she quickly shoved down the flurry of butterflies she felt begin to swirl around her stomach. No! They were friends. Just friends.

“Good luck then,” Marinette laughed, “I’m looking forward to those new tricks you have up your sleeve.”

Adrien chuckled with her before giving her a quick wave, “See you soon then, Marinette.”

“See you soon, Adrien,” she gave a small nod, the beginnings of a dreamy smile forming on her lips before she pursed them, scolding herself internally. Turning around, she began to head towards the bakery. As she got farther and farther away from him, though, Marinette began to sink deeper into her thoughts once again. Unable to stop herself, she looked around for any signs of a familiar, black butterfly.

Funny how Chat and Adrien were the only two who could manage to take her mind off of everything. Looking behind her, Marinette managed to catch a glimpse of the black limo slowly pulling away from the school. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm herself down as anxiety and stress ate away at her.

I can do this, she thought to herself, I have a plan and I’m ready for anything Hawkmoth sends my way. With those last determined thoughts, Marinette turned decisively back to the bakery and continued her trek home.

Saying hello to her parents when she finally arrived, she quickly made her way to her room. Once there, she ran over to where she hid the Miracle Box, checking to make certain that it was still hidden. Breathing out a sigh of relief when it was, Marinette collapsed into her desk chair. She sent a small, lonely glance at the other three chairs that she had set up earlier this morning. Pushing herself up, she began slowly moving two of them out of the way.

“Next time,” she murmured to herself before standing up straight with a long stretch. Marinette yawned quietly as she looked outside her window anxiously. She’d know if an akuma began to attack Paris, right? I mean, there was no way she’d get too swept up in her night with Adrien that she’d miss an akuma attack.

Nibbling on her lip, her thoughts strayed even further. What if she did make it to the battle too late? What if one day she wasn’t there and Chat got hurt. Marinette’s lip wobbled as a lump settled in her throat. This was such a bad idea! What had she been thinking?! She didn’t have time to goof off. There was only Ladybug and saving Paris.

Her eyes shot over to the hidden Miracle Box before a voice shouted close to her ear, “Boo!”

Jumping into the air, Marinette yelped for the third time that day. Forgetting where she was, she reached behind her, grabbing onto something before throwing it over her shoulder with all her strength. Her blue eyes widened as she saw everything happen in slow motion. It was Adrien whom she just threw over her shoulder.

In that split second where he was falling, however, Marinette would have sworn that she saw another familiar, blonde boy flying through the air. Instinctively, she reached for the yo-yo at her side, only for her hand to wrap around nothing. Instead, she could do nothing to stop Adrien’s crash as he hit the ground. Wincing as she heard him groan quietly, Marinette quickly rushed over to him.

All of her previous fears and anxiety were completely gone as she peered down at him in worry. A stunned look was in his emerald green eyes as he looked up at her. Crouching down, she spoke panickedly as she looked for any broken bones, “Oh my god, Adrien are you alright?! Did I hurt you?!”

“No,” he wheezed out, “Besides, it was my fault for scaring you.”

Marinette leaned back as he slowly began to sit up. She examined his face and body worriedly as she gnawed on her lower lip, “A-are you sure? That was a pretty nasty fall.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his head as he chuckled lightly, “Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m getting used to it now.”

They both froze, blinking at each other slowly. Neither spoke as they sat in a tense silence. Surely not, Marinette thought to herself as her brow furrowed. Attempting to brush off the tension that had suddenly entered the small room, she stood up. Brushing herself off, she offered a hand down to Adrien, “I-I’m still really sorry about that, Adrien. I-I didn’t mean to throw you at all, I just didn’t notice you come in.”

Instead of taking her hand, he continued to stare up at her for a few seconds, a small furrow between his eyebrows as he looked up at her. It was only when she managed to tear her eyes away from his piercing gaze, shifting uncomfortably that Adrien took her hand, using it to pull himself up.

With a small gulp, Marinette looked back towards him. He was smiling and relief filled her as she realized she hadn’t completely broken him. Giving him a small grin back, she motioned her head towards her computer, “D-do you want to play now or should I see if I can get you some painkillers.”

“No, I’m fine,” Adrien shook his head, the smile still on his lips, “I think I’m ready to get ‘destroyed by you now.’” He laughed as he copied her words from earlier.

Marinette’s face flushed as she quickly turned to the computer. Logging into the game, she handed him the controller silently. He took it from her with another small, grateful smile.

As they began to play a round together, she lost herself in the motion of the game. Her fingers moved automatically over the controller as she tried to brush the wave of familiarity screaming at her away. Like she had predicted before, she won easily. Too easily. Adrien’s movements were jerky and disjointed and Marinette shot him a suspicious glare.

“Where were those fancy moves you promised me earlier?” She raised an eyebrow at him, “Those were worse than usual, Adrien.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I’m still a little dizzy after that fall.”

Immediately, her face fell. Standing up, Marinette put her controller down, “I knew you needed painkillers. I’m so sorry for making you play with me, Adrien. Maybe you should go home and rest.”

“No!” he practically shouted, grabbing onto her wrist as she turned to scramble her way downstairs. Her mouth fell open in shock, staring at him in bewildered confusion after his latest outburst. Adrien blushed and then spoke in a softer tone, “I-I mean, no. I’m fine, I promise.”

Marinette huffed with a small amount of frustration, “Adrien, you just told me you got dizzy playing a game. You’re not okay! I’ll be right bac-”

“Where did you learn how to do that?” He cut her off, staring at her intensely.

Her jaw dropped open once again, eyes moving from his down to the hand still holding her wrist before she looked away from him completely. I’m a superhero and I go gallivanting around saving the city, Marinette thought to herself as her lips twitched slightly.

Bringing her gaze back to his, she cleared her throat, “W-well, um, I-I take, uh self-defense! Yeah, self-defense!”

“Really?” Adrien asked as a knowing grin began to spread across his face.

Once again, Marinette felt a wave of familiarity before she shook herself from those thoughts. Nodding her head quickly, she gave a wide, awkward smile, “Really. S-so, c-can I go get you some painkillers now.”

“No,” he spoke simply, squeezing her wrist before he stood up, looking down at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “I feel completely fine now.”

“But you just said...” She trailed off, frowning with confusion.

“Seriously, Marinette, don’t worry. I told you I’m used to it by now,” Adrien shrugged, a soft smile on his lips.

She giggled uncomfortably, glancing away from him and his sparkling eyes. It felt like something was on the tip of her tongue. Something important that she should know but just couldn’t connect. Shifting uncomfortably, Marinette murmured, “You make it sound like you get thrown around by girls often.”

“Hmm,” Adrien hummed, tilting his head as he considered her words, “Maybe not often. But it is weird that it’s happened twice now.”

Marinette snapped her gaze back to his, her eyes narrowing as a spark of something flared up within her, “Then maybe you should stop sneaking up and scaring people.”

She blinked a few times, her hand coming to press against her lips. Why had she just said that? Opening her mouth to apologize for essentially blaming him after she was the one who flipped him, Marinette was cut off by Adrien wrapping her up in a giant hug.

“It is you,” he whispered softly in her ear.

For a brief moment, she tensed up before everything clicked. Oh. Everything made sense now. Of course, her kitty was Adrien. Marinette reached up to hug him back just as tightly before she buried her head in his shoulder.

“Chaton,” she murmured softly, nuzzling into him as she felt his warmth seep into her. Every last worry that she had melted away as she realized she had someone else she could confide in now.

“M’lady,” Adrien spoke quietly back, causing her to sniffle happily.

Eventually, they both pulled back, staring back at each other with wide, adoring smiles fixed on their faces. Just as Adrien opened his mouth to speak, a crash sounded outside on the streets. Both of their gazes snapped to the window before they looked back at each other. A silent understanding filled them both as they nodded at each other.

“Later,” Marinette spoke first, before calling on her transformation. Adrien did the same and she felt relief fill her as she felt less alone for the first time in so long. She could do this. With him by her side, she could do anything.

[autumnsart22]

Oikawa x reader ch. 12

Sorry for the angst this chapter 🤭 Hope you still enjoy though!

Kuroo flicked me hard on the cheek. “Wrong again! Damn, this isn’t that hard.” 

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Chemistry is so boring!” 

Kenma looked up from across the table briefly from his game. “I wouldn’t say that, Y/n-san. Kuroo is a chemistry nerd. He loves it.” 

Bokuto laughed loudly in agreement, Akaashi snapping at him to get back to work. 

It was Sunday afternoon, and I sat at Kenma’s dining room table with Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma. Exams were coming up, and all of us were cramming as much studying in as possible. I had decided to tag along with the captains and setters of Fukurodani and Nekoma, knowing that they could help me with some of my work. 

I let out a pathetic moan, shoving my science homework aside. “I can’t! My brain is fried, it’s too much!” 

“Take a break,” Akaashi suggested. “Come back to it later.” 

I sighed, sliding out of my chair. “How about I don’t come back to it later?”

Kuroo chuckled. “I hope you know you’re never going to pass your chemistry exam, sorry.” 

I flipped him off, turning to Kenma. “Wanna play Mario Kart?” 

The Nekoma setter glanced up from his game, eyeing me. “Really?”

“Dude I love Mario Kart, why wouldn’t I want to play?” The long haired boy moved faster than I had ever seen. “Ok, I’ll set it up.”

Bokuto whined. “Akaaashiiii please let me play? I don’t want to write this anymore.”

Akaashi sighed. “Bokuto-san, you’re failing English. You need to study if you’re going to pass.” 

“But--!” 

“Fine, but only twenty minutes.” 

Bokuto whooped, and I covered my mouth to hide my smile. I noticed red staining Akaashi’s cheeks, and I glanced at Kuroo. The black haired captain was smirking as he surveyed the two Fukurodani players, and I resolved to ask him about it later. 

Bokuto and I raced to the living room, where Kenma sat cross legged on the rug. A few controls were already laid out, and I positioned myself next to Kenma. 

As we played, we got insanely loud, even Kenma. The short boy won every round, but I got kind of close on our third game, which caused him to start shouting louder than I had ever heard. Bokuto was the worst, flipping off the road more than actually driving and laughing giddily as he collided with other cars. 

After our fifth round playing, I threw down my control in defeat. “Dammit Kenma, can’t you just let me win one??” He smiled a little. “No, definitely not.” 

“Are you guys done?” Kuroo called from the kitchen. 

I scrambled from my spot on the floor, grabbing Bokuto’s arm. “Time to get back to work!” 

The Fukurodani captain groaned but followed me back into the kitchen, Kenma trailing behind. 

As I took a seat at the table, my phone dinged. I pulled it from my pocket, feeling my stomach leap as I saw Oikawa’s name across the screen. I opened the message, smiling a little as I read it. 

Oikawa

Hey Y/n-chan! R u free this saturday? 

Y/n

Ya why? 

Oikawa

There’s apparently a big volleyball club party happening in the city

Y/n

Oh cool with all the local teams? 

Oikawa

Yeah, and its at this big club 😱

Y/n

Sure ill come :)

Oikawa

Do you have a ride? I can drive you

Y/n

R u sure? I can drive myself

Oikawa

No I want to drive u

Y/n

Haha ok if you say so

Oikawa

🤩

Ill pick you up at 6 on saturday

I laughed a little, setting my phone down, only to find everyone at the table staring at me.

“What?” I asked. 

“Who were you just texting?” Kuroo asked, and I blushed furiously. 

“No one.”

“Hm...right.” 

Before I could blink, Bokuto snatched my phone off the table, clicking the screen and reading the last text from Oikawa. 

“OHOHOOOO, Mr. Pretty Boy from the beach!” He yelled. 

“Seijoh’s captain?” Kuroo asked. 

I groaned. “Stoppppp, he was just asking about a party this weekend.” 

“Then why are you blushing so much, Y/n-san?” 

Everyone at the table laughed and I buried my burning face in my hands. 

            ✨✨✨✨

Apparently the party at the club was going to be huge, even bigger than the beach one. Karasuno was going, as well as Nekoma and Fukurodani. 

I debated for way too long on what I should wear, eventually facetiming Kiyoko for support. She was wearing a glittery gold cocktail dress, so I didn’t feel bad about wearing my skin tight black body con dress. 

I usually didn’t wear much makeup, but I ended up putting on shimmery eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lip gloss, dressing the whole look down by wearing my adidas sneakers. 

At 5:46, I was so nervous, I felt like I was going to puke. I paced around my room, tugging on my dress and second guessing everything I was doing. God, I needed to calm the fuck down. It was just Oikawa, and it wasn’t even like we were going alone. 

I looped my bag over my shoulder, jogging down the stairs. I snatched my phone from the charger on the kitchen table and scrolled through my snapchat. Kiyoko was already at the club, proven by a video on her story of Tanaka and Nishinoya dancing together in the middle of a crowd, lights flashing different colors in a confusing blur. 

As I clicked over to instagram, I heard a knock on the door and froze. I practically fell out of my chair as I scrambled over to the door, flinging it open. 

Oikawa leaned against the side of the house, dressed in jeans, black shirt with a matching black bomber jacket, a pair of glasses sliding down his nose. My heart thumped, and I pressed my hands together to keep them from shaking. 

“Hey,” I said, smiling. 

Oikawa looked up and froze, eyes wide. “Y-You-”  His gaze moved down my body, his lips partying slightly as he let out a breath. “You look great.” 

I bit my lip and laughed a little. “Thanks. You do too.” 

He raked his hand through his hair, looking slightly flustered. Clearing his throat, he smiled radiantly. “Are you ready?”

“Yup! How long is the drive?” We walked together to the car, and he opened the door to the passenger side for me. I tugged down my dress as I slid onto his leather seat, and Oikawa set up directions on his phone to the club. 

“How is the rest of the team getting there?” I asked. 

Oikawa shrugged. “No clue. I think most of them are hitching Ubers so they don’t have to worry about getting drunk.” 

“Very responsible,” I grinned. 

“Speaking of responsibility…” he whipped a joint and passed it to me with a lighter. I took it, sticking the end in my mouth, lighting it, and taking a large hit. “Hey save some for me!” He cried. 

As we drove, top down, we blasted Harry Styles at full volume. I stood up with my hands in the air, the night air whipping across my skin and making me feel like I was flying. 

It was a way shorter drive than I expected, but parking took forever. Cars were lined up all down all the surrounding blocks, and we had to find a spot a few blocks away. As we walked, Oikawa smoked the remainder of the joint and we poked fun at each other. 

As we approached the club, there was a line of people out the door and down the block. I groaned when I saw it, but Oikawa spotted Iwaizumi and a few other Seijoh players closer to the door, so we slid down the line to be with them. 

“Woah, Y/n, you’re looking fine as hell!” Yuda smirked. I felt Oikawa stiffen beside me, but I laughed out loud. 

“Thanks Yuda, that means a lot.” 

As we got closer to the doors, music echoed into the night, practically shaking the sidewalk. My adrenaline was spiking, and I bounced on my heels in excitement. 

Iwaizumi looked a bit more stoic, and I leaned over to him to whisper in his ear. “Hey Iwa, how are you doing? Is your mom ok?” 

Iwaizumi smiled and touched my arm, nodding. “Yeah, thanks for asking. She got back from the hospital yesterday, and she’s doing a lot better.”

“Oh that’s great to hear!” 

He nodded, and I looped one of my arms with his, the other with Oikawa on the other side. “I’m glad you guys are here with me,” I said, smiling. “I’m glad I met you.” 

“Aw, chibi-chan, no need to get so sentimental,” Oikawa smirked, poking my shoulder.

I pushed him lightly, but sighed. “I’m serious. I really thought that Aoba Johsai was going to be a terrible fit, but I’m so lucky to have you guys as friends.” 

I didn’t notice the slightly pained expression on Oikawa’s face, or the pitying one Iwa shot his friend, practically screaming friendzoned.

Iwaizumi ruffled my hair. “I’m happy you ended up coming to Seijoh and becoming our manager too. I wish you had joined earlier so we could have spent more time with you in high school.” 

Oikawa opened his mouth to add something, but we reached the front of the line. By that point, the music was so loud that we had to shout to be heard over it. The bouncers at the front waved us through after we showed our student IDs, marking us as part of a local volleyball team. Apparently one of the local players had rented out the entire club for this party. 

As I entered the club with Iwaizumi and Oikawa on either side, I was momentarily overwhelmed. The huge dance floor was covered with people, colored lights flashing wildly across their writhing figures, smoke hovering in a cloud over the entire scene. The music pounded so hard, it was like I was feeling it in my chest. 

My body automatically began to move, dragging me towards the mass of people. I grabbed Oikawa’s hand, pulling him along behind me as we entered the chaos. 

“Call on Me” by Starley and Ryan Riback began to pound through the speakers, and I jumped up and down wildly, holding Oikawa’s hands and laughing until I was practically wheezing. 

“Y/n-chan?!” I looked over to see Daichi and Suga emerging from the crowd, both of them looking a little breathless. I laughed giddily and hugged both of them, still dancing to the music. Oikawa also reintroduced himself, which was a little awkward over the volume of the music, but they were all civil. 

“There’s a karaoke bar downstairs!” Suga yelled over the music, having to repeat himself a few times for me to finally hear him. 

“Karaoke? Ooooh, fun. Oikawa, wanna go?”

“Yeah sure, and I can show you my amazing singing skills!” 

“You’ve already shown me, and they were terrible, Oikawa-chan.”

“So mean!” 

We made our way out of the crowd together, wandering through some twisting hallways and getting lost multiple times before we finally found the stairs. A huge group of people were gathered down by the karaoke machine, and I spotted Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi, and Hinata among them. 

“Hey guys!” I cried, joining them. Hinata glared at Oikawa when he noticed him, but for once I was glad Kageyama wasn’t with him. At least that tension could be avoided for the time being. 

“Y/n-chan!” Bokuto crushed me in a hug. “You ready for some karaoke?” 

I smirked, tossing my hair. “Of course! Not to brag, but I’m a pretty good singer.” It was partially the truth; my mom had forced me to take singing lessons throughout junior high, and I had kept it up a bit in high school, so my voice was decent. Definitely not what could be considered very good though. 

Bokuto ended up singing a slow Adele song to Akaashi, completely wrecking it with his horrendous voice. The Fukurodani setter seemed touched though, so I didn’t make fun of the captain that much. 

I didn’t notice Oikawa disappear from beside me as a few more songs went by, but he reappeared after only a few minutes, grabbing my arm and tugging me to his chest. 

“Wanna do a duet?”

I laughed. “Of what song?”

“Juice, by Lizzo,” he smirked. “Basically describes me, so it’s perfect!”

“But that’s not a duet--!”

I heard the beginning of the song starting on the speakers, and my eyes went wide as saucers. “You already requested it?!” 

He shrugged. “Yup! Now let's go!”

He practically dragged me to the front, where we were handed two microphones. Oikawa began to sing almost immediately, his confidence making up for his horrible voice. The ridiculous way he wriggled around made me instantly more comfortable, so I threw caution to the wind and became his backup singer. 

“If I’m shining everybody wanna shine…” He belted out. 

“Yeah I’m goals!” I screamed. 

 “I was born like this, don't even gotta try--” “Now you know!”

“I'm like chardonnay, get better over time.”

 “So you know!”

“Heard you say I'm not the baddest, bitch, you lied!” 

The song ended, and I wrapped an arm around his waist to keep from collapsing from laughter. We stumbled off the stage together, making our way back to Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi, and Hinata, who all applauded us as we approached. 

“I have to send you this video, Y/n-chan! It’s classic,” Kuroo said, gesturing to his phone, where a video of Oikawa and I’s performance played. 

“HA! Please do.” 

Oikawa turned to me, checking his phone. “Iwa is wondering where I am, so I’m going to try and find him. Want to come?”

I nodded. “Yeah, just one sec. Can I meet you up there? I’ll call if I can’t find you.” 

Oikawa nodded, flicking me on the nose. “Don’t get lost, chibi-chan.” 

I ended up staying with Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi for another ten minutes. Kenma had apparently flat out refused to go to the club, and Kuroo had decided not to force him. Akaashi handed me a few different drinks as I talked to them, so when I finally decided to head back upstairs, I was walking a little crookedly. 

Miraculously, I found Iwaizumi almost the instant I got to the second floor. “Heyyy, Iwa!” 

“Y/n-chan, there you are! Oikawa was just going to look for you,” he grabbed my arm so I wouldn’t stumble. “Damn, you’re wasted.” 

“Do you know where Oikawa went? I-I want to find him--” 

Iwaizumi gave me a knowing look, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, he went that way. Just try not to say or do anything you’ll regret tomorrow. ” 

I giggled, face flushing. “I’ll tryyy.” 

Iwaizumi patted me on the head, pointing towards the crowd again. “He’s somewhere over that way. If you can’t find him after a few minutes, come back. I’ll be waiting right here, got it?”

I nodded, already turning away. All my fog filled brain could think of was finding Oikawa and telling him...something. Did I really want to confess how I felt? My sober brain screamed absolutely not, but my drunken head said YES. 

The second I entered the crowd, it was like entering utter chaos. I was bumped from all sides by dancers who paid me no attention, the smoke in the air making everything hazy, the smell of sweat and marijuana reeking from everything. I could barely make out the faces of the people around me because of the darkness, the only lumination coming from the colored flashing lights above our heads. 

I pushed on, not paying any attention to the people around me. My eyes scanned the dark shadows for a familiar figure, but it was too confusing to be able to tell who was who. 

“Y/n!” I whirled around to see Kiyoko squeezing between two people, her gold dress flashing as she moved. She gripped my hands, a wide smile on her face. “I’m so glad I found you!” 

“Kiyoko, how are you doing!” 

“Good! This is hella fun!” Her usually reserved way of being had been completely overturned, probably by alcohol. 

“I know right? Hey, have you seen Oikawa?” 

Kiyoko’s glasses flashed. “Oh my god, yeah actually! He was just looking for you!” “Really? Which way did he go?” 

She pointed, and I hugged her tightly. “Thanks! I’ll try and find you later, ok?”

She nodded, and I moved in the direction she had indicated. “Gas Pedal” by Sage the Gemini came on, and I laughed out loud as girls all around me began shaking their asses. 

I pushed past a line of four people grinding on each other, and my heart leapt as I finally found Oikawa. He had ditched his jacket somewhere, and his hair was pushed back and messy as he danced. Iwaizumi and Kiyoko had said he was looking for me but…

I felt all the blood drain from my face as I watched a tall, skinny girl with long black hair wrap her arms around his neck, one of her hands trailing down his chest. He smirked down at her, eyes dark and greedy, and I took a step back. I suddenly felt cold stone sober, and my hands began to shake. 

 As I watched, unable to tear my eyes away, as the girl turned around and began grinding her ass against Oikawa, and he grabbed her hips. 

The music pounded through my brain and I finally forced myself to move. Whirling around, I almost fell as I crashed into another person. 

“Oh-sorry,” I gasped, looking up and blinking in surprise. 

“Hello again.” The guy from the beach, with the serious expression and olive hair looked down at me. “Are you ok?” I swallowed, forcing back tears as I focused on the guy in front of me. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I think we’ve met but I don’t remember your name.” 

“It’s Wakatoshi Ushijima.” 

“Right! I’m Y/n L/n. It’s good to see you again, Ushijima.” 

He nodded, eyes sweeping down my short dress, and he tilted his head. “Do you want to get out of this crowd?” 

I paused, feeling something in my chest tighten. No, I wanted to turn around and smack the girl Oikawa was with in the face. I wanted to shake my captain and ask him why didn’t he look at me like that? 

But there was another attractive guy right in front of me, and he was looking at me with a slightly glazed expression. I smiled up at him through my lashes, licking my lips and nodding. “Let’s go.” Ushijima’s hand was fucking gigantic as I pulled him through the crowd, keeping my head down so hopefully no one I knew would recognize me. 

I noticed Iwaizumi by the wall where I left him, and I walked by quickly, praying he didn’t see me with Ushijima. I told myself it didn’t matter even if he did; I was allowed to have as much fun as I wanted. I had no obligations to anyone. 

It didn’t take very long to find a hallway away from the party where no one was, and I glanced up at Ushijima. He stared down at me, his eyes intense, and I leaned toward him, my hands going to his chest. 

The second I moved, his broad hands wrapped around my waist and pushed me up against the wall. I gasped as his mouth crashed against mine, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hands running through his hair. I shoved all thoughts of Oikawa from my mind and let myself get swept away. 

Oikawa POV:

I moved through the crowd of people, eyes scanning for Y/n. I hadn’t seen her in awhile, and I was suddenly worried. 

The tall girl with the black hair tugged on my arm. “Baby, I’m not done with you,” she purred. 

I gave her a death glare, tugging out of her grip. “Fuck off, that was a mistake. I’m looking for someone right now.”

She pouted, but I was already moving away. I spotted Iwa by the wall, and sauntered over to him. “Iwa-chan! You don’t look like you’re having much fun--” “Oikawa, did Y/n find you?” He said, eyes serious. 

“Huh? No, I was looking for her…” “She came up here asking about you, so I pointed her in the right direction.” “I haven’t seen her, but she’s probably around here somewhere.”  I could see clearly something else was on his mind. “What’s wrong?” 

“She walked by just a second ago. She looked upset and....she was with Ushijima.” 

I felt my stomach drop. Oh god no. 

“Which way did they go?” I said, by voice completely blank of emotion. 

Iwaizumi pointed, and I began to move quickly, shoving people out of the way in my haste. 

I ran down a hallway, turning the corner and feeling my entire body go completely numb as I finally spotted her.  

She was pushed up against the wall, hands running through his hair as she kissed fucking Ushijima. The tall ace of Shiritorizawa had one hand on her waist, the other running along her ass as he let out a low groan. 

I moved without thinking, so angry I could barely see. I ripped Ushijima off of Y/n, shoving him as hard as I could, so he stumbled backward. He was bigger and stronger than me, but I had the element of surprise. While he was still off balance, I charged him, knocking him on his back and punching him as hard as I could in the face. He grunted, and I felt something crack under my knuckles. 

Y/n was screaming behind me, trying to pull me off, but it just made me more furious. Was she trying to defend him? 

Ushijima was attempting to cover his face, but I began to slam his head into the floor over and over. 

“Stop Oikawa, you’re going to kill him!!!” I felt a pair of strong arms grab me around the neck in a chokehold, dragging me off of Ushijima and throwing me against the wall. Iwaizumi pounded me on the chest, his eyes furious. “Look what you’re doing, Shittykawa! You’re scaring her.” 

My eyes moved to Y/n, her eyes filled with tears and her hands over her mouth in horror. Ushijima lay on the ground a few feet away, face covered in blood. All I could see was him kissing her. 

Iwaizumi let go of me, and I slammed my fist into the wall as hard as I could, feeling my skin tear and knuckles crack. Y/n let out a sob, and I turned and strode away down the hall. I was too angry to be here anymore. 

As I walked away, I heard Iwaizumi behind me. “I’ll take care of Ushiwaka. You go stop Oikawa before he does something else completely stupid.” 

Y/n POV: 

What had I done? Ushijima lay on the ground, his face completely fucked up, and Oikawa stalked away down the hall, blood dripping from his knuckles. It was utterly my fault. 

I was terrified, but not of Oikawa. No matter how angry he was, I didn’t think he would do anything to hurt me. I decided not to second guess that assumption as I spirited down the hall after him. Now was not the time to be afraid. 

“Oikawa!” I yelled, but he didn’t pause. “Oikawa, stop!” I grabbed his wrist, and he whirled around, eyes furious. 

“Get the fuck off me,” he snarled. 

“No! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“With me?” His eyes were wild as he raked his hands violently through his hair. “You’re the one who was about to fuck Ushijima!” 

I gaped at him. “I wasn’t...wait, you know him?”

“He’s the captain of Shiratorizawa!” He yelled and I felt my stomach drop. Oh god, I didn’t know…

“I-I didn’t--” “Who gives a fuck! Who it was doesn’t matter anyway!” “Then why do you care so much if I kissed him?” I shouted, clenching my fists. “You don’t give a fuck about me, so why the hell did you have to beat the shit out of him if it wasn’t because of who he is?”

“I don’t give a fuck about you?” Rage was boiling beneath every word. 

“No! Go back to that dumb bitch you were with before if you want to feel better about youself!” 

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” He snarled. Realization suddenly dawned in his eyes, almost instantly replaced with fury. “Maybe I will! Even she’s not as much of a whore as you.” 

I felt like I had been slapped. A whore? That’s what he thought of me? Tears pricked behind my eyes. “You fucking asshole.” I stepped back. “You act like you’re better than everyone all the time, like you’re so perfect, but really you’re just a piece of shit!” 

“God, you couldn’t possibly be any worse,” he hissed, eyes dark. 

Tears spilled over my cheeks, and took another step back. “I-I am done with you. Stay the fuck out of my life.” 

I whirled around, not looking back as I ran down the hall. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I somehow found Kiyoko and Daichi, but I was crying too hard to explain exactly what had happened. Apparently, Karasuno had been about to leave anyway, so I left with an entourage of tall, angry boys surrounding me like bodyguards. Yamaguchi held my hand tightly, and Kageyama looked like he was about to murder whoever had made me cry. 

I noticed Suga talking to Iwa as we left, and an ambulance pulled up in front of the club. Hopefully Ushijima was ok. I couldn’t find it in myself to care very much. 

Asahi drove Kiyoko, Tsukki, Yamaguchi, Tanaka, Nishinoya and I home, but I was silent the whole ride back, entering some form of shock. 

Kiyoko walked me up to my house when we got dropped off, holding my hand so tightly it hurt. “Y/n, Suga told me what happened. Breathe ok? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” 

I felt my body begin to shake. “K-Kiyoko...I think I just…” I clamped a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t throw up. “I think I just completely ruined my friendship with the guy I’m in love with.” 

My friend looked momentarily shocked, but she began to shake her head. “No, no, that’s not true, Y/n-chan. He’ll forgive you.” 

“No,” I began to sob. “He thinks I’m some sort of horrible slut. Oh god, he hates me.” 

Kiyoko hugged me tightly, quickly opening the door to my house and pulling me inside. “Ok, ok, it’s ok just get it out.” 

She led me upstairs, helping me strip out of my party clothes, washing off my face and gently brushing out my hair. For once, I was happy that my parents were so busy most nights. 

 It was 4 in the morning by the time she ushered me into my bed, curling up next to me and hugging my tightly. I fell asleep to her murmuring in my ear, but I couldn’t help but think how much better it would feel if Oikawa was there instead. 

Chapter 11

[jenn-i-guess]

Chill Out!//Bakudeku

Deku accidentally makes Ochako mad when trying to help her out with her own quirk, which results in her pushing him into Bakugo and walking away. Little did she know that pushed activated her quirk, making Izuku float up. The only way he can stay put is by holding onto Kacchan...oh noooo

Deku stared nervously at his angry friend, who was growing more frustrated every second. Ochako was glaring at a coffee mug, a basic white one from their cupboards, and straining her eyes and fingers to make the cup float, but it was disagreeing with her. It had been for the past hour.

“I think maybe you just need to focus more on your fingers than the object itself?” Deku winced when it came out more as a question, wanting to try and be a little more encouraging. Iida had already given up, walking away to his room after the first twenty minutes had had little to no success.

“You think?” Ochako spat out and boy was anger not a good look on her. Usually she had more of a sweet attitude, going along with her pink-tinted round cheeks and soft brown eyes. Deku was almost frightened at this newfound Ochako, even more so when her eyes seemed to turn darker, and she huffed out a breath of air.

“I’m-” She slammed her hands on the counter top, shaking the cup above it, “So-” Ochako drew her knuckles down, imitating a fist, “Sick of this!” She finally yelled, striking the mug away and onto the floor which then led it to shatter into what looked like a thousand pieces.

Mina immediately looked up from her position on the couch, pink hair frizzy from laying so awkwardly onto it. “Woah! What was that?” Her chippy voice struck through the air, catching the attention of the other students who were too busy studying for exams to hear the sound of the cup shattering onto the ground.

Izuku looked alarmed at the sudden outburst, already on edge from the anger Ochako had forced out. But of course, being the kind friend he is, he tried calming her down, pushing his palms up in case she decided to push him also!

Which is exactly what she did.

Deku let out a yelp when two soft hands forced against his shoulder, pushing him back against another body that was just beginning to walk into the kitchen to see what events were beginning to unfold. “What the hell?” The gruff voice spoke, turning Izuku’s blood into ice, letting a chill creep down his spine.

He didn’t have time to turn around and see the angry red eyes that belonged to the voice. Uraraka turned around and stormed out, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel that had stuffed its mouth with food.

Sero, who had been in the kitchen as well and witnessed the events, let out a low whistle. “What did you do to make her so angry, Midoriya?” He asked, eyes widening when he turned to look at him, but eyes landing on the figure above him.

“Get the hell of me, shitty-nerd.” He was abruptly (and so rudely might he add) shoved off of who he could only guess as Kacchan before he could answer, and pushed himself forward as well while stammering out a meek sorry.

But suddenly it felt as though he couldn’t move at all, but move at the same time? He felt as light as air! And that’s when Deku realized...oh crap. Ochako’s quirk! She must’ve activated it when she pushed him, which was why he felt himself increasingly beginning to float, only the tips of his toes able to stay on the hard surface that was the ground.

“Ah! Well, I think she activated her quir-oop!” He mumbled out when he felt his whole body suddenly go up in the air, slowly floating up towards the ceiling. Deku tried to move his body around, arms flailing about in circles to look and feel for anything he could hold onto. Luckily he did...onto something deadly.

He landed his eyes onto familiar ruby red ones, immediately glancing away when he felt a rising heat begin to fill his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing Deku!” Kacchan didn’t really ask it as a question, only yelling it out while glaring down and Izuku who kept a firm grip on his bicep, the sudden situation making the tips of his ears dust a light pink.

Deku contained the urge to roll his eyes at Kacchan’s eagerly stupid question. What did he think he was doing? Holding onto him obviously.

He stifled a sigh and answered in a straightforward fashion, “Uraraka may have activated her quirk when she pushed me, which means if I don’t hold onto something-something sturdy-I will float up into the ceiling and stay there.” He explained, narrowing his eyes up at Kacchan who seemed not-at-all bothered by the problem.

“Which-” He started again, regaining his grip on the upper bicep of Kacchan’s arm (which was at this point muscle, might I say) “I don’t want to have happen!”

Sero seemed entertained by the scene in front of him, stifling a giggle and starting to walk out of the room, Deku pushing a hand out, reaching out for his only lifeline in this dangerous situation, who then raised his hand in goodbye, and left the two alone.

He heard a grumble rumbling in Kacchan’s throat, causing him to close his eyes and press his forehead down onto his own knuckles, which were still wrapped tightly around Kacchan. He was wondering why the other male hadn’t push him off yet, but he was very thankful for it. Izuku didn’t want to be stuck on the ceiling, and he didn’t know how long it would take before Ochako came back.

“Sorry.” Midoriya muttered, eyes glancing back up to look at Kacchan’s ruby red ones.

Bakugo let out a soft ‘tch’ moving around to sit up on the marble counter top, Deku squeaking when he moved along with him. “Whatever. S’not your fault anyway.”

A small smile made its way onto Deku’s lips, letting his eyes flutter close when he let the calm sudden silence wrap around him like a warm blanket.

He sneakily glanced back at Kacchan, the other not noticing his stare.

His forehead was wet with sweat, indicating nothing since he usually sweated a lot, thanks to his quirk, a small dribble of some cascading down behind his ear. Deku couldn’t help but follow that small bead of sweat, watching as it fell from Kacchan’s ear, slowly gliding down his neck and oh-so slowly rolling into his shirt, until it disappeared behind the black fabric. “Oi. What’re you staring at?”

Bakugo’s voice shook Deku out of his trance, heat spreading up to his freckled cheeks when he realized he had been caught staring at the edge of his shirt, almost not blinking at all. “Ah! Nothing, just distracted.” Midoriya stuttered, stuffing his face into Bakugo’s bicep, not really meaning to do it but what else could he do to hide his red face.

He stayed like that for a while, now moving his legs so they were criss-crossed in air, until suddenly he felt something warm press on top of his head, moving his green hair around his scalp.

They were lips. Bakugo’s lips.

Deku felt as if he would passed out, with the sudden heat beginning to crawl from his chest all the way up his neck, leaving red wherever it went. “You’re lucky you’re cute, nerd.” The pair of lips left his head, and Deku whipped his head around so fast to stare at Kacchan, so fast his neck cracked and he had to wince in pain and rub the sore muscle.

“W-what?” Wide green eyes stared up at him, wildly staring around Kacchan’s face, watching as the other boy also grew a faint tint of red, mostly around the tips of his ears.

The blonde smirked before lowering his head down to press his plush lips against Deku’s ear, whispering into the canal with his rough yet soothing voice.

“I think you heard what I said, Deku.”

Bakugo leaned away and watched as Izuku almost spontaneously combusted, whacking his hands around while stuttering out nonsense. But Deku seemed to forget about the anti-gravity thing, letting go of Kacchan’s bicep. He began to slowly float up, now frantically waving his arms around.

Kacchan sighed before pressing his arm out, allowing Midoriya to securely wrap around it again, like some sort of koala. Although he couldn’t help but smile, only a small one of course. He had a reputation to uphold. But that reputation could quickly break due to this cute ass, green broccoli haired motherfucker. Or so Katsuki thought.

Hm, he thought, That wouldn’t be so bad. 

[blossom-hwa]

Attach - MARK |Swing!|

I wrote 50k words in 10 days I think my brain is going to shut down

THANK YOU @deathbykpopboys​ FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA TO CONTINUE THIS FROM THE ORIGINAL DRABBLE (here). I LITERALLY OWE YOU MY LIFE. THIS STORY WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU I SWEAR. THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE YOUR IDEAS, YOU DESERVE THE W O R L D

One more thing: a long time ago I promised @zhengtongue​ (fari love u) that all further Mark stories I wrote would be dedicated to her :) :) here’s the first Mark story I’ve written since then :) :) dedicated to you and @deathbykpopboys​ :D

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, mild violence, some descriptions of sex (as in like. sex ed. no one actually does it), PANIC ATTACKS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 9.2k

A disastrous field trip to OsCorp leaves you and Mark with two spider bites and a decision to make.

Attach >> Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } 

NCT Masterlist | Swing! 

You wake up with a misplaced sense of excitement that makes you even grumpier than normal. It’s six in the fucking morning, finals and AP exams are in a month and a half, so what the hell is there to be excited about?

Then you open your eyes enough to see the permission slip sticking out the top of your bag and it clicks.

The field trip to OsCorp is today!

A grudging smile comes over your face. It might be six a.m., but you’re about to go on a field trip to one of the biggest biotech corporations in the world – you have a right to feel excited. You may be in high school, and some may say that getting excited over field trips is for little kids, but it’s OsCorp. Not Stark Industries, but still pretty damn close.

Quickly, you shower and dress, careful not to wake up your older brother. As you pass by his room, you feel a stab of guilt. Johnny worked another late shift last night, and he’ll probably have another one tomorrow. And here you are, taking a field trip.

Mood slightly dampened, you head out the door, locking it behind you with a quiet snick. In the lobby, you wait a few minutes for Mark to arrive. Exactly three minutes later, you hear his feet pounding down the stairs.

Any guilt you felt washes away at the sight of your best friend smiling behind his round glasses. Mark is what people might call a typical nerd – you’re a little too confrontational for that label – but you’ve known him for over ten years.

He’s so much more than that.

“Ready for OsCorp?” Mark pushes up his glasses, grinning widely.

You smile back just as eagerly. “Fuck yeah.”

The smiles stay throughout the train ride to school. Mark’s gets slightly smaller when Flash rolls through Midtown High’s gates and gives him that stupid smirk, but you distract him with talk about the labs you guys will get to see. The bus ride passes without fanfare – though Mark gets into a spat with your friend, Haechan, about the merits of computer science versus physics, fucking nerds – and soon enough, you’re is pulling into the huge parking lot at OsCorp.

Even Flash, who was griping about not getting to see Stark Industries and having to “settle for” OsCorp, is stunned by how immense the building actually is from the inside.

It’s fucking amazing. Pristine walls surround your classmates, while people in lab coats and business suits mill around beyond the huge lobby. Conference rooms with walls of glass let you see people giving presentations with complicated diagrams you’re itching to see.

Beside you, Mark catches his breath in delight. When you turn to him, he grins with so much excitement in his face that your heart melts for a moment.

He deserves a break. He deserves this excitement. With that, you link arms with him as a cheery intern starts the tour.

. . . . .

There’s nothing Mark would trade for being at OsCorp today. Even though he can’t go everywhere, the tour guide, Joy, makes the most of the places she has access to. With each new lab Mark enters, his wonder only heightens.

If this is OsCorp, he thinks, how cool is Stark Industries?

The tour ends with a video about what you all could do as future scientists and world leaders, and then Ms. Wilson herds the class back into the lobby to wait for the bus.

Mark has to use the bathroom. Though Wilson clearly isn’t happy about it, she lets him go with a stern warning to hurry.

He finds the bathroom quickly and starts to head back. But at some point, he takes a wrong turn or something because he’s now in a stark-white hallway that he hasn’t seen before.

Oh, come on. He doesn’t need Wilson to hate him any more than she already does. Confused, he looks around for someone to ask for directions, but there’s no one in the hall. In his frustration, he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling.

He barely suppresses a scream at the dangerous looking blue and red spider sitting up above him.

Normally, Mark just leaves spiders alone unless they get too close. He doesn’t have much love for insects or arachnids, but he doesn’t enjoy killing them. They just want to mind their own business, like he does.

This one, though, just oozes malicious intent.

Other spiders just want to do spin webs and eat bugs and stuff. Not this one.

Before he has time to yell, this one fucking leaps, silk tracing behind it, lands on his arm, and bites him.

A sharp sting races up his arm and the spot where the stupid arachnid bit him starts to throb. Belatedly, he starts shaking his arm to get rid of the thing, but it’s already climbing back up the wall and onto the ceiling.

For a moment, Mark just stares at the spider, clutching his arm.

“Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of his daze. Relief floods his veins, but terror and worry soon replace it. He opens his mouth to tell you to get away, but he can’t fucking speak. Then you turn down the hall.

Too late.

“Dude!” You jog forward, ignoring or misinterpreting Mark’s outstretched arm trying to push you away. “The bus is here! We need to –” You stop talking, finally realizing something’s wrong. Your eyes go to his arm, which is now bright red. “Mark? What’s –”

His vocal cords take that moment to start working. “Look up,” he whispers.

The spider leaps without warning, barely after a second after your eyes have even registered it. It settles on your arm quickly and you yelp.

It must have bitten you too.

Thankfully, you have more of a destructive instinct than Mark does. Your arm smashes against the wall with a resounding thud and the crushed spider drops to the ground. A spatter of liquid stains the white paint. You wipe your arm against the wall.

For a moment, you and Mark just stare at the spider’s corpse. Mark can feel the blood draining from his face.

“It bit you too?” you finally ask.

Mark nods tightly. “Yeah.”

You take a glance at your arm and blanch. Mark winces, seeing your skin already darkening with inflammation. With trembling fingers, you untie your jacket from around your waist. “Hide it,” you tell him when he looks at you questioningly. He numbly pushes the sleeves of his hoodie down.

Ms. Wilson yells at him a lot when he gets back, which he takes with a bowed head and many apologies. He barely hears it, though. The throbbing in his arm is almost overwhelming, and his mind is racing too fast to comprehend much of anything. When you all finally board the bus, you drag him to the back where the two of you sit, silent and scared.

That spider wasn’t from any lab he visited today, which means it was probably from some classified, secure experiment. Well, one that was supposed to be secure.

It was bright red and blue. It attacked without provocation.

Clearly, it wasn’t meant to have gotten loose.

Why was OsCorp even making these things?

Mark sneaks a glance at his throbbing arm. He doesn’t dare look under the hoodie sleeve for fear that someone else will see, but it hurts.

What effects will that bite have?

Can I even treat it?

Dread pools heavy in his stomach. Some spiders are extremely venomous.

Am I going to die?

Mark’s hand reaches over and grasps yours tightly. You try to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but your hand is clammy and cold with anxiousness.

Any residual excitement from visiting OsCorp is gone. Only terror floods his veins.

. . . . .

The spider bite doesn’t go away for seven days, and with every hour that passes, the stupid thing only looks like it’s getting worse.

You try to ignore it at first. After all, you can’t exactly call in sick for a bug (or arachnid, whatever) bite. If you did, that would a) sound stupid and b) make your brother worry, which he really doesn’t need. So for the first three days, you grit your teeth, cover the bite with long sleeves even as the days begin to warm uncomfortably, and trudge to class.

The only thing that keeps you going is that you’re not alone. If anything, Mark is panicking a lot more than you. With every day that passes, he grows more and more outwardly concerned with the spread of red inflammation and the aches all over his body.

At least at first, you’d like to think that you hide your concern better than Mark. But by the third day, the inflamed part of your skin is about the size of your hand and hot to the touch, and you’re sure you don’t look much better than your best friend.

Mark comes over after school that day because Johnny’s working late and the two of you want to talk, alone. But at first, you don’t even speak – just lie on your bed and stare at the angry red spots on your arms.

“Are we going to die?” Mark finally mumbles, somehow sounding both panicked and resigned.

You want to reply with a ‘no, definitely not, stop overreacting,’ but the aches feel horrible and you have the strong urge to vomit. Neither of you have looked up your symptoms because the spider was clearly unnatural and WebMD will only make you feel worse, but you don’t need to be a genius to know that something is very wrong.

Nothing gets done that night, and it’s with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you hug Mark tightly before he walks up the several floors to his own apartment. Not wanting to eat for fear of it just coming back up, you messily scribble some answers to your homework and pass out.

You wake up the next morning and vomit all over the floor.

Johnny wakes up to the sound of crying and retching and immediately calls in sick for both of you when he opens the door to you trying to drag yourself to the bathroom, studiously avoiding the pool of sick on your floor.

Bleary-eyed and lightheaded, you text Mark and tell him you’re not going to school. He doesn’t reply until several hours later. He went to school but got picked up early after he threw up in class.

By day five, you have a high fever and Johnny has to take another day off. Luckily, it’s Saturday. You don’t have school. You hope you feel better by Monday.

But on day six, Sunday, you’re shivering and aching all over and the fear of death breaks you down. Tears stream down your face as you toss and turn in bed, intermittently yelling and muttering gibberish that Johnny can’t understand. At one point, you become aware of him sitting on the side of your bed, silently crying. With the last of your energy, you touch his fingers and squeeze lightly, tears still running down your cheeks.

You hope desperately that Mark feels better than you do.

On day seven, you feel slightly less disgusting. You stop vomiting sometime in the afternoon, and the redness of the spider bite has started to fade. The aches are still there, but they’ve concentrated in your stomach, back, and legs, so you don’t hurt everywhere anymore.

You wake up the next morning, already resigned to missing another day of school. But something immediately feels very, very wrong.

You don’t hurt. At all.

This makes you panic even more than when every part of you was in pain.

You roll out of bed with a frantic thud and practically rip off the blanket to check your arm. No redness. No heat. No sign of inflammation.

Your back doesn’t ache. Neither does your core. But wait, what the fuck - are you taller?

Everything’s clear, you realize. No blurriness from your near-sighted left eye, even without your glasses. You can see every leaf on the scraggly tree just outside your bedroom window.

You might have stopped vomiting, but this all still makes you feel like dry heaving. A hand goes to your stomach and you freeze.

Peeling up your shirt slowly, you look down and almost scream.

You have abs.

Abs.

With shaking fingers, you pull out your phone and dial Mark’s number. You know he’s fine enough to pick up – you and him were texting sporadically yesterday. He answers with a groggy, “Y/N, what the fuck.”

“Mark.” You try to breathe. “Do you hurt at all?”

Dead silence on his end.

“... No.”

“Is the bite still there?”

“... No.”

“Do you have fucking abs?”

“No – what the – Y/N, what the fuck is going on, what the fuck?”

He might be hyperventilating at this point. You can’t blame him. You think you’re about to vomit your guts out again.

“Meet me outside,” you snap, hastily changing your clothes. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but those spiders at OsCorp were... they weren’t fucking normal.”

That’s an understatement.

It takes ten minutes to convince Johnny you’re fine, you really are, you swear, you’re not vomiting and you can’t miss your French quiz today, you’ve already missed a week of school, yes you promise you’ll call him if you throw up again. When he finally lets you go, you race down the stairs faster than you’ve ever gone before.

Mark’s already there. For a minute, you two just stand outside the ratty apartment building with similar looks of shock and panic on your faces. Quickly, you tell Mark about what’s happened to you. He confirms it all.

“Are we like. Fucking. I don’t know.” You pull on your hair out of frustration. “Superhuman? Spider-people?”

On any other occasion, Mark, lovely logical intelligent Mark, would laugh and ask you if you were feeling all right. But now?

He shrugs, but you can tell he’s at least considering your words. “Maybe?” he replies in a very small voice, and then you realize he’s shaking.

The overwhelming need to protect your best friend rises up in you, but you can’t protect him from the spider venom in your veins. Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you clench your fist, but one look at the lost look on his face drains the panic from your body and you just envelop Mark in a hug that he immediately returns. “We’ll figure it out, Mark,” you mumble in his ear. “We’ll be fine. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers in your ear.

“Good.”

Then you find that you can’t fucking detach yourself from him.

It’s not that you don’t want to. You literally can’t. Your fingers are somehow stuck to the back of his shirt and you have a feeling that if you yank hard enough to pull yourself away, a patch of cloth is going to come off with your hand.

“Mark? Try to let go of me.”

It turns out he can’t either.

“Mark, we have ten minutes before the next train leaves.”

Long story short, you miss the train. And as the two of you sheepishly walk in late to homeroom, you have a terrible feeling that you’re going to be missing many more trains in the future, too.

. . . . .

That first hug, sadly, does not bring an end to the adventures of Mark and Y/N sticking (literally) together.

Mark tries to be careful, he really does. He knows you’re trying too. But you’re both so used to linking arms, hugging, and holding hands that it’s difficult to remember that touching literally anything could result in a whole stupid fiasco.

You two are late to homeroom every. Single. Fucking. Day. Of. That. Week. Because neither of you can remember to keep your stupid hands to your stupid selves.

On Tuesday, it’s the hug.

On Wednesday, he grabs your arm to avoid a group of rushing passerby.

On Thursday, you playfully shove him.

On Friday, Mark wakes up praying for one day of peace, just one fucking day before he can bury his head in his pillow for two days straight and dream that this never happened.

And it would’ve been perfectly fine if you hadn’t fallen asleep on the train.

It’s not your fault, not at all. The night before, you were up so late trying to fix a bug in your computer science assignment that you almost fell asleep waiting for the train. Almost as soon as you board, you’re passed out.

Mark is stupid.

Normally when one of you falls asleep, the other will hold their hand or arm to keep them from slumping over completely. It’s basically instinct now, so when your head lolls onto his shoulder, Mark quickly grabs your hand and nudges you upright.

Then he realizes his mistake.

Fuck.

His slight jolt of realization shakes you awake. Mark’s heart sinks as your tired eyes open and immediately zero in on their linked hands.

You’re wide awake now.

You try to tug away. It doesn’t work.

“Fuck,” you say eloquently.

Mark winces. “Sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to, it’s just…” He winces again. “Habit?”

Honestly, after a week of this, Mark would have thought the two of you would get better at detaching from each other. But every morning, without fail, it’s been exactly like this – flailing limbs, anxious yanking, clothes threatening to rip.

The two of you stumble into the train station still stuck together. With his free hand, Mark checks his phone and groans.

“We have five minutes.”

Unsticking takes fifteen.

Mark is normally a pretty mild person. He can take a lot more of Flash’s shit than you can without batting an eye, and his teachers usually like him for his calm demeanor. But as he slips into his seat, face hot and ears undoubtedly bright red, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

Four late days in a row. Four fucking days.

He stifles a groan. If you two don’t figure out this sticking situation soon…

The bell for first period rings literally minutes after he sits down. With a sigh, he reaches down to pick up his bag, praying that he won’t stick to it, when Mr. Thomas, his homeroom teacher, calls for you and him to stay behind.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Flash sneers as he passes by.

Mark wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.

Thomas is a cool teacher, as far as Mark has known. He’s chill, likes to make jokes, and has two kids of his own – he knows and cares for his students. This knowledge just makes Mark feel so much worse, and as the two of you walk up to his teacher’s desk, he readies himself to make an apology.

“So, I’m sure you two know why I wanted to talk to you today.” Mr. Thomas’s mild voice contains a hint of reproach, and Mark winces. Next to him, he sees you do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I understand.”

Both of your heads snap up. How does he know?

“First love can be very overwhelming, especially at your age.”

Mark blinks. Then he blinks again.

His teacher just smiles benevolently. “Believe me, I would know. I met my wife when I was in high school, and we had some crazy memories. First love is a beautiful thing.”

Mark doesn’t want to hear anymore. He can already feel the redness creeping up his cheeks.

Please, Earth, just open up and swallow me whole.

“But let me give you some advice.” Mr. Thomas leans forward slightly, looking the two of you in your unwilling eyes. “Romantic rendezvous in the morning shouldn’t be more important than getting to school on time.”

A sort of strangled eep comes out of his throat just as you sputter, “Romantic rendezvous?!”

“You both are very intelligent and hardworking students, two of the best this school has ever seen, and I do think you two are a good fit for each other,” Mr. Thomas continues as if he hasn’t heard anything. “However, it’d be a shame for such good students to give up on your schooling for a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

“We’re – we’re not dating,” Mark protests. “Mr. Thomas, seriously –”

His teacher holds up a hand. “Mark, Y/N, if you two can’t control your… urges, you should at least be safe. I trust that you two both know that.”

There’s a stapler next to Mr. Thomas’s computer. Maybe he can staple his hand and go to the clinic. Or he could bash his head against the edge of the desk and knock himself out. Maybe grab those scissors in that cup of pens and just slit his throat right then and there.

Some sort of croaking noise leaves your throat. Mark doesn’t need to look at you to know how you’re feeling.

Mr. Thomas sighs. “But beyond that, school really should be your first priority.” He flashes a smile that Mark can’t find the presence of mind to return. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll give you two passes for next period. What do you have next?”

Passes in hand, the two of you stumble into the now-empty hall. Mr. Thomas’s parting words – “Remember my advice!” – rattle around in Mark’s mind.

That didn’t actually happen. There’s no way Mark’s homeroom teacher just gave the sex talk to him and his best friend who happens to be of the opposite gender. This is all just a really, really long nightmare, and Mark will wake up in a few minutes, wrapped in warm blankets.

He pinches himself. It hurts a lot.

Not a nightmare.

“That has to be illegal,” Mark mutters. “Fucking… what the fuck even was that?”

“I want to die,” you mumble.

There’s a bit of silence.

“Well…” You swallow hard, resolutely looking anywhere but Mark’s eyes. “I’ll be… going to class?”

He nods dumbly, then watches you disappear down the hall. The closing of the door jerks him out of his daze and he turns around, heading to his own class.

Head down, he hands the pass to his teacher and takes his seat, ignoring Flash’s smirk and Haechan’s look of worry. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to wake himself up from this real-life nightmare.

Could this day get any worse?

. . . . .

You honestly think, after leaving homeroom, that nothing could make this day even worse.

By third period, you’re cursing your naivete.

It’s like the stickiness is on tenfold today. Your fingers glue themselves to everything – textbook pages, the disgusting desks, pens, even a whiteboard marker from when you go up to solve a problem in calculus.

It takes a five-minute tugging match for Mr. Garcia to finally peel the marker off of your skin. The giggles of your classmates join the vestiges of Mr. Thomas’s “advice” in bouncing around your brain like a million vicious ping pong balls.

After that, you avoid raising your hand to answer questions at all.

By the time you meet back up with Mark, you two have come to a silent agreement to not touch each other whatsoever. You studiously ignore each other all throughout English, and at lunch, you sit across the table, not next to each other like normal. At the same table, your friends look like they want to remark on the situation, but they wisely keep their mouths shut.

When you get up to throw your trash away, Diana, a girl you know but don’t really talk to, walks up as well. “Hey, Y/N,” she greets.

“Hey.” You try to smile.

“Um, I just wanted to ask.” She bites her lip, looking sympathetic. “Did… did you and Mark break up?”

You can almost hear the Windows shutting-down noise as your brain short-circuits.

How could you have broken up if you were never dating in the first place.

With an effort, you turn to her and swallow. “We were never dating,” you enunciate carefully. “So we never broke up.”

Diana immediately flushes bright red. “Oh, fuck, sorry. It’s just, Flash told everyone the two of you were together? And you guys seemed super close and all so it really looked like you were. I really did think you guys were dating, you looked super sweet together. But you didn’t talk much today, and you two looked pretty worked up this morning, so people thought…”

You’re going to kill Flash. You’re going to beat him up behind the school and slit his throat with your own nails.

“Well, we’re not.” You smile as best as you can. “Um, yeah.”

It just doesn’t stop. Until now, you never realized this many people actually paid attention to your personal life. Five more people have come up to ask if you and Mark are okay by the time chemistry rolls around, and as you take your place behind the cramped lab table with the boy everyone thinks you’re dating, you can practically feel the steam billowing out of your ears. Mark doesn’t look nearly as angry as you, but he looks a lot more confused and annoyed.

You brush fingers a few times as Mark pours out the acid and you try to set up the buret for today’s titration. Thankfully, you don’t really stick this time.

But then Mark gets his hand stuck to the Erlenmeyer flask and you have to spend ten precious minutes trying to tug it off, causing you to almost not finish the lab and earning both of you another black mark in Ms. Wilson’s mental book.

You ignore anyone who tries to ask you or Mark anything as you all but run out of school, only relaxing once you’ve thrown yourself onto a seat on the train. Mark slides down next to you and puts his head in his hands.

“Tell me this is all a nightmare,” he mumbles.

You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

By the time you’ve walked up the stairs to your apartment, you think you’re going to pass out. It’s been a long day. You don’t care if you have homework or if Mark’s staying over for a bit – you just want to lie in your bed and sleep away the horrors of today.

Then Johnny opens the door before you even have the chance to unlock it and you just know from the glint in his eye that everything is about to get ten times worse.

“Y/N, Mark. What a lovely surprise!” Your older brother is all welcoming words and terrifying smiles. “I got a very interesting call today from a certain Mr. Thomas. Mei did too –” and at this, poor Mark looks like he’s going to faint right then and there – “but she couldn’t leave work, so she asked if I could come home early and give you both a talk.”

You think you’re going to vomit.

“Johnny, whatever Mr. Thomas told you, it isn’t true,” you plead. “I swear on my life –”

“So you two haven’t been late to school every day this week?” Johnny raises an eyebrow.

You think you’re going to die. “Well, yes, but –”

“Have a seat.” Johnny gestures grandly at the small kitchen table, where he’s pulled out two chairs. To your horror, it looks like he’s enjoying this. “Mei and I think it’s time we gave you The Talk.”

If your day was bad before, Johnny gleefully takes it straight to hell.

“So boys have appendages that are called penises,” he begins sagely, “and girls have vaginas. You may know these by more colloquial terms, but those are a bit crass for my household.”

Bullshit. Johnny calls his co-workers dicks and Ten an ass every other night.

“Both of these are integral to the process of sex, and thus, baby-making,” Johnny continues. “During sex, the male – or whatever they identify as – will put the penis inside their partner’s vagina. Of course, that’s traditional. Other forms of sex include oral and anal…”

You’re five seconds away from putting your hands over your ears and just screaming bloody murder. Mark is looking down, fists screwed into his shirt, and his face is so red that he looks like he might implode.

Meanwhile, your evil older brother is grinning like the Joker. It’s infuriating and terrifying. You really, really want to reach out and punch him and just brawl like when you were younger, but your feet feel rooted to the floor.

Johnny’s spiel pauses for a second as he takes a dramatic breath. Immediately, you’re on guard. Whenever Johnny wants to be dramatic, it’s never a good thing.

“So in anal sex,” Johnny starts, “the appendage goes in the –”

Oh my god.

“We’re not fucking!” you finally explode.

Mark breathes a sigh – you think it’s one of relief, but you can’t be sure – while your brother just blinks. “Pardon?”

Your face burns hot, but you grit your teeth and stare Johnny in the eye. “Mark and I are not fucking,” you repeat carefully.

“Who said anything about you and Mark?” Johnny raises one perfect eyebrow.

Oh, you want to punch him so badly.

“But thank you for bringing that up!” Johnny smiles benevolently like a teacher rewarding you for doing something good in class.

You groan, knowing you’ve just made things so much worse.

“You two are hormonal teenagers, so you’ve undoubtedly already started to feel those urges.” Johnny keeps smiling pleasantly, even as you’re having war flashbacks to this morning in homeroom. “That’s perfectly normal. So – and I’m not saying you’re fucking –” he gives you that look that means uh huh, I totally do not believe you, but I’ll drop it for now until you prove yourself wrong – “but if you do become sexually active, you should always get tested for STDs and STIs first, and take preventative measures such as using condoms and birth control.”

That’s it. You’re just going to die. Slit your own throat with, you don’t fucking know, the pencil lying by Johnny’s arm. Maybe you’ll just grab that piece of paper over there and cover yourself in tiny papercuts and bleed to death. That couldn’t possibly hurt as much as hearing Johnny talk right now.

“Now back to anal sex!” Johnny smiles.

Mark lets out a small groan and buries his face in his hands. If anything, Johnny’s smile grows wider. “Anal sex is when –”

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!” You grab the pencil you wanted to slit your throat with and hurl it at your brother. The blunt point pokes him harmlessly in the chest and falls to the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck Mr. Thomas told you, but I – we –” you gesture helplessly between you and Mark – “we’re not doing anything! And I know all of this, dude, I go to high school!”

Even after that excellent point, Johnny still goes on for another ten minutes before he allows you to drag Mark to your room and slam the door shut.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumble into your pillow.

Mark just makes a little pained noise in his throat.

The two of you do end up passing out for the best part of an hour before spending the rest of the afternoon finishing homework. Mark can barely look Johnny in the eye when he says goodbye, and as soon as the door shuts, you round on your older brother.

“What the fuck did Mr. Thomas say on the phone?” you snap.

Johnny raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stirs pasta in a pot. “He just said you and Mark have been late to homeroom every day this entire week, and he was sure it wasn’t much because you are both stellar students, but he worried that the two of you were becoming distracted because this wasn’t normal behavior.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “He might’ve mentioned… romantic rendezvous?”

You sink to the floor with a groan.

“I was just messing with you earlier.” Johnny’s words make you open your eyes to catch his teasing smile. “Seriously. I think I know you and Mark well enough to trust you not to do anything stupid.”

Suddenly, you become very aware of the spot on your arm where the spider bit you, the stupid thing that caused this whole mess in the first place. “Uh huh.”

“But I do want you to be careful.” Johnny’s eyes turn serious. “Mark is still a teenage boy, and you’re still a teenage girl. I do trust you, but things can still happen, even if they’re unexpected.”

Internally, you gag. Outwardly, you just nod. “I know.”

“Good.” Johnny turns back to the pasta, then quickly looks back at you. “Doesn’t it look like Mark filled out a little?”

Your heart literally leaps into your throat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but the spider venom has caused you both to pack on some muscle overnight.

Sure, part of you is worried that Johnny is catching on to something weird. But something else is also making you sweat.

A memory of your linked hands from the morning flashes through your mind. In it, you realize, Mark’s arms are bulkier. A lot more than before.

Heat rises in your cheeks. You want to fling yourself into the void. “Y-yeah,” you squeak.

“Y/N, dating your best friend isn’t anything embarrassing –”

“We’re not dating!” you protest.

Johnny just gives you The Look again as he pours the water out of the pasta. “Okay.”

For the umpteenth time that day, you will whatever god is listening to just smite you down right then and there.

. . . . .

There are a lot of things that come with being a sort of spider-person that neither you nor Mark realized would happen, but in hindsight, they kind of (not really) make sense.

. . .

One: the sticking thing. It does make sense. Spiders walk on walls and other vertical surfaces by sticking to them with the little setules on their legs. Mark hypothesizes that maybe there’s some sort of electrostatic force between your skin and objects around you that makes you stick. After a moment of thought, you agree.

Doesn’t matter. Mark never wants to go through that ordeal of the first week over again.

He used to idolize Johnny. Johnny was something between another parent and the older brother he never had, embarrassing but cool and kind and so, so strong. Even after your parents died and he had to drop out of university to take care of you, he always stayed strong.

But now? After that disastrous Friday, Mark knows what you mean when you complain about Johnny being a menace to your health and well-being.

And of course, that’s not the end of it. Aunt Mei just has to get her hands into it too. The literal day after The Talk, you walk up to his apartment to work on a research paper together for the lab you two volunteer in. When he takes your laptop to read something, the device somehow gets stuck to his skin.

Mei comes home early that evening and walks in on you practically straddling him, trying to yank your laptop away.

Even Mark knows that it definitely doesn’t look that way from her perspective.

But all she does is say, “Use protection,” and close the door behind her.

(You leave early that evening, rushing out of the apartment with a face hot with embarrassment and lowered eyes. Mark slinks out of his room at some point to get something to eat, and Mei just gives him a smirk.)

Thankfully, after a couple more weeks, the two of you more or less figure out how to stop sticking to every goddamn thing you touch. It’s more of a thing that happens when either of you are nervous or stressed, so as long as you two keep calm and purposely remind yourselves not to stick to stuff, you’re fine.

Mr. Thomas still gives you a few looks, but now that you’re coming in on time to homeroom, he doesn’t say anything.

Thank fucking God for that.

. . .

Two: both you and him somehow buffed up overnight. Well, probably during the time that you two were sick. That explains the aching muscles in his stomach and his back – he has abs, and he’s definitely taller. So are you.

Spiders are strong. Relatively. So the new muscles kind of makes sense, even though it’s hard for Mark to get used to at first.

What doesn’t make sense is how much strength these muscles actually contain.

The first casualty is Mark’s apartment doorknob. You go to open it one day after visiting the lab and it just… fucking… twists all the way around. Mark finds himself staring at a doorknob in your hand and an open door with a hole in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh heavily. Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Mei is going to kill me,” he groans.

The two of you spend five panicked hours fixing the doorknob instead of working on the research paper and Wilson’s lab report. When Mei comes home, she doesn’t notice anything (which really is a miracle), but from that day on, whenever the doorknob squeaks or stalls or does anything weird in his vicinity, Mark freezes.

A trail of broken things starts littering your paths. A stapler he pushed down too hard. His locker door, which now has a dent in it. One of your bedroom floorboards, though you hide the crack in the wood under a pile of clothes. Someone’s old MP3 player on the sidewalk literally shatters beneath his feet. Pens, pencils, and highlighters break in your hands. No one wants to lend either of you supplies anymore, so he becomes more vigilant about his own.

Oh, you also “accidentally” step on Flash’s calculus binder, flattening the metal rings and breaking the covers. But you don’t regret that.

It’s like he’s a toddler again, hiding broken toys or messily fixing them with scotch tape and glue. The only difference is now, he uses duct tape and superglue and is somehow even worse at hiding things than before.

Mark starts putting away all of his and Mei’s valuables into high-up cabinets with the excuse of keeping them safe from his clumsiness. He advises you to do the same. Eventually, you two learn to control your strength and the number of things you break slowly dwindles to zero.

Of course, there are accidents. One time in PE, you run the mile a little too fast (which is an understatement – you beat everyone else in your group, which has never happened before), and now Coach wants you to join the track team. Then Mark squeezes a glass buret a little too hard in chemistry one day and the thing just fucking shatters onto the table. While he hastily grabs the broom and starts sweeping up the pieces, you tell Ms. Wilson he accidentally dropped it while Flash keeps insisting that he saw Mark snap it with his bare hands.

Ms. Wilson might vehemently dislike you and Mark, but she now thinks Flash is insane. The one spot of joy Mark now finds in chemistry comes from Ms. Wilson narrowing her eyes at Flash whenever he says something remotely stupid, like she’s thinking of sending him to the school psychologist.

After all, who would accuse spindly, nerdy Mark of having the strength to shatter a reinforced glass tube in his palm?

He’s never particularly liked the stereotype people placed him in, but now he’s pretty thankful for it.

. . .

Three: he has reflexes sharper than he’s ever had before.

It’s not the same as, say, having his senses enhanced. They are enhanced – both of you can see clearly without glasses, he can hear things he’s never been able to before, and his nose wrinkles at smells no one else can detect. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and he has to duck into a quiet shop to escape the bustling noise of New York City.

But this new sixth sense reflex thing? It’s different.

It isn’t fake. Like, Mark could say he’s developed a sixth sense for when Flash wants to be a little shit, meaning he hears when Flash snorts or shuffles around in the back and knows to duck his head.

But this?

Mark first realizes it a few weeks after the spider bite. He’s minding his own business, talking with his friends before class, when Flash decides to be stupid and throw an apple at his head.

Mark doesn’t see Flash. He doesn’t see the apple. He doesn’t hear any swoosh of wind or feel anything in the air. But something in his head screams DANGER DANGER DANGER and he whips himself away from the apple, which smacks into his locker.

The hall falls awkwardly silent as Mark tries to process what just happened.

He didn’t even notice Flash’s arm or the apple. He didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it. But somehow, he knew something was wrong. He knew to duck away.

You recover a few seconds later. “What the fuck, Flash?” Then you pick up the apple, throw it back with far more force, and the hall descends into its normal levels of chaos. You all go to class, but in his peripheral vision, Mark can see you raising an eyebrow at him.

“What was that with Flash?” you ask later, when you two have boarded the train home. “I know you didn’t see that apple coming. Your back aas completely to him.”

Mark shrugs. “I just felt… I don’t know, really. I didn’t see him or hear anything. Just, something in my brain screamed danger and I just kind of moved.”

You look around, making sure nobody is paying attention. “Spider thing again?” you whisper.

“Maybe?”

For the next week or so, nothing happens that would trigger whatever the hell that was again. Mark makes sure to keep everyone he talks in sight, not allowing anyone to get behind him or to surprise him. He only ducked away that first time, but is surprised again, he has a feeling that his reactions could be a lot worse the next time. Like more violent.

The two of you are walking home from the lab when you hear scuffling in a nearby alley. Common sense tells Mark to keep walking, but as you two pass by, he can’t help but look. You stop walking too.

It’s a mugging, but the muggers clearly don’t have a lot of experience. Sure, they’re in a mostly-empty place, but the sun’s barely gone down and they’re trying to get money from a teenage girl who probably doesn’t have much on her. But one of the two has a gun.

He should just walk past and ignore it. Things like this happen all the time. Cops would just escalate the situation, and he’s too weak to help much.

The realization hits him with a jolt. But he isn’t weak anymore.

Mark feels your gaze on him and he turns to meet it. You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly toward the alley. He nods.

He’s always been light on his feet, but the spider bite seems to have made him almost soundless as he steps into the alley. The muggers don’t notice either of you at first, they’re too focused on their crying victim.

It happens quickly. You dart behind the unarmed man and pull him into a chokehold. His partner has fast reflexes though and immediately aims the gun at Mark.

DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER –

Mark drops to the ground seconds before the bullet sinks into the wall behind him.

Together, you subdue the men, leaving them groaning by the side of the street. Under the blanket of darkness that’s now fallen, Mark crushes the gun with his shoe, hoping nobody is paying attention to the dark object under his feet or the cracking noises. The girl thanks you effusively and runs off, and the two of you head on home.

This is what gets him thinking. You two are strong now, sticky, and have a sort of sixth sense for imminent danger.

It terrifies him to think of it, but the more he does, the more it makes sense.

You guys could keep doing this. Patrol the city, help people get around safely. Everyone knows the NYPD and the justice system aren’t shit. They couldn’t charge the drunk kid with a rich daddy who killed your parents. They couldn’t find the thief who shot his uncle. People will keep committing crimes, and the NYPD won’t be able to stop them.

But maybe, just maybe, Mark thinks, you could.

. . . . .

Mark is the one who brings up using your newfound skills – you refuse to call them powers, that’s just a step too far – for the good of the neighborhood.

“Think about it,” he says, looking at his hands. His face is pale, but he keeps going. “We have these, uh, enhanced abilities. Remember how we helped that girl get away from the muggers? What if we could do that for more people?”

You’re usually the brash one in most situations, but here, you take a step back. “There’s a lot of things to think about if we want to do that, Mark.” You chew your lips, thinking. “We can’t get caught, or else we could get arrested too. We need to be able to get away quickly and without injury, or Johnny or Mei will find out. We can’t afford a lot of hospital bills, either. We would need to move fast. Really fast.”

Mark nods. “I know. It’s just…” He looks at his hands again. His fingers are just as slim and graceful as they used to be, but both of you know the strength that now lies within them. “I don’t feel right, being able to help people but not doing it. You know.” He looks at you, and though his face is pale and his voice a little shaky, he’s resolute. “You and I have always tried to help people whenever we could.”

There’s bitterness there and you echo it, remembering the inept, corrupt legal system that couldn’t even bring justice to your family. The same law enforcement that couldn’t bring justice to Mark’s.

You could help prevent that. You could prevent the crimes in the first place, find the criminals and tie them up for the police to put away. Help make sure no one else has to deal with what you and Mark went through.

“Okay.” You rest your chin on your fist. “All right. Let’s say we hypothetically do this. We need to be able to mask ourselves as much as possible, keep our DNA away from the scene. This can only happen when Johnny and Mei are doing late shifts, so they don’t catch on.”

“First aid,” Mark adds. “We’ll probably get into scrapes and things. But we’ll also need to be able to immobilize the criminals and get away fast…”

Silence falls as you start thinking. Ropes are bulky and get heavy. Chains are even worse. Carrying them around would slow you down, so there’s no point. What you need is something lightweight and sticky, but strong.

An idea begins to form in your mind. You and Mark volunteer in labs at a nearby university. Professor Wang in the organic chemistry lab is really chill and lets you perform experiments with polymers and stuff he doesn’t need anymore. Mark works in mechanical engineering with Professor Tuan, who lets him build things out of scrap plastic and metal.

Spider bites.

Spider webs.

You could create synthetic webs, while Mark could make something that lets you shoot them out. There’ll be a lot of test trials and you’ll need to find an empty space for that, but if it works?

It’ll be so worth it.

Your mind races with possibilities. You could immobilize criminals, stick them to walls or the ground. You could stopper guns, or at least slow bullets down. You could trip people up with webs on their legs, keep them from punching or shooting with some on their arms.

And you could swing from buildings, which solves the travel problem.

“I have an idea,” you say. Mark raises an eyebrow.

A smirk grows on your face. “But we’re going to need to work on your fear of heights first.”

. . . . .

Mark thinks he’s going to have a heart attack, and he’s not even the one jumping first.

The two of you have taken a day off to go to Central Park – not for fun or anything (well, you insist it’ll be fun. Mark has other opinions), but to test out the strength of your web fluid. You’ve already done some trial runs with inanimate objects and you think it’s strong enough to hold both yours and Mark’s body weights, but you need to check.

Mark wants to argue that you have the rest of summer break to check, but you insist on doing it as early as possible. “We need time to fix mistakes,” you point out. “Plus, the earlier we finish this, the earlier we can... start doing stuff.”

He can’t exactly argue with that.

The web shooters are working well, Mark is finally thankful to say. Every single time he remembers the first test trial, he wants the earth to just open up and accept him into the void.

(He didn’t realize just how strongly the shooter would actually eject your “webs.” He also didn’t know how to aim very well. Long story short, you got a glob of polymers right to the face and Mark consequently wanted to die right then and there. The ensuing purple bruise on the side of your face made you the subject of several kinky jokes on Flash’s end.

They stopped when you picked up his new calculus binder and hit him over the head with it.

At least you found out the webs were indeed sticky enough.)

“I’m going!” you yell, startling Mark from his thoughts. You’re at least twelve feet up in a tree in Central Park, looking determinedly at a sturdy branch poking out from another trunk around ten feet away. Mark’s heart flips when he sees how high up you are.

Jesus Christ. Twelve feet, and he already feels like he’s going to start screaming.

What’s going to happen when he possibly has to swing off a building?

With shaking hands, Mark holds up his phone, fingers poised over the record button on the camera app. For whatever reason, you’d insisted on recording each “trial” like it was an actual laboratory test. Mark just goes along with it.

“Ready?” he yells.

“Yeah!”

He presses the record button.

For a second, you stand on your branch, staring steadily ahead. Then you raise your right arm, shoot a line of webbing to the next tree trunk, and leap.

Mark’s breath catches.

A screeching yelp tears itself from your throat as you swing through the air, using your momentum to rise back up and land neatly on the tree branch. Mark holds his breath as you wobble back and forth slightly, then drop into a steadier crouch. He sighs in relief and stops the video.

“Holy shit!” You climb down the tree and run over. “Holy shit! That was so fucking cool, Mark!”

“I’m sure,” he replies in a faint voice, looking at the tree you leapt from.

Twelve feet. It’s just twelve fucking feet, not like the monstrosity that is Trump Tower. It’s not even as high as his apartment building.

And yet he still wants to die.

Fucking acrophobia. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a breath.

Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder. “Hey, Mark.”

He looks at you.

“If you’re really not ready today, it’s fine.” The excitement in your eyes is gone, replaced by calm concern. “We can do this another day. Or we can figure out another option closer to the ground.”

God, what did Mark even do to deserve a friend like you? Even after all the work you put in to making the synthetic webs – a stroke of genius, by the way – you’re willing to put it all aside for him. Just for him.

He steels himself. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He flashes you something resembling a smile and starts hauling himself into the tree. “I can do this,” he mumbles once he’s on the branch.

Then he looks down and almost throws up.

Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he looks away and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He trusts in his web shooter to be accurate. He trusts in your webs to be strong enough.

He trusts that even if he falls, you won’t let him get far. He trusts that you’ll keep him safe.

“Ready?” you yell. Mark looks down again to nod, but the world isn’t spinning anymore. He locks his eyes onto the tree you jumped into and aims his web shooter.

“Ready!” he yells back. Faintly, he hears the beeping noise that signals the start of the recording.

Thwip. Web fluid shoots out and latches onto the branch. Before he can lose his nerve, he jumps.

A yell rips from his throat as he hurtles to the ground. Air rushes past his face as he swings his body up, up, until the branch is in view and he can plant his feet against it, using the last of his momentum to pull himself up. He wobbles a bit, then plants his arm against the tree trunk to steady himself.

He gasps shakily. The ground still looks so small from here, but the drop feels a fraction less frightening than it used to be. He takes one more deep breath, then starts to slowly climb down the tree.

As soon as he reaches the ground, you race over and engulf him in a strong hug. “You did it, Mark!” you all but yell into his ear. “You did it!”

Despite himself, Mark lets out a trembling bout of laughter, hugging you as close as he can. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, drinking in the steadiness that you bring to him. “Holy fuck.”

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the secluded spot, leaping from the tallest trees you can find for longer and longer distances. You take notes as Mark pulls the sticky but mostly solidified web fluid from the branches, analyzing how some of them seem to have solidified and cracked a little under stress. “They need a little more flexibility,” you tell him as the two of you pile the web fluid into a bag. You think you can recycle it to make more. “With the adjustments you make on the shooters, I think they’ll be even better next time.”

“Yeah.” It’s all Mark can say. As he sits down next to you on the subway, he suddenly feels so drained and tired that he automatically slumps and places his head on your shoulder.

A small, surprised laugh sounds next to his ear, and he feels your hand go up to pat his head. “You did great today,” you murmur.

He smiles. In that moment, while your hand continues stroking his hair, he feels like he could do anything.

Anything for the world.

Anything for you.

[eleanor-devil]

Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.2 - The Aftermath

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05​​

Prologue | Chap.1 | Chap.2 - You’re here

"The sudden and violent attack on the Konoha orphanage left citizens shocked and in fear as the threat of a former enemy lurks over Konoha. While there is no confirmation that the incident is indeed linked to Orochimaru, one of the two legendary sannins still alive, the Hokage office searches for every possible clue. Thirty of the kids who are-" That was when Mitsuki decided that he didn't want to listen to more of it and turned off the television. The sun was barely up and the Konohamaru platoon was supposed to meet later for an easy mission and a training, but its youngest member had not slept very well to greet the new day. The days leading to the new moon had always been hard for him, and this cycle has been no exception, only topped with the recent incident. Was it really his father? Not much has been publicized yet about last night, and although Mitsuki didn't really believe his father was in any way involved, he found himself wondering why the Sannin had been the first person to come to mind. It wasn't really a matter of trust, because he refused to believe Orochimaru could act on impulse and without a good reason. It was a matter of curiosity. He proceeded to the counter to take a pill for his increasing headache when he heard his phone chime. He picked it up to see a text message from his best friend.

"Wanna catch up with us for a late b-fast? Sensei is gonna meet us there later." He thought about it for a moment, then typed. "Sure." Maybe a little walk could do good to clear up his head a little. ... It was a nice day outside, neither too cold nor extremely hot. They were to meet in a cafe they had frequented over the past year, when they kind of got bored of the numerous fast-food restaurants around the town. It was small, cozy and didn't have many customers around this hour, so it had, in one way or another, became their safe harbor. "We were beginning to wonder when you would be coming," Sarada said good-naturally when she saw Mitsuki approaching. "Boruto was about to come and get you." "I walked around for a while," Mitsuki said simply. Boruto and Sarada looked at each other for the shortest of seconds. "Is everything alright?" the girl asked finally. "Yup. So when will we get going?" said the blue-haired boy, sitting down on the chair next to Boruto and grabbing the toast that was among the many things his friends ordered. "Konohamaru sensei said he will be here in about half an hour." Boruto explained, also digging in. "Seems like we have a simple mission at hand, and then a training afterward." "Do you know what kind of mission?" "Well, we thought it might have something to do with... the orphanage," Sarada said and Mitsuki actually stopped for a second before he moved on to take a bite from the toast. "Apparently, there are a lot of things that need to be done, and most genin teams are already assigned." When his friend kept his silence, Boruto frowned a little. "Dude... you sure you don't want to talk?" The blue-haired boy looked at him with raised eyebrows. "And you became the team therapist, when...?" "You know what I mean! If you..." "Boruto." Mitsuki cut in, giving him a level look. "I'm not gonna break down or anything, as you well know, so let's just eat in peace, okay?" The blond thought better than to push forward. "Sure." he said, returning to his meal. ... “Wait… our mission is in the grade school?” Konohamaru sighed before rolling his eyes. “For the fourth time, Boruto… yeah, it is.” Boruto folded his arms with a slight pout before looking to the side. “Well I’m sorry I didn’t think they would give us a babysitting assignment, ‘ttebasa.” “And again, it’s not a babysitting assignment. We were requested by their homeroom teacher to demonstrate the ninja rankings - apparently, there are quite a few students who are interested in the ninja career.” “It makes sense.” Mitsuki mumbled. “After all, we are one of the two teams who has two genins, a chuunin and a jounin.” “Not to mention the current Hokage’s son, and the future Hokage.” Sarada said a little proudly, earning herself a glare from the blond. Konohamaru couldn’t help but smile at his team’s antiques. “Well, hurry up, you guys. We are expected to be there in half an hour.” … To be mild about it… the mission didn’t start as they expected at all. “Where do babies come from?” “C-come again?” Boruto stammered out, completely taken aback, just like his teammates, while the mortified homeroom teacher chided the children, a number of fifteen six-year-olds. “Now kids, this isn’t our topic of discussion-” “Bah, we already know the stupid old ninja ranks.” “And you wouldn’t explain to us when you went to meet your child last week - maybe they can.” At a loss for words, the three pre-teens looked sideways at their sensei. Konohamaru, who had gone very red in the face, became even more uncomfortable under their gaze. “W-why are you all looking at me, kore?” “Well, you are the adult.” Boruto pointed out. Sarada cleared her throat, feeling like she should take the lead as the next responsible person. “Uh… I guess we can say they come from the hospital.” The kids didn’t look at all impressed with the answer. “Well duh…” “Laaaaame…” “We’re not three-year-olds you know…” “Well…” Mitsuki chimed in helpfully and all the heads turned to him. “Sometimes… they come out of test tubes, too.” A hushed silence fell over the class as his team and the teacher gaped at the blue haired boy, complete with their mouths open, wondering what on earth was he talking about. “That’s… wow…” one of the kids finally whispered, awed. “Way better than the ‘storks brought you’ theory!” “Hey, does that mean there’s a baby lab somewhere?” Before he could say anything more and add to the awkwardness, Boruto, standing next to him, clasped his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. The teacher was the first to snap out of it. “Very well,” he said, turning a triumphant and scary smile on the grade schoolers. “If you know the ranks so well, why don’t you enlighten us?” The first kid who spoke smirked. “Simple. Gonin. Juunin. And… er…” “No no, you got it wrong. It’s Ronin, Shunin and Kyuunin.” “Hey, you just made it up!” “So what? Do it better!” “Is it true you are the Hokage’s son?” Taken aback by the kid’s question (and more so by the fact that one of them finally spelled a rank correctly), it took the blond a while to reply. “Err… well, yeah.” The kid who asked the question gave him a once over. “Funny, you don’t look like it.” And immediately, Boruto’s expression became irritated. “Why you little brat…!” “Just let it go, Boruto!” Sarada turned to the students with a smile. “Okay, I will fill you in on the ranks. The lowest ninja rank you can attain is Genin, like my friends here.” She pointed at Boruto and Mitsuki. “You have to have a special set of skills to become Genin.��� “Like what?” “Something you would have to figure out by yourselves when the time comes.” “Are all the Chuunins this boring?” the kid who had spoken up to Boruto asked with a yawn. The girl’s  cheeks flushed red with this. “Hey…!” The blond raised an eyebrow as a knowing smirk made its way to his face. “Hey, just let it go Sarada.” “That’s not the same!” “Sure it isn’t.” “And you become a Chuunin with an exam.” Mitsuki intervened immediately when the tension in the room suddenly increased tenfold. “If you remember, me and my team took it last year.” “How come only she became Chuunin then?” “Well, that’s because-” Sarada began, but was cut in. “Because she’s the daughter of Uchiha Sasuke!” a girl said with starry eyes, bringing the black haired girl to a halt. “H-how do you know that?” “That’s nothing to do with it.” Boruto said dismissively, and the girl found herself stiffening. “Uncle Sasuke took me in as an apprentice too.” “Are you trying to underestimate me?” the girl asked in a dangerous whisper. “Wha- it’s not your skills that are in question here, Sarada, it’s mine!” “Yeah well, maybe they do need some polishing.” “You two...” Konohamaru began with a frown, knowing which direction this was going. “Hey, if you’re gonna lash at me, why don’t we do it the old-fashioned way?” “Fine by me!” Without waiting, Sarada lunged at Boruto, who turned to face her in expectation… But before things could escalate any further, Mitsuki quickly worked his jutsu, extending his arms to catch his teammates from the middle and push them to the corners of the room. There was a round of collective gasps and a few oohs from the students. “And this,” the blue haired boy said pleasantly, “is not the way a Genin or Chuunin should act.” The kids began clapping Mitsuki. They couldn’t help it. Soon, Sarada and Boruto joined in the laughter as well. … “Well… this mission went well!” Boruto exclaimed with a huge grin. “The kids loved us!” “Well? To the contrary, I’m disappointed.” Konohamaru spared an unimpressed glance to the most vocal members of the team. “We were there to demonstrate those kids the ninja ranks, for one thing. And you guys’ behavior set them a bad example.” “Yeah, it wasn’t like those little punks were very interested.” “Irrelevant.” “Just because they said you didn’t look like Hokage-sama’s son…” “Hey, at least they didn’t call me boring.” “Enough, you two.” The Sarutobi’s voice was stern now. “You could both take a leaf out of Mitsuki’s book. I expect better collaboration in the training - if you want to defeat me, that is.” Just then, they were interrupted by a jounin coming up to them. “Konohamaru-san… you and Sarada-chan are required to attend a meeting in the hall in half an hour.” The Sensei and the Uchiha exchanged a brief look, already having an idea of what the meeting was about. “We will be there.” the young man replied crisply, and turned to the remaining members of his team. “All right, in light of this, we will have to cancel our training session. I will rearrange it for tomorrow and let you guys know.” “Aww man, now that Sarada is a Chuunin you two get all the fun!” This time, Konohamaru grinned as he punched the Uzumaki lightly on the shoulder. “All the more incentive to push yourself harder for the next exams. See you two tomorrow.” … The meeting hall was filled to its maximum capacity. Konohamaru, seated in the front lines where the Sarutobi clan members were, took a look around the huge room. All the six important clans were here, including his, as well as many important jounins and the ANBU. Naruto, the sixth Kakashi Hatake and some of their trustees were standing at the very front, facing all those who had gathered. They had just briefed all the Hokage office gathered about last night. For some odd reason, the setting reminded him of trials. There was a buzz of talking, which ceased immediately when Naruto cleared his throat. At the small pause before he started, Konohamaru met the eyes of Hyuuga Hanabi, who blushed slightly and gave him a very small smile, which he returned. "We've analyzed the nature and technique of last night's attack thoroughly." Naruto began, and everyone in the room returned to business mode. "The odds are in favor that Orochimaru is indeed after the attack. Three eye-witnesses reported that his curse mark was visible on the culprit." Naruto paused for a moment. Everyone in the hall kept their silence, but some of them looked at each other, as if coming to a silent agreement. "Now as for the precautions, we will triple the border guards and change the frequency of their shifts-" Konohamaru heard his clan's leader clearing his throat. Naruto looked over at him. "Yes, Sarutobi Kichiro-san?" he asked politely. “Excuse my intervention, Nanadaime-sama,” the leader of the Sarutobi clan started in a somewhat cold manner. “But I believe there’s a matter of utmost urgency before all these precautions.” There were murmurings around the room. “Please, share,” Naruto prompted, still politely formal, although wary of the calculating look in the old man’s eyes. He thought a brief, sarcastic smile appeared on the man’s lips before Kichiro turned to look at the people gathered in the hall. “Wouldn’t you agree,” he said, fixing his gaze on the Hokage again. “...that exiling Orochimaru’s son, Mitsuki, is our top priority?”   

[yeojaa]

SWEET LULLABIES, chapter iii. (w. JJK)

You've never loved in half measures.  It's always been all or nothing.  You didn't even mind when your heart was bigger than theirs.  Lopsided or not, you made up for whatever they wouldn't give.  But when you've finally met your match, what will happen?

alt summary.  You're crazy in love and for once, so is he.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  

genre + rating.  a whole lot of angst with a bit of fluff if you squint.  general.

warnings / tags.   friendship, best friends, best friends to lovers, friends to lovers, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is whipped, smitten jeon jungkook, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings.

reading.  sweet lullabies is a series of one-shots that tie into and conclude my other story, sugar high.  both are part of the best friends means forever series.  this is a bonus chapter from kook’s point of view. 

word count.  ~6250

chapter 3.  Save Me

The one where he’d almost lost you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it;  luckily, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.

After all, you’re a dream come true.  You’re everything he’d ever hoped for, years of toffee-sweet daydreams and quiet desires wrapped up with a ribbon and presented in the form of his beloved best friend.  His Polaris - his north star in every sense of the word, guiding him home whenever he needed it.  A person to hold him close, to tend to the oft-neglected garden blooming behind a brassy ribcage.  You’re everything he’d ever wanted and even the things he hadn’t known he had.  

“What’re you thinking about?”  A question slotted into silence by a gentle hand and half-lidded stare, warmth dusting over the exposed expanse of Jungkook’s collar.  It feels like a beckoning to dreams and he can’t help but smile, expression endlessly soft as he inspects the girl in his arms.  His girl.  

He hums once, a noncommittal sound.  “Nothing.  Go back to sleep, baby.”  It’s true for the most part.  It’s nothing now.  But once upon a time, it’d been the single most frightening possibility.  Losing you.

And oh, how close he’d been to that.

NOVEMBER 27, 2017

“Seriously?”  It sounds bad - he knows it does - tight and terse between his teeth.  It’s coloured an alarming shade of red and acts like a beacon to those around him because there aren’t many things that have him acting out in this particular way.  

After all, he’d grown up in a very short period of time - something he was endlessly proud of and incredibly grateful to his hyungs for.  Their patience and mentorship had helped shape him into the well-adjusted young man he was now.  

Or usually was.  Not right now, though.    

“What’s wrong, Jungkookie?”  It’s Jimin -  seated closest to him and always somehow strangely aware of everything - who speaks first and in dulcet tones meant to coddle and soothe, lithe arm finding its way around his maknae’s shoulders.  Seated how they are, it’s easy, but Jungkook notices with amusement that it won’t always be.  Soon, he’ll be far too broad for this.  Their little muscle pig wasn’t so little anymore.

His response is immediate, though filled with petulance and beneath that, the tiniest tinge of shame.  “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,”  comes the same songbird, his head dropping to rest easily against the youngest member’s.  Jimin knows he’s pushing but he also knows he needs to.  It’s easy to read the golden boy.

Silence stretches for a beat, then another, and he almost sighs - but doesn’t.  Jungkook can feel it rising in the other’s chest before it’s stolen away by his grudging response.  They’re less childish now, though still a bit sullen, rounded by a pout that he can’t seem to help.  “It’s just Soo.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to the smaller dancer, his expression thoughtful.  “What’s going on?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure if anything was going on - or if it was all just in his head.  That was the worst part:  the uncertainty.  Each intrusive thought, each second guess.  It felt like a downright disease, taking up precious space in his skull and refusing to let go.  

“Jungkookie?”  There’s no expectation in Jimin’s inflection.  It’s only concern in sugar-spun tendrils, holding the nickname aloft.

“I don’t know,”  Jungkook finally manages in a whine.  The slope of his brow is knit together, distress threaded into every line as his arms fold, crossing in a huff over his chest.  He hates feeling silly like this, so he does his best to turn the emotion on its head and force it into something else.  It’s not necessary but it feels a bit better, like a fortress he can hide his heart within.

A sigh expels, exits through his nostrils in a sharp push of air.  He knows Jimin is just trying to help but he’s having trouble formulating words into coherent sentences.  The thoughts are too jumbled in his head, bouncing around like an overzealous energizer bunny.

“She’s been really distant lately.”  A partial answer, because he’s sure there are a million other reasons he could give.  Like he was simply stressed (true) or you’ve been posting about your great new life in the States and hardly answering him (the same answer as his original but a little too much to admit).

Or even that you’d mentioned a new friend - a male friend who, surprisingly, hit closer to home than he’d expected - and now he was seething.  Except he’d never repeat that last one.  It wasn’t his place to.  He was your best friend.  Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aren’t her exams coming up soon?”  

Leave it to Park Jimin to find the middle ground - that grey area in between all the good and the bad and frame it in a way that had Jungkook frowning, softly rounded mouth dragging in distaste.

He hadn’t even thought about that.  Or maybe he had, but it’d gotten lost among all the white noise and loneliness.  Frankly, he’s not sure.  His thoughts were always full of you and it was hard to distinguish sometimes.  “Maybe.”

“So maybe she’s just busy?”  As if Jungkook hadn’t already considered that.  He wasn’t trying to be crazy.  In fact, he hated it with every ounce of his being.  But he’d seen the photos you’d sent (admittedly, directly to him) and he knew you weren’t too wrapped up in your finals.  You’d found time in between the late night study sessions to attend house parties, knocking back venti-sized Americanos the next morning to stave off hangovers.

It was surprising, actually.  You’d never been great at handling your liquor - something you insisted you got from your father - but you were out all the time now and always with them.

Yejin, he didn’t mind.  She’d appeared in FaceTimes with you often enough that he’d developed his own sort of rapport with her.  She didn’t give a shit about the Korean music industry and treated him like anyone else, albeit with a lot more scoffing English than he’d ever faced before.

It was her cousin that left a bad taste in his mouth, a mixture of vinegar and battery acid.  Not that Kim Woosung was a bad person - at least, from what he’d heard from the people here, and definitely not from you.  Rather, it was jealousy, that cruel green monster rearing its ugly head.  It’d made a home in his chest, unleashing balefire at anyone remotely close to the aching thing in his chest.

Because that’s what you were - his heart in human form.  

But he’d never expected you to disappear halfway across the world.  He’d always thought you’d be here, holding his hand.  Now he had this gaping you-shaped hole in his chest and he didn’t know how to fill it.  Truthfully, didn’t know if he wanted to.  

“Maybe,”  he relents, quiet as a mouse.  He knows he isn’t fooling anyone by the whispered admission but it’s a shutting door, sealing the conversation for another time.

NOVEMBER 30, 2017

He can feel the stare burning into the back of his head before the words reach his ears.  

“What time did you sleep last night?”  There’s no judgment, no anger - just soft shades of concern and coaxing swept across each syllable. That’s why Namjoon was such a good leader - he knew how to approach his members.  Understood them, possibly, better than they did themselves.

“I don’t remember.”  Jungkook’s answer is full of apology, a guilty smile framing the pink turn of his mouth and forcing a dimple into his cheek.  He thinks it must’ve been around two or three in the morning, as he’d stayed up to talk to you after your first class.  Stayed up after being out all day and practising for hours.  

The shadows under his eyes might as well have been a glaring neon sign or an advertisement for the sleep-deprived.

Namjoon says nothing, his expression still endlessly kind, just barely touched with reproach by the line of his lips and the subtle tension in his jaw.  He’s careful - he needs to be when it comes to matters of the heart with his maknae.  Because despite his dismissive laughter and playful nature, Jungkook was also one of the most sensitive members.  He just hid it well - sweeping it behind his bunny smile and witch’s cackle.  

Consideration stretches silence on for a beat longer before the taller of the two is smiling, crescent moons forming his eyes.  A hand cards through silk the colour of smoke and he regards the younger boy with tenderness.  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t.”  What Jungkook means to say is he’ll try to remember.  He has to, for them.  Because his actions weren’t just his own - hadn’t been since he’d committed to this crazy wild path years ago - and he has to be considerate.  Has to be better.  “Thanks, hyung.”  

“Just watching out,”  comes the elder’s response with a noncommittal wave of his hand, focus already reassigned to the book laid across the table in front of him.  He’s so immediately absorbed into it that Jungkook’s a little envious, legs of his chair dragging over linoleum as he edges himself into Namjoon’s personal space.  

It’s a testament to their close bond that he doesn’t even flinch, simply shifting ever so slightly to the right to allow Jungkook a better view over his shoulder.

Maybe this is what he needed - a distraction.

“Hyung.”  The inflection immediately perks Namjoon’s attention, head turning just so to acknowledge the other’s address.  “How do you...”  A prolonged pause as Jungkook mules his next words over, finger resting delicately on his cupid’s bow.  Was he really doing this?  “How do you... distract yourself?”  Okay, so not quite the question he’d meant to pose, but good enough for the time being.

Straight brows pitch higher, shooting up in surprise.  Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, it isn’t this.  “What do you mean distract myself?”

Suddenly, Jungkook’s on the spot, the full weight of the rapper’s stare turned on him.  The focus makes him waver, teeth wearing through the supple interior of his cheek and the soft petal of his bottom lip.  Fingers fidget, push and pull on the sweater paw he’s formed.  

“Uh.”  Good one, JK.  

He clears his throat once, twice.  He looks a little chagrined, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  

“When you’re going through things—”  The attempt at ambiguity is as transparent as the windows around them.  “—that are hard, how do you distract yourself?  How do you forget about it?”

“Well, you don’t just forget about your problems.”  Something about Namjoon’s expression has him looking away, flustered.  “I say it’s always better to try to fix your problems than to run from them but,”  and Jungkook latches onto this inch of give,  “if you need a distraction for a while, find something that takes up the extra time you’d otherwise spend stressing about the problem.  A hobby, maybe.”

Well, he had tons of those.  He gamed in his downtime - his Widow headshots were unparalleled, if he was being honest.  He filmed whenever they were out;  he’d even cut and uploaded his and Jimin’s recent trip to Tokyo.  He worked out, forcing his body into a state of fatigue that left his thoughts far too tired to run cruel circles through his mind.  But it was never enough.

“I have hobbies.  It doesn’t work.”  There’s a desperate edge to his words that he hadn’t meant to let slip.  “It’s fine.  Whatever.”  Again, another door closed.  Slammed shut by his own foot in his mouth.

“Then maybe it’s an issue you can’t just distract yourself from.”

Of course Namjoon’s right.  Jungkook knows that but it doesn’t help the bitterness that bleeds onto his tongue and rots enamel.  “That’s not an option.”  Rather, he wouldn’t let it be.  There were do’s and don’ts in best friendships and confessing your unrequited love was on the hard list of don’ts.

“Jungkook-ah...”

“What?”  It explodes off of his tongue, though he doesn’t mean for it to.  The nerves are fizzling in his stomach, ricocheting from his mouth like fireworks into the quiet between them.  They’re too bright - demanding attention.  He thinks, if they were real, they’d paint pretty silhouettes of the girl he can’t get out of his mind.

“Just tell her.”  

“No.”  

They’re an immovable object and an unstoppable force.

Harder now, edged with exasperation and so much concern it makes Jungkook’s heart stutter in his chest.  “You have to.”  

“I can’t.”  Emphatic, spoken with both lips and eyes.  They beg for understanding, like a man lost at sea desperate for a ship on the horizon.  Because that’s exactly what he is – a lovelorn sailor swept to his doom by the siren call, one he’s utterly defenceless against.  He wouldn’t be like this if he had any other choice.  

“Okay.”  A pause, a sigh, a relent.  “I’m here if you need anything.”

DECEMBER 14, 2017

It’s two weeks later when he needs that anything, driven to it by the radio silence he feels in his bones, tearing apart each and every part of him like a black hole devouring the stars.  Because rather than it being a tangible pain he can distract from - replace with another, sharper sting - it’s become a dull ache that exists in every action and inaction, engulfing his thoughts even as they try to focus on anything else.

He thinks he can’t be held responsible for the choices he makes when there’s too much going on in this head of his, his thoughts far too jumbled to be held accountable.

So he smiles at the very pretty girl that’s been deemed the anything he needs and tries to focus on the way her mouth curls, painted an intoxicating shade of ruby red.  He trains his attention on the flutter of her lashes, the coquettish way she ducks her head when he meets her stare.  He memorizes the way her voice pitches and drops, sugary sweet and decidedly feminine.

Does it because it’s the only way to fill the lovesick hole in his heart, even if it doesn’t really work.  Even if the puzzle piece doesn’t quite fit, corners snipped and reassembled to take up the space the essential piece has left behind.

“I can’t believe you asked for my number,”  she's saying, all rose-tinted cheeks and a smile he finds endearing.  Fingers - short, slim, dainty - smooth over the ceramic of her cup and she peers at him from over the edge.  It’s meant to be sly, to draw his attention to the way her mouth curls around the lip, and for a moment, it does.  It piques something in the back of his mind, apathetic green monster rearing its ugly head at the prospect of something new.

Something not named Park Soomi.

He latches onto the interest with both hands, proverbial grip torn apart by rug burn and his attempt to hold onto it.  He needs this.  He needs this so fucking bad.  “Why not?”

“I mean, you’re you.”  The way she says it makes the hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck rise and the fingers in his lap curl into fists.

It brews bitterness on his tongue - the aroma of his coffee lost to the taste.  He can’t help the reaction, even while he knows he can’t blame her for it (nor should he).

After all, she had the Namjoon stamp of approval.  And if there was anything he trusted, it was his leader‘s judgment.

“I’m just a normal guy,”  he insists, mouth full of laughter he forces out.  He says it with as much meaning as he can, though he knows the words don’t hold much weight.  Not when they’re so at odds with the truth.  Luckily, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

She doesn’t have a rebuttal now, only choosing to offer that same soft smile. 

It doesn’t trap him like a star in the galaxy, but it holds his attention.  It reassigns it from the hole in his chest to the brightness of her teeth and the sweetly rounded cupid’s bow and that’s enough.

“I’ll prove it to you.”  Whether he means the words, he’s not sure, but they come of their own volition, sounding off like a promise.  He thinks he can feel warmth spiking across his neck, creeping up past the collar of his flannel once the words settle, a blanket draped over the cozy space they've carved out in the hole-in-the-wall cafe.  When her eyes follow the heat, coaxing it higher with her stare, he knows it’s there.  It makes him swallow thickly - was he in over his head?

When her hand drifts - those big doe eyes of his tracking every movement - and fingers ghost over the tops of the back of his, he knows he is.

“You’re dangerous, huh?”  He asks, though he knows the answer.  Can see it reflected in the impossibly dark depths of grey circle lenses, contrast stark against the perfectly layered and blended makeup smudged around her eyes.  It’s something he’s used to - that idolizing, somehow endlessly adoring stare he’s seen a million times, in the sea of faces he performs for - but here, it feels different.  A little closer to home.  

"Only if you want me to be."  And he thinks he does.

DECEMBER 21, 2017

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Your voice cuts through his early morning exhaustion, striking a proverbial match as neurons fire off beneath his skin, nerves fizzling in his stomach.  It rings clear across the airwaves and for the first time in what feels like ever, it feels like nails on a chalkboard.  For the first time, it doesn't have honey melting into every crevice, warming him from the inside out.

The smallest flash of irritation flares - a lightning strike in his jumbled thoughts.  It's so drastically different from anything he's ever associated with you.  Maybe this was good.  Maybe this was progress.  

"You called."  Deadpan, because Jungkook's still half-asleep but more than that, he's rough around the edges, your hot and cold treatment of him the past few weeks simmering bitterness in his veins.  "Finally found some time for me?"

The intake of breath has him immediately regretting the words, a breath sucked in sharply through his teeth.  He imagines you're doing the same, by the silence that stretches on.  That, or you're tearing a hole through your cheek.  He wants to tell you to stop - to apologize for being an asshole at 7 o'clock in the morning, but he doesn't.

"I've been busy with exams,"  you finally speak and it sounds so small, his heart twists itself over and over.  It doesn't break, though, and that's a feat he never thought he'd accomplish.

"I know."  It’s all he can say, an octave softer but still miles away from the sunny warmth he's used to spilling forth like an overflowing bucket of yellow paint.  It feels strange to hold himself so closely, refusing to allow his abundance of affection colour every syllable and sweep him headlong into the love he feels for you.  "Did you need something?"

Another inhale and - maybe his ears are playing tricks on him but it sounds strange, wet - you're speaking as quietly as he's ever heard, as if you're afraid your words will elicit an reaction somehow worse than what you've already faced.  "Did you want to watch a movie tonight?"  

He has to applaud you for your insistence, though the tiny, bitter part of himself glimpses that flair of annoyance at the edges of his vision once again.  

"I'm busy."  It's the truth but it's not something that's ever stopped him before.  Jungkook was notorious for making time for you, rearranging his schedule enough to make Namjoon want to rip his hair out.  So it's odd, even to him, that the next words - the lie - rolls of his tongue so easily.  "We're working on a new routine tonight."

"Oh."  

The single word has enough weight to crush his heart beneath your heel.  How fitting that it's actually the opposite now, and your own is crumbling beneath his foot.  At least, that's what he thinks - assumes by the dead silence that follows it.

"Sorry then."  You're trying so hard to keep your voice chipper that it leaps higher than is natural and rings in his ears, making him grimace.  Even if he didn't know you so well, he'd be able to read you like a book.  You're far too transparent.  "Good luck.  I know you'll do great - you always do."  

A thanks is all he offers in response, ready to end the call and only stopped by a heart-wrenching last goodbye.  "I love you, Kook."  

He wishes he'd hung up faster.  

Instead, he utters a soft "you, too" and ends the call.  He has a date to get ready for.

DECEMBER 22, 2017

When he stumbles through the front door of their shared apartment, he can still taste the sticky, not unpleasant sweetness of her lips.  It tingles his tastebuds like fresh berries and makes him laugh a little to himself, back of his hand rising to wipe away the residual gloss.  

Peeling off his shoes - he’s careful not to cause too much of a ruckus because it’s almost one in the morning and the last thing he wants is to wake anyone up - he finds himself humming quietly.  It’s low in his throat and muddled by the taste of beer but it’s there, sweeping the quiet from the entryway as laces untie and boots are neatly tucked away out of sight.

He’d had fun, much to his surprise.  Honestly more than than he’d expected, because he'd never been the biggest fan of upscale restaurants, or bustling bars, or glossy pink lip gloss.  But that'd changed in the span of one night, all those strange things somehow sparking a bunny smile and his trademark, boisterous laughter.

Because Jungkook likes that she comes with all of that and she’s everything he needs - at least for now.

She’s a breath of fresh air in a life dominated by strict practice schedules and mandated appearances.  In a way, she’s everything he'd ever hoped for in a distraction - pretty, fun, a little demanding.  She keeps him on his toes in a way he isn’t used to, never giving his thoughts enough time to re-centre on the silhouette that exists like a cookie-cutter carving in his chest.

A temporary fix, possibly - surely - but he didn't mind.  Couldn't find it in himself to when he'd found some semblance of peace for the first time in weeks.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"

The voice breaks him from his thoughts, shoots an arrow that lands bullseye on his heart, and he gasps.  He hadn't noticed the figure lingering in the kitchen, hunched over their kitchen table with one headphone in and a sketchbook in his hands.  

Of course Taehyung would be awake.  Why was he surprised?

Oh, because of the question.  The one he hasn't answered, instead gaping at the other like a fish out of water.  Mouth opens around sound that doesn’t come out then closes and repeats itself twice more.  Taehyung doesn't repeat himself, simply staring at Jungkook with an expression that cuts him to his core.

Because he's not angry, or judgmental.  No, he's disappointed.  It's written into the arches of his brows, the way his headband-covered forehead wrinkles just so.  

"What?"  It's soft, hesitant, careful.  There's already embarrassment crowning, locking into the column of Jungkook's spine and rooting him all the way through to his feet.  It keeps him from advancing further into the apartment, caught halfway between the adjoined living space and the hallway that beckons him to the safety of his bedroom.  

Instead, his gaze swizzles, bounces and leaps between the door at the end of the hall and the other member sitting at the table, focus trained wholly on him.  It's hard to meet Taehyung's eyes - and that feels uncomfortable in a way he doesn't want to think about.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"  Finally repeated, verbatim, in that some low drawl of his.  

It's posed as an innocent question, all sleepy eyes and carefully trained mouth.  It makes Jungkook's own purse, tongue rounding the hollow of his cheek.  Though he knows he shouldn’t, the desire to bite back stirs in his stomach and he has to clench his fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his palms.

“Why?”  He’s aware he’s answered a question with another question - something he finds infuriating himself, but he can’t help it.  He’s not ready for the lecture he’s sure will come.

Taehyung shifts, arms folded across his chest, and says nothing.  It’s somehow more unnerving than if he were to tear into Jungkook.

“We were talking earlier.  She asked how practice had gone.”  There’s a sour edge to Taehyung’s explanation, colouring words highlighter yellow and toxic green.  “Imagine her surprise when I had no idea what she was talking about.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no point - no reason to voice the shame he already knows stitches his features together.  Taehyung presses on, nonplussed by his maknae’s discomfort.

“You didn’t tell her you had a date?”  

“Why would I?”  It’s defensive, juvenile, a world away from what he wants it to be.  It garners him a look that teeters dangerously on flabbergasted, Taehyung’s groomed brows gathering tightly over his stare.

For what it’s worth, his words are measured - far more reasonable than Jungkook deserves.  “Because she’s your best friend?”

“I don’t need to tell her everything,”  and while that’s true - it somehow doesn’t feel great with life breathed into it.  Fully realized, it’s harsh and covered in thorns that catch on the way out of his mouth, tearing up the insides of his cheeks with razor-sharp edges.

“She was hurt.”

That should be enough.  At any other time, it would be.   It’d have Jungkook crawling on his hands and knees - anything to wipe that sadness from your face.  But here and now, caught between a rock and a hard place, it means nothing to him.  At least, that’s what he tells himself, forcing down the bile that rises in his throat.  “Then she should mind her own business.”

Taehyung knows this isn’t the Jeon Jungkook he knows.  Knows that this version of their beloved maknae is but a caricature carved from hurt and frustration and bruises that bloom like weeds.   It doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“You don’t mean that,” he says kindly, softer than he has the whole interaction.

“I do,”   comes Jungkook’s immediate retort, though it lacks any real strength.  It’s small, like it wasn’t meant to be said.

“You need to tell her.”

It’s not the first, second, or third time he’s heard these words;  he wishes it were the last.

“No.”  And he’s walking away again, disappearing into the safety of his own room where he spends the next five hours wide awake and miserable.

DECEMBER 25, 2017

It’s the first time he’s spent Christmas without you. It feels wrong, like any other Monday morning rather than the merry day it is. There’s no golden tinsel strung throughout his thoughts, no cheerily sang carols on repeat in his mind. The magic is gone - stripped away by the loss of you.

You haven’t spoken to him in days.  Since his little white lie - because that’s all it’d been, he tells himself - had come to light, you’d made yourself scarce.  There were no more stories posted to social media, no mentions of your name from the other members.  It was like you’d disappeared, taking all the sunlight with you.

Where he’s once laid his head and called home, there was nothing left.

“Come have breakfast, Jungkookie.”  It’s Jimin peeking into his bedroom, small hands curled around the door frame.  His hair’s a little wonky - sticking up at odd angles - but he appears happy, like he should.

Jungkook wonders how he looks.  If the shadows under his eyes give away all the demons that make homes in the hollows.

“I’m not hungry.”  Or rather, he didn’t have an appetite.  Didn’t have much of anything, truthfully.

“You need to eat.”  It’s the same wide-eyed concern he’s seen edged in everyone’s expression.  It makes his throat constrict, the thing in his chest thumping an erratic rhythm as it threatens to launch itself out of its brassy, broken confines. 

Shoulders shift, rise and fall like a breaching wave, and he shakes his head again.  “I’m really not hungry.”  Even to his own ears, he sounds strange.  His words are held together by flimsy strings, knots frayed and ready to split.  There are stirrings of guilt, tendrils of it curling like smoke through his lungs.  It’s only a matter of time until the fire engulfs every inch of him, scorching all in its path. 

He thinks he wouldn’t mind, if it’d replace the ash that lingers in a fine layer over each thought.

What had happened to his distraction?  Where was it - she - now when he needed it most?

Namjoon’s words reverberate in his skull, rattle around like coins in a pocket.  Maybe it wasn’t something he could distract himself from.  Why hadn’t he listened? It would still suck, surely, but he thinks it might not have mutated, shaped into this new divide by his own hand.

Because now there were miles between you and he only had himself to blame - his own face reflected back at him when he sought to find an answer for the radio silence.

It felt worse than he could’ve imagined.

“At least come join us.”  Jimin is insistent, refusing to let Jungkook wallow in his own self-imposed misery.  Hands coax, tugging at the hem of the younger’s sleeve.  It doesn't move him from his spot, two feet planted firmly as the wheels of his desk chair roll in a semi-circle and return to their original position.  They both know Jimin's weight means nothing against Jungkook's but the dancer is insistent, refusing to budge from where he stands, chest to shoulder with the stubborn boy.  "Jungkookie."

When Jungkook remains steadfastly focused on his computer - on the glowing lights of his keyboard, the front page of Naver - Jimin sighs loudly.  He feels a little bad about it.  Jimin's not the reason he's in this position.  

"Jin-hyung went all out.  You don't want to miss this."  

It's a good tactic.  Any other day and Jungkook would've jumped at the thought of a feast.  After all, he was a growing boy which meant he was always, always hungry. 

As if in response - in a great show of rebellion - his stomach rumbles, breaking the silence he'd meant to drag on.  Betrayed by his own body.

He blanches in the same instant Jimin grins, full mouth spread around a smile that screams victory!

"Come on."  This time, Jungkook relents, lets the other's hands coax him from his seat.  He's still a little begrudging though, shoulders inched forward and chin tucked against his chest in an exaggerated display of resistance.  He even drags his bare feet a little, but Jimin is wholly unbothered.  

Because whether the maknae believes it or not, his members know best.  They know the size of his heart and the fact that a very vital piece seems to be missing.  But that doesn't mean they can't fill it in the ways they know how, with boisterous laughter and his favourite ice cream, hand written letters and silly elf hats.  

They might not have been his Christmas miracle but that didn't mean they wouldn't try.

JANUARY 1, 2018

He thinks it should be easier.  The worst had come and gone, after all.  

He'd spent the rest of the holidays occupied with public appearances and precious moments with his hyungs, exchanging small presents and doing everything he could to keep his mind off of you.  It'd worked, for the most part.  He hadn't had enough time to wallow in that pit of despair he'd come to call home, instead pulled from it by obligations and the hands of his loved ones.

And yet he can't help the way he checks his phone, turns it over and over in his hands like another flip might throw the universe into motion, righting its off-kilter axis.  

"You look stressed."  A voice purrs - but it's not you so he doesn't really listen.  Doesn't even flinch when a warm body settles itself against his side in a veil of vanilla powder and glossy curls.  "What's wrong, babe?"  There's a hand on his knee and lips at his ear, roses painting the shell as she presses herself closer.  

Jungkook’s certain it's meant to be reassuring but he can only lean away, eager to put as much space between them as possible.  For the first time, it feels wrong.  Like the distraction wasn't made for him, but by him.  This isn’t what he wants.  It throws every action, every minute adjustment of her features, into stark relief.

So it's impossible to miss the look on her face, how it screams hurt and surprise and what the hell are you doing?  

"What?"  The word comes in a pair - from him and her.  It's almost comical how she sounds in comparison to him, all edges and affront to his soft utterance.  There's venom in her single syllable, laid there by a sharp tongue and sharper teeth.  It's the first time he's been on the receiving end of it and he has to admit - he hates it.  It gnaws at his insides.  He realizes he's letting her down.

Like Frankenstein, he's created a monster he can't control.

"What's your problem?"  She's far less angry than she deserves to be.  If he were in her shoes, he'd be black and blue, howling at the moon.  Instead, she's still soft, affection dulling the bile that rightfully rises in her throat.  Even now, he can see the way she looks at him - larger than life, with stars in her eyes.

Jungkook doesn't find it in himself to answer immediately, instead staring adamantly at an indiscernible point behind her.  "Nothing."  It's the farthest thing from believable, a lie that fixes itself between them, bright red and beguiling.  

"It doesn't seem like nothing."  For what it's worth, she's trying.  He can tell she is by how her tone changes, adapts to the relutance he shows.  She's trying to coax something more from him, shifting slightly closer when he doesn't immediately recoil.  "The fireworks are on.  Let's go join everyone else."

It's a great idea in theory but it's the last thing he wants to do.  So he says as much, shaking his head in the same moment.

"I'm heading home."  It doesn't matter that he's nowhere near their dorms or that she suddenly looks like a kicked puppy.  All Jungkook knows is that he has to be anywhere but here.  "Have fun tonight."

He's rising before she even has a chance to respond, flipping the hood of his sweatshirt up over his carefully styled strands.  When she reaches for him, he retreats a step, putting as much distance between them as he can in the small room.  It isn't easy - she's everywhere, light reflecting off the sequins of her pretty white dress, the scent of her perfume presenting itself with every inhale.

"I'm sorry,"  he says and he means it, despite the disbelief that paints her features.  

Without looking back, he disappears out the door, sliding past the milling bodies, the various performers and staff that wander the halls.  Excitement still buzzes among the dispersed crowd and he finds himself getting swept up in the occasional hello, deterred from his mission over and over again.  

It isn't until his phone rings, tone interrupting the one-sided conversation, that he's able to pull himself away.  He thanks his lucky stars - until he sees the caller ID.

Because it's you.  You - the person he's been waiting for all this time.  

It has his heart hammering in his chest, his grip on the device suddenly so tight he worries he might crack the screen.  You're finally calling him.  After weeks, you were there, familiar contact photo beaming up at him.

"Hello?"  He can hear the hope in his own voice.  

There's a long pause and he feels his throat constrict.  Had you not meant to call?  Was it a pocket dial?  A million questions run rampant through his thoughts, kicking up dust and gravel that he nearly trips over in his haste to get a response.

"Soo?"

"Happy New Year, Jungkook-ssi."  The way you say his name makes him want to cry with relief because there's tenderness still, hidden beneath the soft, half-whispered greeting.  You sound exactly like you always have, if not a little quieter, with more reserve, and he wants to live in the sound, how it settles into his head like it belongs there.  

"Happy New Year,"  he echoes back in a voice thick with emotion.  

You were finally home.

notes.  this chapter is the painful brainchild of mine and @keywepie​ and as such, is dedicated to her.  thank you for letting me talk your ear off and i’m sorry it took so long!

and yes, this kook is very different from the present-day kook in the series but that’s the point.  he was!!  hurting n sad!!  and way younger!!!!!

[knightofameris]

jar of stars — peter parker (p. iii)

Setting: After homecoming, but during the sophomore year of high school Gender: Neutral Contains: Flufffffffff, a little bit of angst but honestly not really lol. Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) has a thing for paper stars. They also have a thing for Peter Parker but then an itsy bitsy spider comes ‘round and practically plays matchmaker.

a/n: Let me know if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes or if I accidentally say ‘she/he’ instead of the gender neutral ‘they’.

So, I finished this months after starting this and I’m posting this a few weeks after finishing it. It’s a little rushed towards the end since I kinda lost inspiration. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this series! I have two more series (6-part and 8-part w/ epilogue coming up but I have no clue when they’ll be finished.

p. i || p. ii || here!

Enjoy!  [repost from old account]

❝ the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed                     that one eyebrow that defied gravity           it was like you were falling for him all over again ❞

“You can’t just take someone, swinging through the buildings of Queens, Peter!” Tony yelled, gesturing his entire arm out. Peter walked up towards his mentor in his outfit, his arms out as he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah but Mr. Sta-”

“A bup bup bup!” Tony raised a finger up in the air, effectively shutting Peter up who could only tighten his mouth in a straight line. “I’m talking here. Peter, I know you like this person a lot. (Y/n) right? What was it that you said to me about keeping your identity a secret?”

“To keep my loved ones safe.” They both said at the same time.

“Exactly,” Tony walked up towards Peter and wrapped an arm around the young teen. The two began to walk towards the car set outside the compound, ready to drive Peter home. “Someone could easily snap a picture and (Y/n) would be attached to your alter ego. I know you’re terrified to ask them out as - well - you,” Tony gestured towards Peter’s entire body.

“Wait, what do you mea-”

“But you’re going to have to. And not play around as Spider-Man to do so. Pepper is always in danger because of me. And trust me, I hate it. I’ve pushed her away in the past a few times and all of those who have been close to me because I’m scared of them getting hurt. You don’t need that on your conscience that young, if at all. I really - and I mean it - I really think you should stop talking to them. As Spider-Man, anyways.”

Peter  pursed his lips as he took in everything Tony said. Nodding his head, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stop talking to them. As Spider-Man.” The two of them finally reached the black car, Happy already in the drivers seat.

Tony reached over to open the door for Peter and then patted his back. “I knew you were a smart kid, Parker.” Peter smiled up at Tony as he got into the car.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Uh, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Tony?” Tony quirked a brow and pointed at the boy seated in the car. “Oh, whatever, just get home safe or May will kill me.”

Tony patted the top of the car once the door shut and watched until the car left his line of vision.

Peter looked inside your room, watching as you worked on some stars while binging a show. He probably should knock, since this was kind of creepy, but you just looked so calm. No worries in the world. However, he raised his hand and rapped two knuckles on the window. You jolted a bit in your seat, looking at the window only to smile in relief when you recognized his mask.

You took off your earbuds and got up to open the window. You leaned out of it staring at the whites of his mask.  

“It’s late, what are you doing?” You asked, smiling and recalling the earlier events of the day. You couldn’t read the emotions etched on his face, but the way his body shifted side to side and how he moved his head to the side you could sense that something was up. You frowned. “Spider-Man?”

“Sooo, Mr. Stark caught me taking you through Queens.” He scratched the back of his neck, still not meeting your eyes. “He said I shouldn’t do that, or talk to you as Spider-Man. And I think so too. It can put you in serious danger if one of my enemies caught me with you and I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt. I’m really sorry and I hope you understand.” He began to walk away and raised his arm up to head back home but you reached out towards him, grasping onto his arm.

“Wait!” You urged. He glanced back at you. “Just, wait for a second.” You let go of his arm and ran into your room. Digging under your bed, you reached for a certain jar and ran back to the window. You held out the Spider-Man themed jar to him.

“It-It makes sense,” you said, “to stop talking to me. I get it. And as much as it sucks, I’m glad I got to know you. So at the very least, take this. You know, to remember me.” He gingerly took it out of your grasp and adired the spider design on the side.

He looked up into your eyes, “Thank you.”

You choked back a few tears before you said, “Good luck in life. And stay safe.”

Peter smiled. “I will. Thank you, (Y/n). For being a big part of my life. Make sure to tell Peter by the way.”

You nodded your head in response, not trusting your voice, before he jumped off the fire escape and into the night. You sighed, glancing up at the night sky. You weren’t met with the twinkling of stars, for they did not shine that night.

The dark circles under your eyes would not go away, no matter how much concealer you tried to put on. That much was evident to all your friends.

MJ frowned and furrowed her brows as she put an arm around you. “Dude, why do you look like you were up all night studying.”

Not wanting to tell the truth you replied, “Because I was?”

“Dude, (Y/n), you’re going to be fine,” Ned said, nudging you slightly with his elbow. You made sounds of protests in response but then quickly looked over at Peter. He was deathly quiet and usually would rush over to you the moment he knew you were killing yourself over school. But he looked just as tired, he was just lucky he didn’t have dark circles as evident as yours.

No one knew that you were close friends with the hero of Queens. Not even MJ but she knew something was up when you’d stop replying to her texts or wouldn’t hang out with her at night. So it’s not even like you could tell someone how you’ve been feeling since he cut you off.

It sucked. But you knew that it was because of how it could put you in danger. But there was still that voice in the back of your head wondering if he just cut you off because he was tired of you. Insecurities of yours wandered around in your head for the rest of the day.

You sat next to Peter with Ned, Cindy, and a few others, at the lab table in physics. Your head on the desk, looking at Peter’s well defined profile. You were thankful that Mrs. Warren didn’t assign any work after the AP exams; it meant you could sleep. But for some reason, even though you were extremely tired, you just watched Peter play card games with the rest of the group. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at something stupid. That one eyebrow that defied gravity. It was like you were falling for him all over again.

Maybe you should follow Spider-Man’s advice. Even if he never spoke to you again, you trusted him.

Your eyes began to close, listening to the voices of your friends and Peter’s laugh lulled you into dreamland.

The annoying sound of your alarm caused you to groan as you rolled over to slam the snooze button on your phone. You closed your eyes again as you drifted off into dreamland but the alarm that was set five minutes after went off causing you to groan again.

Your drowsy eyes slowly opened up as you rubbed your face with your hands. Tossing the blankets to the side, you groggily got up to get ready for school. You really regretted staying up to finish a season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before the last day of school. Nah, it was so worth it.

It had been about a week and a few days since Spider-Man cut everything off with you. But with how it was the last day of school, you figured you should end it following his advice.

So there you were, standing in front of your jar-shelf trying to pick a confession jar. Which one would Peter like the most?

“It’s Peter, he wouldn’t care which one. Just if he got one,” you thought. And you knew you were right but the other voice kept saying otherwise. It wasn’t until your dad yelled at you saying you were going to be late, again, that you grabbed a random one and ran off to catch the subway.

The last day of school went off without a hitch. Unfortunately, you didn’t see Peter all day or even after school. Block schedule for finals were the worst.

“So you’re finally doing it?” Michelle asked as she walked you to the station.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, I haven’t seen him all day and Ned hasn’t either. So I’ll probably stop by his place since it’s on the way to mine.”

“Alright, doesn’t sound to bad. Tell me how it goes, loser,” Michelle smirked and you rolled your eyes, punching her shoulder lightly as she walked off to her train to take.

“I’ll text you tonight, get home safe, ho bag!” You called out, ignoring the looks from the older adults around you. You smiled to yourself as you got onto the train and shifted around to look for a seat, only to realize you were going to have to stand this time around. Again. Which was fine.

You gripped one of the handles as you pulled out your phone to check your messages. Replying quickly to a few friends, you pulled up Peter’s chat and let him know that you were stopping by. You shoved your phone back into your pocket and took a deep breath for what was to come.

You knocked on Peter’s apartment with two fingers and went back to grasp the straps of your backpack to ease your nerves. You waited for a bit and then heard a ruckus on the other side, only to see May open up holding a rag. She paused and then burst into a smile as she realized it was you.

“(Y/n)! It’s so nice to see you,” she gushed, ushering you into the apartment. You smiled up at her, your eyes flickering over to Peter’s door as you talked.

“Yeah, it’s been a while Mrs. Parker!” You brushed a hand through your hair.

“Oh,” she waved the rag nonchalantly, “just call me May. You’re probably here for Peter, you can just walk in, he just got back from school.” You nodded your head and thanked her before heading over into his room, taking out the jar from your bag.

You knocked a few times before clasping your hand around the doorknob and let yourself in. You suddenly became more aware of the jar that sat in your hands when you made eye contact with Peter who looked up at you from his bed on his phone. He jolted out of his bed and fixed his hair from tossing around in his bed.

“(Y/n), I just got your message,” he breathed out. Smiling as he moved around his room trying to clean up his slight mess. As he shuffled things around on his desk you couldn’t help but notice an oddly familiar jar that sat perched on it. Your face scrunched up in confusion and you tilted your head as you tried to recall the star jar that sat on his desk.

Peter looked up at you, “So, what do you need to-”

“Holy shit.”

The jar in your hand would have shattered if it hit the floor. But Peter reached forward fast enough to catch it before it did.

Peter probably should have realized you’d figure it out, that he was Spider-Man. So when he glanced up at your frozen figure, worry flooded over him.

“Peter?” You asked sternly, your finger pointing at the jar you had given him, or Spider-Man, weeks earlier. He followed your eyes that were looking in the same direction as your finger then back up at you.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, okay. Well, that jar’s for you. You should open it.” You walked out of his room, closing his door for a second. Peter stood there watching you leave, his mouth agape. Glancing down at the jar, realizing that you had followed his advice, then up to see your back about to leave his apartment, he set down the jar on his desk and ran after you.

“(Y/n), wait!” Peter called for you, jumping over the couch and setting his hand on your shoulder. You stopped mid-step but didn’t turn around to face him. “I - uh - I don’t know what to say.”

You closed your eyes, unsure of how to feel. “I liked you.”

Peter tilted his head and pulled his hand away from your shoulder. “Liked?”

You chuckled and moved your head down a bit. “I liked you, you know. Spider-Man. And you. God, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Relieved? That I wasn’t confused on who I liked? Happy? Because it’s you.  Or mad? Since you essentially used Spider-Man to get to me. Kind of broke my heart when Spider-Man stopped talking to me and when you got too busy with the Stark Internship to even make time for me or Michelle or Ned!” You brought your arm up to your face, wiping away stray tears.

Peter stood there and pursed his lips. His eyes watering a little bit since he was frustrated at himself for doing this to you.

You opened your mouth, about to tell Peter you were going to leave when you heard him talk.

“I’m sorry.” He shifted his weight on his feet and you turned to face him. “I am so, so, sorry about the distress I put you through.” He looked into your eyes, occasionally glancing elsewhere. “I shouldn’t have  to use Spider-Man to get close to you like that. I should have made more time for you as me. I just-uh-I should have told you about Spider-Man. And I’ll make it up to you! Because talking to you again as Spider-Man made me so ecstatic. I thought-I thought you hated me. You never gave me a jar and-and I was always scared. Scared to talk to you as me. So-so-so I thought,” Peter waved his arms around, not really looking at you by the time he got here, “I thought Spider-Man would be easier to talk to you. And it was-”

You wrapped your arms around him into a hug. “You talk wayyy too much Parker. I get it. It still doesn’t make it right though.” Peter smiled and you felt his arms wrap around you.

“I know. I’ll make it up to you.” Peter nuzzled his face into your hair.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” you slightly moved away from Peter looking up at him. “I trust you.” Peter grinned. “Now, you just gotta fill me in on everything.”

“I will.”