#i spent hours working on a dust jacket today and it’s still not good

[teenwerewoofs]

design decisions are so hard 😩😩😩

[xoxo-teddybear]

Viagra Prank - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: smut, f!receiving, male masterbation, needy Bakugou, sexual touching

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Summary: After a dumb argument, Y/N decides to punish Bakugou by avoiding him while he’s superrrrrr horny

A/N: NOT SPELL CHECKED

Bakugou and Y/N had been arguing for an hour already. They have been talking about Y/N cheating on him.....IN A FUCKING DREAM. Yes it really scared Bakugou and he did wanna talk to Y/N about it, but he just went about it in the wrong way and so, this led to the arguing and yelling. Bakugou knew he was in the wrong, but he was too stubborn to apologize, at least verbally. Usually, that was okay for Y/N, because at least he showed when he was sorry. But this time, all she wanted was a soft and genuine “I’m sorry.”

Instead of apologizing verbally, Bakugou attempted to make up for it through his actions. He bought Y/N another teddy bear to go along with the others he got her, bought her a bouquet of roses and gourmet chocolates, and spent the entire day with her. At night, he held you close and filled your ears with sweet nothings like “I’m so lucky I have you,” “I don’t know how you deal with me, Teddy Bear, but thank you,” and “I’ll forever love you, Y/N.”

After seeing he put a little extra effort into this very “Bakugou” apology, Y/N forgave him, but she still wasn’t letting him off the hook. She wanted to punish him at least a little, but the question was “how?” She discussed it with Bakugou’s closest friends to give her ideas.

“You could ignore him all day.” The red head said, “he has a free day tomorrow, so I can imagine he plans on spending every second of it with you.”

“Nah, since he has a free day, I would love to spend time with him too. I don’t wanna ignore him, just mess with him a little to get back at him.” You said.

“What about one of those kinky couples do? A sexual punishment. Orgasm denial, overstimula-“

“NEXXTTTTT” you, Kirishima, and Kaminari said, cutting off Sero’s nasty thoughts. Besides, you and Bakugou were that kinky couple. And you knew he enjoyed all that stuff. The freaky bastard. You were getting nowhere until Kaminari said something unexpectedly smart.

“What about viagra?” He recommended.

“What?” You questioned.

“Viagra. You can buy it at any pharmacy and just crush up the pill into a powder and give it to Bakugou in a drink. It’s gonna make this man insanely horny, and to punish him, just deny him every time.” He said sipping his drink.

“I-.....that’s perfect!” You said

“Wow Kaminari, nice plan.” Mina said.

“Thank you.......hey can I get some more boneless ice?” Annddddd dunce face is back. Someone get this boy his water.

Doesn’t matter though, now all you have to do is buy the viagra and you’re set. That night, you and Mina went to the pharmacy together and bought the pills. When you went to sleep, you saw Bakugou waiting for you in the room.

“Jeez babe, what took so long? I was waiting here for like 2 hours!” Bakugou pouted. You laughed and kissed him.

“I’m sorry Suki, but not everyone goes to bed at 8 on a Friday night.” You said taking off your jacket and changing into your pjs. You climbed into bed as Bakugou defended himself.

“Well neither do I, but I woke up mad early today.” He said wrapping his arms around you. You pecked his forehead and tried to get some sleep, excited for the next day.

“Yeah, yeah you big baby. Just get some sleep.” As you both cuddled up, you layed with a devious smirk as an unknowing Pomeranian slept peacefully above you.

——————————————————————————

That morning, you woke up early with Bakugou to work out together. As Bakugou got ready, you prepped his drinks. You placed 3 bottles of water in Bakugou’s gym bag and opened up one of them. Taking the viagra pill out, you placed it in a bowl and used the bottle cap to crush the pill to a powder. You poured the dust into the water, put the cap back on and shook the bottle. After seeing the bottle still looked normal, you subtly marked it and placed it back in his bag. When he came, ready to go you gave him the bag and you guys made your way to the gym.

After working out for a few minutes, Bakugou took a huge gulp of water. You noticed it was the bottle you marked and smiled. After a few minutes, Bakugou was starting to feel...something. He didn’t know what it was, but now he was staring at you...more than usual. Your body covered glistened in your sweat and the image of you like that was burned into Bakugou’s mind. The heavy breathing you did only accentuated his need for you and the way your body looked everytime you stretched or moved. God, he knew you were hot, but something about you today just hit different.

Bakugou walked up to you and held your waist.

“Suki?” You looked up at him with an innocent face that made him bite his lips.

“Do you wanna get outta here? I think we’re set on workouts for today, Princess.” He said while staring at your body and chest.

“Oh, sure! Let me just get my stuff and-“ you were cut off when Bakugou gripped your ass with both hands and tongued you down, he pushed you up against the wall and began grinding into you. You felt his growing erection press up against your sensitive heat which made you moaned into the kiss. This made Bakugou even needier. Unfortunately, you weren’t giving in so easily today.

“Hah...S-Suki..” you breathed out while pushing him off you slightly. “C’mon..can we at least get out of here and wash up.”

“Why? We can do that after I completely ravish you,” Bakugou smirked as he attempted to kiss you once more but you pushed him back smiling.

“Sorry Suki, but we need to get back. Okay?” You said and walked away as Bakugou rolled his eyes taking another sip of water. You both walked out but with Bakugou being a lot more handsier. You walked and he would jog up behind you and grab your ass, he would walk with his arms wrapped around your waist while standing behind you, and once you reached your dorm room, he shut the door and slammed you against it grabbing your chest and kissing you again with fervor and tongue. Sadly, once again, you pushed him off.

“Shower first Suki.” You said and walked to get some clothes out of your closet. Bakugou just sighed and banged his head against the door. He looked down and saw his friend creating a tent in his sweatpants and he let out a breath a horny frustration. Then an idea hit him.

“Shower sex?” He said hopefully like a happy puppy, and if he had a tail, please believe it’d be wagging.

“No.” Bakugou just growled and flopped onto the bed and face planted down on the cushion.

“Fineeeeee!!!!!” He complained while his voice muffled by the mattress. While you showered, you left a needy Bakugou on the mattress. He could only imagine what you looked like. Curvaceous body, covered in droplets of water, steam all around you making your cheeks red. Bakugou rubbed at his face. Why the fuck was he this horny?

When you walked out, you were wearing a small towel as you seemed to have used your wind quirk to dry your hair. Bakugou licked his lips as he walked up to your almost naked body and felt you up. He kissed up on your neck as you tilted your head to give him more access. You pressed your ass into his crotch as he grinded into you. You could hear his soft moans. His hand traveled to grope your chest and the other hand went to your clit.

“You want me to feel up on this sweet little cunt?” He asked as he pressed two fingers into you and you gasped.

“A-ah...” you moaned out as your tongue rolled out of your mouth and eyes rolled to the back of your head. You almost gave in to his desires until your phone rang, snapping you out of your trance. You pulled his hand away from you and walked to your phone but not before Bakugou tried pulling you back.

“Hey..where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you.” He said pulling you towards him.

“Katsuki..”

“Please, Princess. I need you..now.” He said as he grabbed your ass.

“Baby, seriously. Get washed up and let’s continue our day. Please?” You pouted and Bakugou sighed and gave in. He grabbed some clothes he kept in your closet and went to wash up. You sighed in relief and checked your phone only to see it was spam, but still glad it snapped you out. As you got dressed, you cursed yourself for falling so easily for Katsuki.

‘That damn Katsuki. Knowing my body, using it against me. Who the hell does he think he is being built like a Greek god like that?’ You thought as you dressed yourself.

While Bakugou was in the shower, he realized he needed to calm down. Yes he has an amazingly hot girlfriend he could fuck to settle him down, but it was clear she wasn’t down for morning sex today so he had to solve it himself.

He let his head rest under the hot water as his hand went to grab at his length and move vigorously. He imagined the way Y/N would look with her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, swallowing all of him. How she would take his entire length in her tight little cunt, squeezing him perfectly.

“Y-Y/N...fuck..faster..” he moaned out with a breathy voice as he moved his hips, fucking his hand. He groaned and threw his head back.

“C-C’mon baby...s-shit, c’mon. Oh fuck..I’m cumming! ....a-ah!” He said as his hips stuttered and his release covered the shower floor. He sighed as he tried to regain his breath from his orgasm. It wasn’t as good as it would’ve been if it was actually you, but nonethe less, he came. Sadly, he still wasn’t satisfied.

As Bakugou walked out in nothing but a towel, he tried to get dressed but the second he saw you, his hard on returned. Oh, this was gonna be a long day.

——————————————————————————

All throughout the day Bakugou tried his best to get you in bed, and when his advances always failed, he resorted to feeling up on you or running to the bathroom for release.

You had to admit, rejecting Bakugou’s attempts had gotten harder and harder. For each time he touched you, you basically had to leave yourself hanging. You felt yourself grow wetter each time to a point where even you almost went to hide away in your room and please yourself. Thankfully, it was almost midnight, meaning the day would be over and your punishment for Bakugou would be done. Then, you both can explore your desires.

It was late LATE into the night when Bakugou busted into your room as you were watching a movie. You paused the screen and spoke to him.

“Suki! You can’t just barge in like that, you’re gonna break my do-“

“Shut up” he said as he made his strides over to you and shut you up by tonguing you down. You fell into the kiss and returned it, kissing him with just as much passion. You peaked open your eyes and looked at the time. 11:47. ‘So close,’ you thought to yourself. You reluctantly pushed him away again.

“Suki..no,”

“Suki, yes.” He whined back as he attempted to kiss you again but you stopped him once more. He was getting fed up. He lifted you by your hips, tossed you flat on your back on the bed, and used his arms to cage you in. His hands pinned your wrists to the sides of your head and his knees were pressed into the mattress at the side of your hips. He got close in your face before speaking.

“You owe me an explanation, princess. I get not wanting to fuck on busy days or during a certain time but all day? I’ve tried to get you right here where Ive wanted you and you rejected me each time. Tell. Me. Why.” He said each word with poison on his tongue. You cringed at what you thought his reaction would be, but soon came to the conclusion that you’d have to tell him at some point.

“...Punishment” you said with a hopeful smile, praying that your boyfriend won’t fling you out the window. Bakugou looked at you with wide eyes.

“What?” He squinted his eyes at you and asked.

“You were acting like an idiot the other day and it pissed me off. I accepted your apology and forgave you but you weren’t completely off the hook. So I put viagra in your drink to turn you on and deny you as a punishment.” You cringed at how easy it was for you to tell him the truth. Bakugou looked at you with a confused look, then a smirk.

“So...you drugged my drink to get me riled up so I could fuck you? Didn’t know my teddy bear was so freaky,” he said licking your neck.

“What?! No! It’s not like tha- ah!” You were interrupted as Bakugou gripped into your chest.

“Then whats it like, teddy bear? Rejection? Well you’re not denying me now. Why not?” He asked you. But you had no answer for him anyway, so as far as he knew, he was right.

“That’s what I thought,” he said while continuing the attack on your neck. “I’ve been so neglected all day, I think as an apology gift, you should let me have my way with you. Doesnt that sound fun, princess?” He said the last sentence while letting his finger press against your clothed clit. You moaned at the feeling and felt yourself growing wet.

“K-Katsuki!” You moaned.

“Please, Princess?” He asked..practically begged.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Enjoying the feeling of his pads rubbing into you. You arched your back and gave in, spreading you legs for him. Bakugou smirked and was quick to remove your shorts and panties. Excited, he went to feast right away. No teasing, no waiting. He’s right into it, enjoying his meal. Sucking and kissing your bud, his eyes shut as he enjoys hearing your moans and tasting your sweet nectar.

The sudden feeling of his tongue hitting you and eating you out had you shivering. The massive amount of pleasure was so sudden, you could’ve cum right then.

“S-Suki! ...m-more!” You said as your hands went to grab at his hair. Bakugou groaned as you tugged and sent his tongue right into your hole. You cried out in such ecstasy that you legs began to shake.

“Cum on my tongue, Princess. Let me taste you,” Bakugou said before he went right back in. When you came, Bakugou lapped up every drop of you, savoring your flavor. He went up to kiss you and allowed you to taste yourself.

“God I want you so bad princess..” Bakugou breathed out as he released himself from his pants and lined up with your cunt. He rubbed his tip up and down your opening and you moaned in excitement.

“Let me have my way with you, Y/N.” He said in your ear as he pressed in. You wanted and needed him now. You looked at the time and saw, 11:56. Screw it.

“Please Katsuki! Use me! Please fuck me!” You begged. Smirking at your neediness, Bakugou slammed into you. Not giving you any time to adjust, Bakugou kept to his word and had his way with you. His pace was going so fast it had you seeing stars.

“Y-yes Katsuki! F-uck.....Mm,” you cried out. Bakugou lifted your hips to hold onto you and fuck you in a deeper angle.

“Shit....like that, Princess?” He said said with a smile as he kissed your neck.

“M-more Katsuki!” You begged again. Bakugou held onto your hips and kept his steady pace for awhile. He smacked your ass and kissed you deeply, exploring every inch of your wet cavern.

“You thought it was okay to fuck around with me like this? Huh princess?” He said smacking you again. You moaned at the contact and he gripped your ass. He grabbed your legs and put you in a mating press. The new angle reached deep inside you and hit the most sensitive spots. You screamed his name as he continued to fuck you with his head thrown back.

“Gotta keep quiet now...can’t let the whole class know what’s happening in here,” he huffed out “or maybe you want them to know. Yeah? You want them to know how much of a slut you are just for me?” He teased.

“Ohhh..yesss Katsuki.” You moaned. His cock was sliding into you perfectly, making you dizzy and drunk on euphoria.

“Yeah, but you’re my slut. Right? My dirty little slut. All for me, and me only.” He said as he placed his arms next to your head.

“I’m yours Katsuki! Just yours...ah!” You clenched around him. You could feel the way his balls slapped your ass everytime he thrusted into you. The sounds of skin slapping and your wet cunt filled the air and made a melody you’d never forget. In the heat of the moment, you began to feel the familiar knot in your belly.

“F-fuck. Cum for me princess, I want you to spill in on me.” Bakugou said. He went deeper, harder, and faster. Whatever it took for your pleasure. As he went in, you felt the knot become loose as you came on Katsuki’s dick and your legs shook. You cried out in pleasure as Bakugou continued to chase his own release. After a few more deep strokes, Bakugou met his high and climaxed. He filled your womb with cum and layed there as he emptied his load. You both layed there in silence, catching your breaths as you both came down from the high.

Instead of pulling out, Bakugou stayed where he was and just leaned in closer to you.

“You done messing with me, Princess?” He asked you. You let out a breathy yes as he kissed your cheek and pulled out. He layed beside you and cuddled into you as he held you close.

“I don’t know. I’m kinda satisfied with how this turned out.” You teased. Bakugou only let out a quick laugh in disbelief at his wild girlfriend and just kissed her.

“You’re crazy.” He said while holding you closer.

“But you love me,” you said.

“Yeah..I do.” He said as he rested his head against you. While basking in the glow of the after sex peace, Bakugou realized something.

“Umm..Y/N?” He started.

“Hm?” You said in a sweet voice, with your eyes still closed and you still cuddled into his chest.

“I’m, uh...I’m sorry..for how I was acting.” He apologized. This made your eyes burst open. He was apologizing..verbally. You looked up at him and gave him a sweet, passionate kiss.

“Thank you Katsuki, but I already forgave you. Remember?” You giggled. A sound that Bakugou will forever remember. A sound he will forever enjoy hearing. He just sighed and leaned into you even more, trying to communicate all his love through the physical contact you were both having.

“I don’t deserve you, Princess” he said as his eyes began to fall heavy into a deep sleep.

“You deserve me and the whole world Katsuki.” You said with love dripping in your voice.

“You are my whole world,” he mumbled in embarrassment as a blush adorned his face as he attempted to hide away in your neck. You blushed and smiled at his little confession and allowed him to sleep. It was past his usual bedtime after all.

“Get some rest, Hero.” You said, pecking his forehead with a loving kiss. As he drifted off, you just smiled and rested your eyes as you thought about the next time you would drug his drink. This little viagra prank turned out amazing.

A/N: y’all this was so sloppy😭 it could’ve been so much better but it’s been sitting in my drafts mocking me. I just had to get it out here. I’m sorry it’s not spell checked but I hoped you enjoyed it none the less. (The smut was so bad😭😭) see you next time, Cubs💗🧸

[joonie-beanie]

The OM! Boys + first kisses (which you initiate!)

Masterlist

I didn’t explicitly mention it being the first kiss in each scenario, but please assume that it is! 🥰

Lucifer:

Your feelings for the Avatar of Pride are undeniable. In fact, recently, they’ve become very hard to keep in check.

He’s already on your mind when you walk past his study, and see him hunched over his desk--working hard, like always (and that worries you a bit). Your heart is so full of love for him, and it aches whenever you think of his long, exhausting days.

Even if it’s cheesy, you want to be a pick-me-up to him during those busy times.

“Shouldn’t you take a break?” you quip, silently making your way inside. Lucifer blinks, and his gaze softens when it falls on you.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he sighs, but doesn’t set his pen down. He frowns at the stack of papers in front of him, not paying you any mind as you slowly scoot your way around the side of the desk--stepping up behind him.

You watch him as he works, eyes trailing from his gloved hands, up his arms, and across his strong jaw line.

Lucifer never fails to enchant you. Even just being here, so close to him, has your heart racing.

...you want to kiss him.

“Y/N--”

And the minute Lucifer turns his head ever so slightly, moving to look at you, you do just that.

Without giving yourself much time to think on it, you reach your hands forward and cradle his face--closing your eyes as you press your lips against his own.

You feel Lucifer still in surprise, and you’re quick to try and pull back--but then a grin is spreading on his lips, and his gloved hand is curling against the back of your neck.

He kisses you for a few more moments, goosebumps rising on your skin. Then, he finally releases you--only allowing you a few inches to breathe as his thumb soothes through your hair. 

“I’m a bit upset you didn’t allow me the chance to kiss you first,” he says with a bit of a frown, but soon laughs. “However, as long as I get to keep kissing you, I certainly won’t complain.”

Mammon:

Despite your affections for the Avatar of Greed, they never seem to be enough.

Tonight, he’s pouting because you’d spent your afternoon with Asmo--having a shopping day together--and not him.

“I mean, ya could’ve invited me,” he says, pointedly ignoring you as he rolls onto his side and occupies himself on his DDD. You sigh.

“Mammon, Asmo wanted it to be just the two of us. I assumed you would be okay for just a few hours without me at your side.”

Somehow, he manages to pout even harder.

“I’m supposed’ta be your first...why are ya spending so much time with those guys?”

Your gaze softens as you regard him. He should know by now that he’s got a special place in your heart, and yet, that’s still not enough for him.

No, he’s the Avatar of Greed. He’ll only continue to crave more, right?

“Mammon.”

He grunts, not turning to face you. “What?”

“Mammon, look at me, please.”

You speak quietly, tenderly--letting any annoyance disappear from your tone. Then, finally, Mammon gives in, and rolls onto his back.

“What? Are you ready to apolo--mmph!”

He literally goes stiff as a board when you lean in and capture his lips. Your cheeks are hot--you’re embarrassed despite your sudden burst of confidence.

“There--,” you say, sitting back after a few seconds. “Is that enough to make it up to you?”

Mammon blinks at you, face getting redder by the second. Then, his gaze is darting away, brain catching up to what has just occurred. However, it’s clear that he’s far from unhappy.

“Uhhh...well, maybe if you give me a few more, I’ll think about forgiving you.”

 Levi:

It’s a spur of the moment type thing.

You’re hanging out with Levi, watching him play a video game, when things start to go wrong. He hops to his feet, cursing up a storm as he attempts to regain his footing in the match he’s suddenly now losing.

You decide to stay calm, to not worry, because surely Levi will calm down in a moment--but when his power starts to seep, an aura growing around him--you know you have to do something.

After all, he can’t summon Lotan again. 

“Levi, hey! Why don’t we calm down!” you try, smiling at him. You shift yourself into his field of vision, hoping to distract him from the game that’s only continuing to go south.

“There’s a special reward for beating this level!” he hisses, his amber eyes ghosting right over you. “I have to win!”

“You can try again once you’ve calmed down!” you argue, taking a step forward, with your hands held in front of you. Your fingers skim the fabric of his jacket, and you look up at him, but he’s too immersed to realize exactly how close you are. (After all, if he did, he would definitely be scrambling backwards right now).

“No, I--”

You sigh at his adamance, fingers curling into his shirt. You had been hoping your first kiss with him would at least be a little more romantic, but here goes nothing!

Gathering all of your courage, you press up and connect your lips with his. It takes him a few seconds to register what’s going on, but you feel the controller in his hands slowly drop. And then, he’s jolting back--arm raising to cover his tomato colored face.

“Y-Y-You!! You kissed me!”

“I’m sorry!” you immediately say, feeling hot as well. “You wouldn’t listen to what I was saying, and I didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself, or your games, or your brothers, so!” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but it doesn’t work well.

“Listen...I’m sorry if you didn’t like it, I just--”

“W-Well...I never said that...,” he mumbles, interrupting you. His gaze darts between your face, and the wall nearby. “But I didn’t really...feel...it the first time, so...m-maybe we should do it again…”

Satan:

Satan is a pretty good cook, so you tend to hang around him when it’s his night to make dinner.

It's not uncommon that you try to steal bites whenever he’s not looking.

Today, however, he warns you just a second too late that he’s making spicy curry (like, really spicy curry), so you should steer clear of any taste-testing.

Of course, a beat later he turns and sees you over the stove with the wooden spoon shoved into your mouth.

Even before you start to sweat, and tears form in your eyes, Satan is at fridge--pulling out the carton of milk and pouring you a big glass. 

As you down the soothing liquid, Satan stays by your side--unable to help it when he chuckles. You send him a glare, letting him know you don’t appreciate him laughing at your pain, and he lifts a hand to pat your hair.

“Oi, Oi~ It’s your fault for not listening to me.”

He breaks into another fit of giggles, moving past you to return to the stove. Your eyes follow after him, heart beating surprisingly fast at the sound of his laughter, and the slightest bit of physical contact with him.

Setting the glass on the counter--your mouth now successfully not about to burst into flames--you steel yourself and make your way towards him.

Without warning, once at his side, you reach forward and grab two handfuls of his sweater vest. Satan’s eyes widen in surprise as you drag him into the impromptu kiss, but it doesn’t take him long to reciprocate.

With little thought, he matches the firmness of your lips--his cheeks dusted pink when he pulls back to smile at you.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt like it,” you mumble, glancing away. Your eyes fall to the bubbling pot of curry. “...will you make a separate batch that won’t kill me?”

He hums. “Maybe for the price of another kiss.”

Asmo:

Although Asmodeus teases you all the time about how much he wants to kiss you, and to shower you in even more intimate forms of affection--he never acts on them.

Sure, he’s  the Avatar of Lust, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t understand boundaries.

He loves you a lot, and doesn’t want to mess your relationship up by moving too quickly, and for that, you really appreciate him.

However...while his consideration is appreciated, you’re starting to go stir crazy at the fact that he won’t make the first move.

So, you decide to take it upon yourself.

You spend hours--days, even--building up your courage. And today, your courage meter is finally full.

Asmo and you already have plans to hang out, so it’s not strange when you knock at his door. It is out of character, however, when he pulls the door open to greet you, and you immediately lurch forward--wrapping your arms around him as your lips connect.

Even if it’s unexpected, Asmo is reciprocating without missing a beat. He hugs you tightly, kissing you back until you’re gently pushing him away--in need of some air.

“Oh, I loved that,” he says dreamily, taking a step back into his room. “You should do that more often!! I love seeing this confident side of you! It’s such a turn on!”

You cup your hot cheeks, stepping inside after him--still in shock that you’d actually kissed him.

“I don’t know, Asmo, it took me a while to work up to that.”

He giggles a little at your statement, and you blink when he reaches forward and grabs a strand of your hair--tugging you forward. His eyes sparkle.

“Well...even if you don’t have the courage to initiate right now, since the ice is broken…,” he gaze falls to your lips. “Is it okay if I kiss you instead? I promise it’ll be enjoyable~ After all, I’m good at this stuff.”

Beel:

Most of the time, you’re alright with giving Beel your food. You love him to the moon and back, and seeing him eating his favorite dishes with that happy look on his face makes your heart soar.

Today, however, you’d purposely stashed your desert to the side--intent on eating it yourself, for once, considering it was a limited time flavor from Madam Screams.

You’d hoped that putting it out of sight, and quite literally stashing in behind all the food in the fridge, would help keep it from the Avatar of Gluttony--but food never gets past him.

You’re in the middle of finishing up your turn on dish duty when you hear the fridge pop open. Immediately you’re whipping your head around--gasping in shock when you see Beel sticking his head into the appliance, sniffing around with a hungry look on his face.

“Beel no!” you abandon the dishes and rush over to him, trying to stop him from devouring your dessert in one bite. However, your efforts are futile, and soon your precious sweets are gone. The only remaining hint of them is the dusting of sugar on Beelzebub’s lips, and in a moment of foolish bravery, you grab him by the collar of his jacket and tug him down.

Your lips connect, and you can taste the dessert on him--sweet, and rich--everything you’d been hoping for. 

After a few seconds, you pull back for air, and find Beel staring at you with surprise written all over him. You feel your face begin to heat up--realization at what you’d just done hitting you--but before you can think to apologize, or run, Beel is dragging you back in.

His palms cup your cheeks--his lips meeting yours once more.

“I’m sorry for eating your dessert,” he mumbles, regret in his tone. “I’ll buy you another one. But.. until then, I want to keep tasting you.”

Belphie:

You’re struggling to fall asleep when Belphie stops by your room, and asks if you want to go for a walk with him. The offer sounds heavenly, so you say yes.

It’s a simple thing--walking side by side with the Avatar of Sloth, through the uncrowded streets of the Devildom--but it still makes you feel...smitten.

Over the last few weeks, your feelings for Belphie have only grown larger, and larger. And now, even simple gestures like this--that don’t have any special meaning--cause your mind to wander.

Seriously, he’s not even talking, but your gaze is zeroed in on his mouth. On his soft lips, which are parted ever so slightly as he sighs--his eyes trailing around the familiar scenery.

“Hey,” he speaks, turning to face you. He smiles, and the expression has your heart jumping into your throat.

Without thinking--acting solely on a split second of courage--you step towards him.

“Do you wanna get some--,” his voice cuts off abruptly as you press your lips to his. He makes a quiet sound of shock, and you can only imagine that he’s staring at you like you’re crazy. (Luckily, you can’t confirm if he is since your eyes are squeezed shut).

After a few seconds, you decide to pull back--feeling a little dejected since Belphie hasn’t made a move of his own. Then, just as you peel your eyelashes back open, Belphegor is grabbing you by your waist--dragging you against him as he captures your lips.

His kisses are much hotter than yours, and you whine at him, gently knocking your fist against his chest when you notice that the two of you are starting to draw looks from some nearby demons.

“What?” he asks cheekily, his grip loosening enough to allow you some room for air. “You’re the one that suddenly kissed me in the middle of the street. First kiss, too. How daring.”

Your face flushes, eyes darting away. “Y-Yeah, well…”

“Well,” he continues, reaching down to grab your hand. He intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging you farther down the street. “I say we get somewhere more private, and then continue.”

Diavolo:

It just...sort of...happens.

Diavolo invites you to have tea in his office during your free period, and things go so well, that for a moment, you have a lapse in sanity and actually forget that the goddamn Prince of Hell isn’t your boyfriend.

You’ve had feelings for him for a while, and sometimes--when he’s in front of you, looking so handsome, and being so charming--it’s easy to lose yourself in those feelings.

So when your tea time wraps up, and Diavolo escorts you to the door of his office, maybe you--without thinking--press to your tiptoes and plant a kiss right against his lips.

“Thank you for tea, I--,” your words die off as a sense of dread washes over you. You raise a hand to your lips, realizing what you’ve done. “Oh my god--”

Your eyes flit to Diavolo’s face, and you can tell that he’s at a loss for word--his golden eyes wide with surprise. 

Oh god, why are you like this??

Freaking out, you hurriedly reach for the door handle. “Lord Diavolo, I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I--”

But before you can run into the hall and away from your current nightmare, Diavolo is grabbing your wrist and tugging you back into the room.

“No, no! No need to be sorry,” he beams, his free hand lifting to brush a few stray hairs from your face. “I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

You flush, looking away and mumbling. “But I kissed you out of the blue like that…”

“True,” he chuckles, gaze tender as he regards you. “I was surprised, that’s for sure.” He leans down and looks you in the eyes--your faces just inches apart. 

“So, next time, maybe don’t jump at me. Simply asking me for a kiss will work just fine.”

Barbatos:

You’re helping Barbatos out in the kitchen of the Demon Lord’s Castle when the urge to kiss him suddenly overwhelms you.

Because honestly--how dare he look so kind, and handsome all the damn time. In everything that he does, he always manages to hold the same poise, and grace, and it drives you mad.

Even now, as he stands over the stove--watching dinner cook, with an apron tied around his waist--the energy he exudes draws you in, and makes you fall all over again.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly make your way around the kitchen island, and step up to his side.

Sensing your presence, he turns to face you with a gentle smile.

“Dinner is almost finished,” he says. “Thank you for your help. If you want, you can head to the dining room where the others are.”

You nod, but your feet don’t move. Barbatos blinks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you gather all of your courage, and then reach forward. Barbatos pauses as your fingers brush against his cheeks--his eyes going wide when he feels your lips press against his--warm, and soft.

“I…,” you stutter when you finally pull back. “I just...I want to do that, so…”

Barbatos chuckles at your darkening face, his gloved hand moving to cup your cheek.

“It’s quite alright. I’m flattered to know that you wanted to kiss me.”

His thumb soothes over your hot skin, and he smiles a bit wider.

“If you ever feel like doing it again, then please, by all means, you have my permission.”

“Same to you,” you mumble, causing him to laugh a little more. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Duly noted.”

Solomon:

You choose to blame your actions on the atmosphere of the party, and the fact that the sorcerer is looking fine as ever--dressed in a dark button down shirt, with the first few buttons undone.

He’d dragged you to The Fall with him, wanting a companion for the night, and you’d agreed.

Now, it’s been hours since your arrival, and the entire time, Solomon has kept you close to his side--fingers curling around your waist when you accidentally begin to stray too far.

The contact has butterflies fluttering around inside your tummy, but you try your best to ignore the sensation--the way being so close to Solomon is making you feel.

Your feelings boil over, however, when Solomon makes a point of defending you from a pushy demon.

Following the encounter, he drags you to a more private area of the club to create some much needed space.

“Jeez, I know you’re a human, but that was pretty rude,” he mumbles, eyes straying to the dance floor as he adjusts his shirt cuffs. But your gaze is solely locked on him, a frenzy of different emotions running through you in response to him, and his actions. 

In the end, though, you can only think of one thing to do. One thing you really want to do.

Solomon makes a quiet sound of shock when you suddenly press up--pushing your lips against his for a few long beats. And when you inch back for air, you find Solomon grinning at you, looking quite satisfied.

“Oh? Giving a kiss to your prince charming? I like this type of payment.”

You scoff and push against his chest, but he’s already grasping your waist--keeping you near.

“I want that kiss back.”

“No refunds,” he laughs, his forehead knocking against yours, and the look in his eyes makes your melt a little. Then, he’s the one initiating kisses, and you swear your heart is beating in time with the bass of the club music. 

Simeon:

With a school dance right around the corner, the angel had kindly offered to help you learn how to...well...dance. Properly dance. Not club dancing, or anything of the like.

No, from what you had heard, the RAD school dances were much more formal than the dances you had experienced in school back in the human world, so you’d been searching for a dance teacher.

Simeon had been more than happy to offer his services.

“Look at you!” he says with a gentle laugh--your hand on his shoulder, and his fingers curled around your waist. There’s music playing from your DDD, abandoned on his dresser as the two of you waltz around his room.

“You’re really getting the hang of it!”

You smile as you glance at his bright face, heart fluttering against your ribs as you’re once again reminded of how pretty he is, and how close the two of you are at the moment.

Seriously, as much as you appreciate him for offering to teach you, you’re pretty sure you’ve already staved off half a dozen heart attacks during your lessons.

And today, as heart attack number seven looms, you reach your breaking point.

As the song comes to a close, you step forward--breaking your rhythm--and kiss him. You can feel his body still--his brain catching up with reality.

Just as you begin to pull away, Simeon is closing the gap--hugging you tightly as he reciprocates your affections.

“You won’t kiss the others like this when you’re dancing with them, will you?” he whispers with a smile, making you laugh. “Our first kiss should be special, I think.”

“Kisses while dancing will be reserved for you,” you reassure him, giggling more when he pulls back and pouts at you.

“All kisses should be reserved for me.”

[lipstickbisous]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

a/n: this is for @celestialbarnes' 4k writing challenge!! the prompt is "you said you loved me." "i lied." it's funny bc with the character and prompts i actually found this super challenging, but i loved writing it!!

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, former!stucky

summary: when the nightmares come, and the memories return, at least he has you there. and when he doesn't, his ghost appears.

warnings: angst central, mentions of financial struggles, implied suicidal thoughts, reader is a dick, mentions of stucky, sad!bucky, smut; sir!kink, bucky speaking russian, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), choking, creampie, slight cockwarming 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 3.2k

the following work is my own writing. do not plagairise or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

masterlist

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

his iron hand is covered in a felt glove that hits the hem of his jacket sleeve, entirely concealing the vibranium from prying eyes. metallic fingers lift a gathering of plastic bags filled with groceries almost tearing through the bottom like he's lifting air. the weight on his left arm hangs with a force of gravity as he struggles to push in the key to his front door. the ceiling lights of his apartment hallway would've been considered tasteful in 1945, but now he could see the shadow of cobwebs and dust collecting on the tops. it created a filter over the lighting that made the hallway look haunted and abandoned.

when bucky had been pardoned by the government, he didn't see it as a sign of hope. he knew that without steve, there was no one to assure that he'd be given a safe home, he'd be protected. and without steve, life had been duller and gray. there had been a blossoming love for the blue-eyed man that sat inside of his chest, and then, it had started to plant itself deep in the burrows of his heart. seaweed-colored vines found themselves tracing the outline of his skeleton, and each leaf that bloomed was another aching memory of him. moments in brooklyn that had taken place decades ago were still fresh and he dreamed of them every night. how was bucky to cut them out by himself?

when he looked up, he saw the tufts of blonde hair underneath the hallway lights. his lips were parted in shock as his heart shattered again. "i'm sorry," he had whispered, shoving his hands together nervously, picking at his nails and the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. bucky's mind was racing, heart was soaring as he approached him, and he wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

"need help?" a voice echoed through the hallway, and suddenly, the walls didn't seem so haunted anymore. he was gone, but that was for the better because here you were and bucky didn't need anything else. you were light and when his eyes looked up at you, he could've sworn an intake of oxygen forced itself into his 100-year old lungs.

it was an easy answer. bucky didn't need to do it by himself, because just in the moment of his thundering darkness, of the smallest thoughts at would it be like to end it right there, you took a pair of shears and slashed away all the vines. the leaves scattering the insides of his body fell, and the suffocating grip the roots of that toxic love had on his heart were released. bucky could breathe again and steve was forgotten. because here you were.

and god, was he thankful. he only lightly chuckled while a deep red hue took over the skin of his cheeks. you approached him delicately, licking your tongue over your lips for repeated moisture and reached out to take the key from his quivering hand. he stepped to the side with a small smile and allowed you to unlock his door. he'd allowed you so many things, opening so many places he didn't know existed...not even steve could do that. "what'd you buy today?" you asked, grabbing several of the bags he had and set them on his kitchen counter.

he followed your actions and shrugged, "not much," and flipped the switch of his kitchen lights. they were a blaring white-light that made his head hurt if he looked at them for too long. damn it, he thought to himself. new light bulbs were the one thing he'd forgotten while at the store. "just enough to get through the week." he would've offered to cook you dinner, but with the assumption that with this late hour you would've already eaten, he shrugged it off. "what're you here for?"

it was an abrupt question but he didn't mean it with harmful intentions. with a sigh, you crossed your arms and looked to the tile floors. the way he looked at you were if he was a small bird, his wings broken and feathers plucked and you were the only one who could heal him. "i didn't know if you were busy," but the healing was over. he could finally soar again without a limp and you were no longer needed--it hurt to think about for too long. "i didn't want you to be alone."

he could feel his heart swelling to a size ten times larger than what it had been before, locked away in its ivory cage. the only one who had held the key had been him, but you tore it from his hands because he did not deserve it. you did. "i don't want to be a bother to you," he smiled poorly and ineffectively. there was still that small part of james buchanan barnes that doubted everything everyone told him, and you were hoping all the moments in the world spent together could fix that.

"jesus," you mutter with a light breath, one that's small but enough to replenish bucky with life. "you're never a bother to me. i love you." those words would be the death of him. he longed to hear them as he fell from the train, whispered into his ear every time his memory was reset because bucky had never gotten a chance to do something for himself. but this--this relationship, this beautiful thing he had with you--he finally had control. you begin to unpack the groceries he'd gotten, seeing that a carton of black cherry ice-cream was already beginning to melt, but before you get the chance to throw it in his freezer, bucky's ionic arm pulls you by the waist.

the other one grabs your cheek and attaches his lips to yours with an aggressive but desperate kiss that ached with need. he was soft and warm, darting his tongue between the opening to your mouth and letting it meet yours. with the sudden though appreciated action, you let the ice cream carton fall to his kitchen floor, the lid popping off so that white cream and cherry chunks create a puddle near your feet. bucky doesn't dare break the connection of you two as he lifts you by your thighs, hoisting your around his waist and carrying you to his bedroom door.

his lock had been broken when he'd moved into the damp and smelly apartment, so he turned himself around and pushed the door open with his broad back as you peeled the fabric that covered his chest. his shirt was dismantled to the side, left to find sometime in the morning. "james-" you whispered through your kiss because, as he'd told you the one night you had shared dinner, you were the only one allowed to say that name. that small part of him that was still james buchanan barnes wanted to hear it from your lips only.

"sh," he quickly silenced you, placing you underneath him on his mattress like you were a delicate feather, and a touch too rough would turn you to dust. his metallic fingers pulled the ragged jeans you'd chosen that morning, leaving your legs bare to the freezing air of his home. he noticed the way your skin prickled with the cold and immediately engulfed your lower half with him. you were soothed with a loving rush of warmth as he peppered wet kisses around your thighs and waist. the bumps on your skin were gone and you felt whole again. his kisses moved to your stomach as he crawled over you with a look in his eyes you'd seen before.

"please, james," you threw your head back once his lips latched themselves to your neck. one arm wrapped around your torso, supporting your back, and the other was tracing the outline of your body with gentle touches. trailing from your shoulder to your waist, to the place between your legs that ached. cotton panties clothed your bottom and front, but they'd have to do more to get in his way.

he looks away for one moment and freezes. there he is, sitting in the chair bucky had placed in the corner of his room. he wore only a tight pair of black boxers and it clung to his skin like a second layer. his hair, dirty blonde and greasy, hung on his forehead. he had his head propped on his hand, watching intently at you both. but when your hands cupped his cheeks, and pressed him closer to you, he disappeared and the anxiety melted into your touch.

the tip of his finger pressed directly on your clothed clit as soon as he began to suck on your jaw, pushing your head back even more than before. "baby," you immediately clenched around nothing, squeezing your hand around the metal limb and he could've sworn you almost bent it.

his chuckle was deep and rumbled from his chest so that it vibrated your entire body underneath him. "what do you want, honey?" his voice dripped with fox-like slyness and his smirk had you flooding into his head.

"make me feel good..." you trailed off, eyes fluttering shut so you never noticed him move lower down your body. he pulled your panties to the side and pressed his tongue flat against your folds, so your warmer and wetter than before. his spit mixes with your fluids when he rips the cotton into shreds and throws it next to your head. "please, sir," you croak and bucky growls into your core between your legs. you wrap them around his neck and his face only reddens a tiny bit when his primary focus becomes exploring the inside of your heat. his tongue darts past your opening, wet as he pushes through the barrier only slightly stretching you. the muscle is tight and clamps down around him, but he lets the tip of his tongue push up, down, to the sides, and up again.

you released the pressure around his neck mostly because the addition of his finger against your bead was more than enough to handle. "i know you love that, doll," he whispers against your cunt, literally dripping juices from his mouth. it trails down his chin where it sticks to the curve of your ass. "love my fingers toying with your little pussy, edging you so you can cum all over my mouth," his words are filth, but then again, he has his face shoved against your wet lips, his nose bumping that sensitive spot so you moaned even louder with every passing second.

your nods are stuttered with a, "yes, sir," before he pulls away, placing both of his hands by your shoulders and meeting your eyes. you whine and groan, letting your hips rub the air for some sort of friction and bucky only smirked. gone was the thought of him and here was the beautiful presence of you. he began to unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding over the boxers covering his manhood. he held his weight in his hand, giving small strokes so he grew firmer and heavier, rubbing the head through your folds to gather your slick. you moaned, "no, james, let me help-"

his fingers took your chin so your eyes drew from his length and met him. "i just want you," bucky whispers inches away from you and pressed himself against your hole, stretching open your walls so you suffocated him. "so perfect, doll, so fucking tight."

your moan took control of his heart, leaving a clenched fist squeezing the muscle in his chest. you pressed your head into his hand he'd placed underneath you, curving your back so he rutted into a new angle. "m-more, sir," you whispered breathlessly, and it almost came out with a rasp.

"what was that, little girl?" he sneered, smirking into your ear. you could feel hot breath fanning against the side of your head, an addition to the pleasure in between your legs. his fingers trailed down your stomach with a little tickle to wear your clit dragged against his length as he continued to set a brutal pace. his balls met your ass with every pounding thrust, and his fingers harshly pinched your clit. "this good enough for you, baby doll?"

your nods are rapid and desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he hits that spot inside you. he notices it when he does--your mouth twitches and your hand shoots up to the wrist that holds your clit when he begins to rub it. "yes, sir, t-thank you," your voice cracks, words are staggered, and it's exactly how bucky likes to see you. vulnerable because he made you this way. all undone just for him.

the hand underneath your head manages to wrap around your neck, applying a pressure that cuts off your air supply. "fuck, sweetheart, this cunt's wrapped around me so tight," all of the pain, all of the suffering, and all of the dreams of ending it were nonexistent in moments like these. everything that was remnant of him was gone and for once, bucky was okay that. "so fucking perfect," he cried, eyes watering when you clenched down around him. his ghost no longer haunted him in both the shadows and light. it was like you scared him away, arms defensively shielding bucky from any harm that he could possibly cause. and yet, here you were, unraveling like a thread from a sweater simply because he could do it to you.

the pressure on your pearl, his thumb ensuring you couldn't fully breathe, and the way he continuously rammed into your sensitive spot, you were so close. you could already feel yourself just barely letting go around him, and he could too. "not yet, malen'kiy," he grinned, leaning down so his lips dragged over your chest down to where you bud clung to the cold air of his home. his eyes met yours with a playful glance as soon as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, immediately sucking harshly.

"you're evil," you manage to giggle cutting yourself off with an unexpected, pornographic moan when his teeth nipped down around you. he pulls his hand away from your neck to hear what other noises you have to give.

his chuckle was deep once again and this time, it vibrated your entire body. both of your bodies fluidly moved together, pushing and messing up the sheets he'd tightly fitted against his mattress earlier that day. you knew there'd be a puddle of your juices left on the blankets, and like always, you'd offer to wash them for him and bucky would decline. "just cum, doll," he speaks lowly. he's teasing you and he knows it.

"c-can i please cum, sir?" you batted your eyes, innocently pouting for a release. it was close and painful to hold it back any longer, growing more intense with every moment passing.

the smirk played on his lips was threatening and scary. you couldn't even remember all the times he'd denied you of an organism, pushing you over so that your toes dangled off the edge of the cliff only to pull you back. with his lips still wrapped around your bud, his hips still jutting against yours like he was a rabid dog, grunting and groaning, he spoke clearly, "cum."

if bucky could record your moans, cries, sobs, and screams--and maybe he has...--he'd listen to it until the day he died. your thighs shook around his hips, somehow loosening and tightening yourself. as you flooded around him, he could feel the warmth surrounding his length and just as you finished convulsing, clawing his vibranium arm and pulling at his hair, his tip brushed harshly against your cervix.

"fuck!" he groaned, as a shot of white fluid filled you to brim, leaving a heavy weight that spilled out with a tickle when he finally pulled from you. "oh, honey..." he must've stayed inside you for an hour, collapsing so his chest met yours and his kisses stayed on your jaw. and when the emptiness did return, leaving you to miss his cock already, he watched your eyelids fall heavy with sleep. bucky pulled the blanket over you, falling slump next to your body and wrapping his arms around yours.

your light snores and breaths were music that lulled him to sleep. the white noise he needed because the silence was scary now. he'd stayed awake for two hours after you'd fallen asleep, watching the way your chest rose and fell with an inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale pattern. and when his eyes drifted over to the armchair in the corner of his room, his ghost was no longer there to taunt him.

time flew and morning came, like always. and like always, you left without anything to wear underneath your pants and a kiss on the lips from him.

his feet padded throughout his apartment floor, wearing nothing more than black boxers and a cheap cotton t-shirt he'd gotten that barely protected him. he strolled over to his window that overlooked the street, and chuckled when he noticed you discreetly limp to your car. as you drove away, creating a distance between you, that darkness that overtook his soul returned. your presence drifted and no more could he hold you, and now, the vines began to grow.

they grew lethal thorns, bloomed toxic blossoms around his heart. he began to suffocate again, feeling a pain his chest that only you could alleviate. but now you were gone. it was when bucky wandered into his kitchen with sagging shoulders, he stepped into a wet puddle of melted ice cream and black cherries. it covered the ball of his foot with a sticky, gross layer and he collapsed.

he folded, leaning into his lap and holding his head in his hands. tears leaked into his palm, slipping through the cracks of his fingers and onto the floor. his face turned a bright red, only this time it was due to a rush of blood and an oncoming headache. he cried your name, he cried his name, and on the third body-racking sob of a garbled "steve", it was like he had summoned his arrival.

his phantom presence left a chilling feeling in the air. and without even having to look up, bucky knew that this version of steve wasn't even real. this wasn't his ghost. this wasn't him. this wasn't him returning to see bucky because he cared. this was a part of bucky's imagination, a sick and twisted form of therapy because when bucky didn't have you, he had nothing else. "you said you loved me," he had cried, biting down on his knuckles and wrist. when he met his blue eyes with a heartbroken glance, steve's expression didn't budge.

bucky had created this version of steve--this evil and cruel version of him that only made this heartache worse. he brought this torture on himself and now, he could barely handle it.

he stood, towering above him with his fists clenched. his eyes bore a hot hole in bucky's skull and every passing moment was hell. there were flames beginning to engulf bucky's body, burning his skin and leaving him as a pile of dust. after all, that's what he had been for those past five years, leaving him to learn that he didn't really need bucky. and that tore every part of him apart.

"i lied." he muttered, lips tight against his teeth as if it hurt him to say it. but still, he stood above bucky with an emotionless stare.

his cries filled the walls of his home for the rest of the day, waiting for the next chance he got to hold you again.

mutuals: @balenciagabucky @cloudystevie @honeyloverogers @steebsbabygirl @ronimina @honeychicana @fairytaleseb @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @avengersbau @bvckysmoon @sapphireplums @a-little-counter-esperanto @letters-to-esme @capsiclecevans @babyyhoneyydarling @honeysucklesteve

[bijoharvelle]

doing these prompts! today is “shoveling snow and working up a sweat” because jackles Did That and it’s dedicated to @thatisahotsoup because they drew this, my new fave thing

There are certain things that Dean never learned how to do. He remembers, faintly, mowing the lawn for his mother inside the djinn’s nightmare. And then there was the year he spent with Lisa, faking his way through suburban living and pretending he knew the firs thing about lawn maintenance. And now, he’s standing out on the front deck, looking out at the expanse of clear white snow that’s spread across their front lawn.

When Cas shuffles up behind him (wrapped up in a hat and several sweaters, and a blanket), he leans sleepily into his back. “It’s very beautiful,” he says, “the snow here.”

Dean smiles a little at that and takes the moment to register that, yeah, it is beautiful. It’s not just a chore to be done. The morning sky is still hazy, having only just stopped the snow showers. Their little Japanese maple has snow gathered on all the low, stretching branches. A little down the street, some kids have already suited up and gotten outside, building some approximation of a snowman.

“Thought you didn’t like the snow,” Dean teases.

“I don’t like the cold,” Cas corrects. “The snow is a singular exception to that.”

“Well, you better bundle up. We got work to do.”

Cas pulls back just enough to set him with an incredulous stare. “What would that be?”

“Shoveling. Gotta clear the front path and the stairs.” Sam and Eileen were due to come over that evening for dinner. If it weren’t for that, Dean would just say forget it, but Eileen is very pregnant and he’s not making his sister-in-law schlep through a foot of snow. 

“It’ll be fun,” he promises as he tugs Cas back inside.

“It will be nothing of the sort.”

An hour hour later and they’ve made steady work clearing a path. Dean is scooping snow out from the driveway while Cas finishes the walkway itself. A light flurry has started, barely a dusting, but Dean keeps getting distracted by the snowflakes caught in Cas’s eyelashes and the muss of his dark hair.

Maybe twenty minutes into the work and they were both peeling off their hats and unzipping their jackets. It may be frigid out, but shoveling was hard work. More than enough to work up a sweat. Cas kept grumbling about bouncing between too hot with his jacket on and too cold with it off.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks and realizes that he’s been standing still, leaning on the handle of his shovel and staring at Cas, for a minute or so. “Yeah. Just. Daydreaming.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You better be doing your share.” He takes step forward, joking at intimidation, but his footing doesn’t catch. There must be an icy patch on the bricks because his heel flies up and Cas goes down, straight into the bank of snow that he’s shoveled up.

Dean loses it.

Through his laughter, he does shuffled over and help Cas to stand, but he doesn’t stop laughing to do it. “Oh man,” he wheezes, dusting the snow off a less-than-pleased looking former angel of the Lord. “I’m sorry, buddy, that was just... The way you just hit the deck...” He trails off into more laughter, leaning over his knees as he does.

Without a moment of hesitation, Cas reaches over and shoves him directly into the snow himself.

As Dean shouts about the indignity and tries to right himself, Cas just gives a haughty shrug. “You should show me some respect,” he says before finally putting an end to Dean’s floundering and helping him up.

“Dirty tricks,” Dean comments. He’s frowning but it’s mostly in play because Cas has a wide grin on his face, appling his red, red cheeks. “You need your hat back on, babe.” He reaches over to the steps, where the yellow-and-black knit beanie lays. Sweeping the snow still clinging to Cas’s hair first, he tugs the hat on for him. He’s sure to cover his ears that have gone red and bitterly cold at the tops.

“Thank you,” Cas says and it’s sweet and warm, his breath misting between them.

“C’mon.” Leaning in, he presses their noses together and can’t help but grin when Cas wrinkles his. “Faster we finish this, faster I can make you some hot chocolate for a reward.”

“I would like two marshmallows,” Cas declares as he picks up his shovel again.

“You get as many marshmallows as you want.” And Dean thinks of that as they power through the last bit of work. He thinks of hot chocolate and marshmallows. He thinks of how Cas’s kisses go slow and explorative when they sit in front of the fireplace. He thinks of this domestic work and this domestic life they’ve built together and how happy he is to have it.

-

@prayedtoyou • @antifacas • @valleydean • @good-things-do-happen-dean • @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you • @leftistdean • @bianca29753 • @spaceshipkat • @madronasky • @dizzypinwheel • @kayrosebee • @feraladoration • @destielangst • @destielle • @heller-jensen • @multifandommagic • @fluffiestlou • @geo-val • @top13zepptraxx • @lanaserra • @dreamnovak • @jazzbabythatsme • @lyndalynn • @organicpurplepants • @cursed-or-not • @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner • @galaxymysteryelephant • @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover • @one-more-offbeat-anthem • @keata-kaylee • @redsconfusion • @bennedict • @festivemish • @smushedmuffins • @galaxycastiel • @itsinjustbeing • @winchester-novak • @queen-rowenas

[creativeashproductions]

Elysium // Luke Patterson

Summary: The boys of Julie and the Phantoms need a hail Mary to dethrone Downslide from opening for Panic! At the Disco. While Willie is done to help his blue eyed crush and his friends there’s one issue: Willie can’t drive the bus. Moving a bench is one thing but driving an entire tour bus?  There’s only one person who can and Willie’s not sure where she is after year of no communication

Warnings: Swearing, angst, talk of death (it’s a ghost show, why is this a warning??), mention of assault, violence, and fluff.

Words: 11.5k

A/N: This is why I haven’t posted much in the last week. I’ve been writing this massive fic that I refused to turn into a series. My god, 11k words. I don’t think I’ll be doing this again. Enjoy and comment if you figured out who Rudy is!

Masterlist

There wasn’t much in the afterlife that you enjoyed after time spent in the limbo between the living and dead. Listening to songs before they were released lost its appeal just as much as dancing on stage with the ballet companies around the world, of being an unseen extra in shows and films being filmed.

Then you found a purpose a couple, well it could be more than a couple, years ago when you found a lost soul. William Young, Willie to his friends, had been sitting on the curb staring at the pavement entirely still as he had for two days.

The time from the last breath you took to walking the streets of Los Angeles was a blur in all honesty. The years bled together as you stayed stationary in a world that kept on spinning and changing, growing up. You had watched your friends hit new milestones you could only daydream about. Friends that graduated college and built new lives on the ashes of memories that included you.

Today’s walk was an attempt to escape your friends’ greying versions standing in front of a once vibrant sculpture. It happened every single year, but this one hurt the most. Listening to your friends recall stories of all the adventures you did together.

From being drunken idiots jumping off cliffs into that one lake the summer of freshman year. Or making a bonfire on the school’s roof with all the entryways blocked, rather stupid with the exits being blocked as well. Sneaking into concerts and stealing that one car that came close to sending you to boarding school.

The rebellion that still lived in you had mellowed in the five individuals with the adult responsibilities of family and work. Martha had removed all piercings but her lobes while Chase quit dying his hair colour. Jordan now had three children and a bought house.

Seeing the group no longer young had made your feet swiftly move from the memorial for a walk. The only thing that stopped you in your tracks was tripping over something in front of you.

“Ouch.” You hissed rolling onto your back with a moan of pain that faded with the sniffles.

Curled into his knees, sitting on the curb was a teenage boy about your age. Long hair curtaining his profile you found your eyes grasping the cracked helmet that spoke for itself abandoned by his side.

“Your kinda a hazard there.” You simply spoke sitting down next to the distraught teenager, “Heads up, I suck at comforting people.”

At his silence, you spoke once more, “I’m digging the tie-dye. Did you do it yourself?”

“This is some kind of stupid coma dream right?” The boy’s voice was husky from crying and disuse, “I’m probably in some kind of hospital with a tube down my throat.”

“I’d say yes, but it would be a blatant lie.” You spoke twirling a loose thread on your jeans while the stranger gazed at a spot on the street.

His dark brown eyes bloodshot as he remembered the car honking mere seconds before he heard the sound of a thud. He recalled struggling to breathe with his broken ribs and his screams being illustrated with bloodstains.

He remembered thinking how he had just bought that board a week ago with his allowance.

“Am I really dead?”

“Yes. We’re are a couple ghosts in a lively city.” You informed him with one handheld in the space between your ethereal forms. The teen hesitantly placed his hand in yours with a firm shake.

“William but call me Willie.” He softly told you, catching sight of the patch on your jean jacket—one of many from both when your grandma owned it and then when you did.

“I’m Y/N. Let’s blow this disappointment. I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know.” Brushing off the invisible dust on your jeans, you held your hand out to him, “We’re about to make the afterlife our bitch.”

A stark contrast to his former hesitance he immediately grasped your hand to tug himself off the curb. The forlorn skater didn’t question the board in your hand or how he could possibly even touch his own board. He didn’t wonder how it wasn’t in pieces like it had been when he first got hit.

That rebellion that ended your life flared again in the presence of your best friend with crashing Justin Bieber’s house. Of rearranging items in classrooms to freak teachers out and sitting in the cars turning the radio on and off. Haunting the living until the friendship fractured under the influence of a powerful ghost.

Caleb Covington had bewitched the skater with promises and extravagant gifts until Willie had taken the offer.

“He’s not like you said he was! I think you should give him a chance!” Willie cried following you around the place you had taken to be home.

“Willie he’s a bad guy! He butters you up until you give him what you want! That’s when you see his true colours. All he wants is your soul to power his magic and spread his reach!”

“I got to talk to my sister!”

“Your sister is five years old! It’s not Covington that gave you the opportunity. She won’t remember the experience as anything other than an invisible friend!”

“There are so many people at the Club that we can talk to. Aren’t you tired of the same routine and people we see?”

Willie’s pleading brought your full attention to the skater avoiding your gaze, “William Young…you took his offer.”

Willie tore his gaze from the art on the wall to find yours blatantly glaring at him with a bucket of random colour in your hand.

“The Club is going to France to tour around the country for a while. I’m dead, so I might as well make the best of it. Besides who gets to skate through the Louvre!” Willie beamed, watching as a small smile, found its way on your face at his excitement, “I’m sure Caleb would let you come to the Club tonight!”

“Willie, you are my best friend, but I’ve already seen the Club. It’s not my style, and I want nothing to do with it.”

That interaction was one of the very few speckled through the years when Caleb discovered who you were. No matter his offers, you never took the deal and when he saw how close you and Willie where he kept the skater busy. The Club didn’t appear in Los Angeles for a long time until Willie’s distance seemed too great to bridge.

“So, you need a way for the slot to be empty?” Willie asked the trio of ghosts all spread around the area.

Unfortunately for Luke, the only person they could get help from was from the very guy that placed them in a predicament. While Alex was the one spearheading the conversation with the long-haired skater Luke was glowering in his direction.

“The Orpheum was the thing we never got to do. We spent hours practising and performing with one goal-“

“Play the Orpheum and get distance from our parents. Well, at the time that streetdog and becoming legendary was my main focus.” Reggie recounted the feeling of suffocating in a house filled with fighting. A home he wished still stood, now dead all he wanted was to see his parents.

“We almost did it too.” Luke pouted relaxing his glare at the skater who openly sent apologetic gazes at Alex’s bandmates.

“So, we need to get rid of the opening band.” Willie nodded to himself, thinking about ways before he caught sight of the abject horror on the band. The skater’s eyebrows raised, “I know I deeply fractured the trust, but I’m not suggesting murder.”

“Okay. Good.” Reggie whistled relaxing his tense posture while Luke grumbled under his breath an insult that in turn got Alex’s arm into the guitarist’s ribs.

“Your best bet would be getting the bus out of LA. The band will probably celebrate the upcoming gig.”

“Could you make the bus disappear?” Alex hesitantly questioned shifting in his now vintage sneakers. The blonde-haired drummer flushed slightly under the endearing smile from the skater. The feelings create a confliction within Alex under Willie’s issue, leading them straight into a madman’s hands.

“I can move a bench, turn sirens on, but a bus is outside my paygrade.” Willie openly admitted showing his hands deep in his pockets, “The only person other than Caleb that has enough power-“

“-is he just as evil?” Luke demanded crossing his arms to glare at the male that had unfortunately caught the interest of Alex.

However, Luke couldn’t blame Alex for falling for this guy because well, Luke saw the teenage ghost’s appeal. Willie was attractive, but he wasn’t the type of person Luke would fall for. Plus he had initially made Alex incredibly happy, and Luke would never blame Alex for that.

“She is as different from Caleb as one can be. She uh…she taught me everything about being a ghost. Actually, found me where I died.” Willie cleared his throat as the guilt and sadness reared its head from deep within him. The guilt of leaving his little sister to grow up without him and the sorrow of not growing up with the girl.

It wasn’t often Willie allowed himself to remember the little girl, barely five when he died, who was always dancing. His little sister adored the colour purple and anything shiny and more than once Willie had let her dress him up. Willie’s greatest regret is that he’d never have that interaction with her. God, she’d be around his age now and in high school.

“Okay, so where is she?” Reggie clapped his hands, bringing the skater out of his thoughts and back into the present.

Luke saw the hesitation in Willie, “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

“Kinda?” Willie trailed off bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I haven’t seen her in years now. Last time I saw her we fought about the whole joining Caleb thing? I’m not even sure if she’s still in LA.”

“Of fucking course,” Luke grunted shoving both hands in his hair taking a few steps away from the other ghosts.

First, he dies, then he gets caught up in some bullshit revenge plot, then makes a deal with the devil without realizing it, and now their one chance is going up in flames. Luke Patterson was livid with the universe and the shitty hand he had been dealt, but at least he had his friends with him.

“It can’t hurt to look for her?” Reggie innocently offered with a shake of his shoulders, “It’s not like we have any other option.”

“Did we ever even have options?” Luke hissed, causing Willie and Alex each to flinch with the different guilt they carried.

Alex was guilty of going to Willie for help when getting back at Bobby was the biggest thing. Willie was guilty of ignoring his instincts on keeping Alex as far from Caleb as he could be he just wanted to impress the drummer. It’s not like Willie had many options for dating, and well, Alex was the first to get his entire focus.

“Dude. Stop. No one saw it coming.” Reggie bumped his hip against the annoyed guitarist, “Let’s find this ghost and get our shot at playing.”

The quartet of dead guys didn’t have high hopes of finding the girl in question, but it seemed the universe took pity on Luke Patterson. Just two hours into their search on the edges of the city limits an individual was walking.

The person’s stature leaned against a smashed concrete wall of the skeleton of where a building once was. The only thing the group could make out was a faded jean jacket with splotches of colour. Her ankles crossed as her back leaned against the cement, oozed laid back confidence. Coming closer, Luke noticed the sunglasses perched on top of her head and the lips painted dark.

“What do you need Willie? I heard you were looking for me.” The husky voice drew Luke in the most. The lead guitarist of Julie and the Phantoms enamoured with the girl.

“How’d-“Willie’s question was cut off as you simply tapped your right index finger against your temple.

“How do you think you managed to get here?” You inquired pushing off the cement to stride over to the group. To Willie’s surprise, he was tugged into your embrace before swiftly pushed away, “Come on. We should head in before someone catches us.”

In the dark as much as the other three ghosts, Willie dutifully followed you past the pieces of cement littered around the area. Gasps of surprise sounded as the once empty space became filled with buildings. It was not as extravagant as the hotel the Club worked out of, but it was hidden from the living and dead eyes.

“Where did this come from?” Reggie gasped astounded by the people once hidden from his view, moving around the area. 

“This is Elysium. Don’t judge the name I lost the right in a poker game with Susie and Rudy. I’m Y/N.” You informed the group leading them to the gate where two people stood stoically guarding it, “Rudy was hellbent on calling it Valhalla.”

“This is Luke, Reggie and Alex.” Willie gestured to the awed trio of musicians only lingering on the blonde. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the attraction between the skater and the blonde; finding a date in the afterlife was a lot harder than the living.

Nodding a greeting to the two ghosts, you lead the group to a building painted a pretty turquoise blue colour. The sign above the double doors a stark white with calligraphy writing simply stating Elysium Management. It was a building set up like an administrative office of three stories, and you led the group right up to the top floor.

“Just a heads up…Rudy is a little suspicious of people.” You admitted standing outside a door with a nameplate the only descriptor, “He’ll come off a little gruff and rude, but when you get passed that he doesn’t shut up.”

“I can hear you through the door dumbass.” The words were called out from the office door opening.

The man standing in the entry wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His honey-brown eyes lit up with a teasing look before it shuttered at the sight of four strangers behind you. Rudy had valid reasons to not fully trust people after the shitshow in his hometown when he was alive.

“And you’ve brought strangers.” Rudy deadpanned with a sigh concluding his sentence as he stepped back into the office. It appeared like the world repositioned itself on the young man’s shoulders once more.

“I should be done within the hour. We can go over everything.” You informed your business partner and friend. Receiving only a nod from Rudy, you closed the door to his office, cutting off the view from your guests.

“He’s..uh.”

“Standoffish? Rudy keeps his past to himself, all he’s ever revealed is that he’s from a town a few hours away.” You spoke, opening the door to your own office decorated differently from Rudy’s more sterile black and white aesthetic.

Your office had splashes of colour with vintage posters of both music and film framed on the walls—a plush couch in the corner with a basket of blankets next to it. Instead of sitting behind the dark desk, you chose the couch instead. As you settled in the corner, you flicked one finger bringing an extra seat over.

The motion shocking the three boys accompanying Willie who had seen the abilities himself.

“Okay so why did you want to search for me?” You questioned the skater leaning back in the seat.

“When did this all happen?” Willie countered gesturing to the office in a building settled in the middle of a ghost town. A literal ghost town.

“There’s an empty lot in LA that used to house an abandoned apartment building that Rudy and I both called home. Of course, it was torn down, and we kinda knew that there’s wasn’t a place that didn’t have the threat of being annihilated at some point.” The memories of those unknown days trickled into your mind among the more positive ones, “We wanted a home. A place to call our own.”

“A week or so later a skittish pixie of a brunette crashed into us full speed. Susie had a certain ability that Caleb desired to have under his thumb. There are so many ghosts he had manipulated into selling him their soul. Rudy and I both wanted to stop Caleb from having that chance for everyone.” You continued, “Can I show you?”

The moon shone through the light clouds as a duo wandered LA’s streets in different mental states. The only home you had known had been unceremoniously ripped down with no future plans in place. Your entire life had been in that apartment in a building you had once thought only you inhabited. You had been unaware that on a separate floor, Rudy had been dwelling.

The two teens in starkly different clothing grew close with each other through the whole being the dead thing they shared. The mission was to find another place too, use but the feeling of home being ripped away tore at their hearts. The apartment was a place Caleb Covington hadn’t been aware of.

Your thoughts threatened to turn darker as a force knocked you onto your bac—aA short brunette groaning in pain to the left of you. The girl was Gwen, who would become very important to both Rudy and you.

I’ve always been a little different than most people. I can move things short distances, but I developed a specific talent. I can get inside people’s minds to plant, remove or alter memories or simply talk and read their thoughts.

The sound of your voice in their heads freaked them out more than they would like to admit. The intrusive tickle of something in their brains unsettling as you made a more present entry so they could feel it.

“What?”

“This is why I can’t be anywhere near Caleb. The whole reason he gives people stamps and takes their souls is because of me.” You fully admitted clasping your fingers in your lap, “He couldn’t cope with the fear of another ghost leaving so added a stipulation to joining his Club.”

“How did you come to create Elysium?” Alex inquired leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees. Luke and Reggie followed his posture as the anticipation built.

“Everyone deserves a safe place. A place as far away from Caleb as possible and we do so for free. No fee is required, and ghosts are free to come and go as they please. They are welcome as long as their unfinished business keeps them in this plane.”

It sounded like a sweet deal to the group of teens, but they had other commitments, “You can tell us more, but we need your help.”

The pleading in the messy-haired brunette tore at your heartstrings like the one time Willie brought you to his house. It had been shortly before your friendship fractured, a few years ago. He had brought you to a suburb for low-income families and straight to the backyard where a twelve-year-old year danced.

The dead skater boy and the rebel sat in the patio chair on the tiny porch nestled in the postmark sized backyard. A quintet of pre-pubescent girls danced on the lawn to some bubblegum pop song. The Young girl was submissive to a more confident girl even when the venue was the Young girl’s home.

“The girl to the left is my little sister Kayla. She’s twelve now, it’s been seven years since I died.” Willie’s brown eyes saddened at the dancer who had a spark of maturity in her eyes, “I check in every once in a while. These are Kayla’s friends. The bossy girl is Carrie, and while the band is a group, she is the unofficial leader of the band Carrie’s Constellations.”

 “She looks happy.”

“Kayla’s always been bubbly in personality, but she had questionable friends.” Willie outright admitted keeping his eyes pinned to the girl that had grown up in a blink of an eye. Her dark hair concealed by the gaudy purple wig; the colour assigned to the teenager.

“It’s nice that she still enjoys dance.” Willie finished reaching out to grab your hand in his and just like that Willie transitioned back into carefree, “I found this really cool skatepark I think you’d like.”

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Alex winced as the three musicians flinched as a sudden purple spark of colour lit up their midsections.

Like a tentacle, your mind reached into the quiet raven-haired boy with the leather jacket. Beyond the imagery of docile golden retrievers and steaming plates of food, you found the regret and fear in the boy. Stepping into a recent memory, you watched their experience at the Hollywood Ghost Club.

“You’ve met Caleb.” You sighed roughly pushing your index finger between your brows feeling the familiar ache.

“It was a stupid decision,” Luke spoke up, tearing his focus from the mysterious girl that ultimately had the power in her hands. The entire plan was weighing on the decision you would give, “Either we join his house band, or we don’t exist.”

“Hm.” You spoke as the kaleidoscope of colours in Luke’s eyes glittered under the sterile lights of the room. It was difficult to look away from the enthralling teenage ghost, but the emotion wafting off Willie was concerning.

“They died before they could perform at the Orpheum. We’re banking that getting the opening slot with giving them the push into crossing over.” The long-haired skater leaned closer, “I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I can’t do much.”

“So, you want to pull ’09 incident again?” You completely ignored the trio on the couch staring directly at the sheepish skater with raised eyebrows, “Only this time without the train?”

“Train?” Alex whispered, looking between the two long-time friends with interest and then next thing he knew Alex was in the backseat of a van crushed between Reggie and Luke equally confused.

Chicago, Illinois 2009

William Young and Y/N Y/L/N were complete hellions in the ghost world, creating havoc that fascinated the living population. The recent event being the highjacking of a van filled with drunk teenage boys. These boys had been the sole reason a young girl was recovering in a hospital with life-threatening injuries. The scene changed to a hospital room with Willie and Y/N watching a girl with massive bruising laid.

It had hit both Willie and Y/N hard catching the tail end of the new report, Willie thinking of how that could have been his sister. Even if Kayla was only five years old, having a sister set things more in perspective. For you it was a flashback to when you were alive and thus led you to the ICU room for the girl.

Slipping into her unconscious mind was easy but while the injured teen appeared peaceful to the hospital staff, she was anything but. The poor girl’s mind replayed the traumatic incident over and over like a movie; keeping in the shadows, you gently repainted the portrait with lighter and brighter images. 

For Willie, he watched as you wavered on your ghostly feet and smoothed out the features of the girl. The heart monitor subtly changing as the injured girl relaxed, and suddenly your interference heightened her chances of survival.

“I got it.” You spoke to Willie with a heated glare on your features and when the ghostly musician trio blinked they were back in the van.

Your hands gripped the van’s steering wheel with Willie turned in the passenger seat to watch a group of living boys scream. To the living eyes in the van, no one was in the front seats but whispered words spoke into their minds.

You’re going to go straight to the police and tell them what you did. You’ll hand over the photographic evidence and demand the worst punishment. You’ll leave the girl alone, or we’ll come back to finish our job. You will pay for the hospital bills if the family agrees. 

The boys trembled with the putrid scent of urine permeating the enclosed vehicle. The distant sound of a train echoed in the distance as the van stopped on the tracks. No matter how much the living boys moved the doors refused to open, and the windows remained unbreakable.

“WE promise!” The ringleader cried, slamming his shoulder against the door with the train’s bright lights illuminating the van.

“Let us go!” The other screamed, slamming his bruising hands on the window.

Alex was flinching at each slam of fists on the glass, leaving smears of blood. Knuckles broke from the window. At the very last second, your foot slammed the gas pedal taking the van millimetres from the train screeching on the tracks.

You and Willie stared at the stationary train lit up from the van’s headlights with the rhythmic flashes of the red and blue police lights. The van’s seat arrangement was different with the ringleader in the driver’s seat. 

The three ghost musicians standing unseen behind the duo but in the real world out of the dreamlike memory you knew.

Elysium, Present Day

“Holy fucking shit.” Alex cussed out of breath, leaning back on the couch with shaking limbs and fear in his bloodless veins.

Luke’s eyes blinked owlishly at the boy that he had once thought could never do something as terrifying and torturous. He was afraid to even ask the outcome of the life-threatening incident you did on the assailants.

“That is the reason for the train.” You barely glanced at the shaken trio to stare at who had once been your partner in crime, “Willie, I have responsibilities here. We just opened a new division for the children we house here.”

“It would take a few hours.” Willie pleaded, positioning his hands into a pleading position turning on his charm. The puppy eyes you had always struggled to say no to as if you weren’t the type of person easily capable of staying strong.

“We’ll do anything.” Luke pleaded just as much recalling the countless times he had charmed himself out of situations, “Please help us.”

“I’ll have to make arrangements with Rudy and Susie, but I might be able to pull some strings. I’m really sorry Willie, but I’m gonna need to erase your knowledge of this place. There are too many people depending on this setup.”

Outside the Orpheum

Outside the legendary venue, three out of four band members for Julie and the Phantoms walked up to the marquee. Hopefully, the letters for Downslide would be changed into their band name just under the main act. Everything was riding on Willie and Y/N’s capabilities. Trusting the skater was challenging to do and more so someone they didn’t fully know.

“Look, don’t worry, guys. Willie said he’d get us on that marquee.” Alex soothed his friends on each side of him. All three wearing concerned expressions at the place that hopefully was their last stop before crossing over.

“This is gonna work, right?” Reggie questioned with his hand confidently sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. The relaxed posture a juxtaposition to the anxiety and nerves on his flushed face.

“It has to.” Luke’s lips pursed into a pout with his words tinged with a dialect different from his best friends. The faint souvenir from the place he spent a few years growing up before moving to LA.

Luke’s words were highlighted by the groans of pain as that flash of purple courtesy of Caleb’s death stamp appeared. All three hunched over clutched their chests breathing through the pain; Luke was the first to unfurl his form.

“Whoa!” You gasped flashing underneath the marquee beside Willie. Rushing to give Luke support without even a second thought.

When the aftershock faded, the guitarist stood straight up with a thankful smile that boarded on adoration.

“Are you guys, okay?” Willie asked, keeping back with the swell of guilt that happened, seeing the familiar symptoms of post-shock. He had felt them a time or two in the time he had sold his soul to his unfortunate boss.

“Yeah, it’s nothing we haven’t felt before,” Alex replied, rubbing his hand over the baby blue shirt he had chosen today. His blue eyes doing their best to avoid looking into the puppy-like ones of the skater, “How’d it go?”

“Well, when that opening band wakes up, they’re gonna find their bus 200 miles outside of Vegas.” Willie proudly announcing turning on his heel to show off the Downslide jacket he took from the lead singer. His fist extending to bump yours instinctively before he did so with Luke.

“With no chance of getting back in time.” You snickered in response living on the adrenaline and nostalgia of the rebellion. With Elysium, you had turned around your life, “Meaning-“

“-there’s probably a promoter upstairs right about now freakin’ out.”

 “Nah. This is Hollywood, man.” Willie scoffed with a wave of his hand matching the one you supplied, “I’m sure he’s being very professional.”

As Willie finished his sentence up in the promotor’s office out of earshot of the ghosts stood a very pissed adult. His finger-wagging his finger with teeth clenched, his flushed skin a juxtaposition to the cheery blue Hawaiian style shirt. Frank Wolfe couldn’t believe how stupid his once opening band was.

“What do you mean the bus drove itself into the middle of the desert?” Frank questioned progressively growing more and more frustrated. His assistant Tasha casting concerned looks to her typically collected boss, “BUSES DON’T DRIVE THEMSELVES!”

Tasha flinched at the sudden loud growl of the sentence but more so as Wolfe starting slamming the phone into the cradle. Her fingers halting on her keyboard, going over the list of frequent acts. Unfortunately, the five acts had other commitments causing Tasha to fear tonight. The blonde lady was worried Wolfe could have a breakdown once more.

While Willie snickered to his own words, your eyes, not your mind, could read that Alex wanted to talk to the skater. With only a teasing jab of your elbow in Willie’s ribs you shuffled around the drummer to join Reggie and Luke away from the ‘will they won’t they’ couple.

“So, can you do me a favour?” Luke hesitantly questioned you with his inquisitive eyes a greener colour in the sunlight. His attractive eyes took your full attention with a simple tilt of your head, “Julie’s family means a lot to us, and could you keep an eye on them?”

“And Carlos,” Reggie interjected rocking on his polished pleather boots he had spent ages on finding for his rocker aesthetic back in the ’90s.

“-Julie’s little brother.” Luke supplied at the confusion painted clearly on your pretty features. His green eyes scoured your face as he always did that flushed both his and your faces red.

“Yeah, of course, I can.” You firmly told the two dead boys each standing tense in front of you.

You could easily see the love they held for the living family that had come to mean so much in such a short amount of time. Since first meeting them you had always gotten the feeling that their living years weren’t the best. For Alex, it was living in the ’90s as a young gay teenager during a terrifying time for the LGBTQ+ community. Reggie flinched at the raised voices, and Luke had longingly stared after the happy families milling around the Elysium.

“Did you ever find out what your unfinished business was?” Reggie inquired fixing a strand of his dark hair that had fallen onto his blemish-free skin. Your smile faltered at his question; nonetheless, you answered.

“I did.” The two words carried a sense of pain with them. Your eyes unfocused recalling the euphoric feeling of seeing the breathtaking white light of the peace exuding from the beyond and the agony of denying crossing over.

“How-“

“Hey! Y/N!” Willie called out to the young denim wearing ghost with his beaming grin, “Don’t go stealing buses without me!”

Luke swore he could see your laughter in the air, just as endearing as the smoky quality your voice carried.

“Don’t go glitter bombing criminals.” You returned as your best friend dropped his board to skate off to wherever he was needed. It was bittersweet to reconnect with him knowing that it could be the last time.

When Caleb found out, not an if but a when Willie had a hand in helping his desired band it was high chance Willie would be gone. Caleb was all too powerful, and when he was betrayed, it never ended well.

“I need to get back to Elysium. Susie’s arrival is tonight. Good luck with tonight.” Your words were accompanied by a hug for each of the boys. The one with Luke lingering the most, “I wish you could play for the kids.”

“Yeah. Me too.” The brunette, messy-haired boy’s words carried a hidden desire simply to be in your space more. The teenage ghost helps those in limbo while wearing a jean jacket with patches from many decades. The jacket creating an unknown time you had lived.

“Goodbye, boys.” You told the trio before you poofed away from the busy streets of Hollywood where the band had come full circle in death.

“Are you guys, okay?” Reggie inquired his best friends, forgoing his casual personality for the layers underneath. His blue-green eyes filled with only concern.

Alex and Luke shared a lingering look, “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The dining hall was filled with long tables and chairs populated by the ghostly forms of everyone currently living at Elysium. It was reminiscent of a British book turned film series of youth with magic abilities. The series had been a favourite of a former resident.

“Incredible.” Susie breathed staring at the joyful people having a place to call home. Making the limbo between life and death more bearable.

“We���ve done well. You smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist, “It’s so nice to have you back.”

Elysium was so much more than you could ever hope for. It kept growing and growing with more ghosts. Since the founding of the haven, new developments continuously happened with one resident’s unique ability.

Harvey had joined the haven a year into the founding bringing the ability to gift the residents with the capacity to eat. During his life, Harvey had been a renowned chef and the dream to make food it carried into his death. As long as Harvey cooked the food with his volunteer staff ghosts were able to eat it.

“Harvey has outdone himself again,” Rudy announced his arrival at your side with his arms crossed, displaying his corded muscles. The constellation of moles on his face standing on his pale creamy skin.

“Rudy!” Susie squealed, throwing herself into his arms with the same glee that came each time. Susie and Rudy since their first meeting had a special bond as chosen siblings who bonded over heartache.

Rudy had died, leaving his best friend and his strawberry blonde girlfriend in the living world back in their dark hometown. It was just one tidbit he had revealed throughout your friendship. The only physical connection to his living friends was the three picture on his desk of a group of people.

The first picture had a lean version of Rudy with his arms thrown over a Hispanic boy with a crooked jaw and glimmering brown eyes. The Hispanic boy had his arm around a pretty brunette girl with deep dimples and wavy brown hair. The two boys wore a sports uniform of some kind holding lacrosse sticks.

The second picture had Rudy and the Hispanic teen again but with a beautiful petite strawberry blonde. Along with them was a brunette with blunt chin-length hair and hardened features besides a shorter blonde male with blue eyes.

The last picture was of Rudy with the same Hispanic boy wearing graduation caps and gowns with two beaming adults. The male adult wore a tan shirt adorned with a star on his left pec and dark brown pants. He had to be Rudy’s father with similar features. The woman was of Hispanic descent with laugh lines, and thick dark curly hair pulled into a half do; obviously the Hispanic teen’s mother.

The pain in Rudy’s face each time he saw the pictures closed off a desire to ask him about the people.

“Hello, Susie.” Rudy chuckled, wrapping his arms around her small stature, “How was Europe?”

“Why don’t you ask the five newcomers I found before Caleb?” Susie teased gesturing to the ragtag of new ghosts immersed in conversations.

“Family?”

“A boarding school had a fire. Those five were in the fire when it happened and the only victims out of seven that didn’t cross over.” Susie’s tone faded into a melancholy tone with her small arms wrapping around her middle. Faded brown eyes staring at the younger of the five seeing herself in them.

“That’s terrible.” You whispered, staring at the table with one finger picking the patch of a band from the ’70s, “I can’t imagine how scary that could have been.”

“Yeah.” Susie softly spoke, pushing a strand of her hair off her temple just as equally sad for the way that death had no qualms of how it took.

The youngest ghost in Elysium had been a three-year-old toddler who passed over quickly when he was found by the deceased mother. The two had been separated at death and luckily shared the same unfinished business of finding each other.

“Miss Reynold’s has twelve spirits that finished their business.” Rudy softly informed his two partners. Soft smiles formed on their faces at the happy news of Elysium’s goal being accomplished again.

“May they find everlasting peace and serenity.” Your words intertwined with Susie in perfect sync of the motto coined after the first crossover, “I suppose the Serenity will begin planning?”

“Have the Serenity ever not performed their duty?” Rudy raised one dark eyebrow with a rhetorical question. E/c and faded brown met recalling the countless times Elysium had hosted a celebration for those who found their unfinished business.

“That is-whoa.” You gasped stumbling at the scream echoing in your mind accessorized with the vintage sound of a band.

Calloused hands grasped your shaking form from collapsing onto the ground from a proverbial psionic shove. Agony slammed your brain flickering into an old fashioned club filled with people in both colour or black and white attire. You caught sight of baby pink, deep royal blue and bright red suits. The pained screams of a skater in a dark room overtaking the music in the Club.

“No.” You whispered clenching your hands on your head, feeling the dread building in the pit of your stomach.

The joyful voices in the hall muted while your body flickered with the deep instinct to leave the haven for the one place that utterly terrified you. It was the familiar touch of Susie and Rudy that kept you from finding the one person that meant the world. Willie’s soul was on the cutting board, and Caleb obsession with performing was the only reason Willie still existed.

“Willie.” You whimpered tears rolling down your flushed cheeks, feeling the panic in the skater’s mind.

“Susie help me.” Rudy stonily spoke ushering the distraught girl from the busy hall into an empty room.

Your shaking body finding purchase on the plush sofa with Susie holding one hand in hers and Rudy brushing the sweaty hair from your forehead. It wasn’t often your psionic abilities left you in such a state, but the distance proved difficult.

“Shit.” Rudy grumbled frowning, “This is bad. Y/N, we need to get you to Willie. You’re flickering, and the distance isn’t helping.”

“You want to take one of Elysium’s strongest ghosts straight into Caleb’s domain? You know how much he wants her in his Club.” Susie hissed to the co-founder of the haven they had to take extraordinary measures to protect, “It won’t work! You’re throwing her to the dogs!”

“Susanne I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, we always have a plan.” Rudy retorted narrowing his whiskey eyes at the younger girl, “I’ll take her to get Willie, but you need to stay here to make sure everything runs smooth.”

“Are you sure you can-“Susie cut herself off with a nod as Rudy displayed the reason he could do it, “Okay, yep, you can do it.”

Rudy came back into her vision in his signature position with one eyebrow raised, and his arms crossed. The reason why Elysium worked so well was Rudy’s ability to erase an object from the view of anyone. He could make himself invisible to anyone and in practice, developed it to hide items and location. With his ability, Elysium was permanently hidden to anyone outside of his power. Illusions were his unique ability.

“You aren’t the first person to doubt my capability.” Rudy informed the other ghost reaching one hand out. With his fingers caressing your temple, he snapped his fingers, transporting you and him away from Elysium.

The empty room of Elysium’s dining hall was exchanged for the business streets of Los Angeles, bringing an improvement in your body. Pushing away from Rudy, your eyes frantically scoured the unfamiliar area for any hint of Willie.

“He’s close.” You exclaimed closing your e/c eyes to focus solely on your sixth sense kicking in. Rudy’s gasp snapped your eyes open to see his eyes pinned on your feet where a glowing neon purple smoke wisped.

“What is that?” Rudy demanded crouching to touch it, but it was like nothing was there. His whiskey brown eyes meeting your confused gaze.

“I have no clue, but I feel like I have to follow it.” Robotically your feet started walking following the smoke through the streets.

Rudy was silent as you came upon a park swallowed by the darkness of the night with the moon barely showing through the clouds. The odd purple smoke the only offering of light so far from the path with street lights.

“Of course we have to go through a park.” Rudy grumbled, “Nothing good ever happens in wooded areas at night.”

Lifting your eyes from the smoke, you looked at a deeply unsettled Rudy lost in the past only he knew. His mind recalling traipsing through the forest with his asthmatic best friend in the middle of the night. The last night before the unknown took over his life. Oddly enough dying and returning as a ghost was the most normal with everything that happened with his friends alive.

“You can go ba-“

“We’re not splitting up,” Rudy growled plainly scowling at your hesitant features. Rudy’s slammed the door closed on his past life.

Sensing unease Rudy’s calloused hand reached over to slide into yours in platonic support. You continued your mission, unaware that three certain ghosts in breathtaking suits were searching for you. 

Alex, Reggie, and Luke, affected by the purple jolts, failed to find the one place where their plan B could work. What Julie hadn’t known was that the guys had a plan just in case the Orpheum wasn’t their unfinished business. The three would go to Elysium to accept their fate and ensure Julie believed they crossed over.

With no Elysium in sight, the boys returned to the Molina garage hoping that one thing would go their way: Julie would go straight to bed.

The glow purple smoke trailed through the city park into an older part of Los Angeles before it stopped. Where the smoke stopped was a vast empty space surrounded by trees.

“Well, that’s a little anticlimactic.” You grumbled crossing your arms, “Willie’s somewhere here. Do you think Caleb has an underground lair?”

Rudy cast an unamused expression at you, “From past experience. No, that’s not likely. He probably has an apartment downtown. An underground network of caves in the woods is more shapeshifter style but still not true.”

“One: You’re rambling. Two: What the hell kind of life did you have?” You questioned furrowing your eyebrows at his rather odd piece of information.

“An old one.” Rudy spoke, staring ahead, “Besides, I think we should check out whatever building is hidden from our sight.”

“Hid-“Your mouth halted when Rudy roughly gripped your shoulders to twist you to face the empty space.

“Close your eyes. Trust your senses.” Rudy spoke softly, “Or pay attention to the slab of concrete in the middle of an empty space with well-kempt grass.”

Your palm slammed your forehead with a resounding thump in the night with distance lights from surrounding buildings. Rudy squeezed your shoulders as he stepped to the side once more in turn, closing his eyes.

“Walk in my mind.” Rudy stated for the first time in your friendship, allowing you to look in his mind. Your hesitance was met with another squeeze of comfort in his calloused grip.

Your tired eyes closed as your mind timidly stepped into the rather breathtaking mind of Rudy, who felt guilt the most. While Susie’s mind was like a summer day spent at a lake with brightness and gorgeous field of flowers, Rudy’s mind was different.

It was dark in Rudy’s mind but not as if evil, but as if he had been touched by the darkness and painted permanently. There’s was the odd whisper of childlike laughter intermingled with the full adult laugh of a woman; the laughter overshadowed with the sound of funeral music. You felt the lose near that memory. Rudy’s mind was painful to be in and drowning in the feelings he had.

Your breath caught seeing a door you assumed was of his childhood room with a name you couldn’t pronounce for the life of you.

“My parents named me after my mom’s dad.” Rudy spoke through his mind with a soft smile on his face, “I couldn’t say it, so I called myself Mischief. I stopped using it when my mom died, and I went by a shortened version of my last name.”

Your eyes watched as the door disappeared, and the reason you were in his mind came back to the forefront. Your eyes watched the image forming of a vintage hotel rippling in the air before it solidified. The size reminded you of a castle, and it felt like you were storming it.

Without any more mental interaction, you stepped out of Rudy’s mind back into the real world. The very same hotel in plain sight to both Rudy and your surprised elation.

 “Honestly didn’t think that would work.” Rudy breathlessly laughed, staring at the hotel once hidden to them. A dark comparison to Elysium.

“How do we play this, Rudy?” You inquired looking over at him, “This is very different from stealing cars and scaring teens.”

“Easy. We blend in.” Rudy responded, holding one hand out to grasp yours in which you noticed your attire had changed, “Perks of illusion? I can alter our own perception of ourselves.”

“Oh, wow. That looks expensive.” You replied, staring at the diamond bracelet on your wrist matching the necklace you wore.

Rudy’s attire had changed from his normal button-up with the sleeves rolled to be layered under a charcoal grey vest and jacket. Sleek matching pants to his coat and the dark black-tie matching the elegant black dress you wore. He had taken pity on your footwear to fit your ability to walk and for the fancy place.

He even had diamond cufflinks that matched you, but the wedding rings on your fingers took you aback. Your widened eyes staring at him.

“Tonight we’re Mr and Mrs Martin,” Rudy spoke choking on the last name he gave as it was the upscale name toppled from his lips.

“Okay. This is a test of our abilities.”

“This is if our plan A of being invisible doesn’t work. The one thing we know for sure is that Caleb has never seen either one of us.” Rudy soothed your nerves with a half-smile,” Let’s get Willie out.”

Your arm slipped into the crook of his to walk to the front door, “I feel like a spy. I feel like that Naomi Roma-“

“It’s Natasha Romanoff. Have you ever seen one of the marvel movies?” Rudy demanded walking up the entrance with a pained smile, “You’re like my best friend and when he wouldn’t watch Star Wars! Never caught one of my references!”

“Okay! Sorry, we can watch the movies when this over.” You grumbled as your heels clicked in the foyer of the hotel. The inside made you feel like you were sent back in time to the roaring ’20s.

“Oh damn, this is nice,” Rudy whispered, staring at the chandelier in the extravagant lobby of the last place you wanted to be.

While on the outside the two ghosts appeared cool, calm and collected they were anything but. Both a wreck inside from the perilous errand they had done that could very well be the ending of Elysium. Rudy nudged you to begin finding Willie with your mind, but you didn’t need to.

That same glowing mist was on the ground pulling you in the direction of a dark hall away from the route to the Club. Rudy kept his eye out, a characteristic carried into the afterlife from his time with the FBI, as you followed the mist. The hall continued to get more and more dark as the walk continued.

 Finally at the end was a blood-red door.

 “I swear to god if he kills his Club members, I’ll lose it.” You hissed to your arm candy, “What if he’s really H. H. Holmes disguised as a former magician? His door is blood red!”

“Have you been using your serial killer colouring book again?” Rudy demanded stuttering his steps to place his whiskey brown eyes on you. The sheepish expression on your face was enough of a response to gain the look of disbelief could have sent you into hysterics had the time not been too serious.

With a grin belying the situation, you twisted your wrist to open the door to hopefully where Willie was being held.

“What a cliché. He’s keeping Willie in the basement?”

“Will you shut up!” Rudy hissed right back with a clenched jaw entering the somewhat unfinished basement. It was cold even to your dead standards where the cold didn’t bother that much.

At the bottom in front of a desk with only a small lamp as illumination sat a vacant-eyed Willie painstakingly detailing a fabric. The lush purple velvet fabric was bougie, to say the least, and rather outlandish for the skater.

“Willie.” You softly coaxed the teen to glance up from the fabric you found to be something Caleb would wear. Willie’s brown eyes barely met yours before they returned to the sewing needle in his hand and the tiny beads in the bowl.

“Caleb is actually forcing him to be his personal seamstress?” Rudy scoffed,d stepping right up by your side to look at the work.

Both trying unsuccessfully to coaxed Willie out of the stupor he was engaged in the sudden poofing wasn’t heard.

“Mrs. Young taught both Willie and Kayla how to sew. She’s quite the seamstress, reminds me of my old one.” Caleb wistfully responded with a smarmy smile on his face, “Well if it isn’t little Y/N and whoever she brought. Nice threads.”

“Let him go.”

Caleb’s index finger caressed the corner of his mouth so gently to ensure the stage makeup didn’t budge. His clear ocean blue eyes turning thunderstorm navy as his lips parted in such a bone-chilling sinister grin.

“Let him go? He tried to take my new house band from me. He thinks that those boys not crossing over is his punishment. I think that adorable but so very wrong.” Caleb shrugged, dragging his finger down the bicep of his puppet.

“What can we do to- “

“You see after he’s done fixing the tuxedo jacket I’m going to tie him up on the table and slowly strip away his soul piece by piece. No, Willie won’t get the quick and easy zap erasing him. I’ll personally see it’s the most painful thing he experiences and I’ll do so happily.”

“Willie! Wake up!” Rudy shouted, shaking the skater’s shoulder frantically with his focus never entirely leaving the mad man. The whiskey brown eyes panicking at the odd displaced feeling of reliving his living life.

“That won’t work.” Caleb chuckled crossing his arms, “It’s rather amusing you think you can beat me. I’m Caleb Covington! I’m persuasive enough for hundred of memberships to financially benefit the Club.”

“And I’m Y/N Y/L/N bitch.” You snarled viciously throwing your mind into the nefarious narcissistic mind of the washed-up magician. 

Caleb Convington had started to bore his audience with the same tricks at every previous show. The lack of interest depleting the attendance numbers and severely hurting the financials. So Caleb decided to broaden his talent by copying the likes of Harry Houdini.

He had a knack for both the dramatics and swindling his audience to be tricked by the illusions he created. The heightened popularity increased Caleb’s thirst for status and fame, so he overestimated himself.

Surrounded by adoring fans and journalists, Caleb had his assistant lock him in a safe with no key, to the audience’s knowledge, and push the safe into the river. Unfortunately from the infamous magician and escape artist the safe warped due to the material it as made out of. Caleb Covington died drowning in a safe at the bottom of the river.

You flinched feeling the emotion at the time Caleb had died and the feeling of disappointment at not leaving a legacy. Your continued your trek in the struggling mind of a man who viewed himself as invincible. You caught glimpses of a young Caleb with his family and the moments of tragedy that shaped him.

You saw his first taste of power in death and the content since the first time he erased a ghost from existence. It sickened you more as you reached the point where Willie came into Caleb’s path.

I’m unique, Caleb. Unlike you with the illusions and empty promises, I have real power that you could only dream of. Hearing your thoughts and planting my own words is just the tip of the iceberg.

Caleb screamed in response holding his aching head as you cruelly ripped every memory of Willie from his mind. The screams echoed not only in the basement but through the hotel the Club worked out of.

“Stop!” Caleb pleaded, shaking his head back and forth. The anguish was un-fazing to both the lucid people in the room. Rudy too busy trying to wake your best friend from the trance he had been placed in.

“I can alter memories. Remove them and even plant memories of my own design. You may take from people, but I give to people. I refused to give you anything.” You circled the man seeing double from outside and inside his mind.

I’m everything you wish you could be.

Your last action in his mind was searing a burn that flashed across his entire body from a nerve stroked. With the heat equivalent to magma in his veins, you burrowed to where Caleb controlled the souls. With a smear of your fingers, Willie’s soul was released from Caleb clutches.

“C’mon. Get Willie.” You told Rudy sending Caleb into an empty trance as if he was no more than a wax figure. Rudy eased the skater up from the desk while you exchanged Caleb to sit on the chair holding the needle, “We need to leave. I’ll get rid of any speck of Willie in memories.”

“I didn’t even get to punch the guy.” Rudy pouted, dragging his feet up the stairs away from the magician.

“That’s a good thing. I’m sure Caleb would be more pissed about his nose being damaged than losing Willie.” You scoffed helping the man urge Willie to walk up the stairs and then down the hallway to the entrance.

As you walked you brushed the minds of every individual in the building, all members in attendance, you gently removed all traces of Willie. By the time you reached the edge of the park, you had relaxed.

“We should get him to Alex, they didn’t crossover. I can still feel their imprint.”

“He’d be safer at Elysium to lay low.” Rudy replied, keeping on eye on the skater and on anyone he could see.

With only a nod, you ushered the ghost to teleport both the skater and himself back to the safe walls of Elysium. As he did so, you reached out with your mind to the blonde-haired sweet male in adoration with your best friend.

Clicking his place was easy enough for your draining power after the taxing bond with Willie’s absent presence. Instead of walking as you would generally choose you poofed on the cement pad in the backyard of a home. The surrounding skirt of the backyard encased with plants and flowers.

“Hello?” You called out in the darkness. The soft, mumbled words had your feet moving in the direction.

Standing in a circle mesmerized at the purple tattoos lifting off their skin was the boys of Julie and the Phantoms. The teenage beautiful Puerto Rican girl stood across from Luke with Reggie and Alex on each side.

“Alex?” You called out to the boy wearing a baby pink vintage tuxedo that complimented his skin and hair exquisitely. The outfit definitely screamed that Caleb had something to do with it, especially with the missing fanny pack.

“Y/N?” Luke gasped turning to see you in incredibly fancy attire matching his gorgeous blue suit modified to having no sleeves. The anticipation of eating at you to find Reggie rocking a red suit with butterflies on the fabric.

“I’m sorry you didn’t crossover.” Your words soothed the sad teenagers that had accepted their fate only to have no control again. An introduction was brought between you and Julie when the living girl elbowed Alex.

“Not that we mind but what are you doing here? How did you get here, and why are you dressed up?” Luke inquired, pushing his hands into his suit pockets, engrossed with your gorgeous appearance.

“Well when you crash a fancy Club with a narcissistic founder…any means to blend in is necessary.” You responded, “As for your second question.”

Your finger tapped your temple before continuing to speak, “I’m here because Alex deserves to know. You all do.”

The boy in baby pink frantically stepped forward, “What happened?”

“Maybe it’s best, I just show you?” Your brows furrowed to your own question accompanied by your lower lip being bitten by your teeth. The red lipstick not budging as it was an illusion as well.

“Hu-“Reggie grunted as he spiralled with his two dead bandmates into the scene that had sent you on your determined mission.

The rough action of being drawn into your memories as jarring as the first time and just as scary. The maniacal magician pacing the dark basement simply to heighten his dramatic speech. Alex’s heart clenched at the vacant look in the skater’s eyes with the faintest tinge of purple in the gorgeous brown.

“I feel like I got carsick.” Reggie moaned leaning over to clutch his midsection once you released the ghostly trio. Reggie would often gain a look of disbelief and horror from the blonde drummer, but his entire brain was centred on Willie.

“Rudy took Willie back to Elysium where he’ll be safe. If you want, you can join us.” The words were offered to both the dead and living currently in the room.

Opting out, Julie retired to her bedroom to calm down from the rush of performing at the Orpheum of all places. Besides she felt like going to Elysium was best for the three boys, and maybe they would move there. Julie would miss them, but she knew they’d always come back.

Susie was quick to hug you tightly as you stepped through the gates with the dead members of Julie’s band. The boys changed out of the tuxedos they had dropped off at a donation centre, Reggie had wanted to burn them. After living on the streets for a short while, Luke understood the need for clothing, so the clothing was taken to shelters.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Rudy told me you overexerted yourself again.” Susie spoke with a deeply furrowed brow oblivious to the puppy dog look from the bassist in red flannel.

“If I didn’t, Willie would be gone.”

“You’re pale yet flushed cheeks. I can see you have a fever. You need to rest.”

“I need to soothe Willie out of the trance that psychotic prick put him in.” You scoffed shaking Susie’s hand off your shoulder to sidestep her, “I’ll rest when he’s fine.”

“I-“

“At least gab something from the cafeteria for energy.” Susie’s brown eyes dimmed at your typical brush off. The same routine of overusing your powers and not recharging correctly, “He’s in Cottage A!”

The boys were on your heels as you power-walked through the streets of the ghost city with one location in mind. The living streets with homes of all style and colours appeared passed the bakery, the school and the clothing stores.

“You can eat?” Reggie whispered as a little ghost girl licked an ice cream cone walked by.

“Harvey adored cooking for people when he living, so he continued in death. Harvey can make food for ghosts, and so can his staff if they work in his kitchen. His pastry chef provides baked goods to Flora’s Bakery and makes the best ice cream.”

 “Oh my god.” Reggie practically squealed wholly flabbergasted by the almost perfect place you created, “How do you pay for things?”

“We don’t. What Harvey doesn’t grow in his garden, he can make ingredients out of thin air. We all have some kind of job we do. Everyone has a role in fulfilling to keep Elysium running.” You simply spoke keeping your eyes on the cottage with the robin’s egg blue door.

As if he knew Rudy flung the door open elated to see you standing there. Both of you still wearing the illusioned attire. IN milliseconds he wiped the illusion away, returning you back into your street clothes.

“How is he?”

“No change.” Rudy replied, following your steps in the living room. The skater was staring blankly at the wall.

“Willie!” Alex cried, rushing over to kneel beside the boy that had so swiftly stolen his heart without him realizing. The emotion in his word didn’t get a microscopic flinch from the formerly so-called enemy.

“Everyone be quiet.” You demanded forcibly staring each person in the room down for a mere second. With the desired silence continued, you ignored the headache forming in your head to step into the skater’s mind.

William Young was screaming to be released by the prison of his own mind Caleb had forced him into. He had felt the restriction on his soul lifted and the mist of purple leaving his brain, but he was still stuck.

He could barely breathe with the weight on his chest. Willie didn’t like feeling stuck in one place as he was a wanderer at heart. It was a reason why he had joined the Hollywood Ghost Club with the promise of travel.

Willie come back

In his mind, the sound of your voice firstly grounded the young man as a mirage of your form flickered. Your eyes screamed worry while the smile was one of relief.

Caleb can’t hurt you anymore. Come home.

The spectators watching see your flinching wavering expression and the tensing of Willie’s facial muscles. Everyone sat on the edge of their seat as the two pairs eyes opened in synch of the yells of hurt.

What they didn’t expect was your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and you to collapse onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Willie cried, stumbling off the couch onto the cold floor where your body lay prone, “Wake up!”

It seemed everyone forgot the little detail of being dead.

 “She’s fine.” Rudy remarked, shaking your arm with such gentle care matching the four guys’ care in the room.

Your eyelids fluttered open under the bright lights of the unused cottage still waiting for an owner.

“Susie was right.” You grumbled allowing Willie to help you sit up against the blue velvet couch. Your mussed hair adorable in the eyes of the guitarist utterly enamoured with everything about you.

“She usually is.” Rudy mused, thinking of the many times she had proven everyone wrong, “She punched me for not bringing you home.”

“Gotta love her.” You snorted turning to face the four ghosts awkwardly gazing around the room. It was barren of personality with the lack of inhabitants. The yearning quickly found in the boys’ eyes, “You know this isn’t the only cottage in need of people.”

“What do-“

“You’re welcome to live here. I know you three live in that studio, but here you can have a real bed. You can eat and having your own place. You can come and go as you please.” You offered without looking, Rudy.

“I don’-“

“If you don’t want to live here, it’s okay, but the option is always there. Willie, we make plans for a skatepark-“

“Oh, you had me from the start.” Willie beamed tugging you into his arms, “I missed this. I missed you.”

 “Me too.” You murmured into his warm embrace equally relaxed at knowing he was safe again. Your eyes clashing with the soft blue had Ideas songwriting already filled with lyrics of a pretty girl wearing a jean jacket with patches.

The lyrics turned into songs both in the studio and the cottage that Luke, Reggie and Alex accepted in Elysium. It had been a spirited discussion with Julie on moving to Elysium, but the boys were always there when she wasn’t in school. Often Elysium hosted a concert for the residents with the visitation of Julie.

Your reciprocated attraction with the messy-haired hazel-eyed guitarist flourished into a serious relationship. Luke took on the role of teaching how to play the guitar and songwriting. Alex took of mediation while Reggie worked with Harvey.

Willie quickly took on designing the skatepark he taught at while also taking a position at the ghost school.

“Morning.” The soft whisper roused your sleep into the golden glow of the morning light and chirping birds.

The growling aspect of his voice coming from only just waking up. The sight of Luke’s bleary eyes was heartwarming.

 A year into moving into Elysium, Luke had asked if you’d like to move in as he was the only one in the original house. Alex had moved into the little cottage with Willie three months into the relationship while Reggie was going back and forth between Susie’s room and his own place.

“Morning.” You hummed leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“You know I thought my life ended when I died. That I could never find someone and have a family. That I couldn’t share my music with the world. I was wrong.” Luke murmured as he cupped your cheek in his hand, “The band is growing more and more each day. I found the love of my life, and we have a family with everyone. I haven’t felt like I had had home for so long, but I get it now. You’re my home. I love you.”

Your cheeks warmed up at the adoration Luke displayed in his expressive hazel green gaze just as it had since day one. The awe fell from his lips before you pressed a kiss to his lips, only one of the many in the eons to come.

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[gayhotpriests]

been here all along [fic]

Or; there are traces of Buck all over the Diaz household. 1.8 k

Read on ao3

The coffee maker beeps in the kitchen, the sound carrying all the way into the bedroom the second after Eddie turns off his alarm. A cool breeze comes in through the window Eddie left open last night by mistake, and in the couple steps it takes to go from the bed to the door, Eddie has picked up at least six different clothing items, not even all his, from the floor and the chair in the corner that soon gets tossed into the laundry basket. He stops briefly by Christopher’s room to make sure his son is awake (he’s not, and a cranky five more minutes is heard from under the covers) before going into the bathroom to start his own morning routine.

The bright, red firetruck print that greets him has never failed to make him smile, not once ever since one particular Thursday, maybe two years ago now, when Christopher and Buck spent a couple of hours in the mall looking for a birthday present for one of Chris’s friends but bought a very much not needed set of shower curtains instead, along with matching firetruck soap dispenser and cup. They even have little firefighters painted in the tiny plastic windows, and Christopher might be almost twelve now, but the day he gets tired of his Buck’s gift is yet to come.

A month into the school year, the Diaz family’s mornings have looked mostly the same every day, and this fine Monday proves not to be the exception, as Eddie finds out a few minutes later. A certain blond man is still asleep on Eddie’s couch, and instead of doing his workout, Christopher is sprawled on top of him, snoring lightly. Buck’s legs are twisted in an awkward angle to fit in the couch and one of his hands brushes the fluffy carpet beneath the sofa (the one he picked in an attempt to convince Eddie that his house needed personality), the other holding onto Chris, whose face is completely smushed against the other’s shoulder. Bright blue crutches that Chris has started to grow out of lay in a disorganized pile next to them.

(If Eddie’s heart beats a little bit faster- if his hands itch to hold them too and join the sleepy pile, well. They don’t need to know.)

“Alright, sleepy heads, school starts in an hour! Get up!”

-

Eddie owns a perfectly functional coffee maker, a classic machine with only one button and no special features, that makes his coffee the same way every day, and has done so for almost five years without signs of obsolescence. He’s a simple man with simple tastes, but Eddie’s perfect, simple coffee maker, is currently collecting dust inside a box in the attic.

A steaming cup of coffee, however, is waiting for him on the counter when he steps into the kitchen, complete with milk foam, a shot of caramel, and two sugars: the product of the stupidly expensive machine Buck and Chris had plotted to get him, with all the smart features and Starbucks level settings that Eddie did not need. Using the machine is extremely complicated, too, so once Eddie found out how to input the settings for his drink of choice, he stopped allowing anyone to mess with it. Eddie drinks the sweet concoction religiously every morning, without a fault.

He sips on his sugar bomb slowly as Buck cooks breakfast, eggs, and sausages with toast, fruit salad, and a cup of warm milk for the only kid in the house. The sound of the sizzling pan and the knife hitting the cutting board fills the room along with the smell of homemade breakfast, something that screams of home and family, uninterrupted until Christopher shows up fresh from the shower and in clean clothes, with his restless morning energy and promptly sets to chatting their ears off. Buck keeps the conversation alive and gets the boy to help with mixing the fruit salad while he recounts the last episode of their favorite cartoon they had seen together the previous night. Buck makes surprised sounds at the right times, throwing a few "No way! Tell me more!" for good measure, even though Eddie’s pretty sure he remembers the episode perfectly as he asks the right questions to launch Christopher off in another direction at least three times.

Eddie finishes his coffee, leaves the cup in the sink, and turns to the cupboard to start setting the table.

Three days before school started, Christopher told Eddie that he’s big enough to use big people knives and after a long phone call with his son’s Occupational Therapist, and another with his own therapist, they had gone to the store to get him a cutlery set that could allow him more independence while still on the safer side, and Buck had found the perfect one: the knife has a blunt tip and slightly serrated edge, and a round plastic handle decorated with tiny green and blue dinosaurs.

“Daddy, don’t forget the dinosaurs, please,” Christopher asks politely, just like every day, because he refuses to eat with any other fork or knife. Luckily the set came with six of each, so everyone can use them during breakfast as Christopher prefers.

“Yeah, and don’t forget the big spoon for the fruit salad,” Buck chips in, pointedly looking at Eddie. Clearly, he still hasn’t let go of the last few times he has forgotten the big spoon for the fruit salad. In less than five minutes, they’re seated around the table eating, Christopher’s feet kicking excitedly against Eddie’s when they congratulate him for the A he got in his latest science assignment.

Both his son and best friend clear their plates first, smiles on their faces accompanied by crinkled eyes as they laugh. Eddie has to scold Chris on talking with his mouth full only once- a new record, and Buck only twice, tapping him on the hand with the spoon, reminding him to lead by example and not be a terrible influence on the kid. Buck mumbles a sheepish sorry every time, ducking his head in embarrassment, and Eddie just rolls his eyes and shoots him a fond look. He watches them, joins the laughter when Buck teases him, or when Christopher tells a story from school, warmth filling him up from the inside out.

Soon enough, the time’s up and Christopher goes to brush his teeth and get ready to leave while Eddie and Buck load the dishwasher and wipe the countertops, barely any words exchanged as they move around the kitchen. Eddie checks the calendar by the fridge, next to Christopher’s old artwork and the polaroids held up by fruit magnets. PT at 11 am, Frank’s at 3 pm, reads in the bold block letters of Buck’s handwriting, under Eddie’s own scribble of C’s swimming lessons at 3.30 pm. Eddie makes a face at the overlapping schedule, chews on the inside of his cheek. He’s too late to ask Carla to take Christopher for him, as he gave her the week off a few days ago so she could go to DC for a certification. The last few therapy sessions had been at noon, but PT was pushed up to eleven and so his entire schedule was unexpectedly messed up, and Eddie will have to run from the clinic to Christopher’s school and then take him to the pool, but he’s not cleared to drive yet so he has to account for cab ride expenses and a whole new timeframe now, too. God, he should have gotten this figured out yesterday.

Back in El Paso, when Eddie had worked three jobs, he had once forgotten to pick Christopher up at school because his shift ran longer than usual, his phone died and the teachers were unable to reach him at the construction site. His parents had been called instead, being the second emergency contacts, and they had stared him down later at night while they told him all the reasons he was a bad dad and Christopher should live with them. Don’t drag him down with you, Eddie.

A hand lands on his healthy shoulder, right next to the base of his neck, and Eddie looks away from the calendar to meet a pair of bright blue eyes next to him. Buck watches him for a second before opening his mouth, careful.

“Hey, Eds, I noticed today looks a bit tight and I was thinking I could ask Bobby to let me out for an hour so I can go pick Chris up and drive him to his lessons, or maybe ask Maddie if I’m on a call,” he says, and the knots in his throat slowly start to dissolve, as he stares up to his friend’s calm face. His shoulders slowly start to relax, the injured one pulses with pain. The warmth of Buck's fingers makes the little hairs on his nape stand up as he swipes his thumb twice over the patch of uncovered skin in a comforting gesture.

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Eddie chokes out.

Buck smiles, and it’s all it takes. The fog lifts.

“Sure, I’ll text you in case I can’t make it so you can let the school know Mads is going to get him,” Buck continues, but he’s not touching Eddie anymore. Eddie takes a small step back, fidgets with the dishrag he still had in his hands as Buck starts to make his way to the living room, picking up his jacket, “you get to pick him up after, and already I left you guys some leftover stew for tonight's dinner in the fridge," Eddie keeps his eyes on Buck while he talks, takes a few steps closer to his friend, but not close enough. "I have a sixteen-hour today, so you tell Christopher goodnight for me, alright?”

“Of course,” his voice is too tight, and it must show because Buck bites his lip and reaches out his hand again, but doesn’t touch. At that moment Christopher burst back into the living room and yells out as if Buck isn’t right there to hear him.

“I’m ready, Buck!”

With a last smile, Buck turns to the door, putting on his shoes quickly and pulling his bag out of the hallway closet. Eddie leans down to place a smooch on his son’s cheek, which makes him laugh, and throw his head back with a loud “Bye, dad!” in his ear.

“Alright buddy, let’s go, let’s go!” Buck exclaims and Christopher bolts out the door, followed by his Buck, and Eddie stays at the threshold until he can’t see the Jeep past the corner of the street.

It’s barely eight o’clock and he still has chores to get done before PT, but Eddie just drops facefirst into the heap of blankets on top of the couch, drowning in the smell of his family and he aches for the picture he saw earlier that morning, sleep falling slowly over him like another blanket. A short nap is calling his name from the dream world, and the last thing he sees before going under is his pillbox for the pain meds next to a bottle of water, a pink post-it note stuck on the tag, big bold letters were carefully written on it. I know you forget but please take these before leaving home! xx. Buck.

Eddie falls.

[wincore]

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary:  ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon​ because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable. 

You were right. 

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world. 

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3. 

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever. 

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed. 

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this. 

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want. 

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else. 

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works… 

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner. 

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please? 

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

“Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare. 

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected. 

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe. 

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…” 

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here. 

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure. 

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh. 

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly. 

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions. 

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?” 

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch. 

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!” 

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point. 

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly. 

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly. 

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected. 

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!” 

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison. 

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms. 

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own. 

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you. 

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is. 

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make. 

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band. 

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them. 

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer. 

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.” 

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?” 

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance. 

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you. 

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him. 

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday. 

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here. 

It smells minty. 

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.  

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could. 

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs. 

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck—”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.” 

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him. 

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue. 

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment.  A little rain cannot stop Seoul. 

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful. 

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down. 

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left. 

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what. 

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash. 

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place. 

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter. 

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh. 

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat. 

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain? 

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you. 

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs. 

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes. 

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course. 

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun. 

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song. 

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song. 

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause. 

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger. 

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks. 

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks. 

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes. 

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts. 

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin. 

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention. 

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs. 

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.  

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight. 

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red. 

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you. 

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining. 

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private. 

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him. 

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you? 

You gulp. 

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even  taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now. 

“Ta-da!” 

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway. 

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic? 

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more. 

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts? 

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite. 

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day. 

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it? 

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side. 

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights. 

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic. 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers. 

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage. 

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity. 

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real. 

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation. 

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever. 

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely. 

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms. 

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does. 

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes. 

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder. 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?” 

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near. 

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys. 

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle. 

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks. 

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!” 

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

[leon-scott-kennedy]

So Covert, I Hardly Knew Him

Part II | Part III | Part IV

Part I: Infiltration

Bioterrorism had finally achieved a new pinnacle of cliche for evil corporations worldwide by building an illegal testing facility in Siberia. Leon was impressed. Noginsk, a small working town on the now uninhabited Tunguska Plateau, had been abandoned when the graphite mine closed. It was a good cover. One that had taken him years to track down. Rumours of a prison where people disappeared had circulated for years.

Short of making himself a big enough nuisance to be disappeared by the powers that be, Leon had chased every seemingly insignificant lead he could. As a result, he pissed a lot of people off. Learned things he definitely shouldn’t know about people who would want to send him to Siberia to disappear.

Then one day, the rumours stopped. That was never a good sign. In his experience, silence signalled an impending apocalypse.

Two hours ago, he’d been dropped 3 miles outside the ghost town with a small pack of medical supplies, nutrition bars, a combat knife, his trusty borrowed Samurai Edge, and little to no idea of what to expect. He really needed to trade back for Matilda.

For all he knew, the testing facility was a crater in the ground or overrun with victims of a virus beyond anything they had ever encountered. Word was they had been testing a new form of the t-virus. Not something Leon was excited to tango with, but if he could get in and out, this fresh new hell would be worth it.

At least it was summer. Siberian winters were something out of a nightmare. How anyone survived in a climate that averaged .0.5°C, or 33°F as Hunnigan had so kindly pointed out, was beyond Leon. Not that Leon needed the conversion. When you hung around scientist types, whether to work with or hunt down, you quickly picked up the metric system.

But today averaged the low teens, and Leon was grateful for his jacket. He wasn’t a fan of the cold. The constant reminder of nights spent alone, trying to keep warm, in dark tunnels with monsters hunting him, always on the move with never time to sleep.

Once, he’d been dropped into a BSAA containment raid at the last minute in Northern Alberta in mid-January. He’d nearly died of hypothermia when the small convoy out of base camp was attacked by two Tyrants. Thank god for Captain do-good. The over-prepared asshole saved his life. But he’d paid Redfield back two years ago in Brazil.

After two hours of hiking through the boreal forest, Leon regretted his life choices. Sure, he’d found the somewhat inconspicuous entrance to what appeared to be an abandoned mineral processing center on the surface, but he had sweat through his t-shirt, and he refused to take off his jacket. Contrary to popular belief, his usual uniform of a biker jacket and fingerless gloves weren’t a fashion statement. Instead, his infamous leather jackets were a layer of protection between him and whatever horrors currently lay beneath him or offered enough grip to be a matter of life and death in a hostile situation gone wrong.

A pile of rubble blocked the entrance. Both a good and bad sign. It meant that even if containment had been compromised, infection had likely not breached the surface.

“I need a fucking vacation,” Leon grunted as he shouldered open to door. It didn’t budge much, but it was wide enough for his somewhat slender frame to slip through. One of those bulky BSAA boys wouldn’t have fit.

The interior was unsurprisingly dark. Leon flicked on his flashlight and raised it with his handgun to survey the rundown machines coated in years of dust. Extruders? Separators? The hell if he knew what any of the rusty, decaying machines were. That wasn’t his job.

However, security was a joke. Maybe Leon was in the wrong place. Maybe the intel was bad, and this really was an abandoned processing plant.

Leon’s tuned changed two floors down when he found corporate offices that had what must have been a decent waiting room at one point in time had no business being underground. Especially one with a complicated lockout system behind the classy secretary’s desk. That, and they definitely shouldn’t still have power, but there it was, the glow of a high-tech security pad in the gloom.

Rubbled crunched underfoot. Leon crept across the room, peaking into each office as he passed until he was close enough to study the security panel. A quick glance around the room offered no hint.

Finally, Leon sighed “here we go again,” cracked open the panel and set to work.

The key to cracking a security panel was patience, something most of the guys in his field didn’t have. They’d instead blast their way through, but Leon preferred to retain the element of surprise.

When you work alone, it’s better to be unseen. Stealth was why Leon was here, why he was still alive, and why he was the DSO’s top agent. Stealth was also the reason Leon picked up more information and dirty secrets than he’d like to know. It was how he contained infections before they spread and why he was likely on a few shit lists for more than a few agencies. It also meant twenty minutes in an uncomfortable crouch while he stripped wires to break into an abandoned base with no accurate intel and no backup.

The electronic lock yielded with the faint hiss of depressurization. Leon’s knees cracked as he pushed back to his feet, and it took a few seconds to pry the door open wide enough for him to slip through.

Next >

[plentyghosts]

New Clothes and Promises Made

Summary: S.Q. had not straightened his hair for some time now. Since his father's arrest and moving in with Mr. Benedict, he simply hadn’t had the time. He was adapting to life in Mr. Benedict’s house and processing everything that happened, so his appearance had fallen to the wayside. Now his dark hair curled gently over his forehead, occasionally falling in his eyes, only to be clipped back absentmindedly by Rhonda when she spotted him continuously tucking it behind his ears. He used to straighten it every morning, under his father's instruction. ‘Appearance is everything, S.Q., do you understand me? Everything.’ He’d say. That sentiment had been one of the many that stuck, repeating like a mantra in his brain throughout the day, as he went through each of the twenty-four hours just as he was expected to.

Content Warnings: none

Edit: fixed some spelling errors i noticed (after posting 😔)

ao3 link

S.Q. had not straightened his hair for some time now. Since his father's arrest and moving in with Mr. Benedict, he simply hadn’t had the time. He was adapting to life in Mr. Benedict’s house and processing everything that happened, so his appearance had fallen to the wayside. Now his dark hair curled gently over his forehead, occasionally falling in his eyes, only to be clipped back absentmindedly by Rhonda when she spotted him continuously tucking it behind his ears. He used to straighten it every morning, under his father's instruction. ‘Appearance is everything, S.Q., do you understand me? Everything.’ He’d say. That sentiment had been one of the many that stuck, repeating like a mantra in his brain throughout the day, as he went through each of the twenty-four hours just as he was expected to. S.Q. bit the inside of his lip as he examined himself in the mirror.

A harsh purple was smudged beneath each of his eyes, indicative of another issue he was having. Nightmares were not new to him, but they had certainly never occurred with this much frequency. He’d been doing a fine job at hiding it, he didn’t want to bother anyone after all, but these dark circles might give him away. He sighed. There wasn’t much to be done about it. His clothes and his hair, however, he could fix. So that morning, he straightened it again, burning himself a few times in the process. He swept his hair aside as he usually did and fixed his collar. There, much better. He imagined his fathers approving voice- a tone he rarely heard from him- the first time he had dressed himself.

He had been five, starting to develop more independent thought, and therefore wanting to dress himself. He had done well enough. Though, that hadn’t stopped his father from making minute adjustments, as he was always inclined to do. S.Q. shoved that memory aside when he felt a lump forming in his throat. ‘Don’t be silly’ he scolded himself internally ‘he was awful, you shouldn’t be missing him. What would the others think of you? If they knew you were longing for such a bad man?’ He took a deep, cleansing breath (something Kate had taught him) and stepped out of the washroom.

He made his way downstairs, bidding good morning to the others he passed until he came to the kitchen. Mr. Benedict sat with a cup of coffee in hand and a book laid on the table in front of him. He looked up as S.Q. entered the kitchen, and did a small double-take when he saw that his hair had been straightened. He smiled, but his eyes held something akin to sadness. S.Q. felt suddenly embarrassed, and instinctively, he went to tuck his hair behind his ear. He cleared his throat. “Good morning S.Q., did you sleep well?” Mr. Benedict asked. Though S.Q. was sure Mr. Benedict already knew the answer he lied anyway.

“I slept well” He said. The other kids joined them soon, and they were all seated at the table to eat breakfast. Number Two and Milligan had cooked that morning. They’d made pancakes, something S.Q. found he enjoyed very much. Sweet food had not exactly been commonplace for him on the island. He could count on one hand the number of times his father had indulged his childish longing for something sweet. Those had all been on days his father was in a particularly good mood. Usually, it was due to something with his work going well. Those memories were soured now with the knowledge of what it was his father had been so happy about.

Breakfast passed with zero incident, aside from Constance nailing Sticky in the side of the head with a piece of pancake, and after it was over, Rhonda announced that they were going to head into Stonetown that morning. There was a murmur of excitement through the table, all of the kids raising questions about why and when. S.Q. was more reserved, just listening to it all happened. He liked the idea of seeing the town. He had spent a lot of time wondering about it from his room in the institute. Or looking out at it from the copper waves, where he could sit and see the outline of the belltower in the distance. Though the prospect of seeing Stonetown was fun, he did worry. His father had raised him on the belief that the outside world was unruly and uncontrolled. And to a certain extent that was true, but in that truth, there was some good. Moments of bonding and light-heartedness, the kind which could come from nowhere else but an uncontrolled world. But that also meant large crowds and lots of noise, something S.Q. was still adjusting to.

“It’s almost winter, which means everyone is in need of some winter clothes. We’re going out to get just that.” Rhonda explained, with slightly raised hands to keep more questions from rising. This did not stem the children's excitement, they had plenty more questions. In lieu of an answer, Rhonda sent them all to get dressed and ready to go. All the children were soon running off to their rooms to get dressed. All except S.Q., who had changed out of pajamas right after he’d woken. A habit his father had instilled in him. ‘No sense in waiting, S.Q., you never know.’ his father’s voice rang in his head again, interrupted by Mr. Benedict.

“How are you feeling this morning S.Q.?” he asked. S.Q. was caught slightly off guard by the question. He had never been particularly good at putting his feelings into words- well, no that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He knew just how to articulate them, to an extent, the issue was that he’d seldom been asked about his feelings. Specifically the negative ones. His own negative emotions (he was plenty familiar with his father's) had always been foreign to him in a way. They were not a part of him, but rather a beast that lingered in the shadows. Something he was encouraged to ignore or, if he couldn’t do the former, try to conquer. He was not familiar with them, and therefore not prepared when people asked him about them. It felt like trying to explain the plot of a book he had never read.

“Oh, well... I’m doing alright. Just had an early morning, so I’m a little tired.” That was an answer he was good at giving. He was just tired. That was the crutch he fell on for a lot of emotions. And while it was half-true, his tiredness may have been the source of some stress, it was not the main problem. It was simply a branch on a larger tree. That was how S.Q. typically looked at his emotional turmoil; like a tree with winding and extending branches. It had taken him a while to understand that his father was the one who had planted the seed of this tree. That he was the roots.

Mr. Benedict tilted his head (S.Q. grimaced. So familiar, but so different.) and nodded with genuine patience. There was no pretense of intrigue there, he really was interested in what S.Q. had to say. He set down his coffee cup and stood “Well, I don’t believe you have a proper coat, which you’ll need for today. Why don’t we go look in the main hall closet?” S.Q. nodded and stood, finishing the last of his orange juice as he went.

They walked to the main hall and Mr. Benedict went through the closet housing all the old jackets and boots while S.Q. stood to the side, watching with the keen feeling that maybe he should have been helping. He shifted on his feet. “Do you nee-”

“Ah! Here we go” Mr. Benedict stepped out from the closet, brushing some dust half-heartedly from his shoulder. He held up the coat. It was Tarrytown green and looked rather big for S.Q., but he wasn’t going to complain. ‘Remember’ he reminded himself ‘you’re only here because Mr. Benedict allows you to be. Which means no complaining’. Besides, when he put the coat on, it was rather comfortable. Even if the sleeves fell past his wrist and covered his hands. Effectively giving him sleeve paws (and possibly a weapon if he pulled his hands in more.) When zipped all the way the collar came right up to his chin, so he only zipped it up to his collarbone. The kids came down the stairs as S.Q. was pulling on his boots.

Kate wasted no time in pulling on her own boots, not long after she had come barreling down the stairs then she was all ready to go, encouraging the boys to get ready quickly so they could go out. Reynie laughed good-naturedly at Kate's excitement as he laced up his boots and Sticky pulled on his jacket. Constance, meanwhile, was struggling to zip up her coat, Rhonda eventually came over to help her. Kate turned to S.Q. and her smile faltered for a moment, not out of sadness, but something akin to mild surprise, it was back just as quickly. “Hey, that’s Milligan’s coat!” she said. “Makes you look like a mini-Milligan” Here, she gasped and her eyes lit up “A minigan!” she cried, punching S.Q.’s shoulder affectionately. S.Q. grimaced (somehow he managed to turn it into a smile) and rubbed his arm.

Soon, everyone was ready to go (Kate was practically vibrating with energy), and Rhonda, Number Two, Milligan, and Ms. Perumal were ushering them out the door. They split into two cars. Number Two, Rhonda, Ms. Perumal, Reynie, and Constance in one. And Milligan, Kate, Sticky, and S.Q. in another. Mr. Benedict chose to stay home that day, along with Mrs. Perumal. The drive to Stonetown was not long, and yet, S.Q. found himself growing rather tired. He was pressed against the window, his cheek resting on the ledge, the cool windowpane firm against his forehead. His eyes slipped closed.

The details of his dream were already fading when he felt someone waking him. He startled slightly as he awoke, the image of his dad still vivid behind his eyelids. But it was not his father's hand on his shoulder shaking him into the land of the living. It was just Milligan. S.Q. rubbed his eyes and sat up, stifling a yawn. “We’re here,” Milligan said. And sure enough, when S.Q. turned his head to look out the window, he could see the rest of the group standing outside the car, waiting for him. Kate was bouncing on her toes, looking as though she might start cartwheeling at any moment. Kate seemed very much like a shark to S.Q., in perpetual movement, as though she might die if she stopped for even a second. She was all about momentum and he had kept her waiting. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he climbed out of the car, into the cool air. The cold bit at his face and he shivered, hoping the excuse of the chill might be enough to cover his shame-colored cheeks.

Along with the cold, the first thing S.Q. noticed was the noise. There was a lot of it. People talking as they milled about, the cars on the road, the general hustle and bustle one might find in any city. He immediately decided he didn’t like it. He bit back a small hum of displeasure and pulled his coat up to cover his ears, hoping once again the cold would be a good excuse for this. They had a bit of walking to do before they got to the store and S.Q. spent the whole time with his shoulders hunched and his ears covered. He blocked out the sound around him as best he could, including Kate’s excited chattering and Sticky and Constance’s bickering. He focused, instead, on the fabric of the coat under his fingers. He ran his thumbs along the seam of the zipper, counting each little ridge and bump of the teeth and the way it merged with the soft, green fabric.

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Milligan looking at him with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?” S.Q.’s cheeks burned brighter. He dropped his shoulders and stuffed his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat.

“Yeah- It's just… it’s uh- it’s loud out here.” Milligan hummed and he removed his hand. S.Q. felt a pang of discomfort, the hand on his shoulder had been a good anchor to focus on. His gaze dropped away from Milligan’s sympathetic face as they approached the store. Constance pressed her nose against the glass of the display window and peered inside. In the windows were mannequins, some displayed men's coats while the other displayed women's, a few mannequins were even dressed in coats that could be described as an androgynous, function over fashion type.

S.Q. found himself drawn to one coat in particular. It was a similar shade of green to the old one he wore currently. Its hood was lined with soft, beige fabric. It buttoned up over a zipper and had deep pockets on each side, both of which were embroidered with a sprawling vine of brilliantly colored flowers, matching the embroidery pattern on the cuff of the sleeves. It was on a woman’s mannequin and S.Q. felt another small rush of embarrassment alongside his disappointment at this fact.

“It’s a nice coat.” he heard Constance say beside him. It’s only then he realized he’d been staring at it. The other kids and adults were looking at the coats in the window.

“Oh, yeah… but, it’s a woman’s coat, so I can’t-”

“So?"

“...Pardon?”

“Who cares if it’s for women? It’s a nice coat, and if it fits, the gender hardly matters.”

S.Q. hummed in thought as the adults ushered the kids into the store. There was plenty else to look at inside, and they could see a few of them beginning to shiver as the wind picked up the pace. Inside the store was certainly warmer, but just as loud as outside and S.Q. found himself shoving down the urge to clap his hands over his ears and pull up the collar of his coat. Inside the enclosed space of the store, it seemed even louder. Sound did not travel outside as it did in here.

They split up to look around. Sticky and Reynie went with Ms. Perumal while Constance went with Rhonda and Number Two. Kate, naturally, went with Milligan and S.Q. ended up trailing along after them, unsure of who else to go with.

The trip to the store was mostly without incident. Mostly. The kids had all chosen out some appropriate winter attire, and S.Q. had found a proper coat. Plain blue, simple, but effective. It reminded him of the coat he had been provided with on the island. They had all lined up at the register. The cashier was giving them all an interesting look. It had never occurred to S.Q. before now that they must look like quite an odd group. A very large man, three young women, and several children, of which very few looked related to each other.

As they lined up, someone bump into S.Q., a woman who looked not much older than Ms. Perumal, Number Two, and Rhonda. S.Q. had passed her a few times in the store. He remembered her because she had been walking about rather quickly, and with her vibrantly-colored coat had given S.Q. the impression of a hummingbird. Though he was certain hummingbirds did not ram into boys and topple them over.

That was the metaphorical last straw for S.Q., he slammed into the hard linoleum floor, Milligan had reached to grab him but had unfortunately missed. The woman apologized profusely, her face flushing in embarrassment, but she didn't stay long enough to make sure he was alright. His ears rang, and his shoulder was sore now, everything was much too loud and much too quiet at the same time.

Milligan was asking if he was alright, but S.Q. could hardly hear it. He just stood and mumbled something about needing a moment before darting from the store. He took a deep breath as he stepped outside and leaned against the wall. His breath came, after the initial gasp, in short, shallow intakes. He clamped his hands over his ears and slid down to the ground. With his eyes shut tight, he did not see the looks cast at him by passing strangers as he rocked ever so slightly, trying to focus on the motion of the back and forth instead of everything around him. Stonetown was big, and sprawling, and nothing like the island. His father had been right about that. The world outside of his little islet was coarse, unruly, and frightening. He was not made for it, it had not formed around him, and he did not have the strength to carve himself a place.

Someone sat down beside him. He did not look up, instead, he kept his head placed on his knees, his hands over his ears, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the world passed him by. Slowly, the ringing in his ears faded. He cracked one eye open to let in the light, grimacing as his eyes adjusted. He had no way of gauging how long had been sitting there, but he imagined it may have been enough to raise concern. He could not see the rest of the group, which meant they were either back at the car, or still inside the store. Milligan was sitting beside him. He was not looking at S.Q., or trying to touch him, he was just sitting there. Watching people pass by on the street. When he finally saw that S.Q. had opened his eyes again, he said,

“Do you mind if I touch you? I know you’re overwhelmed, I don’t want to make it worse.” S.Q. ignored the lump that formed in his throat and nodded. Milligan shifted slightly and opened his arms, which S.Q. fell gladly into. Milligan did not say anything when S.Q.’s shoulders started shaking and tears began to stain the shoulder of his coat. His arms were strong, firm, but gentle. And S.Q. barely noticed when Milligan guided him up to his feet and started walking him back to the car, his arm still slung around his shoulder. Soon he was in the back seat again. He did not look at Kate or Sticky, though he could see their concerned glances in the corner of his eye. None of them spoke as they drove home, and the whole time S.Q. could feel guilt creeping up his throat, threatening to come out in sobs. But he swallowed them down with shaky breaths.

When they pulled into the driveway, S.Q. was the last out of the car and into the house. Everyone quietly went their own way, the new clothes were left in the front hall, for the moment, to be sorted through later. Mr. Benedict smiled as he walked into the front hall and saw everyone taking off their boots.

“Ah, you’re back! Mrs. Perumal and I made hot chocolate” The kids all grinned and went off to the kitchen. Kate lingered for a moment longer when she saw S.Q. untying his shoes with a slowness that could have only been purposeful.

“Hey,” she started, softly. When S.Q. looked up, she continued “Are you alright? You seemed pretty freaked out back in town.”

“Yeah, it was just loud so…” He cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to turn into tears again. “So, I just needed some fresh air. Sorry, I know I ruined the mood-”

“What? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, I was just worried about you”

“...oh.”

“You gonna come get some hot chocolate? Might make you feel better.” S.Q. nodded and finished unlacing his boots. He pulled them off and lined them neatly with the rest of the shoes, adjusting Constance’s (which had been kicked off haphazardly) as he went. Then he joined the others in the kitchen. He was glad when the others barely spared him a glance, all absorbed in asking for whipped cream in their hot chocolate as Rhonda and Number Two got everyone a mug. He didn’t think he could handle that attention.

The only person who looked at him was Mr. Benedict, who was talking with Milligan in hushed voices. He cast him a fond smile. S.Q. could tell they were talking about him and a pit formed in his stomach. He had messed up, he knew. He had probably overstayed his welcome anyway. It was only a matter of time before he had to be sent off to an orphanage. It was an inevitability. He sat at the table, and a mug of hot chocolate was placed in front of him, paired with an affectionate hair ruffle from Rhonda as she passed by. He drank his hot chocolate in silence.

He passed the rest of the day in relative quiet. In the midafternoon, the kids all went out in the backyard to play. Kate was high up in a tree the moment they got outside, and Reynie and Sticky sat in the shade of the branches, talking about a book they had both read. Constance was picking dandelions, addressing Sticky’s comment about how they were actually weeds by sticking her tongue out, which he responded to by narrowing his eyes and scrunching his nose back at her. S.Q. sat on the porch the whole time, watching this all go down, and drawing it as it happened.

That night, they sorted through the clothes, and everyone was sent off to bed, feeling content with their choices.

The next morning, S.Q. was woken by the sun peeking through a gap in the closed curtains, shining right in his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head. Then Kate knocked on his door, announcing loudly that breakfast was ready, and telling him to “Get outta bed, sleepyhead!” He heard her laugh to herself about how she had rhymed (“just like Constance” she giggled) as she retreated down the hall to wake the others. He rolled out of bed reluctantly and went to get dressed.

After he had pulled on his sweater, he looked at himself in the mirror. For a moment, all he could do was stare as he was struck with a realization. Nothing had changed . Aside from his hair in its natural curls, he looked just as he had on the island. He looked down at his clothes. He didn’t even like this color. His father had micromanaged every little thing of his appearance. Every time S.Q. had had the opportunity to dress himself, his father had cut in with little criticisms, several of which rang in his head now (‘straighten your collar, S.Q., and for the love of everything you must start keeping your hair out of your face.’) He was still trapped in that pattern, dressing as his dad expected him to, even though he hated it.

S.Q. leaned against the bathroom door, desperately willing the tears in his eyes to go away. He sat slowly on the floor, staring silently at his feet as tears streaked down his cheeks. Despite his best efforts, he was still doing just as his dad instructed him to.

‘I’m going to be like this forever’ he thought, despairingly, as he set his head down on his knees and hugged tightly. His shoulders shook as he started quietly. He shoved his face into his knees as hard as he could, trying to muffle the sound. But soon enough someone was knocking on the door.

“S.Q.? Are you alright in there?” It was Rhonda. S.Q. sniffled and quickly wiped his eyes, stood, ran the tap, and splashed his face with cold water. Then he opened the door. Rhonda fixed him with a concerned look, and it took all of his efforts not to start crying again. His chest fluttered with that urge to sob, but he managed a small smile as he moved past Rhonda.

“Yeah, doing just fine. Sorry I took so long, I’ll see you at breakfast.” S.Q. made his way downstairs before Rhonda could get another word in. He walked downstairs and into the kitchen, pressing his palms against his eyes. He stopped just short of slamming right into Number Two, who jumped back slightly as he appeared in the kitchen.

“Oh- good morning, S.Q., I was just-” She paused mid-sentence, taking in the red under his still-teary eyes and his flushed cheeks. Behind her, S.Q. could see the rest of the kids and adults. A few had looked up at his entrance, clearly also taking note of his expression.

“S.Q.?” Comes Ms. Perumal’s voice. He turned his head to look at her. She looked concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was so soft, and so full of concern, that S.Q. could do little to stop the tears that rose in his eyes. He stepped back.

“Um- I think I just need some time to myself. I’m sorry.” he turned on his heel and went back upstairs. He was surprised by his own silence when he closed his bedroom door behind him. Tears streamed freely down his face, but he did not sob. He just sat there and let them fall. Then he climbed, silently, into bed. And he did not leave his room for the rest of the day.

Throughout the day, he heard people mill about. A few knocked on his door. At some point, the door cracked open and Number Two set down a plate just inside the door. He ate the sandwich, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. He drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day, waking every time with various images of his father behind his eyelids.

Eventually, he woke up to the sound of Constance speaking. “Why won’t he come out?” she was saying, sounding very frustrated. “He’s been in there all day. Is there something wrong with him?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him, Connie-girl” came Kate’s voice “He’s just had a rough day, is all”

“But he was barely up for five minutes before he locked himself in there!”

“Constance,” came Reynie’s voice. S.Q. assumed the entire mysterious benedict society must have been outside his door, having a mini-meeting. “You know how S.Q. is Mr. Curtains son?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with him being so sad?” She said. Despite the bite in her voice, there was genuine concern behind it. S.Q. pulled his blanket over his head.

“Well, sometimes parents make their kids pretty sad.” This time it was Sticky’s voice, which spoke with a sort of sympathy that only someone who had also been hurt by their guardians could speak with. “And sometimes that sadness lasts a really long time.”

“...oh.” Constance’s voice was barely audible through the door and the blanket over his head. “So, he’s going to be sad forever? But that’s awful!” her voice rose again in indignation. ‘Yes,’ S.Q. thought miserably ‘I’m going to be sad forever.’

“Not forever,” Kate said “after all, he’s got us now! We can cheer him up.”

“But how can we do that if he stays in there all day?” He could picture Constance crossing her arms and pouting. It brought the tiniest smile to his face. Slowly, S.Q. stood up and walked to the door.

He opened it, coming face to face with the four kids. All of them scrambled back slightly, trying to look as though they had not been having a meeting outside his room. Kate was leaning against the wall on her arm, her free hand on her hip. Reynie and Sticky both stood stick straight, with what they clearly hoped were casual smiles. The only one who hadn’t moved was Constance, who stood there, arms crossed, pouting. Just as he had pictured.

“Heyyy,” Kate said “Glad to see you up and about! Mr. Benedict sent us to see if you want dinner.” S.Q. turned and looked out the bedroom window. He hadn’t even noticed the sun going down. He looked back at them and nodded. He didn’t quite feel like talking yet.

No one brought up that morning as dinner was served and eaten. Everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened at all. This had always bothered him when his father did it. But this was different. They weren’t ignoring that he had been upset, they simply recognized that he didn’t wish to talk about it. Dinner passed without incident, and then kids were sent to wash up and get ready for bed.

That night, S.Q. laid in his bed for a very long time, restless. He turned side to side, pulled his blanket over him, and pushed it back down. His exhaustion from earlier seemed to have entirely disappeared, replaced with a pounding headache. At around twelve-thirty, he groaned and got out of bed. Silently, he walked downstairs, managing to avoid all the creaky boards that Kate had told him about. But when he stepped into the kitchen, hoping to get water and head back to bed, he found it occupied.

Mr. Benedict was there in the kitchen, making tea. He had two mugs set out on the counter, as though he had been expecting him. This was a trait of Mr. Benedict’s he had yet to get used to. How he seemed to just know things. Like the fact that S.Q. was going to come downstairs. “Ah, good evening S.Q.,” he said, as he spotted him. “Would you like some tea?”

“Um… sure- I mean- yes please,” He said. Mr. Benedict asked him which tea he preferred (to which S.Q. answered Chamomile) and poured hot water into both mugs before getting out two teabags. He set both mugs down on the table, and S.Q. sat in front of one.

“Milligan told me you had a rough time at Stonetown the other day.” S.Q. felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment again.

“Yes. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be disruptive. It was just really loud-”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my dear boy,” Mr. Benedict said, interrupting what surely would have been a tearful ramble. “I’m willing to bet that you’re not very used to large crowds.”

S.Q. shook his head. “No, everything on the island was so... controlled. Not a thing was out of place. There were no unruly crowds, no yelling, everything was subdued.” Mr. Benedict nodded, tilting his head slightly as he listened. “even how I dress. That was what I was upset about this morning. I realized I’m still dressing as I was expected to and not how I actually want to. And I know it’s awful, and I shouldn’t but- but I miss it. I miss him .” Mr. Benedict didn’t have to ask to know who S.Q. was talking about.

Mr. Benedict set down his mug and put his hand over S.Q.’s “It’s not awful. In fact, it rather makes sense.” S.Q. blinked, staring at him for a moment. When S.Q. had realized he was missing his father, he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t say anything. These people had all been hurt by his father, either directly or otherwise, and the last thing they needed was him saying he missed him. S.Q. was rather surprised at himself, as well. His father had hurt him, too. By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense to miss such an awful man. But there he was, longing for his father.

“When we leave a bad situation,” Mr. Benedict continued “sometimes we find ourselves missing the person, or people, who hurt us. Not because we like being hurt, but because we became used to it. We became used to being sad and hurt because it was familiar. We learn how to live in it, and when it changes, we don’t always know how to react. Sometimes,” he gave him a pointed look “We fall into patterns that we established while we were hurting because it’s the only way to get back that familiarity. And, sometimes, even when someone has hurt you, there are those moments in between when they were kind, and we miss those as well. It's not awful to miss that. In fact, it’s incredibly common. Especially for someone so young.”

S.Q. did not try to stop the tears from falling down his face this time. Hearing it said out loud, having those feelings be addressed had tugged at something. There had been moments where it seemed like his father was genuinely trying. Moments that made all the bad feel worth it (even though it very much wasn’t) in which his father had been kind and caring. Those were the moments S.Q. reached for every time he had defended his father to himself. Those were the moments he lay in an unfamiliar bed every night longing to be back in. That was what he missed. The moments that told him everything about what his father could have been.

S.Q.’s tea sat abandoned as Mr. Benedict pulled him into a hug, which he fell into gratefully. S.Q. let himself cry, sobbing into Mr. Benedict’s shoulder, thankful for the fact that the man did not mind the tear stains like his father might have. He focused on the arms around him, the hand that gently ran over his curls, and the firm but caring presence of the man he leaned against.

“It’s not fair.” He said, immediately grimacing at how childish he must sound. But Mr. Benedict just continued the soothing motion of his hand and shushed him gently.

“I know,” he said, “I know it’s not fair. But it’ll be alright.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

[benji-writes]

Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Best friends since childhood, you and Sammy need to fall a part before you can come back together again. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death

Sammy and I always made time for the Soda Pop Shop. On the corner of Smock and Singleton, the Soda Pop Shop was a local institution. Across from Colby Cook Memorial Park, locals would pop in for a soda, a Pop Pop Burger, and a bag of Hot Hot fries. The Pop Hot Combo was not to be missed out on, and Sammy and I would get 2 orders of Pop Hots every Friday night, and head across the street to eat them at the picnic table by Magnolia Trees. They were a treat, and a sacred ritual from the time we were kids till the time he left. 

Wednesday nights we’d sit at our favored booth in the Soda Shop and order Slush Puppies – Green Apple and Grape. Sometimes we’d sit at the counter stools and talk to Mama Nell, who had owned the shop and worked behind the counter as long as anyone could remember. Nobody had a lot of money where we came from, but Sammy always took care of me. He’d buy our slushees and our Pop Hots. He’d do extra chores around the house when we were kids, hoping to get a few extra dollars to spend. When we were older, I’d see him mowing lawns or running errands for the neighbors. I could never understand why he did it. I had an allowance when we were little, and as a teenager I babysat the younger kids in the neighborhood. I could easily have bought my own food, but that was just who Sammy was. 

I tried everything I could to show Sam how much he meant to me. I’d bring him breakfast to school in the morning, even when he told me not to. His favorite was always the blueberry bagels. I’d leave him notes in sidewalk chalk on the pavement outside his house. I cut the strings off the community center yo-yos and braided them together to make us matching friendship bracelets. Sammy and I never took them off. Not ever. 

For birthdays and Christmas’s, I’d save up everything I could. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I gave him tickets to what would become our first concert. Or the Christmas after his sixteenth birthday, when I bought him a video camera. 

The best gift I ever gave Sammy though was the day before he left for the Air Force. It was years of photographs, mementos, flowers. All those special things that I’d saved over the years. I had never been so nervous. 

We’d gone out that night to the Soda Pop Shop. Everyone came by to see him: to say goodbye, to reminisce, to laugh and laugh, and to cry. 

Mama Nell told wistful stories about Sammy. She lived in the house next door, and had watched me and Sammy play in the streets, and run around the park since we were practically in diapers. She had watched us grow up, always made time to ask us how school was going, and what our plans for the weekend were. Gave us free slushees whenever she could sneak us one without the other customers noticing.  

When the night wound down, and even Sam’s family had made their way home, Sammy and I were still sat in our booth by the window. Just sitting there. Quiet. Unwilling to go home. It was then, with the tables up on the chairs, and all the stores on the block closed for the night, that Mama Nell came over and sat down with us. She placed two orders of Pop Hots down, alongside a Green Apple and a Grape Slush Puppie. We’d hardly eaten a thing all night, too caught up in everything to even think about it. Just grabbing a handful of fries, or an onion ring off of somebody else’s plate. 

The food was still steaming. We hadn’t ordered anything, but somehow Mama Nell knew we were hungry. Not just for food, but for more time. For this moment together. For one last Pop Hot before everything changed. 

She sat for a second, all of us just there in the still of the moment, food in front of us waiting to be eaten when she said, “Kids. I’ve never seen anything quite like the two of you,” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Won’t be the same round here.” 

With that, she dropped the keys on the table and stood. She was walking towards the door, not even looking at us, “Lock up when you kids are ready. Just drop the key in the mailbox.” 

And then she was gone. Just me and Sammy, alone for the first time all night. On the precipice of a brave new world. One we would have to face alone. 

I was the first to reach for my food. We ate quietly, but together. Sammy would be gone in only a few hours, uncertain as to when we would get to see each other again. 

When I was done eating, Sammy was still making his way through the last of his fries. Eating slow, trying to make it all last. It was then that I finally spoke.

“Hey, Sammy?” It came out quieter than I wanted it to. He didn’t look up. Just kept eating. 

“Sammy?” I said louder this time, and he shoved another fry in his mouth. 

“Sam.” That got his attention. I never called him that.

“Don’t call me that, baby.” He whispered so softly. The way he called me baby made my heart fold in on itself. 

“Then look at me,” I ordered. And he did. A moment went by where we just looked at each other. “I have something for you. I want you to have it.” He wiped his hands off with a napkin and pushed the food wrappers aside while I reached into my bag to pull his present out. It was wrapped delicately in glittery tissue paper. I placed it in front of him, and he looked at it so seriously. And with such care, and the gentlest of hands, he undid the tissue paper. 

A black scrapbook. Nothing on the cover to indicate what would be on the inside. Ever so carefully, he flipped open the cover to see a picture of us two as kids, hugging and smiling for the camera. Underneath, in my handwriting, read the words “ The Adventures of Sammy and I.”

I saw his jaw clench tight. As he flipped from page to page. Picture strewn across each of them, little notes along side. 

“Wishing well we found. Two pennies thrown in. I know what I wished for...”

 “Sittin’ on the dock of the bay. Watchin’ the tide roll away.” 

“Taken after Sammy saw his first pair of tits at Mardi Gras.” 

“Biker wannabe. Sammy during his leather jacket phase, leaning against the Soda Shop, trying to catch the babes.” 

“Prom. Sammy couldn’t get a date, so I figured I might as well take pity...” 

“Under the stars. Slush puppies in the summer time. Biggie on the radio. Nights were never better than this.” 

He ran his fingers across the pages. His eyes watered, but no tears would fall. He laughed at some of my descriptions. Let out a long sigh as he ran his hand down cream soda bottle tops, movie stubs, old sticky notes left for one another. The sun-wearing-sunglasses magnet from my school locker that he always made fun of. Magnolia petals that would fall from the tree and onto our picnic table. The fortune from a cookie he gave me that said “Believe it can be done.” 

Precious artifacts that wove together the story of our friendship. Of our everything. 

“Y/N... baby, I-“ the words caught in his throat. 

“I know, Sammy. I know” I grabbed his hand from across the table. 

He looked up at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I had a feeling it was about all the things we’d left unsaid. All the things that would stay unsaid. 

“You’ll stay safe out there, won’t you Sammy?” The words came out like a prayer. 

“I’ll always come back to you.” 

We sat in the park that night. Stayed out till he had to leave for basic training in the morning. We walked to the bus together. His mom and sister were already waiting there with his bag. He hugged them so tight. His mom wept. His sister pretended not to. He took a deep breath, and refused to let his chin wobble. That was my Sammy, alright. Brave face. Always trying to take care of everyone but himself. He hugged me last, shoved his head right into the crook my neck. He breathed in deep, as if he wanted to savor every piece of this last moment. As if he knew things would never be the same. He kissed my forehead, “I love you.” 

I so badly wanted him to mean it the way I meant it, “I love you too, Sammy.” 

He got on that bus, and as it pulled away a feeling settled. It was uneasy. It was empty. Something greater than loss, something more profound than grief. It was a feeling took root in the very fabric of my body. And I just knew I would never see Sammy again. 

And I didn’t. 

Not for many years. 

Not until today... 

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

Mama Nell didn’t have any kids of her own. No husband to speak of. Just a handful of scrappy kids that came in and out of her shop over the years. She’d helped us out when we needed it. There were months where we spent more time with Mama Nell than with our own families. She was special to us. Family. 

After Sammy left, I spent more time with Mama Nell than I did with anyone – more than my family, more than Sammy’s family. I would help do chores around her house, stuff she “couldn’t” do anymore: wiping baseboards, washing the woodwork, replacing sheets and blankets, scrubbing the tub, vacuuming, dusting, and so on goes the list. Really Mama Nell was just giving me a reason, a guise, to be over at her house all the time. I was helping out. And she enjoyed having the company. We’d play hours of scrabble, and I’d usually lose. I’d show her new movies (anything with Denzel was her favorite). According to Mama, “Men had no right lookin’ that good.” We’d gossip and chop onions, and tomatoes for the Shop. 

I would spend hours with Mama at her house. But I couldn’t bring myself to actually walk into the Pop Shop. Not alone. Not without Sammy. Not for a long time. 

It was probably six months after Sammy had left before I even considered going into the shop. It was eight months before Mama Nell convinced me to help her bring over some containers of vegetables.

 Nine months had gone by, without so much as a phone call from Sammy. Not a single letter of mine replied too. Even his mom had only talked to him on the phone a few times. Said there was a lot going on he couldn’t talk about. But I didn’t care if he couldn’t talk about what he was doing in the military. I just wanted to hear his voice, hear him say my name, or crack a joke. I wanted to tell him about how me and Mama Nell had gotten even closer, and that I missed him. I wanted to see his chicken scratch handwriting, where you needed context clues to tell if he was trying to write a “g” or an “s.” I just wanted him. Something. Anything. I felt like a dog, begging for even the smallest of scraps. But nothing ever came. Any updates I got were passed on by his mom. He was supposed to come home after a couple of months, but he never did. And that feeling I had felt in my stomach the day he’d left, from the moment he stepped on that bus, only grew deeper and deeper. It became more. I was sick to my stomach with the knowledge that my Sammy was gone. 

It was his birthday – just over nine months after Sammy had left – that I really went back to the Soda Pop Shop. I sat down. Alone at our booth. Everything felt too still. Too quiet. The place was closed, but Mama Nell had long since given me a key, not that I’d ever really needed it before. Part of me still wonders if she knew this day would come. Where I’d need to finally have this moment. 

I sat in our booth, like we normally would. I made myself a Pop Hot, just the way Mama had taught me. I poured a Green Slush Puppie. I fiddled with the bracelet on my wrist. 

I ate alone. 

The next day, I started working behind the counter with Mama.

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

“How was school today, Andy?” I asked from behind the counter, handing him a chocolate shake. 

“Stupid.” It came out all mumbled, and huffy, the way it always does when kids are asked about school. 

“You’re not getting picked on are you, honey?” I couldn’t help but worry about him. It was hard not to worry about the kids that came in and out of here. 

He took a long deep breath, “No... it’s just stupid, and I hate math, and it’s almost summer. So it’s just stupid.” 

He took a sip of his milkshake, and shrugged his shoulders. I nodded, because I remember what that was like. Me and Sammy would sit in this very spot after school, and complain to Mama Nell about how dumb school was. And she’d nod along sagely. And then, if it was one of those rare quiet days, a day like today when no one was around, she’d give us both Pop Hots – on the house. 

“Well kiddo, how’s a Pop Hot sound?” I said smiling at him. 

“Amazing! But can you wrap it up for me? I gotta be home before Ma gets mad.” He put his elbow on the table, and rested his cheek on his hand, still sipping on the straw of his milkshake. 

“Sure thing bud, I’m getting ready to close up shop anyway.” 

A few minutes later, I was wrapping up his burger in foil, and throwing his fries in a baggie. Dr. Pepper was his favorite, so I pulled one out of the fridge and stuck that in there too. 

I handed him his bag, and he pushed the empty shake glass towards me, “Be good, alright. Stay safe on the walk home, and I’ll see you soon. Flip the sign ‘closed’ on the way out.” 

He thanked me and was almost out the door when I shouted, “Tell your mother I said hello!” 

“OKAY!” I heard him yell back, muffled as the door began to close in his way out.

He was a good kid. They all were. All the little ones that came running in and out of the shop. It was easy to see why Mama Nell always took to the little rugrats that came in and out of this place. 

I grabbed his glass off the counter and turned around to start washing. The dishwasher was already running for the night, so I turned the faucet on and waited for the water to warm. That’s when the door opened, the bell above it giving a little ring. 

“Sorry pal, we’re closed for the night.” I kept washing, but whoever it was didn’t say anything, and the bell hadn’t rung again so I knew they were still there. 

I let out a little sigh, shut off the faucet, and grabbed a rag to dry my hands. 

“I’m sorry but we’re –“ I turned around, but the words caught in my throat. My rag fell to the floor, and I lifted a hand to my face. 

There was no one I expected to see less. But there he was. Taller, more angular. He’d lost his baby face, and before me stood a man. He looked sharp, like he’d just been to the barber, and for all I knew, he had. He had on a button down, and a pair of jeans. Nice leather shoes. He was even more handsome than I remembered. 

But those eyes. Those eyes that had always been so soft and hopeful. They looked so tired. Worn. Aged.

Aged... because we had aged... it had been years. It had been fucking years since I saw him last. I long since made peace with the fact that I would never see him again. Not a word from him after he left. Not a letter replied to, not a question answered, not a sight to be seen. He never came home. He never wrote. He never called. Never passed a message along to his mother, never wanted to listen to the messages I asked his mother to pass along. None of it. He promised. He was my best friend – half of my whole, all I had ever wanted, and needed, and begged for from the universe in the late of the evening. 

When we had sleepovers, he would hold me so close. We’d wake up and eat cereal in bed and watch Looney Tunes, or Family Matters, or MTV. After our lucky charms, we’d share orange slices, and grapes, and hang out for hours. I’d go home that night, and pray. I was never religious, but something about Sammy always drove me towards the unknown. I didn’t know who I was praying too, who I was begging. But I was desperate for it to work. All I’d ever wanted was my Sammy. It was always just Sammy and I, falling together in the Soda Pop Shop. 

But now... 

Now. I was angry. 

“Get out.” He looked down and nodded, but made no effort to move, “When my mom said I’d find you here, I didn’t really believe her. But when I dropped by your moms house, and she pointed me here, I figured it must’ve been true.”

“Get. Out.” The words came out through clenched teeth. 

But he just started taking steps toward me, “Listen... I know... I know what I did, okay? I know. But, baby-“ I

 cut him off, shaking my head, “Samuel.” 

That got his attention. His eyes shot straight up to mine. He looked at me for a minute. Then he nodded, real solemn, and stopped. “

I’m staying at my mom’s for a while.” 

I didn’t say anything. 

“I just... I wanted to see you.” 

My breath was shallow, “Well, you’ve seen me.” 

He shook his head, and said “Can you at least tell me where I can find Mama Nell? I figured she’d be here too.”

 I looked down, unable to believe my own ears. It was too much, it took everything in me not to break down as I said, “Luling Cemetery. Row 46, 18 down from the Oak tree.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me for a long while. Then he sniffled, looked down, shook his head, and shook it some more, before he turned around and kicked a chair. 

“What the fuck, Sam!” I walked out from behind the counter, and picked up the chair he’d kicked over, but he just kept walking. Walked right to our old booth. Sat in his old seat. Covered his mouth and cried. Sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. And I stood by the chair, I’d just picked up before I took a real deep breath. 

I was mad at Sammy. Mad didn’t even begin to describe it. Heartbroken, and infuriated, and in so much pain. But somehow he hadn’t known about Mama Nell. How hadn’t he known? 

I had written him letters after she died. Pleaded with him, please come home. I had never known such depths of emptiness. I had lost my Sammy, and I had lost the woman who had taken me under her wing, and showed me how to live for myself. I felt like I had nothing left to give. At first I just asked him to write me back. 

“Just write me back, Sammy. That’s all. Just this once.”  

Then I asked him to call. 

“Just let me hear your voice, Sammy. I just need to hear your voice, Sammy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Then I asked him to come to the funeral. 

“Sammy, we have to bury her. Sammy, please. Please, Sammy. I need you here for this. I can’t do this on my own. I love you, and I need you now. I need you, Sammy. Please. Please, Sammy. Please come home.” 

Then I broke down. 

“Sammy... Please Sammy... We read the will today. 

She gave me the Shop Sammy... I own the Shop.” 

He never replied. Didn’t attend the funeral. Why didn’t he come? Why wasn’t he there? How didn’t he know? 

I let him cry for a while. Figured he needed it. Just finished cleaning up, and put all the chairs up on the tables. I walked back around the counter, and filled a glass with water, grabbed a box of tissues from underneath the back counter, and headed over to sit. For the first time in so many years, I sat across from Sammy at our old booth. It didn’t feel real. 

I pushed the water towards him, placed the box of tissues next to it, and let him cry it out. 

I’d never seen Sammy like this, not in all our years. I’d seen him shed tears, I’d even seen him cry a little. But sob? Never in my life had I seen him just weep. He looked like a little kid. But more than that, he looked like a broken man. 

When he started to breathe a little more evenly, and had wiped his face dry, I finally spoke. 

“Oh, Sammy,” I whispered. “How could you not know?” 

He shook his head. Closed his eyes, “No one ever... No ever told me. My mom she didn’t... Why didn’t you write me?” 

He sounded crushed, a devastation in his voice that felt so foreign coming from his mouth.

 “Sammy,” I was absolutely reeling, “I wrote you so many times. Sammy I wrote you for years before I stopped, and when Mama Nell died, I wrote you over and over and over. I... I begged you to come home, Sammy.” It all came out like such a broken whisper. 

He looked at me real hard, “No.” 

“Yes, Sammy. I did.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No,” He was running his hands through his hair. “No you didn’t. I got three letters from you, right in the begging. And yeah, I was an ass for not replying, but I already felt so guilty for leaving, I just didn’t know what to say. But then they stopped. Hard stopped. So don’t tell me you wrote me for years, because it was radio silence from you.” 

I couldn’t believe my own ears, “Sammy, I wrote you hundreds of letters. Hundreds, Sammy.” 

He shook his head, “I don’t... I don’t understand.” 

“Sammy, are you telling me you didn’t get my letters?” 

“Just three. I...” He shook his head, having a hard time trying to process everything. “Pretty early on they pulled me. They were starting a new program, and I was one of the guys they wanted to train for it. I was always asking them if I got any mail. Only thing they ever gave me came from Mom. Eventually I just stopped asking. I never thought...” 

We were quiet a while. Neither of us really knowing how to handle this information.

 “I promised you I’d write...” I finally got out. 

“ I know,” He said. “I know.”

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

Sammy stuck around after that, just like he said he would. He stayed with his mom, and started going to meetings at the VA, trying to process what had happened to him. To us. To Riley, and Mama Nell. 

He told me not long after he came back. He was helping me clean up one night. He’d been helping out around the shop whenever he could. It was so strange to turn around and see him again. 

He walked behind the counter, everyone gone, and only sweeping left to do, and poured himself a big grape Slush Puppie.  

He took a loud sip, “Oh man.” 

Then another “Mmm mmm mmm. I forgot how good these were.” 

I couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s been a while since I had one myself.” 

As soon as the words were out my mouth his cup was left to sit on the counter, and he was turning around to pour me one. A green apple Slush Puppie just waiting for me. He held it out to me like a present. Like a peace offering. 

“Come on baby, you’ve done enough sweeping. Get on back here and sip.” He was so confident it made me roll my eyes. 

But I listened. Walked over, hopped up onto a stool, and let Sammy serve me. He watched as I took the first sip, and as soon as that cool icy slush hit my tongue, I closed my eyes in sweet bliss. It was so much sweeter than I remembered. The kinda sweet only a kid could like. But it tasted like good memories, and I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for that. 

After a minute or two he said, “I got in contact with my colonel, y’know.”

 I took another sip, “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Told him that I was looking for some letters... Since I’m out now, he said he might as well tell me. Since it was such an experimental program. Something kept under wraps, no one got letters from anyone but immediate family. They have boxes for each of us. So he sent over mine.” 

I didn’t know what to say, “Sammy...” 

He just continued on, “So I finally got your letters,” He took a long shaky breath.  “Baby... baby I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Sammy.” 

“You promised you’d write. I should’ve fought them harder on it.” 

“It’s not your fault, Sammy. You hear me? It’s not your fault. None of it Sam.” I hoped he could hear what I was telling him. He’d told me about Riley that first night. He’d just lost him, and then to find out about Mama Nell like that. It was all too much. 

And I’m a reasonable person. Logical, and understanding. I understood that what happened between Sammy and I wasn’t entirely either of our faults, and that most of it was out of our hands. I spent so many years, with so much anger inside of me. So much grief. And don’t get me wrong, I was still angry. Just not at Sammy anymore. 

“Baby...” he said, shaking his head. 

“Sammy. It’s not your fault.” 

He reached for my hand across the counter, and I let him take it. 

“I got your letters. So,” he said reaching into his back pocket. “I wrote you a reply.” 

He sat the envelope carefully down in front of me, one hand still clutched to mine. I stared at it. A letter I’d waited for for so long. A letter that finally arrived. 

But when I looked up at Sammy, who sat watching me with anxious, awaiting eyes, I found myself asking him something, “Will you read it to me, Sammy?” 

His face froze up. I saw him swallow, “Read it to you?”

And somehow his nervousness made me more confident, more desperate to hear the words come from his mouth, “Yeah, Sammy. Will you? Will you read me your letter?” 

He looked very uncertain. 

“Please, Sammy?” I whispered. 

He closed his eyes, “Okay.” 

He was being brave, and I knew it. Loved him for it. He ran his thumb across my knuckles. Then all at once, that warmth was gone and he was reaching for the envelope. 

He took a moment to himself. Just slight shook his had, as if to ask himself what am I doing? And then, ever so softly, he began to read. 

“Dear baby... 

I got your letters today. Reading them made me homesick. Made me miss Mama Nell and the Shop. But really it made me miss you.” 

He paused, and took a deep breath. The words were sincere, but they sound unnatural coming out of his mouth. They were words he never dreamed he’d say aloud.

“I wonder where the time has gone. Reading all your letters, it makes me feel like no time has passed at all, but there’s been so much lost between now and then.

 I’m sure it sounds dumb. God knows most of the things that come outta my mouth are. But I’d do anything to never be a part from you again. And I know, I know, that so much has happened. Things have gone wrong, and I’ve changed, and you’ve changed. I know we’ve grown up, but I think about tomorrow and it hurts to imagine you not being there...” 

He cleared his throat, “I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. I’ve always loved you, and not a thing that comes between us could ever change that. 

All I know is that I want to learn you all over again. Learn who’ve you grown into. I miss talking to you, and holding you. I miss sneaking kisses on your cheek, and tucking you in when we’d fall asleep watching Good Times. 

I want to earn those times back. I mean it when I say I love you. I’ve always loved you, and no matter how many times I’d try to pick up chicks at the mall, I always belonged to you. 

I never knew if you could see how much I loved you. Or if you, like me, couldn’t see past your insecurities. I think I know now. I wish I could find more words to tell you. But I hope you feel it, baby. I need you to. 

I love you. I miss you. Write back soon. Your Sammy.”

He was quiet for a long while after that, and so was I. We sat together, in the silence, sorry for ourselves and all the time we’d lost. I’ve never been more grateful for anything than all the newfound time we’d have together. 

And all at once, I was out of my seat and holding on to, Sam, his arms wrapped around me, and he picked me up to place me on the counter. He stepped between my legs, and just held me, trying to get closer, as if we didn’t become one entity in that very second, we would be torn a part forever. 

It felt good. But more than that it felt right. And now that I had this again, I would never let go. Not ever. No. From now on, it was just gonna be me and Sammy. I loved him so much. And I could feel it in my very bones, just how much he loved me. We had a long road ahead of us, but with him by my side, I knew we’d make it. Just me and Sammy. Just Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop.

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

A/N: 

Hey guys! 

Been gone a super long time, probably a little over a year now. But I’ve been reading some fanfiction recently, I’m in a super positive and loving relationship, and overall, just got inspired and wanted to write again! Wrote this for myself really, just to get some creative juices out, and I’ve been sititng on it for a while. I have a feeling I’ll be writing more soon, and I’ll be sure to share. 

Also thanks to everyone who continued to read my work, even during my very lengthy absence, and like/reblog/comment. I promise I’ve seen them, and they have warmed my heart like nobody’s business. I love you all so much, and am so grateful. 

[dontmindifidontt]

EARLY MORNINGS AND OVERTIME | Nanami Kento x Reader JJK fanfic | Chapter 6: Returning the Favor

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader (fem, first person pov) Word count: 4852 Fic Summary: A smutty fic in which Nanami Kento brightens up the mundane, flour-dusted life a college dropout working in a bakery. Chapter Summary: Another scary situation causes Nanami to slowly begin opening up about his past. Warnings: drinking, oral male receiving - 18+, minors dni.

Read on AO3. Masterlist. Please feel free to ask me to correct anything in the above info, this is my first fic and I want to be sure I’m following all fic-posting etiquette. Ty!

My thoughts have been focused on one thing and one thing only all weekend. Him.

I went about my normal routine during my two days off: I read my books while drinking my coffee in the morning, and wine at night. I tidied my apartment and took care of my laundry. I took a trip to the grocery store to restock my fridge. I do everything I normally would but it's all under a haze of memories from Friday evening. Laying in bed Sunday night I hear the familiar ping of my phone, and see Nanami's name on the lock screen for the first time since he returned from his trip.

| It's me. I managed to get a new phone with my same number this weekend, though I never got around to grocery shopping... You'll be seeing me at the bakery tomorrow.

Feeling grateful for the warning I quickly swipe to my clock app and set my alarm for twenty minutes earlier tomorrow. That should give me enough time to get ready without rushing. Not that I need to wear more makeup or style my hair any differently when I know I'll be seeing him, but he makes me want to walk out the door with a little more confidence in the morning and the perfect shade of lipstick helps me find that confidence.

Lunchtime rolls around at work and I don't bother stopping my eyes from darting up at the door every time the bell chimes. Sure enough Nanami steps through the door and makes his way to the register, a smile creeping up on his lips as he gets closer. He says hello and picks out the sandwich he'd like to purchase before we get past the small talk.

"I want to take you out on Friday night. There's an outdoor wine bar downtown I think you'd enjoy, since I know how much you like wine..." he has a bit of a glimmer in his eye while alluding to my wine-fueled display from the other night. "So what do you say?"

I can't help but be taken aback at his question - it's only Monday and he's already asking me out for this weekend? Maybe he's truly trying to be less 'aloof' around me.

"Yes, I'd love to!" I reply without hiding any excitement.

"Perfect," his mouth curls in a smile at my answer, "I want to show you off."

Show me off? He's never said anything like that before. That feels like we're... together.

Before I can say anything he continues, "I can't stop thinking about how god damn good you looked the other night... all weak and begging for me."

I freeze completely, shifting my eyes around to make sure no one else is within earshot.

He senses my surprise at what he has to say but doesn't stop, "It's all I can think about, that and showing off how good you look when you know you're about to be fucked by me."

Now I really freeze. "But the face I really love, when you're desperate and practically crying for me to fill you, that face is just for me."

I nod in agreement, my mouth slightly open but no words coming out.

"So I'll see you then?" He asks nonchalantly, like we're having a totally innocent conversation.

"Yes," I stammer out, watching as he turns to walk out the door and return to work.

I spend the rest of the day finishing my work in a dazed state, operating on autopilot. All I can do is play over my conversation with Nanami and think about what's going to happen Friday night. I was excited to see him again to begin with but now... this is a different kind of excitement.

As much as I enjoyed myself this past weekend, I couldn't help but want more. He gave me so much and yet I didn't even get to see him with his clothes off. He hardly did more than loosen his tie. I know for a fact I won't be able to concentrate for the rest of the week knowing what I plan to do on Friday. How I plan to make him feel...

Friday

I clock out the second my shift is over and practically speed walk home to my apartment to get ready. After staring at my closet for probably an hour each day this week, I ultimately decided on a simple but curve-hugging black midi dress, paired with strappy heels. I wear a deep red lipstick to accentuate my mouth, sophisticated earrings that hang slightly below my earlobes, and apply a touch more highlight than usual.

After getting the name of the wine bar over text I tell Nanami I'll meet him there. Getting picked up by him felt so formal and I didn't mind having the time to myself on the walk. It helps me calm my nerves as I listen to music in my earbuds along the way.

There was no mistaking that I was at the right address once I walked up the winebar from outside. It was decorated immaculately with vines of white and red flowers, looping around the outdoor space as if the bar was a part of nature. The floral decor, however, did not dim the romantic sex appeal of the space. It was still dark and sleek, with a single candle on each of the high tops lining the bar, most of them occupied by attractive looking couples in their 20s or 30s.

Distracted by my surroundings, I jumped when I felt a familiar hand grip the small of my back. Whispering "you look gorgeous" into my ear, Nanami pulls me into his side, firmly pressing a kiss to the top of my head after giving the compliment.

"Thank you," I look up at him, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of his glasses, "I had a feeling you'd like this dress." I purposefully left out the fact I spent days deciding on it.

He leads us across the outdoor bar towards one of the few open high tops, and we stand beside each other at it. After waving over a server to place our drink orders (I went with his suggestion of some sort of fancy red I can't even remember,) he turns his full attention back to me.

"Tell me about your week," he states, more than asks.

Attempting to make my week sound more exciting than it actually was, I tell him about the new dessert I finally perfected in the bakery, the current book I'm reading, and strategically leave out the part about how many hours I spent daydreaming waiting for today to be Friday.

He smiles and nods along while I talk, fully immersing himself in the conversation and giving replies of his own. I have always seemed to view him as this straightforward yet vague man, though the vague piece of his demeanor is slowly chipping away.

Sipping my wine, I nearly spit it out when I hear him say, "I've thought about you every night this week." He wraps one arm around my side as he said it, pulling me in closer so that I'm leaning against him. I feel grateful for the support as my knees go weak at the scent of his cologne. Memories of last weekend begin filling my brain at the smell.

He continues to go on about how much he looked forward to seeing me this week, and my mind begins to wander. Is this him opening up? He told me he wanted to be less aloof around me, I think this is it. I don't let myself feel too accomplished in cracking his shell, however, because I remember just how many mysteries there still remain about him and his past.

We continue to chat about our weeks and flirt in the process, sneaking glances at each other's lips as we raise our glasses for a sip. Something about the stare of his eyes peering over a glass makes my stomach tighten and my thighs clench. His stare is just so all consuming.

When it comes time for him to walk me home, the combination of the wine buzz with the excitement of how well the night went makes me feel like I'm walking back on clouds. We continue to chat playfully and bump hips into each other gently as we walk side by side, my excitement building with every step since I planned to invite him inside once we arrived.

As I'm about to crack a joke about the bickering couple that stood next to us at the bar, I feel Nanami tense up and stop in his tracks beside me.

"Whats wr-" I ask, and before I can finish he juts an arm out in front of me pushing me against the wall of a nearby building towards a small alleyway.

"Stay right here," he demands, leaving me concealed in the shadows from the tall buildings on each side of me. He turns quickly and stalks back in the direction we came, reaching inside his suit jacket towards his waistband. I peek my head out around the corner of the building to see him wielding a patterned blunt sword - where the hell did that come from?

I panic and pinch my eyes shut, turning my body so that I'm once again concealed between building, back pressed against the wall. I try to repeat 'everything's fine' in my head over and over again, afraid to wonder what would cause Nanami to stalk after an unknown threat behind us. Was something following us?

Before I can work myself into a frenzy, Nanami reappears in front of me, gripping my shoulders and asking if I'm alright. It's a familiar sight from the last strange encounter we faced in the bakery a couple weeks ago.

"I'm okay but what the HELL happened? Do you have a WEAPON? What's going on" I tried to keep myself from crying as the panic from the past few moments overwhelmed me. Nanami tried his best to calm me down and brought me in for a hug, but I continued to demand answers. After he repeatedly avoids my questions I snap. Memories of him distracting me with a kiss the last time we were in this situation come flooding to the surface and I'm suddenly furious.

Tears pricking at the corners of my eyes I finally blurt what I've been wanting to say for weeks. "Why won't you tell me what's going on!? I really thought you were starting to open up to me but now you're ignoring my questions all over again. It makes me feel like I don't even know you at all!" I pant after letting it out, staring at him expectantly as we remain standing in the alleyway, my back against the wall.

"There's a reason I don't tell you much about me or my past..." he trails off at the end of his sentence but I stay silent to force him to continue. "It's to protect you."

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him in equal parts anger and confusion. "What makes you think I think I need somebody else to protect me? Or even worse, that I need to be completely oblivious as to why?"

He shakes his head in frustration before answering.

"I just... all I can say is what I used to do, what I still can do, is dangerous. And I don't tell you not because I don't trust you, but because you're safer this way." He seems to be having a silent, internal debate with himself before he continues. "I wasn't always a part of the corporate world, working amongst businessmen with no thoughts behind their eyes besides money. I used to work a form of... security. And I had to protect myself and others from very bad things. What happened tonight and the other week in the bakery are related to that."

I stared back in silence, completely in shock and unsure what to even ask next.

"These... invisible problems I've told you about once before, at the bakery? They follow me. I'm used to seeing them everywhere I go, but it wasn't a problem until recently. I'm worried that now they're focusing on you for being... connected to me." He seemed to think very carefully about his choice in words.

Hearing the honesty in his voice makes me feel I can trust him, but I still find myself struggling with the idea that he can't tell me what's really going on. Is it truly for my benefit not to know? It's hard to see how it's possible for me to be better off in the dark.

Still feeling unsure, but slightly more trusting in his decisions, I respond. "I trust you, Nanami. I still don't love the fact that I'm more or less clueless to what's going on, but I appreciate you telling me more tonight. This doesn't scare me, you know." That last part is only partially true, but he seems to let out a breath at my response.

"I promise I'd tell you everything if that's what would keep you safe, but I truly don't think that's the case. At least not now."

I choose to trust him and hold off on asking any more questions. I let out a sigh, motioning for us to continue the walk back to my apartment.

The two of us stand at the foot of my doorsteps, still shaking off the events of the night. "I don't think you should be staying at your place tonight - definitely not alone... I don't know if we were followed," Nanami says with a hint of guilt in his voice.

"I told you; I'm not scared, I'll be fine."

"I should stay with you. Just in case," he suggests and I immediately push back.

"I promise I'm fine," I reason with him, and he looks visibly stressed at my refusal of his help. "I'll call you if anything happens." He eases up at that but still looks apprehensive, as if he's still not fully convinced he's willing to drop the conversation. He takes another long look at me and realizes I'm not backing down on my assertion that I can fend for myself.

"Fine," he caves, "I won't stay tonight. But I'll have the sound on my phone turned all the way up if you need me. In fact, you should probably stay on the phone with me after I leave until you fall asleep."

I let out a short laugh at this suggestion, unable to hide my amusement at how desperately he is trying to keep tabs on me. It's endearing, it really is.

He looks confused at first but his face softens when he realizes I'm truly not scared anymore. "I just want you to be safe, okay?" his voice is pleading and his stare shifts back and forth from my eyes to my lips. "I... care about you and I have the ability to protect you, so that's what I'm going to do. I won't let anything hurt you."

I think back to the not one, but two, times he has done exactly that. He seemed to flip a switch and instinctually shift into the role of protector and fighter like it was a second nature. I would be lying if I said it didn't turn me on.

I watch his face as he continues to look down at me with total seriousness, meaning every word he just said. Something in his eyes unlocks a part of me. A swirl of emotions I feel as if I've never before tapped in to rise to the surface. I feel more than just protected, I feel listened to, cared for, and truly valued.

An overwhelming urge to show Nanami just how grateful I feel begins to take over me, and a familiar heat begins to warm my skin. He's already given me so much, and shown me how he feels. He's put himself between me and danger, he's already corrected or apologized for anything I've had issues with, and after last Friday night's escapades he has truly givena lot to me.

My core tightens at the memory of how he reacted when he unexpectedly came home early only to find me half-drunk, blasting music and dancing on his couch without a care in the world, wearing his shirt with barely much else underneath. My knees go weak and I feel a familiar pulsation begin to thrum between my legs when I remember the long, slow licks he dragged across the most sensitive part of my body. I need to make him feel the same pleasure I did that night.

Breathless and unsteady on my feet, I lurch for the collar of his shirt and pull his face down to meet mine. Without missing a beat he wraps his arms around me, linking them against my lower back. His mouth crushes mine in a kiss and I jump, wrapping my legs around his waist and whispering in his ear to walk us inside. He climbs the few steps to the door and we push through the entryway.

Shutting the door behind him, my apartment is silent except for the occasional drawing of breath from either of us and the sound of our palms aggressively sliding across clothing.

"My room's that way," I say while pointing an arm down the hall, still suspended above the ground by his hold around me.

"Who said I wanted to do this on your bed?" He replies suggestively. My eyes widen as I pull my face away from his to stare.

He winks as he says next, "You seemed to like being on the couch just fine last time."

I push both my hands against his broad chest in order to get out of his hold and plant my feet back on the ground. In one swift movement I grab his wrist and drag him over to the small couch just a few steps away in my living room, pushing him backwards so he is seated with his legs spread and feet apart on the floor.

I put one hand on each of his knees as I lean my upper half forward to kiss him slowly, trailing my mouth and small flicks of my tongue along his jawline, eventually making my way to his neck as he groans in response. After tracing circles along his knees and up parts of his thigh with my fingers I instead busy my hands with his shirt, prying apart each of the buttons until it is fully open. With his chest and stomach exposed I can see the heaving rise of his chest as he breathes. The sight makes my heart beat faster.

"You taking control now, huh?" he teases with a smirk while making no attempt to move out from under me.

"I'm just settling up what I owe," I reply seductively while kicking one leg up onto the couch beside him so I am halfway into a straddle, leaning my chest closer to his and ready to begin trailing my kisses lower.

He pulls his head back to look at me inquisitively. He then grabs the hip of my other leg and pulls my knee forward so that both are on either side of him, bringing my hips down into a full straddle against him, our faces only inches apart. "You know you'll never have to owe me for anything, right?" He asks in all seriousness.

Suddenly my cheeks are blushing not from my arousal but from sheer embarrassment. "I know, obviously..." I reply, trying to hiding the fact that my dirty talk wasn't coming across as sexy as I intended.

"Good," he eases up in his seated position once more, bucking his hips slightly as adjusts his position and making my pussy throb in the process. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to with me," before I have a chance to explain hooking up with him is all I can ever think about he continues, "And on the other hand... you have free reign to dowhatever you want with me."

With that I am absolutely soaked.

Not bothering to attempt any more dirty talk, I decide to put my mouth to better use. I kiss up and down the side of his neck while undoing the belt of his pants. While I tug at his belt he pulls my dress down from my shoulders in one swoop. After unzipping his pants far enough to pull off I frantically crawl back down off his lap, letting my knees hit the floor as I pull both his pants and underwear down with me.

I pull them off completely and toss to the side, still in a kneeling position. Bracing myself, I slowly raise my gaze back up to his lap and my mouth goes dry at the sight. He had pulled off his unbuttoned shirt while I was repositioning myself and was now fully nude in front of me, slightly reclined with his elbows propped up on the back of the couch as if in a total state of relaxation.

My lips curl into a devilish smile while I take in the look on his face. He is visibly out of breath and staring at me with such concentration it feels as if his eyes could burn holes. Despite that, he doesn't speak, and I can only assume it's because he doesn't want to beg. Deciding to move at a torturously slow pace because of this, I scan my eyes along his neck, counting the few veins that have popped up along the sides. Immediately following I trace my gaze across his collarbone, to the rounded and muscular shoulder connected at the end. Flicking my eyes to his middle, I make him wait as I watch his body rise with each breath, placing my hands on either sides of his waist. Finally, I look down to his lap.

As I do, I see his dick twitch slightly in response as if he can feel my eyes on him. I bring my face closer to stare, purposefully hovering over him so he can feel the warm air of my breath without actually being touched. He's so visibly hard that it doesn't make sense how he can sit so comfortably before me. It's as if all of his concentration is focused on letting me be in control at my own pace, despite how fucking aching he must feel.

Deciding to sneak one last look at his face before committing every ounce of my being to making my mouth feel like paradise on him, I peer upwards through my eyelashes. At that same moment he moves his arms from their propped position on the couch to come towards me, cupping each hand on either sides of my face without dropping his stare on my lips. "Don't make me beg," he grunts through his teeth.

I hold back my taunting smile as I reply, "Wouldn't dream of it." With that, I slide my tongue down the underside of his cock, beginning at the top. Once I reach the base I wrap the tip of my tongue around him and slide back up, angling my head to the side. He exhales sharply at the sensation and I do it again, fully coating his dick in my saliva.

Wetting the inner portion of my lips I pucker and press my mouth to his tip, slowly taking him in but stopping once his head has just gotten to the tip of my tongue. He desperately tries not to squirm while panting and swearing under his breath, clearly feeling inpatient but I don't budge. Instead, I suction on the very end of his head, and trace my finger down his shaft towards his balls. Cupping them, I begin to massage them back and forth and he involuntarily bucks his hips in response.

"Patient," I say, "I thought you weren't going to beg?"

Before he can respond I swap the positioning of my mouth and my hand, gripping his still wet dick in my fist as I press my tongue against the smooth skin of his balls. I widen my mouth and use my tongue to slip one into my mouth and begin to push and pull on it with the suction of my mouth. His hands now grip the top of my head as his fingers flex as if he's desperate to keep control of all of the muscles in his body. Again using my tongue I swirl and suck, alternating to his other ball and pushing it around the inside of my mouth with varying pressure. My hand that's working his dick continues at an even pace, occasionally pressing my thumb down on the center of his head and rubbing small circles.

My other hand reaches around and grips the firm side of his ass, pressing my fingers into the muscle. His breathing gets faster and I open my mouth wider to let go, instead returning to tracing my tongue up and down his shaft.

He hums in pleasure at the way my mouth glides faster and faster along the wetness. I continue to slip up and down, enjoying the sound of his shaky breathing, until I decide to suddenly change course and part my lips, taking him into my mouth fully. His breath catches and his abs tighten as he grabs ahold of my head in his hands, gasping out an 'oh fuck' to the new sensation.

Using every muscle I have I hollow out my cheeks and tuck my lips tight, careful to keep my jaw wide enough to fully separate my top and bottom rows of teeth. I bob my head back and forth, feeling his smooth skin slide against my swollen lips and pressing the back of my tongue against his twitching head. Going deeper with each thrust I can sense that he's nearing release. His hips begin to rise up into my face more and more, demanding that I take him all in.

Fully preparing to work my jaw past the point of pain I grip onto his backside, holding his cheeks in my hands so that I can keep him pressed into me. Caging my head in place with his hands he continues to cuss and mutter variations of 'you feel so fucking good' before he can no longer speak and just grunts with each thrust.

Feeling him twitch as he nears the back of my throat I know he's seconds from coming undone and I brace myself for the release. I hum a moan around him to give him the go-ahead to finish, sending vibrations along his cock with the sound. His hips stutter and he moans in response, jolting forward and nearly choking me on a gag as I feel a warm burst of thick liquid coat the far roof of my mouth. He continues to pump two more spurts into my throat and mouth as I moan in pleasure at the fact that I've just made him reach his climax. He gently starts to slide himself out of my mouth and I keep my lips wrapped tight around him until he's fully out, then swallow tightly.

Licking my lips I raise my eyes up at his disheveled state, seeing him stare down at me in equal parts disbelief and amazement while out of breath. "Holy fucking shit," is all he can say and I pull myself up from my knees, straddling him once again only this time in nothing but my bra and soaked-through panties.

As I hover my hips over him, careful not to apply pressure to his oversensitive cock below me, he reaches around to fully cup my ass in both hands. He begins to slide two of his fingers around, reaching to press up against my entrance.

I stop him and tease with a smile, "that was my turn to leave you exhausted and fucked blind."

He can barely form a sentence while grappling for a better grip on my hips as I lift myself up off the couch and slide my dress back on.

"Save your energy for next time," I wink, "I plan on making you need it."

..........

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thank you for reading !! pls tell me everyone has seen the new official Nanami art with the undone tie im crying

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[justimajin]

Rise of the Nation’s King ♔ Part ½

⊶ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⊶ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut (pt. 2)

↳ Historical AU, King AU

⊶ Words: 5.1k

⊶ Summary: Being born with nothing and yet wanting everything, Min Yoongi understands that the world will only favor those born with sliver spoons in their mouths. However, when an unseen incident breaks out at the royal palace one day, he’s forced between choosing all that he treasures for something much more. But Yoongi doesn’t know if losing you will ever keep him sane. 

⊶ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic depictions of violence and death

The marketplace is livelier around this time of the year. 

Merchants and venders alike have surrounded themselves with goods that are chased after. From dangling strings of freshly cut red meat to heads of boars displayed in the front of their wooden stalls, the assortment brings those scrambling with coins and eyes flaked with desperation to scavenge as much as possible. 

A man dressed in a dark turquoise hanbok idles down the road with a dazed smile on his lips, too caught up in his own world to discover that the long fishing pole he reels has smacked into the back of another merchant’s head. His new stock is left flapping on the ground, covered in a layer of fine dust that has collected from the feet of others. 

His face is instantly coloured in a shade of red, “YAH! Can’t you watch where you’re going?!” 

The other man that’s received a generous layer of fish oil against his straightened hair whips his head around, donning a similar expression to him. He wears a dull green hanbok in contrast, a pale blue headband wrapped around his forehead and concealing the youthful features he radiates. 

He faintly touches the back of his head, left with an eerie smell that only reminds him of another grim-covered man he had passed by the other day.

“Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going old man?!” He scoffs, watching his opponent’s eyes increase by tenfold. 

“Old man?!” Despite the clearly visible facial hair on his chin and wrinkled lines maring his forehead, the younger fellow has struck him where it hurts most, “Why, I outta-” 

He fists his green hanbok and the man does the same to his blue one. Within moments, they’re engaged in a heated fight that relies more on swings and kicks that are clumsy and barely do any damage, provoking them to resort to the fine art of name-calling instead. Their ruckus elicits mixed reactions from neighboring stalls, all throwing them strange and annoyed looks. 

A man in the corner darkly chuckles, clad in a ragged beige jacket and a large straw hat perched on top of his black strands. There’s a rope filled with tools hanging from the seam of his hips, ranging from a hammer, a chisel and the most used, a pickaxe.

He leans against the old wall, his dusted arms crossed and drained eyes hardened as he watches the duo taunting each other. It’s fascinating to simply watch, because those who have more always seem to be heavily prone to quarreling about such non-sensible things. 

A deep sigh passes the seam of his lips, pushing his legs off the wall and taking a mere glance around before strutting through the marketplace. He walks slow, observing the man that carefully guides the horse carrying his load of loot with a rope, protecting the merchandise with all that he’s got. He also observes the woman throwing hopeful glimpses around, the fish she’s spent hours collected rapidly turning stale within the span of a mere couple of hours. 

He suddenly flinches, a wince descending through his right leg. Memories of the dark and humid caverns flash through his mind, tiring hours of gripping his pickaxe and swinging it in between layers of soot to retrieve battered pieces of stone only for greedy hands to immediately whisk it away. He’s left with a body that aches for him to stop, a bag of a few mesly coins tossed in his face and the chuckles of officials that hone down his work. 

His face contorts, fists clenching and shoulders tightened when he’s forced to step off the road with his tender leg. He leans against the wall again, breathing in harsh gasps as sweat quickly manifests underneath his straw hat. His eyes are shadowed before he flutters them close, a haze of muted fury silently spurring. 

“Yoongi!” A faint voice from afar calls, expeditiously growing louder, “Yoongi!” 

His eyes snap open, “Yoon-OOF!” 

He immediately whips around, sight landing upon your collapsed form. A cluster of coughs plague you from the mixed humid air and wafting dust in the crowded area, many merchants swiftly passing by you without another look. One in particular eyes you in irritation, your small mishap occurring right in front of his potential customer and nearly spoiling the boar head the man had been keen on selling. 

“Foolish girl! Go make a mess somewhere else!” He angrily shouts, your form instantly shrinking away. 

“S-Sorry.” You offer, a yelp escaping you when a strong hold suddenly lifts you up. You avertedly cling to Yoongi’s side as the man continues to spew out how much your recklessness could have damaged his material and ruined his clential, but the man holding you next to him isn’t having any of it. 

“She’s already apologized.” Yoongi states. 

“Instead of apologizing, maybe she should pay for the damages!” He barks, gesturing to his table, “Do you know how long it took me to find boars this fine?!”

You move forward to offer another humble apology, but Yoongi tugs you back. He grabs a small pouch from his waist, throwing the bag into the man’s face as the few coins contained inside spill out onto the ground. 

“There. Happy now?” Yoongi ignores the hungry ravenous look the man has, simply turning to leave and dragging you by hand with him. He leads you into the main road of the marketplace, taking an intrigued glance at all the things being offered inside the various stalls. 

“Yoongi.” Your grip on his hand tightens and he turns around questioningly, “Those were the coins you earned today….” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He mutters, eyes downcasted. He ignores the pinch those words bring him. “I still have enough saved up.” 

You become quiet, guilt still written all over your features. Yoongi sighs, glancing over to a stall selling bundles of meat. 

“You wanted to eat beef the other day, right?” He gestures towards it, “Go grab some.” 

Your eyes flicker, “I-I can’t let you do that Yoongi, we still have a hole in our roof to fix.” You recall both of you promising to hold back on expenditures when a certain harsh downpour had happened, the entirety of your belongings left thoroughly soaked with residue. 

“We can still buy one piece.” He smirks, a spark of playfulness in his eyes, “But you’ll have to share with me.”

You smile, heading over to the merchant once he’s finished with his last customer. Although you’re happy with being able to purchase some form of expensive meat after so long, you end picking the smallest piece to spare both you and Yoongi the troubles of paying. But it’s hard to erase the elation you have carrying it over to him, a somber question remaining on the tip of your tongue. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” You whisper out loud, the inquiry leaving a sad smile on Yoongi’s lips once you return. It’s a smile that speaks volumes, throbbing the dreadful gash that runs from his forehead to his cheek, his vision still not completely recovered as his peripheral view comes out distorted. 

Yoongi silently stares at you, an unsaid answer breezing by the light whistles of the air and the chattering among the people. 

Because you’re all that I have left now. 

***

Hugging the precious piece of meat to your chest, you walk aimlessly behind Yoongi throughout the entire marketplace. Yoongi in particular doesn’t seem so interested in purchasing anything, rather he observes the rest of the items displayed. You eventually become occupied with a woman who urges you to steal a glance at her range of slippers, the spiked up costs bearing a pout to form on your lips. 

The sound of a loud thud breaks you out of your thoughts, swiveling around to see all the townspeople flocking together. Yoongi instantly appears in the midst of them, grabbing onto your hand that’s not holding the meat and tugging you with him. 

“What is it?” You quietly ask, alarmed by the sudden increase of officials dressed in dark blue robes surrounding you. 

“The sinmungo.” Yoongi points to the large drum positioned at the edge of the road, a swirl of cool blue and warm orange decorated in the middle of it. You recall having seen it a handful of times, namely whenever there had been an issue between the authority of the law and the people of your class which needed resolving. Initially you had presumed that it worked in the form of being as a collective voice for all of you, but you had soon to discover the royal will it holds. 

“Who dares defy the King?” One official speaks up, a menacing glare in his eyes. In his grip is an unsheathed sword, pointed towards the man currently cowering on the ground beneath him. 

“I’m sorry! I-I meant no disrespect to His Majesty.” The man stutters, grasping onto any piece of mercy, “M-My wife has been sick and I-I had to sell everything for her treatment.” 

The official steps up and withdraws his sword, his gaze landing on the small palanquin hidden behind them. Your eyes are drawn to the intricate green and gold details glittered along the surface, the picture of a bright golden dragon painted in the centre.

Another official steps up, adorned in dark green robes. “This man has refused to pay the tax from running a business on His Majesty’s land. What is the verdict for such a crime?” 

A hand brushes pushes past the curtains of the laid palanquin on the ground, your eyes eager to see the unknown ruler of your land in the flesh. To your dismay, he makes a simple gesture and withdraws instantly. 

The man begins to shriek madly in horror, tears streaming down his eyes when the green official drags him by his collar and throws him in front of the one wielding a sword. He yanks it out, ignoring the man’s pleads of hysteria, before the sword descends down on his neck with a swift jerk. 

Your eyes are immediately covered, the gruesome sound of flesh tearing and blood splattering onto the ground ringing through your ears. The people surrounding you let out gasps of terror, a silence laced with fear prevailing heavy in the air. 

Yoongi twists you around from the sight, removing his hand from your face and replacing it within your hold instead. He drags you away, images of violent screams and begging sobs plaguing his mind as the sinmungo is hit once again. 

The King has made his new decree. 

You wipe away the tears streaming from your eyes with a trembling hand, something you know Yoongi can feel when his grip only tightens. Breezing by the many people cluttered together to view the sudden authority, their whispers serve to only increase the fear in you by tenfold. 

“That’s the third one in two days!” One shouts, stuck in disbelief. 

“This is absurd! An execution for not being able to pay tax??” Another one scoffs, “Is the King trying to kill off all his people?!” 

You freeze, blood running cold. A yank on Yoongi’s beige jacket makes him falter, spinning around to face your dread stricken features. 

“T-There’s been more than one. If we don’t pay on time-” A shudder runs through your body, the thought of you and Yoongi being next brings nothing short of utter despair. It’s no news that you and Yoongi are both a part of the sangmin class - the ones that are thrown with the king’s leftovers and then trampled on once your will to survive has completely fizzled and diminished. 

Yoongi lets go of you, stepping forward to cup your cheeks within his palms. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He whispers, but the way his pupils shake with the impending doom speak of a different story. He releases you, grabbing onto your hand once more. 

You want to believe his words, you want to bask yourself in the strength he always manages to muster up when things head south. However, the perception of unruly bloodshed and injustice have lodged themselves too deep in the confines of your mind, the remaining hidden pieces of hope slowly breaking off bit by bit. 

You’re still shaken up by the events of the day by the time you reach home. 

Yoongi doesn’t attempt to pry into your silence, simply retrieving a handful of wood planks and tossing them into the middle of a brewing fire. He leaves once more to grab an old chair and a sheet of loose fabric, climbing up to the space where a chilling breeze has begun to enter through your roof. You’re reduced to somberly watching him from the corner of your bed, the mere satisfaction of temporarily enclosing it barely meeting his eyes. 

He claps his hands together, shaking off any remains of dust before approaching you with curious eyes. 

“How has your business been?” He settles down next to you, his gaze remaining on the occasional sparks the fire lets out. You’re at least grateful for the surge of warmth it gives off, eyes downcasting. 

“Slow.” You mumble, “I-I’m not earning much these days….” 

Your view drifts over to the tangles of thread woven through bundles of cloth, resting on the table where you presume dust is now starting to collect. The thought haunts you with more vivid images of a future line of fate you’re so close to taking a step upon, water harshly welling up in your eyes. 

“Y/N…” Yoongi shifts closer to you, interlacing his fingers with yours. “We’ll be okay.” 

“W-We can’t be sure of that.” Tears stream down your cheeks, a sharp quiver in your words. Your eyes stray over to the long incision running through his left eye, fingers reaching out to faintly trace it. Yoongi stills as you do, pain flashing through his eyes despite the wound having long been healed. 

“Even after so long…” Yoongi whispers, a sad chuckle leaving his body. “I can still hear their screams.”

Your hand falters, eyes lowering. “The King has been all losing his patience as of lately.” Yoongi hums, “We already have nothing and now he wants to take that away too.” 

No matter which direction you look at it, the sentence is absurd. You know better than to question the ways of the law, but the only word settling down for such treatment is simply cruel. 

“The King is a bloody tyrant.” Yoongi spits out, your eyes growing wide, “He sits in his golden throne all day long and executes all the people that he’s left his scraps to.” 

“Yoongi!” You harshly whisper, avertedly glancing around you. There’s a hardened look in his eyes from the gesture, voice growing louder.

“What? You know I’m right.” You tightly seal your lips, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“You are.” You take another quick glance around, “But his ruling is something that is out of our control.” 

Yoongi grows silent, annoyance still written over him. “For now, we need to find a way to earn more before-” 

You falter, the words ‘before we’re next’ not being able to leave you. 

Yoongi sighs, his tense form becoming relaxed. “You’re right. I’ll go to the officials tomorrow and see if I can join the military.” 

Astonishment sparks within you from the resolution, lucidly recalling Yoongi’s firm declaration that he wouldn’t want anything to do with the King and his empire in the future. His motive of earning on his own ended up becoming more and more solid as the days spun by, his hands and face constantly covered in an increasing amount of soot. 

“Y-You want to join the military?” It pays better, you know that. But it's something you never wanted to push onto him. 

He nods, “We need the money now more than ever.” There’s a faint smile lingering on his lips, “And besides, weren’t you saying something about needing to save up for a wedding the other day?” 

Crimson immediately flushes through your skin, swiveling around to grab a piece of fabric, “W-We don’t need to worry about that right now.” 

Yoongi glances in your direction, softly smiling when you lay down the rough sheet onto the surface of the bed and smooth it down carefully with your hands. You then move to place one on the opposite bed, settling down with a content hum and shuffling closer to the fire he’s made. 

He eventually joins you and lays his head against the rugged sheet, maneuvering himself to view your delicate features from across him. He observes the way your eyes have fluttered shut, content with the small space you have and the thinness of the blanket covering you, a single wish spurring out from the depths of his heart in that moment that quickly forms into a promise. 

He would do anything in his capacity to protect you. 

***

Despite the horrid display of power yesterday, the townspeople have fallen back into the routine of their daily duties. Yet it is still unnerving how many of them avert their gazes from the once flourishing stall, faint reminiscences of a sweating man unloading all of his chickens in anticipation that he comes home to a wife that longs to end her own suffering.

Now all that remains are broken shards of wood, marked with the edges of a familiar sword. 

Yoongi filters through all the anxious and distressed faces, hidden underneath the large conical hat he dons. He sharply eyes the official that strolls through the road without a care in the world, plucking a handful of seeds from a stall that has a woman uneasily smiling in return. The display nearly makes him scoff, but he holds it back and struts closer to the official. 

He’s dressed in light green robes and carries a stoic expression, different compared to the one that wields a sword and beckons to the King’s every word. The seeds slip from his palm at Yoongi’s sudden appearance, measly tossing them all away as the woman before him gingerly performs constructive bows. 

His voice is low, “What do you want?” 

“I wish to join the military.” Yoongi states, the words already tasting like acid. “To serve and yield to the beloved King.” 

The man smirks, an action that has Yoongi’s eyes narrowing, “Are you aware of how the military works? We only look for those that are physically fit to exclusively serve His Majesty.” 

“I work as a miner.” He clarifies, taking out his pickaxe, “I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.” 

The man lets out a hearty chuckle, still stuck in disbelief. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.” 

Yoongi clenches his teeth, fists rounding. He’s made a promise to protect you and he didn’t come here to simply take no for an answer. 

“I need to join the military now.” He grabs onto the official's delicate robes in a fit of rage, only for the man to push him away. 

“Such insolence!” He spits, dusting off the parts of his hanbok that Yoongi’s managed to crease. He’s ready to unleash a storm of anger on the commoner man, but the straw hat on his head has withered onto the ground. 

The official freezes. 

The brewing anger vanishes within a flash, and he takes a handful of careful steps. 

Yoongi glares at him, tugging himself up with a scowl lined on his lips. He takes a glance at his arms, luckily not having been injured due to the man’s reckless actions. 

When Yoongi looks up and stares at him, the official staggers back. 

“I-It can’t be….” He whispers, appearing to have seen the equivalent of a ghost. Yoongi raises a brow, deciding to grab his fallen pickaxe instead and hook it onto his belt. 

The official latches onto his arm. 

It happens within the blink of an eye. One moment he’s crossed with annoyance, utter fury fueling the way the official treats him like he’s a piece of dirt and rejecting all his efforts at earning more for the two of you. Another moment, the official has slapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him to a secluded corner where Yoongi sees more of them crowded together. 

He’s thrown onto the ground harshly, a collection of gasps spiking around him. A blindfold is suddenly wrapped around his eyes, concealing his sight completely. He struggles at the layers of rope tied around his torso, desperately trying to free himself from the durable material. 

“Let me go, you bastards!” He growls, but a pricking pain is sent to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious as he crumbles down to the ground. 

***

Your brows are furrowed, the pin in your fingers delicately held. A small incision is made through the fabric, woven back to make another loop before you stretch out the thread and tighten it. You pluck the needle again, repeating your actions to create the long design. 

“Excuse me?” A voice halts your actions, a young girl standing before you with a smile, “How much is this?” 

She points to the piece you had created a couple of days ago, now sitting deflated on top of the wooden display. The incomplete fabric in your hands is instantly tossed away and you scramble to get closer to the potential customer. 

“Five won.” You immediately reply. The girl nods and reaches into the small pouch located on the string tied to her skirt, rummaging for the amount. The coins are placed delicately within the palms of your hands and she thanks you with a smile. 

Once she departs, you can only stare at the recycled pieces of metal that shine in your hands. A flood of joy overwhelms your senses, tightly fisting the coins. You can’t bring yourself not to glance around in anticipation, a smile blossoming on the corner of your lips and hastily closing your shop. 

You know it isn’t enough to buy a piece of meat, or that it would barely cut through the costs of repairing an ancient crumbling roof, but your feet assume otherwise when you rush through the crowd of civilians strolling down the marketplace. Your smile only widens once you catch sight of Yoongi’s signature hat, currently in the midst of conversing with one of the officials. 

Your curiosity grows the more you drift closer and peer in behind a shop, Yoongi’s convincing tone entering your ears. 

“I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.” 

You tenderly smile, but a sharp laugh breaks into the air. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.” 

Hurt flashes across your features, your eyes immediately moving to see Yoongi’s form stiffen. The ground crunches as you falter to intervene, taken aback when Yoongi suddenly advances and takes a hold of the man’s robes. 

You flinch when Yoongi stumbles onto the ground, his hat falling off his black locks. The official sends him a look of disgust, his cheeks flushed. 

“Such insolence!” 

The official suddenly halts in his steps, eyes dazed as if he was stuck in a trance. “I-It can’t be….” 

Yoongi appears as confused as you are, the man grabbing onto his arm in an instant. The confusion completely disappears once he pulls Yoongi towards him, silencing him immediately much to your own horror. He begins to drag him away and you rush forward, swooping up his fallen hat. 

The streets are bustling with people as you chase after them, bumping into you with zero consideration. You end up stumbling, the dull beige hanbok you wear getting easily stained with grim. You pay no attention, simply scrambling back onto your feet and heading into the direction you last saw Yoongi. It turns out to be an empty ditch in between two abandoned stalls, a pang of panic running through you when you see Yoongi on the ground blindfolded and in the process of being tied up. 

“Let go of me, you bastards!” You hear Yoongi roughly shout, a man with a large wooden block coming up behind him and smacking the back of his head. Yoongi slumps down onto the ground, not long before an ear piercing scream leaves your lips. 

“YOONGI!” Tears stream down your eyes as you rush to desperately push the man dragging his limp body away. He retaliates by whirling around and hitting the side of your face with a harsh smack, your form falling onto the ground with a loud thud. You quickly glance up to see them tossing Yoongi into a cart, one with faded markings of green and gold. 

The men hurriedly head into the cart alongside him, ushering the horse attached to begin moving. You immediately get back onto your feet, your hand barely grasping onto the fabric of the cart before it’s sent soaring forward. 

“YOONGI!!” You run as fast as you can this time, tears clouding your sight. You fall down onto your knees when the cart is too far in sight, your form trembling as it vanishes into disappearance. 

“Y-Yoongi…” You sob into your hands, a simple dirtied straw hat left beside you.

When he comes to, darkness is all Yoongi can see. 

There are two people on either end of him, dragging his body against the ground. The faint chatter of voices sweep through the room, mere echoes entering his ringing ears. His breathing stills, the light air feeling different to the humid one he’s accustomed to. 

The sound of rumbling perks his ears, right before he’s sent flying across the room. The restriction of vision is pulled away from his eyes and for the first time in a while, he can actually see what is around him. 

It’s dark for being able to finally see, a shadow casted across from the silk curtains blocking out any forms of light coming from the two windows. There are four large pillars at each corner, spirals of deep green and bright gold decorated into the lavish and broad room. In front of him stands the very official he had gone to in search of work, but now he keeps his head down and gaze scattered. 

He asks the question he’s been dying for an answer to, “Where am I?” 

Among the six individuals in the room, no one speaks a word. 

“What do you want from me?!” He roars, chest heaving. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, he doesn’t know if there’s daylight or moonlight outside, he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’ve already reached home by now only to discover that his abrupt absence. 

The official he knows steps up, appearing scrutinized under his stare. He opens his mouth, only to close it a couple of times before spewing any words. 

“What is your name?” He calmly questions, earning a twitch from Yoongi’s eye. The man appears startled from the gesture, backing away immediately. 

Yoongi deeply exhales, “Min Yoongi.” 

The men in the room exchange strange looks, something that just leaves Yoongi puzzled. 

“And you said you are a miner?” 

“Yes.” Yoongi grits, “If you brought me here just for an interrogation, I’m assuming you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” 

Everyone in the room hesitates at that. They gather in a circle far from here, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves. 

“What do we do now?” One dressed in black robes whispers, frightened. 

“We can’t keep him in here forever.” 

“But we have to! It’s the only way.” 

Yoongi frowns, constantly tugging on the back of his hands roughly. The material of the rope is extremely steady, that’s for sure. 

They all collectively turn around, Yoongi pausing his escape momentarily from all the stares. 

The one adorned in black steps up, “We need to show you something.” 

***

He’s led into a cavern, a spiral of stairs descending down. It had taken a considerable amount of convincing on his kidnappers part for him to follow them around aimlessly whilst still tied up, but Yoongi can’t merely shake off the strange feeling he’s been getting since he’s arrived. 

The halls he’s passed by are extraordinarily decorated with rich coats of paint, gold ornaments hanging down from the ceilings and the floor polished as if it was made of fine marble. It’s not the same rustic grounds he’s walked countless times upon, something being utterly unusual of this place he’s been brought onto. 

Once the various rounds of stairs are done and a large green door is presented before him, Yoongi catches the faint glimmer in everyone’s eyes. They appear hesitant, as if they were just on their way to committing a grave sin. After the tense moment, one of them slots a golden key into the lock and the door comes creaking open. 

The very first thing Yoongi notices, is the sudden ominous atmosphere the room has taken. It’s almost borderline suffocating when one of the men tugs him in, a shining bronze crate laying in the centre of the room. He frowns at its appearance, noticing all of the men moving to stand around it in a circle. 

“What is it?” He throws out, glancing at them avertedly. One of them raises his head, distraught heavily on his features. 

“It is a tomb.” He mutters in a monotone voice, “For the late King.” 

Yoongi’s eyes dramatically widen and two of them move forward to lift the top layer covering the bronze casket. His heartbeat begins to thud against his ribcage, sweat forming at the temples of his forehead. 

“There has been an incident.” He continues, “An incident we have not let the public know of yet.” 

The casket opens with a thud and Yoongi harshly sucks in a breath. There’s a young man lying lifelessly in the coffin, dressed in royal green robes with gold embellishment. His long blonde hair has been set free, falling down delicately onto his shoulders and to the centre of his forehead. He holds an agitated expression, as if being in the afterlife had yet to bring him some peace. 

“H-He’s…” Yoongi sputters, breathing erratically. 

The official hums, glancing at the King with somber eyes. 

“Our beloved King Agust is no more….” He turns to Yoongi with a spark of hope, “but you, Sir Min Yoongi, are still alive.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

Overtired ~ KNJ [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 3K

↬↬↬Genre: Fluffy and family!

↬↬↬Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

↬↬↬Warnings: None that I know of, some swearing if that counts as a warning.

Each morning started the same way for you, your alarm would wake you up and you would get up to start the day, the morning sun sneaking through the curtains.

"Joon, come on." You whispered turning over to see Namjoon still fast asleep, how he slept through that alarm every morning you never knew.

"I'm going for a shower, get up." You placed a small kiss on his forehead and walked in the direction of the bathroom. Namjoon and you had been married for six years and you had a beautiful daughter together as well as a handsome new-born son who was just 4 months old.

"Check in on the kids," You said before shutting the bathroom door and turning on the hot water, you loved your life with him. It was everything you'd ever dreamt it would be, the perfect husband and the perfect kids living the perfect life together. Sure, sometimes it was hard but you made it through like all married couples. You stepped out of the shirt you were wearing and got under the water right away, you never knew when the next moment of peace like this would come so you were going to take advantage of the quiet morning for as long as you could. The water hit your skin and it felt like heaven to you,

"Babe! I'm gonna make breakfast! Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm okay Joon." You shouted over the water and then you heard his footsteps back away from the door. His cooking had gotten better, it had gotten to the point where you didn't have to panic whenever he was in the kitchen alone.

"I'm going to be home late again all week but you have that baby shower to plan so it's okay right?" Namjoon asked as he was getting ready to leave, you had your son in your arms as you bottle-fed him and your daughter was in the kitchen eating her breakfast.

"Yeah, it's fine Joonie. Have fun and work hard, but not too hard." You warned him and he bent down giving you a kiss on the lips and leaving a small kiss on his son's forehead.

"Bye little man." As soon as the front door shut you let out a shaky breath, pretending to be well-rested around Namjoon was one of the hardest things you had to do.

"Are you almost ready for school baby?" You cooed going to the kitchen, your 5-year-old daughter was washing up her plate and nodding her head at you. You adored that she tried to help around the house, she was always watching you run around after her and Namjoon and said she wanted to help - she'd even gotten a fake vacuum for Christmas last year and regularly used it whenever you were cleaning.

"I'm ready mummy." You took the empty bottle from your son and placed it into the sink reminding yourself to clean it out later.

"Uncle Jin's wife is outside, you'll be a good girl for her won't you?" You placed your son on your shoulder and started to burb him while you were walking her towards the front door, she grabbed her backpack and opened the door.

"I always am," You bent down so she could kiss you and then her baby brother and you watched her leave, waving at Jin's wife who was on her way to work and always took your daughter to school along with her kids.

The front door shut and your son was asleep, now was time to start your real day. The day that never seemed to end even when you went to sleep. Nothing was ever truly done around the house, you were always up to something no matter what it was. The house never felt clean to you so you were constantly running around cleaning up clothes from Namjoon and your daughter, cleaning up the baby clothes and making sure everything was organised and well put away. Once that was done it was time to vacuum, dust everything, and then mop up the floors this week was your busiest week yet though. It was only Wednesday and you were already exhausted, you'd stayed up most of Monday night with your son who was crying and then Yesterday you'd had no time to plan the baby shower for Jimin so you spent most of the night doing that and managed to get two hours of sleep but despite that, you were still going strong and wide awake. The baby shower was less then three days away and you had to make sure everything was perfect for them. You were used to running on nothing but caffeine and that buzz of having no sleep gave you, you grabbed the washing basket and began throwing dirty clothes into it.

Everything in the house was clean and you still had a few hours before your daughter would come home from school, you laid out the baby shower folder on your kitchen table then went to grab your son from upstairs. He was a great baby, barely cried and when he did it was because he was hungry, wanted attention or needed his diaper changing, other than that he just slept and it was bliss.

"Hi baby boy, are you ready for some lunch?" You greeted him bending down into the small crib and picking him up, he was still half asleep which meant you could put him into the small bouncer downstairs while you got everything ready for him.

"I bet you're so hungry huh? So's mummy, so while you have your milk I'll have something too," You cooed carrying him down the steps and ignoring the tiredness in your eyes.

"You go here," You laid him down on the bouncer next to your kitchen chair and grabbed his milk and your coffee, you sat down and held the bottle in his mouth while you sat down at the table reading through everything. That was one thing about being a mother, you'd become excellent at multitasking which was something you could never do before having babies.

"You're hungry huh? Take after your dad," You giggled looking as you looked at him, although he was only 4-months he was learning quite quickly and was already trying to hold onto his own bottle when normally they didn't try that until six-months.

"You take after your dad in everything," You smiled and took the empty bottle over to the sink and then went back to burp your son before letting him sleep again.

"I thought you wanted a cake?" You asked over the phone as you rocked your son in your arms, it was 5 pm. Your daughter was doing her homework on the table while you were trying to calm your crying son down.

"I did but now we think cupcakes would be so much cuter! Can you do them?! We die for your baking skills?" You looked at the date on the calendar, the baby shower was in less than four days and baking and decorating over 500 cupcakes was going to knock you on your ass.

"Sure," You faked sounding happy about it, it was their first baby and you wanted the event to be special for them even if it meant putting your sleep last for a little while, you could keep running on a few hours a night it was no big deal.

"You're the best! I'm so glad Namjoon married a party planner! What would we do without you?!" She screamed and you giggled over the phone before saying goodbye and looking at your son who was finally asleep.

"How's your homework going darling?" You put your son down into his bouncer and took the plate away from in front of your daughter, she'd had an apple for an after school snack.

"It's okay, I'm stuck on this one though." You placed the plate into the dishwasher and sat down next to your daughter, explaining the math equation to her and then showing her how to work it out for herself.

"Go and get changed, and then we'll cook for daddy?" She quickly got up from the table and rushed to her bedroom while you put her homework into her bookbag and got the ingredients out for the dinner you were making.

"Come here you," You grunted picking up the bouncer and putting it onto the middle of the table where you could see him more clearly, he was sound asleep and clutching onto a blanket one of the boys had gotten him for the day he was born.

Namjoon dropped his bag by the front door and expected to find the house quiet and lights off but he could see the kitchen light was on under the door,

"Babe?" You hummed hearing his voice, he walked into the kitchen to see you making cake batter in the stand mixer he'd gotten you for your birthday - You'd asked for it, he wasn't just buying you kitchen appliances.  

"What are you doing up?" He stood behind you and placed his hands on your hips kissing the back of your neck and watching you closely. It was 2 am and you were normally asleep by now so it was a shock to find you awake and baking,

"You have food in the oven, and I'm just doing some baking." You'd left his food to stay warm in the oven when he said he'd be late home but you assumed he met 8 or 9 not 2 in the morning.

"I got something at the studio, I'm going to sleep. Come up to bed soon okay?" You nodded and he kissed the side of your neck wishing you goodnight before disappearing up the stairs to bed, you smiled at his actions and went back to cracking eggs into the stand mixer you had to get these done for her.

You continued on like that for three days, averaging on two to three hours of sleep each night because you were too busy during the day to cook and decorate the cakes.  Namjoon hadn't seemed to notice your lack of sleep, when he came in you were asleep in the bed and when he got up you were awake just as it normally was but you'd started to go to bed at 1 am and wake up at 3 am just to get as much done before everyone got up and started there day and today was the final day. You were crashing already but the cakes were almost finished, you had to add the white frosting to all 500 cupcakes and then Jimin would pick them up later for the shower tomorrow. Namjoon left without saying goodbye that morning, he was working hard on a new album so you didn't hold it against him. You loved how hard working he was,

"Uncle Jin is picking me up this morning," Your daughter said as she slipped into her jacket and looked at you, she frowned.

"Mummy you have bags under your eyes. Mrs Park said when we have bags it's because we're tired, are you tired?" You faked a smile at her and shook your head not wanting to explain what was happening to your daughter,

"I'm fine sweetie, you're going to be late." You walked her over to the door and waved to Jin who looked at you full of concern,

"Everything okay?" You nodded at him, and he came over to the front door.

"I'll take your son for a while, I've got the day off and it'll let me practice for the new one coming along." You stared at him, he was like an angel sent from above. If he took your son for a little while it would give you the chance to get the house spotless, finish the cakes and have dinner ready for your daughter.

"That would be perfect, are you sure?" You knew his wife was pregnant again and he was out of practice since his daughters were both 7 years old now. He followed you into the house and you got the bag ready for your son, putting in bottles you'd had ready-made for him, nappies, changes of clothes and then his favourite stuffed animal.

"He'll sleep through the day until Lunch," Jin nodded and placed your son in his arms while you took the car seat out to his car and put it in the front passenger seat.

"You're an angel." You whispered kissing his cheek and watching them all drive off. The front door shut and you walked into the living room with a sudden burst of energy, ready to get everything done starting with the cakes. 350 left to decorate and then you could do the housework.

"S-Shit," You groaned holding your head as you walked into the living room, it had been two hours since Jin left and the cakes were finally done. Each piped to perfection and waiting for Jimin to come by and get them but now you were having a splitting pain through your head. You stuck your hand out to feel around for the sofa once you found it you sat down on the arm of the sofa to try and stop the room from spinning a little. It felt as though the whole world had decided to start spinning faster than before and your eyes were struggling to stay open. Taking in a deep breath you stood back up and went to get ready to start cleaning when it felt like a rug was swept out from underneath you and you were falling onto the floor. Your head came into contact with the corner of the coffee table and you slipped unconscious instantaneously.

"Y/n?! Y/n?!" You groaned pushing your hands onto whoever was trying to wake you up,

"Go away." You mumbled turning over in what you thought was your bed but your face came into contact with the bottom of your sofa.

"Shit!" You sat up quickly and looked around, the house was a mess and Jimin was staring at you.

"What happened?! Why are you on the floor- Your heads bleeding!" You groaned as he started shouting, your head felt like someone was ramming a hammer against both sides, your eyes stung and you wanted to sleep.

"I-I must have fallen over. I'm fine." You lied getting up from the floor and going to the kitchen to take some painkillers for your head,

"You are not fine," He argued taking the box away from you,

"Jimin, I'm fine. Give me the painkillers." He held up the box in front of you to reveal that they were kids vitamins and not painkillers,

"Oh."

"How tired are you?" He walked you over to a chair and sat you down going to look for a wet cloth to clean up the blood that was coming from a small scrape on your head,

"You're lucky this isn't worse." He lectured and you rolled your eyes at him and looked at the time. Your daughter would be home from school soon and you'd done nothing around the house,

"I have to clean up." He sat you back down and stared into your eyes,

"You need to sleep. You look awful-"

"Gee, Thanks Jimin. You look great too." You started laughing but Jimin didn't join in, he was serious. You looked like you hadn't slept in months and you had blood coming from your head.

"I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, I'll clean and get the kids ready and then I'll go to sleep." He watched as you walked towards the bathroom, he grabbed his phone and called Namjoon to tell him what had happened when he came around to get the cakes from you. There was no way you could continue on like this, everyone loved how hardworking you were for them but this was way too much.

"You're home early." You smiled seeing Namjoon sitting at the kitchen table but as soon as you saw his facial expression you knew he wasn't happy. Jimin had left an hour ago and you'd started on the laundry that needed doing while he was away, and you'd come down to

"I have to clean up baby." You said trying to make an excuse to get out of the kitchen with him but he took your wrist in your hand,

"Namjoon. I need to sort the house before the kids come home-" You stopped talking when you looked to his left to see a suitcase sitting there,

"W-What's going on?" You stuttered suddenly getting the crippling feeling that he was going to leave you, you shakily sat down on the chair next to his.

"The kids aren't coming home-"

"Namjoon. If this is about earlier, I promise it's never happened before. I've just been tired and I knew the kids weren't here so it's okay and it'll never happen again." You were talking so fast you were starting to pant heavily and Namjoon shook his head taking both of your hands into his and looking at you.

"No, no. I'm not leaving. We are. The kids are with my mum okay? We're going to get away for the weekend. Just me and you, you're going to catch up on your sleep and we're going to relax." You stared at him and felt a weight lift off your chest as he said you were both going to relax,

"I'd been planning it for our anniversary but I think it's needed more now than later," You nodded and he cupped your face in his hands and ran his thumb under your eyes.

"The next time you get like this I want you to come to me." He was begging you,

"I promise." You whispered to him leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek,

"Good. Go and get some clothes, all sweatpants and leggings. We're going to relax." You giggled at him and walked towards the staircase to get some clothes for your romantic and relaxing weekend away.

tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @fan-ati--c​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​

[adam-memeleri]

Imperfections

it may not be foreign affairs anymore, but its still ayna day in my heart 😔❤️. thanks @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the prompt again, i threw in some angst this time cuz i like pain :) kinky

no idea when anything takes place, but im aiming for during the fake relationship i think ?? who knows tbh

-

tagging -@bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @alccaddsccup @cardinalnuggets

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (uhhhh i think hurt/comfort? primarily? idk man)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~2k words unedited but thats nothing new now is it?

-

Ayna’s fingers fasten a necklace clasp behind her neck, every movement careful and precise as she readies herself. They move to her hair, fixing it for the nth time, just to assure it’s perfect.

It has to be perfect, all of it. Every hair, every pore, every fine detail - it’s all been carefully thought through for weeks now, for this one specific date.

Valentine’s Day.

The end all be all, at least this year. She’s never given it much thought before, but she’s never really had a reason to. Until this year. Until this crazy, wild, borderline disastrous year. Until the day Kennedy stumbled into her class, all smiles and longing looks.

Until she spent days looking forward to coffee house meetups, until short texts could make her whole day, until every class was an excuse to share a small smile. And, unfortunately, until those meetups were forced to end, until those texts stopped coming, until class was just a reminder that even smiles were dangerous.

But not today. She had a plan today, a foolproof, perfect plan. No planned meetups, no trackable texts, nothing too out in the open. And she’d be damned if it failed.

She turns from the hanging mirror, shrugging on a jacket and tugging on a nice pair of shoes before straightening. Her reflection stares back at her, carefully done makeup and slightly askew glasses. She quickly adjusts them, tucking back one last strand of hair.

With one last glimpse at herself, she grabs the bouquet of roses she picked out earlier in the day, bright red petals resting on her table. And with that she leaves, exiting her building and venturing onto Vancross campus.

She eventually steps out onto one of the many winding paths leading through the school’s grounds, carefully making her way to the expansive library settled in one corner of campus. It’s familiar warmth shines through the windows, yellow lights on even in the darkening night for cramming and over enthusiastic students.

Ayna’s fingers tighten over the door’s handle, tugging it open as a small, excited grin overtakes her lips. She steps inside, flowers poised in her hands regardless of how cheesy they may be, and scans for

They’re with her. Sitting with her, talking with her, laughing with her. They’ve been doing everything with her, and today’s no different. Today’s not special, not exempt, not reserved for Ayna.

Huddled close at a table, books spread before the pair as they whisper, heads so close. Arms touching, smiles wide, chairs so close. They’re so close, that’s all Ayna can think about as she simply stands there, all her previous excitement evaporating from her body.

And they don’t even notice her. Kennedy’s gaze doesn’t flicker in her direction in the way it always does. Their cheeks don’t flush when they’re caught like they always do in the lecture hall. Their hands don’t fidget with barely contained nerves, atop the table, a pen twirling between anxious fingers.

Their gaze is glued to Evelyn’s features, their cheeks dust in a blush from her words, their hands are relaxed as they lean against her shoulder. They don’t even notice Ayna.

She turns on her heel, quickly rushing out the library’s front doors and into the dusk settled around campus. Her heels clack with some strange anger, some swirling in the pit of her gut as her fist clenches, crushing the bouquet she spent so long picking out.

And all for naught. This is all for naught, that’s the worst part. The outfit, the shoes, the hair and makeup - all for absolutely nothing.

She stalks to a trash can resting beside the pavement, glaring down at it with pale knuckles and a furrow in her brow. She breaks, like a glass hitting concrete. She breaks, stuffing the ridiculous flowers into the bin over and over again, until she’s just needlessly exerting herself, needlessly scratching herself on discarded thorns.

Little nicks on her skin, tiny imperfections to ruin it all. A visual of her failings, a marking to remind her of this disastrous night. A brand forged without fire, one that’ll remain in the morning, even after she’s washed off the rest of tonight. Even when the mascara and curls and jacket are discarded in the next few hours, the cuts will stay, at least for a few days.

She breaks once more, from the trash bin as an angry and hurt tear slips down her cheek. A crumpled fist hurriedly wipes it away, before she’s stamping down the paved path once more, shoulders tight and expression pinched.

“Hey! Ayna!” a voice rings behind her, out of breath as quick footsteps draw closer and closer. “Hey,” a hand softly grasps her sleeve, a smiling face slipping into her line of sight.

“Hey,” she mumbles back, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, feet that haven’t once halted.

Kennedy slows by her side, falling into step with her easily. “Tatum said he saw you come into the library then leave, what’s up?”

Ayna’s shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, slumping with an exhale. “Nothing.”

“You sure? You seem kinda… distant.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, okay,” Kennedy relents, head swiveling as they search for something to occupy her attention. “Um, happy Valentine’s!” Their hands clap together excitedly, expression alight with a beaming smile. “I wanted to call you or something earlier, but Winston was hovering over me all day and I don’t know… You’re usually busy this time of night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ayna shrugs again, her hands fisted in her pockets. “I’m not busy.”

“Really? Then let’s do something!”

Her gaze snaps up, shock sparking throughout her mind. “What?” she blanks, stopping in her tracks to further scrutinise Kennedy.

“Yeah!” Kennedy’s grin is brilliant, even in the low light, before they glance about the quad. Their hands slip into Ayna’s, fingers tangling with hers, before they’re tugging her along, away from the light posts and travelled paths.

She’s led past the bushes, to a secluded bench, empty branches hanging above it, stretching from a large tree. A soft breeze stirs them, whistling through the leafless wood.

“Okay,” Kennedy starts, sucking in a deep breath. “So I know this is super late, and I don’t really know how to go about this, but…” they meet her eyes, hope glimmering within, “would you, Ayna Seth, do me the honour of being my Valentine?”

She blinks. Not a single other muscle moves, her breath halts in her lungs, her brain malfunctions entirely, and the only thing she can do is blink. Again. And again.

“...Ayna?” Kennedy squeezes her hands where they still rest in theirs.

“You really… Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been trying to find a good time for ages, so I figured… Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding! Your hands!” they grip her forearm, tugging her down to the bench, where they carefully cradle her hands in their lap. Their fingers hover over her skin, not sure what to do as they send uneasy glances up to Ayna’s eyes.

She inspects the scratches now, all of them shallow and mostly painless. “It’s just a few cuts,” she mumbles, Kennedy’s panicked gaze quieting her.

“What happened?” they whisper, as if worried the volume of their voice could inflict further damage.

“I, um -” Ayna steals her hands back, folding them in her lap to hide them. “The flowers,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, “They had thorns.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Okay,” she nods, still biting her lip.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me out?” They speak at the same time, concern brimming in Kennedy’s eyes and disbelief in Ayna’s.

A grin quirks Kennedy’s lips as they settle against the bench, arm draped over the back. “I asked first.”

“Barely,” Ayna chuckles lighty.

“Still got there first.”

Ayna shakes her head in exasperation, a fond smile lifting her lips. Before it all falls away, replaced by a crease between her brows. “I, um,” she shifts in her seat awkwardly, struggling for the words. “I don’t think I’m as comfortable with the fake relationship as I thought I was…”

“Okay,” Kennedy answers quickly, easily.

“What?” she balks, jaw working for words. “Are you sure?” is all she manages.

“Of course,” they chime, just as quickly, as easily. “If you’re jealous or uncomfortable, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it.”

Ayna’s jaw snaps shut, a frown curving her mouth, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh really?” Kennedy’s voice hums, a teasing lilt to it.

“I’m not,” Ayna’s frown deepens.

“Okay…” they hum again, leaning closer as their voice lowers. “So you’d have no problem with me, say, asking out Evelyn for real?” Their eyebrow raises, head cocking to the side. “Or what about Blaine? Maybe Zaira…?” they tap their chin thoughtfully.

Ayna starts, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” her voice tapers off, replaced by the bouncing of her leg and the picking of a nail.

“You’re jealous?” Kennedy supplies with an amused smile.

Ayna deflates, sighing heavily, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being… jealous,” she almost spits the word, distaste heavy on her tongue and sloshing in her stomach.

Kennedy shifts closer, their body warm against Ayna’s in the cool night air. “Don’t be. It’s normal, it’s fine,” they take her hand, their palm covering tiny cuts, tiny imperfections with warmth and comfort. “I’d get jealous if you were walking around with someone too.”

“You’re not weirded out by it?”

“No, it’s normal,” They squeeze Ayna’s hand, thumb brushing lightly on her skin. “It’s human. You’re human.”

“I still don’t like it,” she scowls, eliciting a nudge and smirk from Kennedy.

“That’s fine, too,” they reassure, a more serious expression taking over. “So what happened with the thorns?”

“I got you roses,” Ayna’s cheeks flush dark, “Even though I know it’s lame, and then I kinda, uh, threw them out.”

A wide grin breaks across Kennedy’s face as they sidle up against Ayna, throwing their arm over her shoulder. “One:” they count off on the hand resting over her shoulder, “that’s adorable, and two: why’d you toss them?”

She doesn’t move beneath their arm, sitting stiff and rigid, her voice the same, “I got jealous and ruined them. I wanted tonight to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it.”

“Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything,” Kennedy scolds. “I told you, jealousy’s human. And I tend to like the things about you that make you human. It’d be weird if my Valentine was a robot,” they tease, nudging Ayna until she joins them in smiling.

She finally faces them fully, her own eyebrow jutting upwards, “I never said I’d be your Valentine.”

“You didn’t, did you?” Their arm retracts, leg folding on the bench as their body rotates towards hers. Their palms clasp in their lap as they lean forward, a smirk on their lips. “So what’ll it be, Ayna? Be my Valentine? My perfectly imperfect Valentine?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally relaxes, the teasing familiar. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she smiles softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, unbothered by it.

“It does if you turn off the robot brain,” Kennedy lightly taps Ayna on the nose, laughing when her face scrunches.

“The robot brain is a part of the Valentine’s package.”

Kennedy squints, eyes roving over Ayna’s features. The askew glasses, the smudged lipstick, the flyaway hairs. “Are the roses also a part of it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then I’m all in,” they grin, just as infectious and brilliant as always. “So? Valentines?” they prod, wiggling their eyebrows playfully.

Ayna smiles softly back, scratched hands rising to cup Kennedy’s cheeks and close the already shrinking distance between them. “Valentines,” she murmurs against their lips, a whispered promise. Before they meet, light and soft and full of the light that’s held beyond the bushes.

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: The Flower Garden

Prompt: “can you write an imagine where luke is late to someone's funeral (like a family member or something) and realizes that he wants to bring flowers so on his way he steals some from the readers garden!!! fluff if you can :) thanks!”

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau​ , @alvezstan​ , @lcvischmitt​ , @ogmilkis​ , @goldenalvez​ , @ssa-morgan​ , @garcias-batcave ,  @akimagies​, @zhangyixingxing1 , @pinkdiamond1016 ,  @yourwonderbelle​ , @rachelxwayne​ , @sc4rletw1tch​ , @moreidultrastan​ , @ellvswriting

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

A/N: hi bbys! sorry for being so mia i was on vacation all last week,, here’s a spontaneous, fluffy fic to make up for it!

Luke is late. In every sense of the word, he is so late. He’s been wearing this same pair of jeans for almost 48 hours now and his burgundy polo shirt is scratching uncomfortably underneath his rain jacket. His hands are freezing and he doesn’t even have any flowers. His family is going to be so mad.

He’s power walking, well aware that he probably looks like a mom on a mission in the grocery store (thinking of that makes his heart clench in his chest). There’s one more street to walk down–he refuses to drive there, it makes it feel too real. He stuffs shaking hands in his pockets and turns the corner.

Luke doesn’t have flowers. He’s visiting for the first time since it happened, he’s late, and he doesn’t have flowers.

He’s a block away when he sees them, the roses growing almost chaotically over a small wooden fence. He stops and looks down at them, then around. No one’s watching, so he crouches and picks a decent handful, murmuring a few sorries as the stems snap. He notes the house number and reminds himself to write a thank you note before standing up and continuing on his way.

Everyone’s already there when Luke arrives, eyes watery from the wind. His sister gives him a look that would’ve been terrifying if not for the red around her eyes, and Luke mouths his apology while passing out hugs.

With a deep breath he crouches and places the six roses at the base of the polished stone. “Hi, mom.” Luke whispers, pressing a kiss into his hand and then to her name. “Sorry I’m late.”

I miss you. I stole these flowers for you, the old lady they belong to probably noticed already. My boss gave me a few extra sick days because she knows. I’m tired of everyone knowing. I love you.

…

It happens a few more times in the course of two months, and Luke really doesn’t mean to make it a habit, but he can never seem to remember the flowers until he’s well on his way, and there are so many of them in the garden that he hardly feels bad. He never got around to writing the note.

He’s sitting in front of the grave with a bunch of daisies. “The girls miss you.” Luke says quietly, arranging the flowers nicely along the stone. The white is almost too bright to look at. “We all miss you, mom.” He whispers, feeling a tear run down his cheek. “Today at work someone brought in their therapy dog. I can’t remember it’s name, but it spent the whole time licking my shoe. Reckon he knows, too? Anyway, it was nice.”

Luke never means to cry but he always ends up doing it. It takes about twenty minutes for him to be able to breathe again, then he says goodbye and walks the three blocks to his car.

He usually visits once a week, sometimes one of his sisters comes with him. If it’s his younger one, they go get ice cream after. If it’s his older one, which it usually is, they get coffee and don’t talk about it.

…

It’s running on month six when Luke sees you. He’s holding a beautiful bunch of chrysanthemums by his side, when he notices that there’s someone in the window holding the curtain. You make eye contact, and Luke feels very guilty. You don’t look angry, although there’s a noticeable furrow between your eyebrows. You’re wearing a cotton bathrobe and holding a mug of coffee. Luke could use some coffee.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he just smiles and holds up the flowers. Then turns on his heels and walks as quickly as he can.

“It’s not an old lady, mum, it’s a girl. She saw me today, caught me red handed.” Luke mumbles, laughing a bit to himself as he clears away some old flowers and places the new ones. “She didn’t do anything though, so I think I’m okay.” His voice cracks as he says it, and then, as usual, starts crying.

…

It takes two more times for the rightful owner of the flowers to confront Luke about his thievery.

Luke’s on his knees, picking some cute purple flowers when he hears your voice.

“Um, hello?” Luke nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Oh shit.” Luke says, looking up and feeling his heart sink. “Right. I’m sorry I just–your flowers are very nice.”

You smile and cross your arms over your chest. “Thank you.”

Luke’s still kneeling, hands shaking where they’re holding stems. There’s sort of crooked smile on your face. Neither of you are saying anything. You’re wearing an old shirt with a hole near the hem. Luke’s hands are sweating.

“You know, if you’re going to steal my flowers to take to your girl, I think I’m going to have to come with you to make sure she’s beautiful enough to warrant theft.” You say, oddly calm and good natured.

Luke doesn’t know what to say. He just nods, trying to ease the panic rising in his chest.

“Add a few roses.” You order, and Luke nods, picking a few and standing up, finally. “I’m Y/N, by the way.“ You add, extending a hand.

Luke smiles and shakes it. “Luke.” You smile at him one more time and then you start to walk.

You pester him with questions about his imaginary girlfriend, and Luke tries to answer them in the vaguest way possible, all the while trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to explain this when you get to the cemetery.

“Did she like the daisies you picked last time? I always thought those were more of a flower you give your mom, but I guess they’re nice.” you babble, and Luke almost chokes.

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” he says, his heart racing in his chest. The small side entrance is only a few meters away, and you still have no idea. Luke doesn’t say anything as he walks through the gate, holding it open for you, who immediately stops talking as well.

The silence feels like a heavy blanket, and you just follow Luke as he makes the walk, now committed to memory. Luke almost forgets you’re there, dropping to the permanently grass stained knees of his jeans and managing a smile. “Hi Ma.” He places the flowers around the base of the stone, like he always does. Luke jolts when he feels a hand on his thigh, near his knee. He follows the arm up and meets your sad eyes. Luke hadn’t noticed you kneel, too.

“Luke..” you whisper, obviously surprised. Luke doesn’t blame you.

“Don’t.” he says quietly, sniffling and looking away from you. “I brought someone with me. She’s the one I’ve been stealing all the flowers from.” Luke says, smiling a bit and he hears you mumble a soft hello. “She hasn’t called the cops on me yet, which I guess is good.”

He takes a shaky breath before getting choked up. He puts his face in his hands and this was always just a part of his agenda, but the arm around his shoulders is new.

You start talking.

“The first time I was sitting in my kitchen and I was like, oh god do not pick the hibiscuses, they’ve got bees. But he didn’t, he chose some tulips instead.“ you laugh a little, and Luke almost starts crying again. “Between us, I hope he never stops.” you whisper, and Luke knows he wasn’t meant to hear it. There’s a lot he wasn’t meant to do.

Luke sniffles loudly and sits up to wipe his eyes. Your arm is still around his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” he says out of habit, as he’s been doing every time anyone’s seen him cry since October. But you just shake your head and use a thumb to wipe a stray tear.

“Don’t apologize.” You say, you put your hand back on your own lap. Luke wants to tell you to put it back. “I’ll um, give you some privacy.” You stand up and brush off your jeans. “And, Luke, you’re welcome to my flowers anytime.” You give him a bright smile before walking away.

Luke doesn’t watch you walk away. He turns back to the gravestone and sighs. “She’s kinda nice isn’t she mom?”

Luke can almost hear his mom yelling at him. 

Don’t be stupid, dear, go after her.

He kisses his hand and presses it against the warming stone. “I love you.” He gets up, not bothering to dust off his knees and all but sprints back out to the sidewalk. Luke jogs down the road and turns the corner, smiling when he sees you walking peacefully down the street.

“Hey!” Luke yells, picking up to a run. You turn, and stop walking, looking surprised that Luke is running after you.  

“Let me, um, buy you lunch.” he says breathlessly.  “Figure I owe you one, since I’ve been stealing your flowers for months.“

You smile and nod.  “Yeah, I guess that's only fair.”

You talk as you walk to your pick of a restaurant, and Luke feels lighter than he has in months.

…

You walk back to your place, and you make Luke promise to close his eyes as you grab the spare key. Luke thinks that it’s painfully adorable.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, looking down at your feet as you say it. Luke’s cheeks go hot at that, being suddenly floored by how pretty you really are.

“I-” Luke starts, before checking his watch. “Really need to be heading home.” He tries not to let the way your face falls hurt his feelings too bad. “I have work in like, an hour, so.” he explains, and you nod.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Maybe another time.” you say, eyes wide and hopeful.

Luke grins. “Definitely. I’ll call you–or you’ll see me in your garden, either one.” He throws in a wink and leans in to peck your cheek before turning and walking down the street to his car.  At the corner he turns and finds you still standing in your doorway.

…

It was not a good day. Luke has been avoiding sleep because every time he closes his eyes at night,  he can’t stop picturing the time he showed his mom how he could climb the tree in the backyard. He fell on the second branch and skinned his shin and elbow. She patched him up and bought him ice cream, and then they watched movies until Luke fell asleep against her on the couch.

He sighs and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’d stopped crying about an hour ago, now he’s just staring at his ceiling with his eyes burning. It’s four thirty. Sleep is definitely out of the picture, so Luke grabs his keys and does the only thing he can think of.

He picks seven roses on his way, hops the fence, and finds he can still cry, forehead pressed against cold stone.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, but when he opens his eyes, the sky is more grey than black. “Fuck.” He curses and rubs at his stinging eyes. “Sorry for swearing,” He whispers, laughing a bit. “I’ll be back soon, I love you.”

He stands.  It’s about to be five in the morning, and Luke really can’t see himself driving all the way back home. He doesn’t quite know what to do as he walks back, but then he sees the garden, and finds himself knocking on the door.

It takes a few, but you open the door, hair a mess, grey sweats hanging low on your hips. “Luke,” You say, surprised. “What are you doing here?” you ask softly.

“Couldn’t sleep. Needed some flowers.” he mumbles, blinking a few times to try and get rid of the blurriness creeping across his eyes. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” you say without missing a beat, and Luke sighs, relieved. He toes off his sneakers at the door and lets you lead him through the house.  He can tell that you want to ask, but don’t.

In fact, you don’t say anything, and Luke finds that oddly comforting, you just sit next to Luke on the couch and keep your hands curled in your lap.  

“I took some roses again this morning,” Luke admits.

“What color?” is all you respond with.

“The white.”

“That’s the best kind,” you assure him. You can keep helping yourself to those.” you say, leaning over and poking into Luke’s side. “Think of it as my gift to your mom, too.”

That makes Luke tear up a bit.

“I should go,” he says, not wanting to start crying in front of you for a second time.  

“Oh,” you say, sounding almost disappointed.  “Right— okay.”

Luke stands up, his chest feeling tight and his thoughts racing.  But in the midst of the chaos, he hears her voice.  Clear as day; the reason behind his messy, illogical mind. Don’t be stupid, dear, go after her.

Luke turns suddenly then, and takes a step closer to you so he can hold your hands in his own. “Can I take you to breakfast right now?”

You beam at him, dimples drilled into your cheeks as you nod in agreement. You hurriedly find a pair of shoes and a jacket, stopping at the door to lock it before following Luke out. You walk to his car hand in hand, and it all feels so right.

They get pancakes, and Luke kisses the whip cream off your lips. People give you looks as you laugh obnoxiously and fond over one another. Luke doesn’t care.

He wakes up the next morning in a bed that isn’t his own and to the smell of bacon. He smiles to himself. “I thought I was making you breakfast?” he asks, laughing a little when he sees you  standing in front of the stove.

“Maybe if you had woken up before me,.” you say, looking over your shoulder and smiling at Luke.

You sit down to eat breakfast on the couch, a blanket pulled over both of you, and it’s home.