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thetrasha · 12 days ago

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Hi Tasha! How are you? It's my first time requesting something im nervous husahauhsuahau

I'm here to ask for a request with the boys from One Piece (it can be whoever you want :) ) with an autistic reader. A slice of life fluff (?)?)?) well they're pirates, their life is quite chaotic), little moments where they deal with the struggles the reader has and overcome it in their own way (together). It can be just headcanons too, I don't mind! I'll appreciate anything you can offer, I really like your writing

Also I'm sorry about my english, I tried my best to be clear!

Hello anon ╰(*°▽°*)╯I'm fine... even if I'm being boiled alive in this wretched heat :((

Thank you so much for this request, it’s an honour to fulfil this one for you. Usually, I wouldn’t accept asks like that because I want everybody to feel like they can project themselves onto my works, but this is a bit of a self-indulgent passion project if you will. I saw this and knew I had to write it – I can relate because… guess what 🤡 Yeah…

So I’m sorry if my lived experiences don’t align with yours or anybody reading this.

Everybody’s burdens and strengths manifest in different ways… to make up for the fact that I cannot represent everybody since I’ve been shaped by my own impressions and biases, I’ve chosen a variety of symptoms and comorbidities to make up for that. And btw thanks for letting me choose the characters!!

I really hope you like this one. And your English is great, don’t worry 🫂(●'◡'●)

PS. This will be the only request of its kind I will accept. Thanks for reading! But we’re back to business as usual after this :D

PPS. This also won't be featured in my masterlist to discourage requests that resemble it.

One Piece with an Autistic Reader

feat. LUFFY, ZORO, SANJI, FRANKY, MIHAWK

LUFFY

You struggle with… extreme trust issues.

Interpersonal relationships meant something to you. You wanted and needed friends who would understand you wordlessly, who would be there when you needed them the most – people who genuinely cared. You wanted to truly bond. That depth of care isn’t easily found within the general population. Modern life most often happens in the fast lane… where relationships are disposable and the next experience is just waiting for you. You cannot relate to that side of life at all.

You feel… alone in the middle of a crowd, unseen and forgotten. You watch other people’s friend groups with envy and bitterness, wishing such a thing for yourself. You don’t chase experiences, you just want someone who wouldn’t abandon you.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t believe Luffy when he wanted to recruit you. You couldn’t see your own shine and you thought he was just messing with you… promising the world before he’d grow aware of your strangeness and get rid of you, like all the others before him. When his crewmates talked about their life experience and how little they trusted Luffy in the beginning, you started getting… antsy. Restless. You began overthinking this thing.

So many people cannot be in on the same lie, can they? Someone would eventually cave and confess – until they didn’t. It just… it doesn’t make sense.

You try to push Luffy away from you, but he clings even closer. He actively tries to tear down your walls, even if they’re reinforced with years and years of struggle. Being with him… it’s actually pretty fun. He doesn’t listen much – only to the most important bits… but he’s there. Always. Always! So far, he’s trying so much harder than anybody else before him. He’s there at every waking moment, wanting to help you out and get you to agree to join his group of adventurers.

You don’t have to pretend you’re someone else when he’s near. He accepts you just as you are. It doesn’t matter to him.

It’s the first time you weren’t the one putting in actual effort into a relationship… Luffy was doing all the heavy lifting. He showed up, followed you even when you ignored him – what a useless protective mechanism – and talked to you as if you’d been friends for years already. You didn’t have to earn his trust, it was just there for the taking.

Just before you’re ready to take the plunge and go along with his antics, he’d formally introduce you to his crew… as one of their own.

He’s always viewed you as one of them, you’d suddenly realise.

It... makes you want to cry.

ZORO

You struggle with… feeling like you didn’t accomplish anything.

Zoro is hard to make sense of for you. He’s… kind, in his own ways, but since he doesn’t talk much, you struggle to read him. He’s also just… an intimidating guy – physically and spiritually. Strangers respect him because of his nature, even if he’s just… Zoro to you. You don’t think you need to be scared of him, but you have started walking around on eggshells when he’s nearby. He’s always napping somewhere when he’s not with you… and you don’t want him to perceive you when you try to master your own ambitions. Watching him makes you feel worse about yourself. Zoro is a successful man by any metric… he’s always had a natural talent for swordsmanship and refined it through hard work and steeling his mind, he’s so confident and always shoots for the stars, knowing that he’ll get there eventually. He doesn’t doubt himself, it’s in his instincts to be the best there is.

You cannot claim the same for yourself. You excel in certain niches, but you’re… not as crucial of a member as Zoro is. He’s kind of the backbone of this crew.

You feel small in comparison to him, insignificant even.

Of course he notices. It’s Zoro! He’s not as dense as he seems. He’s frighteningly perceptive and observes everyone silently.

So what does he do? Nothing at first.

He believes in your independence and knows you’re smarter than him, this is just some inexplicable poison corrupting your mind.

When you can’t free yourself from your own insecurity, he starts seeking you out, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Zoro cares about you – maybe more than you realise. He’s glad to have you on this crew, you accept him as he is and you have an unspoken 'friendship' blossoming between you two. Why he’s so affected by you being so distant – he doesn’t know, but he can guess pretty easily… So he started breaching your personal space. There he was, standing beside you once more, looking at you with his unreadable expressions… but then he speaks. Zoro started talking about… his feelings.

What has happened? “I wish we’d spend more time together… like we used to.”, he’d grumble with pink cheeks.

And you could just stand there in shock. Zoro… wanted, no, needed you around? He… liked spending time with you? You’d ask him whether you weren’t too weak for him, ready to feed your soul with more negativity.

Yet all he does is honestly tell you that he believes you’re meant for greatness, that he thinks you’re better than him – he’s always thought highly of you and acknowledged your skills. He’s always been watching you, so of course he’s able to recall moments when you had to save the day.

Zoro doesn’t think you’re less than at all, he reminds you that you’ve always gone above and beyond.

Society's conditioned you into feeling like a failure for not fitting into a mould like he does, but he has a different way of measuring success. You don't have to fulfil expectations, you just have to try your best and hold your head high while doing so.

He's proud of you - and he views you as his equal.

SANJI

You struggle with… being a picky eater.

Certain tastes and texture just make you resent the food you’re eating. It suddenly turns pleasure into anguish.

At the same time, you feel like you cannot reveal these things about you, because Sanji already uses the best ingredients for your meals, just to make sure it’s especially nutritious. And because he likes you the most, secretly.

You appreciate his thoughtful gestures every time, but the fact that certain foods touch each other on your plate makes you inexplicably mad. You try your hardest to hide it from him – Sanji knows what starvation is like, for God’s sake. You’re disrespecting him by being the way you are!

But he’s already picked up on your unusual habits; he subtly watches everyone when they eat and derives a lot of happiness from seeing their faces light up – it validates his pride in cooking – but your eyes are dull, almost pained sometimes. You… cannot enjoy anything.

Sanji also doesn’t want to embarrass you for your preferences, which is why he doesn’t initially ask you about it bluntly. He’s caught glimpses of the way you’ve been socialised and doesn’t want to reignite bad memories for you, so he… just tests different things to try and accommodate you.

And he starts applying these things to everyone just to make you feel included. He’d never single you out.

You seemed a lot happier a few days ago, when he started separating the veggies from the rice and handed everything out on different plates. Nobody even bat an eye at the new way of assorting his dishes, not even you. It makes your dearest chef smile. That’s how he slowly started probing for your likes and dislikes. You suddenly even felt way more comfortable expressing yourself. Maybe you hated bitter tastes, maybe you just really disliked sour foods, maybe you were sensitive to salt – he doesn’t know, but he subtly tries to figure you out by baking zesty, sour rhubarb into a sweet cake instead of a savoury meal… and he noticed that you liked it all of the sudden. You even smiled at him while you stuffed your cheeks.

Sanji absolutely had to pause to deal with his oncoming cardiac arrest. He’s never felt pride like this… people usually liked his cooking, but knowing that someone who’s probably never got to enjoy certain foods love his meals just hit different. It squeezed his heart painfully tight.

You’d never have to feel bad about yourself around him. He would try to make things right either way, but soon you’d gain the courage to tell him about your habits yourself, making him melt on the spot.

He’s the first person who took your strange tastes seriously.

FRANKY

You struggle with… noises.

It would sound crazy if you asked Franky whether he could hear the out-of-sync gears turning within him, you thought quietly. You could even hear fluorescent light because its crackles and sharp hisses annoyed you – so every time you heard a minor squeak coming from inside his chest, you cringed at your rudeness.

You liked Franky, he was an amazing guy, funny without even trying, charismatic, empathetic and he always offered words of encouragement. You actually thought you clicked best with Franky. He was… unconventional like you and made sure you knew that you were fine just the way you were. You were pretty much inseparable. He made you feel confident since he didn’t care about social rules despite very much understanding them and made you feel secure in expressing yourself however you liked. Franky always hyped you up from the sidelines and, if the mood allowed it, provided the intellectually challenging conversations you needed to thrive.

He was naturally complex like that – you adored him.

It’s just that every time he’d invite you to sit by his tinkering station, you were leaving with a massive headache. You felt burnt out just listening to his metal spinal plates scratch against one another… there were so many sounds getting processed in your brain that you had a hard time following the conversation. You often had to ask him to repeat himself, which he always did with a laugh and a cheeky remark.

But after a while, he notices a pattern. He doesn’t know what’s been causing you discomfort, but Franky’s an inventor. Of course he would try to make you something that would help you. At first, he believed that you had trouble with background noise and just had an insane auditory processing ability, which is why he installed panelling inside the walls of the common rooms to block sound waves echoing throughout the ship – and while it helped, you still showed some signs that you weren’t doing well around him.

Naturally, Franky would search for a different solution. Whether it’s as easy as handing you headphones or as difficult as restructuring the springs that replaced his joints, he’s trying it all.

And one day, you sit next to him, watching him put screws into one of his newest projects completely unrelated to you and you commented with wide eyes,

“You’re… silent. It’s quiet. Are you feeling okay?”

All he could do is laugh with pride, his chest pushed out before he struck his signature pose.

Truth be told, all he did was oil the old pistons that pumped cola and oil through his engineered heart – he started getting a clue after you once confessed in passing that you’d suspected a leak near the keel of the ship… and Franky notices these little things and puts them together all by himself.

You could hear everything – all the time.

Even a rhythmic stream of water passing through a crack in a plank at the bottom of the Sunny –

–and that’s when he realised that you could hear when something was awry with him, that it made you anxious. Well, you will never have to worry about that again! But… he’s grateful… so grateful for your care. Franky couldn’t ever go to Chopper for help because the doctor wasn’t equipped to deal with a pile of junk, but… you were, clearly.

MIHAWK

You struggle with… having nobody to talk to.

It was silly, really, to go to your greatest rival for small talk, especially when he was such a lone wolf who desired to be left alone, but despite your own drive towards independence, you wanted someone who would be willing to listen to you.

You’ve never been taken seriously – many people deem your ramblings childish, uninteresting or inappropriate, but Mihawk was a thoroughly serious man whose entire purpose was dipped in devotion. And he knew your worth as a fighter. You’d mastered your rapier, even if you would never be as good as he was. That’s how you met, but you’d never try to actually take his title by aspiring to get even better at it. It wasn’t… something you were interested in; this was just a means to an end, you fought to survive as a fellow pirate. Nothing more, nothing less.

You overperformed in your own interests, so much so that people who were casually interested would leave a conversation with you within minutes. Nobody in the world could relate. Not even Mihawk, you guessed bitterly, but you… trusted him – to listen and, most importantly, to stay.

He was just as much of an autodidact as you were, even if he chose to study the blade and you chose to acquire knowledge about something that truly fulfilled you.

So you wander the halls of his sparsely furnished castle in hopes of finding him.

And find him you did. He was just nonchalantly having dinner all by himself at his desk… it’s truly bizarre that this was one of his most normal moments.

You invited yourself in with a smile, hearing the pleasant ring of his quiet hum upon noticing your presence.

And then you started talking if not info-dumping on Lord Dracule Mihawk. And he just sat there, taking it all in while eating a plate of unseasoned plain pasta…

“So… then me more about this intriguing ‘comic’…”, he murmured, taking a relaxed sip of wine.

He noticed that your eyes shone and that you seemed confused for just a moment before blabbing on with visible excitement, talking a lot faster.

Even though he had trouble following, he sat forward, elbows firmly placed on his spread knees and hands on his chin as if in deep, profound thought all the while nodding at all those random trivia facts you shared about your passion.

At the same time, he shared some random side facts on ranked blades he’s picked up over the years and even let you touch Yoru, explaining in great detail how important the cut of the blade truly was and how maintaining it is his secret to slicing through ships with his brute strength and Haki.

And that’s when you noticed – Mihawk had nobody to talk to about “these things” either. Or maybe he had nobody to talk to in general. Who knows?

But you did have each other.

#one piece #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #op x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #franky x reader #mihawk x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes #thetrasha requests #🍎 anon

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iqxatlantic · 3 months ago

Text

" TEACHER'S PET ! "

if i'm so special, why am i secret?

ft. itoshi rin . aged up! characters . university! au 😽 . english professor! rin . ooc! rin . smut ?. rin's a listener and a yapper . rin's a bitch . reader's a little delusional . implied afab! reader . reader lowkey locked in his class . reader has raging daddy issues lmfao . uni student x prof (yea its legal.) . no the age gap isn't huge . potentially dark . manipulation . finger sucking . drabble . open ending . yes im projecting . unreliable narrator

cw: dub-con ?

wc: 0.6k

you had an odd obsession with your english professor — itoshi rin. can't blame you. he's young, charming and demonstrates excellence beyond expectations when it comes to english.

the beginning of the semester, you and a couple of friends did some 'stalking' (is it stalking if its just handling your resources well..?) the whole group found out he used to play pro in soccer. could this man get anymore perfect?!

you knew your infatuation over this man was um, quite fucking weird. it felt like those wattpad stories, falling in love with your teacher and then ugh.. you were kind of grossed out.

it felt almost incestuous sometimes. (cus u saw him as a father figure sometimes icl) you lied to yourself (maybe you weren't lying), " it's only because he listens to me." was it because you lacked a father figure in your life? (freud... sigmund freud...)

so how'd it get here? perched on your professor's lap as his calloused hands roams around, tracing your curves. "[name], as my ahem. well-achieved student... why isn't your group assignment finished?" rin whispered, his voice deep and cold.

holy shit, saying things in the most panty soaking tone eveeer.... "sir, i did my share of work.. what my group members didn't do isn't my responsibi-" his finger was pressed onto your lips, leaving you in silence.

"ah. i never asked for excuses," he murmured. the raven haired man pushed you off his lap. "strip." "wha-" "i don't think i stuttered, did i?" his voice could've cut ice oh my gosh. "you're already here so, strip."

you complied to his demands — not that you had a choice anyways. it was irrational to do so. however, your body moved faster than your brain did. faster than your morals. faster than your own self-respect. you craved this man. or maybe you just craved the validation he gave.

there you were. in front of your favourite professor, naked. your clothes weren't the only thing that was stripped in that moment. your dignity was too. this burning fantasy you've had no longer seemed to deem itself as a fantasy. rather, it was more of horror.

you no longer wanted to stay in this classroom. you wanted to run off. you stayed in your spot, frozen. the professor, with haste, made his way to you. a small chuckle left the man, "what impression do you think will be left on you when your friends or classmates see you like this..? my top student..." he cooed.

his voice disgustingly sweet, he was giving the validation you always wanted. he was mocking you. the guilt burned through you. so did those words. rin made his way back to his chair. sitting down. eyeing you. a signal to 'come on, move.'

shame was poured all over you as you found yourself back on rin's lap. he took a sharp and deep inhale, savouring your smell. rin felt intoxicated by your scent. which is questionable..

the atmosphere felt so suffocating. it was as if you were held against your will (maybe you were idk, your call babes)

rin slid his cold fingers into your mouth. in response, you unwillingly (yet willingly?) sucked on them. hoping for some sort of praise, tears threatening to spill out. it felt so good despite how disgusting it truly was. you found yourself grueling wet, grinding against his thigh.

innocently gazing into his teal orbs. a slow smirk curl onto Rin’s lips. no, it wasn't the fact he had power over you. this expression felt awfully safe...

"[name], [name]? wake up!" someone was shaking you. your eyes fluttered open. to your surprise, it was your professor. and a scene of students leaving classroom.

"would you like to stay so i can re-explain the lesson to you? it's quite crucial for your future writing career."

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

a/n: holy cow two posts a week!? (i can't count.) btw, so sorry if u would never act like this. ( and i hope u never do, dont get attached to ur instructors ) yea so this wasn't proofread at all.. which is ironic because im talking about rin being an english professor.. he would so beat me up 💀💀 i fear this was HEAVY projecting... and yes i blame my eng prof for sparking this idea within me.. wattpad ahh idea... why am i thirsting over a man 14 years older hello 😭😭 it's always the half gers ;-; is this dark content..? je ne sais pas. 😓 also why am i so fried when it comes to psychology wtf.

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lawliet-ryuzaki-ryuga · 8 months ago

Text

The Hunt

Shouma Toriashi X reader ( chapter 1)

Word count: 1163

TW: not really just so strong language…

Summary: life as we know it can change in an instant, and so do feelings and the people you meet.

MASTERLIST

chapter 2

A/N: HEY GUYS this is just a small project I wanted to start! I just got done reading the manga so I’m going to re-read it and hopefully I can better depict the characters better!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY ( p.s. DONT WORRY IM GOING TO HOP BACK ONTO MY OLD STORIES OF L AND LEVI! )

It was another day of school and homework on homework that’s been passed out.. I never understood why they bombard us like we don’t have other classes to work on.i look over to see Yoshino already walking towards my desk, with that I sit up straight ready to hear what she has to say .

“ hey Y/N do you want to come over? Shouma and I are going to study together?” Yoshino asks while putting both her palms flat against my desk and looks down at me.

“ oh yeah sure..” I nod in agreement. Behind me is shouma but he’s usually in his own world .

“Great, well I guess this is where we part ways, we’ll meet at the school entrance after this period.” With a firm nod Yoshino walks away and out of the once shared classroom we had. I stare at the class room door watch as students walk out together all looking the same as the other. Ever since I was younger I saw majority of everyone the same. Bland and simple, each face the same as the last.

At first glance people might look at us and think what an Odd group, then again we are really only each others friends. But it was for the first time that I saw people. I saw character in both Yoshino and Shouma. Deep in thought I shake out of it, and With that I get up and gather my things getting ready for the next class, physical education.

Oh how I dreaded that class, simply because it’s where both shouma and I lose our cool.

“ Hey” you kick Shouma’s chair to grab his attention. “ get up before we miss our last class.” With a look that could kill Shouma glared at me but gets up to follow.

I finally changed into the PE outfit but as always the bottoms are just too short. “ are you kidding Me I literally got then in a bigger size to hopefully be longer!! CURSE YOU ABNORMALLY LONG LEGS!”

You and Yoshino are one of the tallest girls in your class, in the whole school in fact and everything you’ve come to wear has always been an issue with length. With a sigh I muster up the courage to leave the changing room, and to my disappointment none other than Toriashi Shouma is waiting outside the female dressing room.

“Couldn’t find any shorter shorts Y/N?”

“Shut up Toriashi, these are the longest pair I have.” I huff walking away from him.

Today was a game of volleyball, not my favorite but one that i can stand. That is until I found out Shouma is on my team! Ugh I swear if I lose because of him, he’s dead meat.

“ better not fuck this up Shouma.”

“ Don’t worry, maybe if you had a bigger ass I’d be distracted.”

How dare he… that’s it he’s dead. I try to ignore his comment and walk to my center position like the team agreed on, waiting for the game to start.

During the whole game I could feel someone’s eyes on me, analyzing every movement. I should be used to it, considering being friends with Yoshino, she has hundreds of eyes watching her every move anytime we go out in public. But this gaze is different .. much different.

As the game continues on, And like always Shouma and I are fighting for dominance on our side of the court.

“ you idiot, I said it was mine! Why did you jump forward!”

“ because it was clearly in my side Y/N”

“ no it was not Shouma and you know it! You did it on purpose, there was no reason for you to be that close to my back!”

Mid game while we were taking the 3 min break trying to switch sides of the court, Shouma comes up wrapping something around my hips.

“ what are you doing?” I look down at what’s around my hips and up to the person who’s hands are tying The Jacket into a knot.

“ just keep it on”

“ Shouma you’re supposed to keep your arms covered” I whisper yell at him, I swear he never used his brain.

“Just keep it on.” He mumbles before walking away, with a sigh I just brush it off and try to focus on the game. Shouma has always been so annoying like my brother. Always trying to boss me around and oh does it make my blood boil. What makes me more upset is i always try my best to make sure he’s always covered at all times and no tattoos peak through, but he just doesn’t care.

The game finally ends and I walk up to him ready to hand him his jacket back.

“ here take it ba—.”

“ I said keep it on Y/A.”

“ the game is over, I’m giving it back to you now.”

“ No, go change, once you are changed you can give it back.” He grabs the sleeves of the jacket and ties it back firmly around my hips. I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m just going to listen to him.

“ I said take your damn jacket bastard!” I untie the jacket and chunk it at him and walk away back into the changing room. This man infuriates me, it’s not like I wasn’t Thankful but I will not be bossed around, especially by him! Who does he think he is , my father?

I quickly change out of my outfit and back to my regular uniform once I’m showered and clean. With that I grab my bag and belongings and walk out the changing room, that is until I see what looks like a fight about to happen.

“ Keep your eyes and comments to yourself.” Shouma is holding one of our male classmates against a wall. I can only imagine why this is happening.

“ Shouma that’s enough, let's go.” I grab his other hand that was free and pull him away from the poor boy. The thing about Shouma, he’s well behaved for the most part, but there are times where he’s a ticking time bomb.

“ This is why I tell you to cover up your tattoos, if you don’t want people looking Listen to me.”

“ and the next time I tell you to keep the jacket ,listen to me. There won’t be a next time actually, next time you’re wearing my jogging pants.” He fights back with an attitude in his tone.

“ Like hell I am, they are too big on me.”

“ i don’t care.”

“ I’m not going to wear them, focus on covering your tattoos and stop focusing on me.” I bite back with the same attitude.

“ and rather they focus on my tattoos and not on your whole legs!”

“ Hey, what’s going on guys? You guys can be heard miles away.” Yashino walks up to where I and Shouma are standing .

“ He’s blaming me that my shorts are too short. That’s what he’s complaining about Yashino .”

“ Excuse me ? Shouma do you think we want to be this tall where nothing fits!” Yoshino jumps into the argument.

“ I’m not blaming anyone, both you and Y/N need to just wear pants instead during physical education.” Shouma closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“ you don’t tell us what to do!” Both Yoshino and I yell in unison.

“ you know what… I don’t give a fuck , lets just go home for fuck sakes.” Shouma pushed through, leading the way back to both him and Yoshino’s place.

#anime #yakuza fiance #Shouma x reader #shouma toriashi #shouma Toriashi x reader #kirishima yakuza #yakuza fanfic #yoshino somei #yakuza fiance fanfic #Houma toriashi fanfic

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six-eyed-samurai · 2 months ago

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Hi there!! Gotta say I have binge read all the things you have written of gachiakuta and I'm really hooked with your writing style!!! And soo I wanted to make a request or maybe something based on the idea of reader being really protective of Fu and Rudo, as the three of them kinda resemble raccoons (I know it may sound too specific but I just can't help but think of raccoons whenever I see them???), oh and also maybe reader is around zanka's age!!

SUMMARY: You miss your pets back home...oh, wait, look, new ones!! A/N: THANKYEW IM VERY FLATTERED AND I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN Fu looks like a racoon bandit, my first thought when I saw him frfr...Rudo looks like the bug we found in third grade and we named him Mango but an idiot accidentally smashed the jar's lid onto him and Mango died >:( WARNINGS: I don't mean to imply reader sees Fu and Rudo as pets, it's more of reader wanting to take care of something and projects it on them just in case someone misunderstands SUNNY'S RICELINGS: @rosetintedrot @kepodewers @magnesiumconsumer @nowayitsalex00 @powglasc @echantedtoon @just--crys @nelmmm

🌸You're known as the bubbly oldest sibling of the team, always ready to lend a hand, share some candy, hear out vents, patch a scrape, remind about water breaks, cheer on encouragement - very motherly tendencies, loyal to the end, no wonder everyone likes you, the happy-go-lucky Cleaner who turns into a feral monster when anyone threatens your friends.

🌸 Which is why it was odd for you to look as downcast and wistful as you did one night, moodily sitting by yourself, slumped like the world was weighing on your shoulders. A certain concerned redhead approached you, worried that something might've happened on your last mission.

🌸 “Oh? Sorry, I didn't realize I was looking that miserable.” You sheepishly laugh and straighten, offering a smile that wasn't complete without your usual spark. “It's just…feeling a little homesick, I guess. Clean HQ’s pretty far from home for me…and don't laugh, but I miss my pets.”

“I'm not laughing.” Riyo is excellent at keeping a straight face and she utilities that particular skill now. “…why the sudden homesickness? With the way you were looking I would've thought your dog died or something.”

“Ah, haha, I hope not. Nah, I just…we were out saving some kids today, and one of them ran back into the building just to get their pet, which made me think of mine…and I miss needing to take care of something. I just like that feeling and…it'd been nice to have my cat around.”

“Well, you take care of us.”

“Yeah, but you don't really need me to, right? It's just like an added bonus.” You sigh and deflate again. “Sorry, I'm being stupid. Anyways, wanna do each others' hair?”

🌸 Not to sound cliche, but little did you know how soon your wish would be granted: in the form of a candy addicted, squishable, angry Pomeranian.

🌸 The first time you met him you accidentally overwhelmed Rudo with your scream and eagerness to shake his hand, practically flying over from where you were originally, introduction bursting out enthusiastically. “You can call me your big sibling, okay?! Welcome to the Cleaners! Gah, you're so cute, where’d you get him, Enjin?”

“GUH - HAR?!”

🌸Unfortunately Rudo doesn’t immediately warm up to you at the start, much to your disappointment, namely because he’s not used to a) people being so openly affectionate, b) people actually like him??, c) all this Ground things were still a shock to his system. You’re kind of overwhelming for him, especially when he hasn’t gone through his character development yet fully, but as the plot goes on he gradually lets you look out for him, until he’s finally comfortable with your spontaneous bursts of affections i.e. sudden hugs from behind, picking him up like it’s no issue (look man, he’s just?? small?? Titchy, man…), ruffling his hair. Welcomes it, actually, because he’s only ever remembered Regto being this openly affectionate with him, and Regto is…well.

🌸 Probably helped that you were very. Very. VERY. Generous with candy, even after they put him on a diet after his er, fattening incident.

🌸 You’re protective as well! You nearly killed him again by suffocation after Eishia healed him and panicked so hard when he got sent off to the mission without Enjin that you threatened to march right up to Corvus and demand you come along, despite having your own mission. The bug-eyed kid is equal parts reveling in your attention and exasperated with your soccer mom behavior.

🌸 Y’know that big board of Rudo’s to-do list he has in his room? Probably tacked up a couple photos of you there; I’d like to think he scribbled on them as well, little doodles Remlin taught him because otherwise Rudo. I’m sorry he can’t draw.

🌸 Okay I’ve lost the plot enough about Rudo it’s time for Fu - CHILD NUMBER 2# SPOTTED!! Once again when he showed up begging Enjin to order him around, you’re ready to burst from jealousy, because where is Enjin getting all these cuties from? Okay, he’s formerly a Raider, and? Does he look like he could hurt anybody? DOES HE LOOK LIKE A SPY?

“WHY DO THEY ALL WANT YOUT?” You grab Enjin’s shoulders and shake him violently “YOU’RE A LITERAL CHICK MAGNET!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS!”

🌸 You would defend Fu with your life! I feel like at least one person is going to try and take advantage of him mindlessly obeying any order like a brainwashed minion, and whoever they are probably needs to visit Eishia to stop their ears from bleeding when you’re done with them. Be so for real, he looks harmless, unless you’re an egotistical world-conquering maniac who’s ordering him around, which you’re not - the most he’s ever “obeyed” your orders was when you asked for a drink and lil bro raided the pantry (you put him and Rudo in timeout after the other boy freaked over the candy or something)

🌸 Affection-wise I think Fu would be more receptive, except he considers them “orders” he must submit to, but after you explain to him that this is…voluntary. If you like it, I’ll keep doing it, if you don’t, I won’t. You have a choice! But choices scare Fu! Man…what even is this, at this point - one emotionally constipated child and the other is some yee yee bandit looking minion…in the end you come to a compromise in which you “order�� Fu to be honest about whether he enjoys this particular way of affection and that’s how you work around his little problem. He likes head pats, by the way, when you’re complimenting him.

🌸Haters out there probably gonna argue “wHaT dO yOu MeAn WhAt aBouT tEaM cHilD” so I think that yes, you do take care of Team Child like you would Rudo and Fu, but because you’re on Team Akuta you don’t see them as much, which was why you meant you wanted to take care of someone, and with Team Child it’s more of a babysitting job than this (THERE’S A DIFFERENCE. SOMEHOW.)

🌸And what do the rest of team Akuta think about it all? Cute family of raccoons is what; a nickname started up by Riyo and Enjin and once Zanka started using it y’know it’s official. You’re probably more than happy to induct Remlin into your cult your little group if she ever wants to.

🌸What’s that one Instagram reel audio - You better not mess with my gang, or you’ll be messing with Oopy Goopy (Guita), General Munchkin Man (Rudo), Lil Jim Bob (Dear) and worst of all, Larry (Fu).

🌸 You end up adopting Follo as well later on, once Rudo and him have made up their differences and made friends (you may or may not have shed a tear…okay, several), but that's a story for another time ;)

this was so unserious i honestly gave up halfway.

#sunny's works #gachiakuta x reader #gachiakuta x you #rudo x reader #rudo surebrec x reader #rudo surebrec #fu orostor #fu x reader #fu orostor x reader #platonic reader

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botboots · 2 years ago

Note

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :]

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

#NO LONGER DEAD!!#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #tf x reader #optimus prime x reader #ratchet x reader #bulkhead x reader #bumblebee x reader #arcee x reader #tfp x reader #transformers x human reader #tfp ratchet x reader #tfp optimus x reader

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love-belle · 2 years ago

Text

'cause summers go so fast !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which her only goal for the summer was to make it through the season without bashing someone's head in and have fun; not introduce more than half of her colleagues to her family and certainly not showing them around her hometown. but, universe always did fuck with her.

for when you realise that you don't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

real life // f1 grid x fem!reader // lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings - language. unhealthy and toxic familial relationships. daddy issues. mommy issues. issues. a lot of self projection in this one so !!

author's note - hi hi hi :) this is a series that im truly excited for and i know that i have like two series in progress but yeah !! this is gonna be me self projecting my feelings onto the reader so beware and don't make fun of me <3 i love you so much!!

chapter i ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝if i wanted to watch a man and woman scream at each other, i would just go and have dinner with my parents — can i leave?❞

chapter ii ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝are you okay? i mean, i did watch you fall down the stairs and lay on the ground for about ten minutes saying that you deserved this.❞

chapter iii ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝oh my god, i shouldn't even have to say this but please, do not bite my cat. her name is coochie — STOP LAUGHING!❞

chapter iv ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝look — i'll speak on behalf of everyone, we think you're cool and the only reason we didn't really hang out with you is because you intimidate us. a lot.❞

chapter v ⋆·˚ ༘ *

❝charles is a decent driver and we can make a run for it. go inside, tell them to fuck off, throw water at their face, scream at them and then we're getting the fuck out of here.❞

...more !!!

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waylamia · 24 days ago

Text

Fears (Crash and Collapse)

recommended listening: Spiracle by Flower Face

"Hey." He interjects, voice the same sort of steady and soft he uses on the street cats. "Yeah?" You cut the ignition. "Come sit down." He braces for freefall. "...Why?" And still, you fight for a controlled descent. "Just cuz." He shrugs, less an effort to be nonchalant and more an admission that, really, he thinks it should be obvious.

--> You're struggling to keep it together. Caleb has to make it worse before you'll let him make it better.

reader experience notes: reader is MC, and is waiting on the results of the hunter exam (20-22? probably?), MC/reader is gender neutral and not physically described.

content: hurt/comfort. spoilers and significant discussion of Skyline tender moment. manipulative Caleb because it makes me hard who said that. erm. I cried while writing this so just. warning for that. could very well be a skill issue. very much projecting my personal inability to let anyone help me until im at the very end of my rope onto MC (and. by extension. YOU. 🫵) pipsqueak usage as per usual.

Last fic I gave you MC being a little shit. This fic I give you Caleb being a little shit. Next fic? More of that probably. tbh. Lots of life going on in my life at the moment. Lots of uncertainty and insecurity. Caleb to cope. You know how it is. peace sign emoji.

approx. 7k words (me try to be brief challenge. failed. as per usual.)

also on AO3 (available to registered users only.)

You got really into horror sometime in your early teens.

The first time you suggest an old slasher for your weekly movie night Caleb is...mildly surprised. He's always known you to be someone who picks up their pace juuust a little when passing by a party store animatronic. The type of person who jumped when approached from behind.

It's not that you're a big baby-much as he teases you for it, much as he'd like it-it's just that you've always been a little... sensitive. Easy to startle, with a wildly active imagination. Still, he doesn't need to puzzle long over your newfound interest to figure it out. You'd been on a kick, for a while by then, trying to prove yourself. It was one of those things you didn't talk about. One of those things he just knew. Same way he knew this film choice of yours was gonna be a problem for you.

He just didn't anticipate the problem it was going to be for him, too.

You only just beat him to the punch suggesting you visit him at the DAA before your hunter exam. He'd already been planning on coming home after the fact, knowing in exact terms how wrapped up in your own head you could get, the damage you could do to yourself in complete quiet. Were his schedule not so tight he would've taken the week of and before to be with you, too. To help you study and prep your meals and keep you from spinning out. But he couldn't, not with back to back missions from the administration. As it stood he could hardly find the time to call or text or order you delivery. Honestly it'd been making him twitch.

He's had to settle for hoping that, in the single day he would see you before the exam, he'd be able to instill enough confidence in you to make up for the absence. Remind you that you've always been able to carve yourself a flight path through the wind shear.

He had thought that, with it being your suggestion to make the trip, you'd be willing to let him help.

That quickly proves not to be the case.

All day you've avoided the problem, all day he's let you. Ever ready and willing to bend to your desires, to meet your needs. That, unfortunately, is the crux of the issue. He could see it on your face. That the thought of the exam never really left you, yes, but more importantly that you had something you desperately wanted to say. You've been playing it very cool and he's sure, under the scrutiny of any other's gaze you would come across as completely composed. But Caleb knows every single one of your tells. Bags under your eyes, the way your gaze would drift, go distant, fall to nothing along with your falling expression. That minuscule catching of your breath at any mention of it, your fidgety fingers, your too fast talking.

All tells and no telling.

For all the plain-as-day he can see you, you still adamantly refuse to acknowledge it. To let him in. To let him help. It's a recurring problem between you two, and he knows he's every bit as guilty.

'More guilty!' your voice, in the back of his head. 'More guilty and way, way worse!'

He chooses to write it off as shyness. Not with him, never with him, but from being out in the open, at his place of work, under the observation of his colleagues. Surely that is what is responsible the staying of your tongue.

But when he draws you away, not into any real privacy-you have an uncanny ability to sense when you are being cornered-but onto the landing strip-and into your shared memory-and you still won't reveal your fears aloud? He can't help but to rake through every missed call, every too short text, every day not spent with you, and wonder which was responsible for cauterizing the vein that pumps blood from your heart to his. Which of his failures saw the knot tying your brain stems together untangling?

It's all backwards, he thinks. These things are supposed to get easier with age. But the older he gets, the older you get, the more distance between you, the more he knows something's coming-

Every separation feels final. He thought he had more time.

He does, at least today. He's finally able to coax it out of you, in the midst of reminiscing, on the runway. Even though he can still see the undercurrent of anxiety in your eyes, he's able to settle with your exclamation of belief in yourself as a landing plane roars overhead. He shakes his thoughts loose, leaves them out in the air to be consumed by the jet engine, breathes.

'I'll make you proud, too!'

'You already have.'

Breathes only for you to scream out a wish that steals the air from his lungs again. The one thing that he's found increasingly intolerable to grant you.

He's spent a whole life bargaining, with himself, and with you, and so he raises his wish to your own.

The land and the sky, and the horizon line where they meet.

'Little seagull in my next life, promise me you won't disappear again.'

You're going to be just fine. He'd decided it years ago. So even when he...

You're going to be fine.

And, you'll pass your exam on the first try, too. Truthfully, he's never had any doubt.

That first, daring movie night goes exactly how he expects it to. Your 13 year old, impulsive self sits through the entirety of it trying very hard not to look tense at his side. Suppressing startled movements at jumpscares and playing off every escaping jolt with a laugh about aging effects. He's impressed by the show you put on, even with his ability to see so clearly behind the curtain of it. He would love to tell you that he's always impressed with you, that you're plenty tough, because its true. And he would tell you, if it weren't for the part of him that didn't want you to know. The part of him that maybe wishes you weren't.

That... sounds bad doesn't it?

He doesn't... not want you to be tough. He doesn't wish you weren't strong. Proves it every day by helping you get stronger. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He knows he won't always be there to protect you. It's that he takes issue with. Every day you push yourself, to the extent he encourages and then beyond that. He wishes you wouldn't. Wishes you didn't have to.

All his life trying to be big enough for the both of you to fit in. All of yours trying to wriggle out of the cavity in his chest. To hold his hand, to match his pace... fundamentally, he understands.

He's just... trying to find a way to be ok with it.

Certainly hasn't made it there yet by the time the credits roll. He looks you over, equal parts curious and concerned for your state of mind, and is unsurprised to see his original assumption proven right. Instead of your usual, post-film, deep-into-the-night exhaustion he's met with wide awake eyes, flickering glances around the room, and fidgeting fingers.

Yuuup. You're scared. It's a matter of course that he knows.

So he stays up with you. Doesn’t call it what it is and doesn't bother to make you either, just claims he’s craving apple cider before dragging you into the kitchen to help him make it. By the time you're finished with the preparing and consuming of the beverage late-in-the-night has turned to early-in-the-morning. Your eyes now blinking shut at increasing intervals, head drooping only to shoot quickly upright. Caleb is sure to see you tucked into bed before making for his own. He figures that'll be the end of it. That next week will find the pair of you back to family friendly flicks and the odd action film, and the memory of warm apple cider and poorly covered laughter will overwrite that of the gore and fear.

It wouldn't be the first time you've forgotten.

When Caleb finally makes it home you're in a worse state than he left you.

Your exam has come and passed. All that's left is your hoping that you will too.

...He knows it's bad when you start in on the rambling. Knows that the mile a minute your mouth is running is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what is rumbling and roiling in your head. Glacial mass primed to be overturned. So he's careful, in the way he works around you, all movement steady and slow. Every step intentional, focused. A counterbalance to your pacing, your waving arms and sudden stops. The calm and the storm, equal in their challenge of each other.

"-honestly I think she'd be making the right call. I mean we'll be busy-or, well, hopefully we'll be busy and she's really not going to have time to be dealing with a side job anyways. She likes it well enough, obviously, but being a hunter is more important to her so as soon as she-if- ugh, no. It's Tara. She's so smart, she's going to pass, of course. And she's stubborn. So when-" You nudge a glass off of the side table as you continue your march back and forth in front of the couch.

Caleb catches it with his evol without even turning to look. Ushers the narrowly spared thing to the distant dining room table, as he drapes the big, cozy leopard print blanket over the couch cushions. He hums along as you continue speaking.

"-and anyways I know the corner store owner likes to treat the neighborhood kids to free ice cream on the weekends it just like, and this sucks obviously, but from a business standpoint I'm worried that-"

The big apple pillow, that calming tea you like steaming on the coffee table, that terrible animated movie you loved as a kid endlessly repeating its menu music on the tv screen. He nods, satisfied with his work, and plops down on the far end of the couch. Fluffing the empty space beside him as you press singlemindedly, obliviously on.

"-Gran has been working too much, again. I don't know why she works at all really. I mean I know why I guess. I just hoped that maybe- Well, when I- If. I mean. Or if not, then- next year at least, hopefully-"

Ok. That's enough.

"Hey." He interjects, voice the same sort of steady and soft he uses on the street cats.

"Yeah?" You cut the ignition.

"Come sit down." He braces for freefall.

"...Why?" And still, you fight for a controlled descent.

"Just cuz." He shrugs, less an effort to be nonchalant and more an admission that, really, he thinks it should be obvious.

It feels every bit like coaxing a cornered animal. Some frightened little thing that doesn't know that you mean well, all raised hair and hissing and averse to surrendering to open, waiting arms. Unknowing that a moment of stillness and calm is all that stands between it and warmth, shelter, and care.

But you aren't a cornered animal and you know exactly how well he means. Which leaves your peace, or lack thereof, to be determined entirely by your own whims and will. In this matter, you seem to be particularly unwilling.

Usually it's enough for him just to ask. For him to just softly say the words. Not today.

"I'm fine." You say. Liar.

"I didn't say you weren't." His brows raise, he's never liked it when you get defensive, it makes him anxious. Ground proximity warning. Missed call. 'Evol Monitoring Experiment will now commence'. Your bedroom door slamming shut.

Tolling bell.

"You're implying it." You cross your arms over your chest, defiant and irritated. He blinks, in lieu of rolling his eyes.

"I'm not implying anything, just come sit." He pats the space beside him on the sofa, brushes over the plush blanket encouragingly. You remain unmoved. "pips, sit down."

"I do not need you to tell me what to do." You bite out, bristling at his insistence. "You're stressing me out." You're losing altitude. His gaze cuts to meet yours.

"I think you're stressing yourself out." And he's going down with you.

You look like you're trying not to say something mean, and he hates it. How many times has he told you to tell him exactly what you're thinking? He can take it. He wants to.

"You need to sit down and try to stop thinking for a few minutes. The exam results will be posted on schedule. You won't speed up the clock by talking faster." He's teasing, and he knows it's the wrong call, even before he starts to say it. But he's desperate, and he knows you.

And so, he knows, with you like this...

"Obviously I know that! If you're tired of listening to me just say that. I'm not trying to ruin your time home by being a complete fucking mess." Tail spin. Good. Now, you can release the controls, and let him stabilize you.

"Woah woah hold on, hey. I'm not tired of listening to you. I'm never tired of listening to you." He shoots up, speaking in a gentle, if not a little frantic, tone, covers the distance between you in two sweeping steps. "I'm never tired of you, period. And you aren't ruining anything-" He grasps at your hands, only for you to jerk violently away. Breathing heavy and ragged.

"...Pips." You won't raise your head, completely refusing to look at him. Your arms are folded over your chest, hands shaking where they dig into the meat of you. He knows you're blinking back tears, he just knows.

"Pips, come on, come sit and we can talk about it, okay?" Why won't you just let go.

"I... think I'm gonna go lay down, actually." With the sentence barely choked out, you turn tail to your room, each of your echoing steps away a blade digging into the parts of him he always, and only, leaves exposed to you.

Caleb sits alone in the living room for a long while, steadying the knife as it twists. He knows you want to cry. And now, he knows you won't. Not when you know he's around to hear.

You want to do this, to get through this, alone.

The thought makes something bubble up in him. Like tar. Dark and wretched and thick. He'd left you on your own too long, left you with too much time to idle and fester, and he's being punished for it.

Its only a little bit past noon, but he's sure he won't see you again until dinner. So he might as well get started on it.

Caleb is on alert the moment he hears the quiet creak of you slowly pulling open your bedroom door. Doesn’t matter how late it is, how deep he is into sleep, he is always hyperaware of your presence in the house. Sometimes, he’d swear he could hear you breathing beyond the barrier of the door, the walls. Many times he’s come running to your bedside at an imagined hitch in your breath, only to find you peacefully asleep. He worries that you have nightmares. That somewhere, inside, your brain or your heart remembers. Tonight, at least, he’s certain that that isn’t what’s gotten you up. Your little feet pad across the floor of the hall, sound dampened by fuzzy socks and considerate caution, they stop just outside his door. Everything is silent and still. You’ve always been a polite kid. He wishes you wouldn’t be, with him. He’s tried to lead by example, barging into your room unannounced just to pester you and then go again, door open. The lesson never seems to stick. Because here you are, terrified and in the dark and still just standing outside the door, trying to figure out if he's still awake. In his mind’s eye he sees you with your ear leaned into it, careful not to brace your hands against it, lest the cracked thing fall the rest of the way open. It's always left a little bit open for you. In case you need him.

You should know better, by now, than to bother listening for any signs of activity. He can imagine your brow all furrowed, mouth curved into a frown at the silence beyond his door. He suppresses a grumble of irritation. He knows you feel guilty for how late movie night kept you both up-despite the fact that the extension of it was all his idea and-as far as you know-in service of his own desires-and that you don’t want to risk disturbing his rest further. He's yet to figure out how to make you stop thinking about stupid things like that. Caleb sits up in his bed, grabs a book off of his nightstand, flips it open, and summons his evol to pluck a pen out of the cup on his desk to drop on the floor. The clatter of it just audible enough for you to hear from beyond the barrier of the door. Only then do you press it open and speak. "...Caleb? Are you awake?"

He hums an affirmative and you push through the gap in the door, closing it behind you just as quietly as you’d entered, before turning back to him. "...why are you reading in the dark?" You ask accusingly. "What are you still doin up? don't you have an early day tomorrow?" He pokes at you. Hoping to distract you from scrutinizing his actions with an interrogation into your own. It’s proven effective, in the past. "Don't you?" You ask back, whip quick. And really he only has himself to blame for your mastery of redirection. Regardless, he tries again. “Movie scare you a little too bad pips?” His look is knowing, not questioning. Even in the dark, he knows you can hear it in his voice. You scoff. “No. I just wanted to-“ He turns on his nightstand light, and your present state comes out of the dark with it. Your jaw is tensed like you're biting your tongue, a bad habit you've had since you were little, and your arms are wrapped tight around the stuffed toy you’ve recently taken to insisting you didn’t need anymore. Your gaze falls to your feet.

"Uh huh?" It's a challenge, if you choose to take it. Or an observation, if you feel like being honest. Your voice comes out small, breaks a little on the words.“…Don’t make fun of me?” And he is genuinely a little hurt by that. “When do I ever?” His voice breaks too.

Dinner draws you out, as expected, and thankfully you're too wound up to call him on the early hour of it.

But the bridge between you is hardly crossed.

In an almost perfect inversion of your earlier verbosity, now its impossible for him to get a response of more than two words out of you. You do that. Explode and then collapse in on yourself. Go to some dark corner in your mind and decide everything you think and say is ridiculous and wrong and try to shrink yourself down into nothing. He's spent years getting good at bringing you back into the light.

And, failing that, bringing the light to you.

The problem being, currently, that he's tried most of his old tricks already. Tried being calm-and-comforting Caleb, and teasing-big-dummy Caleb, and bossy-older-brother Caleb. All he'd gotten was ignored, yelled at, and shut out... nothing was working.

He left you alone too long.

And really, what were they teaching you at school? What kind of stress testing did they put hunters through? If it's anything like the Aerospace Academy-

Thought cut off at the root. Rabbit hole not worth going down. He doesn't have the time for it. You've got four and a half bites left.

Chopsticks raised to your mouth. Three and a half, now.

Forget it. Full suppression fire.

"...You're definitely right about Tara. If she hasn't quit her job by the next time you two talk you really should encourage her to." He puts his own utensils down, focuses all his attention on you, on speaking steady and slow.

"Huh?" You look at him like he just said the sky is chartreuse.

"You'll both be busy, and the work will be demanding, especially to start, I know you know that-"

"Caleb what are you even talking abou-" You cut your own question off, brain catching up to his sudden topic change. He watches your face as you process it.

You hate it when he does this, reminds you that he remembers every little thing you say, recites it back to you. Your eyes widen in realization, and then embarrassment.

Normally, this is the part where he'd comfort you, tell you there's no reason to feel shy around him.

Not tonight.

"You said she likes the job 'well enough' but if it isn't her dream there's really no good reason for her to pursue anything else when what she really wants is right in front of her." Tonight, he just keeps pressing.

You, for your part, attempt to ignore him, just take the commentary for what it is. You raise another bite to your mouth.

Ah, he gets it. If his game is to get let in, your game is to get gone.

Two and a half.

"The extra money would be nice, sure. But not at the cost of her sanity."

"Caleb-" You push back.

"Also, if you ask me, I think the corner store owner has been wanting to close up shop for awhile now. He's getting older and, like you said, he's clearly more passionate about community care than running a business. I guess it's just a matter of letting go." His gaze is fixed on you, pointedly.

"Caleb, seriously. Stop."

"You have to trust that he knows what he's doing pip. He's been in the game for a long time. Longer than you remember probably."

"I don't want to have this-"

"-and I don't think either of us could get Gran to stop working if we tried. She'd die of boredom sitting in this house all day, with or without either of us in it. 'S got nothing to do with how much money you do or don't make, you should know that. That I've got you and I've got her too. Have the whole time."

"I know. I know, I wasn't trying to say-" You respond rapidly. Both of your voices picking up speed. "-none of which is going to matter anyway because you are the smartest person I know, and the most stubborn. If by some insane, unprecedented, cosmic fluke you didn't pass-"

"You don't listen to me!" You shout over him.

Do you hear yourself?

He isn't sure if he says it out loud, if he does, he didn't mean to. Either way you shake your head.

"You're not listening to me right. now." You take another bite, give yourself a second to think, before speaking again. "...I don't want to talk about right now, I don't want to think about it..."

"But you are." He stops you, matter of fact.

"I-I'm trying-"

"Stop. Stop trying." Change in tone, eyes softening. You have a soft spot for kicked dogs. "Give it to me." Not a question. Not a request.

You push your plate towards hims, half a bite, untouched.

"Thank you for dinner. I'm going to bed."

Mission failure.

Your door is shut and locked, this time, behind you. Like you don't trust him not to come in saying 'And another thing-'. And maybe you're smart for it, and maybe you're right, but its frustrating nonetheless. He doesn't know how to get through to you. It's so obvious that you need a reset. An emotional release before you take to the air again. There's no shot you'd pass a systems check like this.

He ruminates over it while he cleans up dinner, lifting a plate from the filled, soapy half of the basin to scrub. You can't stop the flood from coming. You've tried, it always comes. And he knows you'll hate yourself if it happens out there. In front of your friends, or the corner store owner, or a barista, or some other perfect stranger. It should happen here, needs to happen here, and soon. While Grandma's not home and no one but him can see you. Where no one else can get their hands on you when you're all raw and vulnerable. He runs water over the dish. Places it on the rack to dry.

The thought strikes him with the clink of the ceramic.

'I'm not trying to ruin your time home by being a complete fucking mess.'

...Yeah. He knows what he has to do.

He curls himself around you in his bed, blanket covering all but the very top of your head, you've always been close, impossibly close. Both physically and otherwise.

But this is different, feels different.

Sure, you'd shared a bed before, regularly, even. But sleeping together was only ever about comfort, about ease. Too tired to haul yourselves off the couch. Late afternoon study sessions in summer heat drawing your eyes closed. Muffled giggles settling to silence under the flashlit borders of a blanket fort. But this?

Since the research center, you've never curled into him like this, like you were hiding, like he could hide you. You aren't just sleeping next to Caleb, your brother and best friend and confidant. No, you needed to sleep with Caleb, your shield. You're protector. Your home. Your safest place. Not this house, not your room, not your bed. Caleb's. Caleb.

Your breathing went steady so fast, arms sagging where they wrapped gently around him. You fell asleep so fast.

It's good, he thinks, that you did. You can't say anything about his hammering heart if you aren't awake to hear it.

He replays the memory, over and over. The image, the feel of you curled up against him in the dark and quiet, all safe and warm, consumes him like fire. Fuels the furnace that pushes the machine of him to action.

He's carefully tilting and adjusting the stacked ceramic plates in the cupboard when he hears the resounding click of your door opening. He purses his lips, calls on his evol to hold the plates still and steady as he quietly, firmly, closes the cupboard. He has only just enough time to fling an apple from the bowl on the far counter into his waiting hand before you turn the corner. You blink up at him like you're surprised to see him there. It's been about an hour since dinner, and you know it only takes him minutes to do the dishes. So it would make sense for him to have retreated to his room, by now. With how quiet he'd been, in his focus, you were surely expecting him to be scarce. He fights not to roll his eyes, you only emerged because you thought he'd be long gone, then.

He disregards the thought, the game of cat and mouse will be a nonissue by this time tomorrow. For now, he's just glad he caught you. Can't have you setting things in motion too soon. He knows your guard is still up from earlier, can see it in the curve of your shoulders.

"D'ya need somethin pip?"

"No. I'm just..." You shuffle in place.

"...About... half a bite hungry?" He asks with a tilt of his head, gestures at the apple cradled in his palm.

He's already got a paring knife in hand by the time you nod. Is already cutting bunny ears into apple slices by the time you're sat on the counter.

It quickly becomes a pattern. Even as you continue to get older, distance yourself from him in myriad other ways. Became more and more independent, self-assured, self-reliant. All through your middle and high school years, if you watched a horror movie, you'd sleep in his room, in his arms, where nothing else could get you.

So when he came home to visit on your 18th and you queued up some jumpscare laden gorefest, he'd had an expectation for how the rest of the night would go.

It didn't. You didn't come to his room.

...Not on your own, at least.

Normally, on a morning like this, with both of you home, you'd wake to Caleb already making breakfast. Especially when you'd fought the night before. This morning, as he sat awake and waiting in his room, he'd run through the series of actions and reactions he expected from you.

You wake with a yawn, stretch your limbs, sit up only to fall immediately back with a groan. It takes you at least six tries, unchecked on, to make it out of bed. You'll stay there, barely awake in bed for anywhere from 3-35 minutes. Deciding whether or not you are going to go right back to sleep. Actually getting out of bed only if your stomach grumbles, or you hear Caleb in the kitchen.

You must've woken up hungry. He'd heard you step out of your room and down the hall, bright, early, and unprovoked.

You'll step into the kitchen, grumble an expletive and any combination of mean, dummy, idiot Caleb that comes immediately to mind, and then make yourself a piece of toast. It's the easiest way to get something in your belly without having to think, and its way, waay too early to be thinking. So you'll pop a slice of bread into the toaster, and reach up to grab a plate-

He's on his feet three seconds before the crash comes. Exact awareness of its source and cause hardly stopping the wave of panic that hits him, the immediate, pressing need to get to you.

He rounds the corner to the kitchen, inspects the damage. He wouldn't have done it at all, if he didn't trust your reflexes, and its clear that you did dodge. You're standing just a few small steps back from the pile of shattered ceramic at your feet. Your bare feet, he scolds himself internally, he had been counting on you to have your hard-soled slippers on. Your arms are raised, elbows tucked tight into your sides, hands floating in front of you like they are trying to figure out some way to be of use. Aside from your dropped jaw, your face is flat, still processing the mess on the floor before you, where it came from, the loud, sudden sounds of it.

"Pip-squeak..." He speaks low, endeavoring not to startle you into moving. You must have heard him rush down the hall. Or, you just know him well enough to know he'd be there. He takes a step toward you, already using his evol to push the nearest shards of ceramic away from your feet.

"I don't even know what happened..." You barely speak, like its hard to get the words out at all. An automatic response, no defense mechanism, no guard.

It's what he's been looking for.

"...are you okay?" He asks, voice coated in concern.

It's a trigger phrase. It serves it's purpose.

A gasped intake of breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You take a step back just in time for him to get his arms around you, stop you from slipping on something sharp, from sinking down to the floor.

"I-I don't even know- w-what I did!" You don't fight him, just let him hold you. Rub your arms while you shake and cry and sputter.

"I'm so... So tired. I don't- Caleb I'm so scared!" Now, everything bursts from you. The dam cracks, the flood comes. Any relief Caleb might have felt is overshadowed by his heart dropping at your words.

"Why're you scared, pip?" he squeezes you in tighter, one arm wrapped high around your back, hand cradling your head as he presses it into his chest. The other arm at your waist, ready at any time to move lower and lift you, whenever standing gets to be too much. He sways a little where he stands, an effort to soothe you, if only enough to keep you talking to him. Anyone but him would struggle to understand you through your blubbering.

"I'm-I'm afraid I'll fail. And I can't I just can't." You furiously shake your head in his chest. "I was so anxious during the exam-I know they could see my hands shaking during the written portion-and. AND I went down during the combat simulation. I mean I got up-I got up quick-but I went down, Caleb!" You're fully yelling now, every word sounds like its being punched out of you. He stays through it, same firm grip, same gentle movement. "I know there's next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. But what if it is that? What do I do if it's 'next year' forever?!" You stop abruptly at that. Left with nothing but to loudly cry against him, fists gripping harshly at the fabric of his shirt. The way he's wrapped himself around you, you can't see his jaw clench.

It's everything he expected to hear, everything he was afraid you would say. He takes deep, slow breaths, tightens and loosens his arms around you in time with them, encouraging you to do the same. Your staccato breathing starts to level out, sobbing reduces to sniffles.

"What... what if I'm just not good enough?" You sound wounded, cut open broken. Already devastated over something that hasn't happened. Something that won't happen.

Caleb lifts you up, gets your legs around his middle, steps over and through the mess on the floor like he couldn't care less about it, because its true.

"You're too hard on yourself..." He carries you to the living room, to the couch. "You're hardly the first person to have test anxiety, hardly the first hunter to trip up in combat." He flops down, takes you with him, rubs circles into your back, uses his free hand to massage your neck, the space just behind your ears.

"You're going to pass." He says it with certainty. In part because you need to hear it, but mostly because he believes it, without a shadow of a doubt. You whimper, squeeze your arms where they are wrapped around him.

"...what if-" You start to mutter.

"Nope." He cuts you off.

"But-"

"You're going to pass." He should've figured it out sooner. You're smart enough to reason the facts out without his help. You didn't need him to tell you there's always next year, that he's got you covered if something goes wrong, that there's nothing to be afraid of. At your core you know that. You didn't need a reality check.

"You're going to pass." A statement of fact, made with no room for argument.

You needed an anchor.

For a long time, you're silent in his lap. Pin-drop quiet interrupted only by the odd sniffle. Until, eventually, fight and fury and fear finally exhausted, your shoulders sag. Your body goes lax.

"Okay..." Delayed replay so quiet it almost goes unheard.

When you tuck your head into the side of his neck, he drops his own to nuzzle over you.

Caleb knew it was unfair, and that it maybe made him a bad person. But when the movie ended and all you did was yawn and waltz off to bed without a care in the world, something in him snapped a little. And truthfully, he thinks he's allowed. Routines are made to be stuck to. You're the one breaking rank here. He's been at the Academy, away from you, for months now. Heavens forbid he wants to cash in on his allotted snuggle time.

And so, he didn't feel bad when hooked Josephine's old landline back up to the power. Didn't feel bad when he called you back into the kitchen to help him do dishes.

"Uuugh... you know I'll just slow you down."

"Been doing your laundry all week pips, you owe me. Really, I should be making you do this aaall by yourself."

Continues, to not feel bad, as he thumbs his phone in his pocket to call the number.

"You might as well, if you're gonna be such a diva about-"

The landline rings. You jump at the sudden noise, face quickly warping in confusion, as you both stare at the offending machine.

"What the fuck?"

"Language, pip." He nudges your shoulder as the ringing stops, is careful to speak over the sound of him using his evol to disconnect the line once more. "Didn't grandma unplug that thing ages ago?"

"I... yeah, I mean. I thought so..." You take several cautious steps towards the phone, crouching down to inspect the line. "...It's definitely unplugged."

Caleb offers his most convincing, confused hum. "Well... that's weird." He shrugs his shoulders. "Anyways, if you want to do the dishes by yourself that's fine with me."

You keep your wary gaze locked on the phone. "No... no you should stay."

It's a fight to keep his grin down.

"Whatever you say pips."

You were lucid just long enough to agree to his idea of watching that old cartoon you love. To crawl mostly off of his lap and curl into his side, under the big leopard blanket, with the apple pillow in your arms. He thinks about getting up to make you tea but ultimately decides against it. Choosing instead to keep massaging your scalp. His gaze directed at the screen but unfocused, far away. He listens to your breathing change, feels your lashes flutter against his collarbone as your head droops, soaks in the warmth of you at his right side. A breath shutters out of him, his body goes lax.

It was all necessary. It was all worth it.

You fell asleep so fast.

By the time dishes are done and your teeth have been brushed you've settled back down. Seeming perfectly content to call it a night and go your separate ways. In any other circumstance, he'd commend your resolve.

As it stands, you're kind of killing him.

He knows he has to be careful. If his cards aren't played exactly right, you'll catch on, remember exactly how his evol works, and accuse him of messing with you. Seriously, you're so smart, too smart for his own good. So he has to think of something else. Something you can't trace back to him, something you can't excuse.

If, and only if, he offers Gideon a couple hundred bucks to make the late trip from Skyhaven to Linkon and-without being caught-knock at the front door, wait thirty minutes and then knock again...

Well. That's nobody's business but his.

He's brushing his teeth when the first set of knocks comes. Perfect. You pad from your bedroom over to the bathroom, poke your head in. "Caleb?"

"Mmph?" He muffles through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Someone just knocked on the door."

He furrows his brow, spits into the sink. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." 'Go look!!' goes unspoken.

He moves casually through the house, with you all but clinging to him, his good little tail. He swings the front door open, looks around, ignores the rustling where he can see Gideon climbing up a nearby tree.

"Pips. There's nothing there." He looks at you seriously, face a mask of concern.

Your eyes go wide. "But- are you sure?" You move to push past him. He takes several steps out onto the porch, makes a show of looking around.

"Seriously pip, there's nothing." He looks you up and down, a performative study of you. "...think maybe the movie freaked you out a little?"

"No! Well.. ugh. Maybe, I guess." You rub your arm self consciously. "...Lets just call it a night."

He breaks into a smile. "Sure thing." He's about to call Gideon off, as you make your way back into the house.

...Right up until you shout 'Goodnight!' from down the hallway and shut yourself in your room.

Alright then, one last push.

And it comes, thirty minutes later on the dot. Four sturdy knocks at the front door. Caleb smiles to himself from where he lays flat on his back in bed. He hears it all. Your door being carefully cracked open, the silence that follows. Your feet down the hallway, toward the entryway, toward the door, the silence that follows that. The way your pace picks up as you race back to your room.

His phone lights up.

'Caleb.'

A typing bubble appears and fades again.

'Did you hear that??'

He stares at the screen, stone-faced, already getting into character.

'Hear what?' And really, he isn't being cruel. He's just righting the balance.

#caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x mc #calebmc #caleb x reader #yeah #if theres any super fucked up formatting or grammatical errors PLEASE let me know ive been staring at this motherfucker for DAYS #i'll try to read thru it later again but for now. making it the world's problem.#THANK YOU. FOR YOUR TIME.#sorry it takes me 3-6 business years to finish a fic LMAOOOO

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andkisses · 1 year ago

Text

♡ a good way | beomgyu ♡

despite the director casting you and beomgyu, your best friend, as the romantic leads, you both promise it won’t change anything between you

♡ beomgyu x gn!reader | wc. 9.1k ♡ genres/tropes: college!au, friends-to-loves, theater!au, hurt/comfort ♡ mentions of/warnings: injuries, lmk if there's anything else ♡ a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i wrote and posted YEARS ago; unfortunately it was eaten up when i accidentally deleted my blog :’) it was originally for joshua from svt; i changed some of the times in the fic from the original, so if it’s a little wonky that’s why :’) pls enjoy ! <3 at the time it was my longest fic, now only second to roman holiday ^^ a/n 2: apologies for my absences ! i had some health issues even tho it was supposed to be my break :') im doing well now ^^

♡ masterlist ♡

It was strange. Weird. Practically unfathomable and there must be some kind of mistake. The play had those two characters as romantic leads. The ones who slowly turn to look at each other, catch the starry glint in the other’s eye before slowly leaning in, before slowly closing their eyes, before slowly feeling their heartbeat accelerate because oh heavens this is it—before slowly kissing each other for the first time with such tender passion some members of the audience start to cry.

Those roles were not ever meant for the ones who have been friends since seventh grade, where one of them accidentally tripped and tossed their lunch all over the other, rendering the former an apologetic mess and the latter slightly smelling of garlic for the rest of the day. Not for the ones who stayed up far too late binge watching whole seasons of anime because they finally turned in that big project and it’s in fate’s hands now. Definitely not friends who are each other’s best friends, always. Never them.

But when the director swings back to the two of you, the mischievous and excited glint in his eye is unmistakable. His giddiness even bubbles over and he repeats himself, happily gazing between you and the best friend of 8 years standing beside you. “Beomgyu, Y/N, you will be the best two leads this stage has ever seen.”

You don’t want to talk about it. You avoid it for as long as possible. Have every conversation about everything else possible except the one topic that actually needs discussion. The trees outside are slowly losing their crunchy leaves, littering the ground with crimson and gold and sprigs of chocolate in between. They rustle and fuss when walked over, and shuffle down the street in a hoard of warning, proclaiming threats of the bitter winds of winter that would soon approach and engulf everyone whole.

Some mornings, you can see remnants of late-night frost on window panes, icy designs laced over the glass in the early morning hours. The grass glistens and shimmers with frozen dew, and the sidewalk is slippery enough to encourage walking slowly or bypassing concrete altogether and walking through the dead leaves. Some nights, you can see your breath curl as you wait outside the diner, a translucent white beast disappearing into the night. As night draws darker earlier, the air grows colder, like a mysterious ghost. One moment, you’re warm—the next, a bitter chill sprints around you, immersing everything in a coldness that drills past your layers and settles into your bones.

But you’d wait a thousand years in the cold just to walk him home. You’d wait forever if it meant seeing him one last time before the day ended and blurred into the next through a series of dreams and quiet darkness.

Beomgyu is one of the last few people out of the diner; he never closes, but he stays as long as he can, helping out and cleaning before his boss gets angry and tells him to “go home! Don’t you have homework?” When he steps out onto the street, making sure to close the door behind him, he’s safely bundled up in a black pea coat and a plaid woolen scarf that, when wound up, nearly encompasses his neck, chin, and even the bottom tips of his ears. When he sees you waiting for him again, he smiles, eyes lighting up like firecrackers and his grin is so warm it starts to defrost your bones, slowly but surely.

“You know you don’t have to wait for me?” he says, falling in step with you as the two of you began the chilled trek back to your apartment.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “but then who will make sure you don’t get lost on your way back? Or, I don’t know, get eaten by a star-monster?”

“A star-monster?” He quirks his head towards you, raising his eyebrow in mild but amused confusion.

You nod your head. “What if the stars gang up on you and snatch you right off the face of the earth and you disappear into the sky? And no one knows or can save you because I wasn’t there? Hm?”

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. The white curl of his breath fills the air in front of him before it fades, taking the bright look in his eyes with it. “Then I guess I wouldn’t have to be a part of the musical, would I?”

Silence washes over you like a breaking wave—it hurts and stings, knocking everything away and tossing the tiny ships around into chaos. The only sound now is the brush of the wind skirting the leaves down the street with you and the distant city noise. The heels of your shoes hit the pavement in time together, and your breaths slowly start to match up. But something’s off; you feel it in your heart and your bones begin to ache again as the cold ice returns once more, spreading their chilled fingers across them.

Somehow, you find your voice, but it’s quiet and small. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

Beomgyu shrugs, looking anywhere but you. He throws his head back and stares up at the night sky, where the stars kindly twinkle back at him, almost as a promise of we’d never steal you away. You look up, too, but all you see is a menacing darkness that you’re not sure you can get rid of. It feels like it’s bearing down on you, pressing down on your head, your shoulders, and your heart. With it comes a dark doubt, one that oozes into the cracks of your armor and makes you start to question things. It beckons out the dangerous thoughts—the what ifs—and coaxes them into the light and forces you to acknowledge them. What if... this changes things. What if... it ruins things. What if...

“Y/N?”

Your gaze drops back down. Beomgyu stands a few yards ahead of you, in the light of one of the yellow streetlamps. You must have stopped while lost in thought, slowing down until you ended up stuck in between two lamps, in the shadowy part. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “You just stopped walking.” He turns toward you completely and quickens his pace until he’s beside you again. The look on his face screams of concern, of wondering if his best friend is fine or if it’s something he can’t fix. He reaches out to take your hand in his. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart swells, but it still feels as if it will break, shatter, crumble at any time or place. It feels like porcelain, that if it isn’t handled with care and marked FRAGILE, it will ruin to the point that nothing can fix it. You know what question you have to ask; it’s weighing down on your tongue and you’ll have to force it out.

You gulp, and you can feel your hand shaking in his. Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, his starry eyes trying to search for what’s wrong. For what is in need of helping. You stare back at him, garnering the courage to ask the question that’s been plaguing you since roles had been assigned. “The show–it won’t change anything between us, will it?”

And then, he does something unthinkable.

He laughs.

Beomgyu lets go of your hand and bends over in half, practically cackling at the idea, whisker dimples on full display. When he stands back up again, he’s still laughing hard enough he crinkles into your frame, resting a hand on your shoulder and burying his head into your neck, an arm resting across his stomach. His body shakes with laughter, and it’s infectious. A grin slowly spreads across your face, and then a giggle works its way out until the two of you are both laughing like fools. You may be between two lampposts in the shadows, but there’s light where you are.

When the laughter finally subsides to gentle smiles, Beomgyu takes your hand again and tugs you close. He starts walking again, pulling you along, swinging your arms between the two of you. He knocks into your shoulder jokingly, and the both of you smile harder. “Of course not,” Beomgyu says. His smile is pure, assuring. The hand in yours is warm, stable. “Nothing will ever change us.”

Seventh Grade.

The auditorium was full of anxious students, the buzz of noise telling the story of those who were waiting for their turn to shine on stage. The lights were turned on as bright as they would be for a performance, and the stage was decorated with real props from last semester’s performance, a steampunk rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. No one thought the director could pull it off, but when the curtains closed for the last time that first showing, everyone was left starstruck and a new round of students was inspired to try out for the next performance.

A loud clap from the director thundered through the auditorium, signaling for attention and shocking you into your seat a little further. The red fabric bristled against whatever skin your sweater didn’t cover. Outside, the harsh winter weather pummeled the barren landscape, the dead, empty tree branches getting whipped by the bitter, unforgiving wind. The light dusting of snow made everything brighter, almost to the point it hurt to look out the windows at the white world. Inside, however, was full of warm tones and warm breaths. The heat of the auditorium practically had you sweltering, making you wish you had worn layers instead of a bright green sweater. The threads around the collar began to itch at your neck, and you tugged at the hem in search of relief. You really wanted to be here. You really wanted to audition. But the number of people and how long you’ve waited has started to play mind games with you. What if they don’t get to you today? What if they skip over you entirely for someone else? Someone with more theater experience from prior years than you, a complete newbie? What if—

“Hey, uh, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, still fiddling with your itchy collar. It was the boy from the day before—Beomgyu. The one who had accidentally tripped over someone else’s backpack and thrown his lunch all over you. He looked like a complete wreck, one hand holding onto the wrist of the other arm, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he struggled to even look in your direction. You shelf your own nerves and offer up a kind smile and pat the seat, which he hastily filled.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while afterward. On stage, more students rotated through songs and performances, some spectacular and others a little lackluster. It was beginning to become monotonous, and your mind started to wonder if you had gotten here earlier, would you have already auditioned by now? But then something happened. A student walked on stage, introduced themselves politely, and then began to blow everyone and every other performance out of the water. The way they moved, spoke, sang—everything they did was captivating and you felt yourself leaning forward in your seat, drawing ever nearer to the practically perfect audition. There was no music playing in the background, but their vocals and stage presence was more than enough. The entire auditorium erupted in applause when the student on stage finished.

“Wow,” you breathed out. You’d practically fallen out of the chair—feet standing on tiptoes, elbows on knees, chin rested in your cupped hands with a shimmer in your eyes. That. You wanted to be like that. Bewitching, enchanting, and utterly spellbinding.

“I know right?” the boy whispered beside you. The two of you turned to look at each other, and somehow, in the back of your mind, you registered he was sitting the same way you were, looking completely and utterly enraptured with the previous performance. He stared into your eyes—the first time, you noted—and you could see the stars, like a secret milky way full of wonder. There was a serious note in them. “Let’s both do our best so when we grow up, we can be that good.”

“No.” You shook your head, and Beomgyu’s face collapsed into confusion. You shook your head again, this time with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. “No, when we grow up, we’ll be way better.”

A murmur ripples around campus. Sophomore year of college, and all of high school behind you. You’d think you would be used to it by now, the way quiet words spread around so sneakily but somehow always managed to make their way to your ears, too. But when the girls in the bathroom see you and slyly turn away, whispering how you and Beomgyu have the romantic leads, how of course they do, you can’t help but feel the knot in your stomach form and twist your insides until you feel pressure on your heart as well. Until it feels like you’re about to burst and spill everywhere. You want to spin at them, throw your hands out, and tell them how it’s not like that! That there’s nothing between the two of you except for friendship, the purest of kinds! Stop thinking that way!

But the wiser part of you, the one that’s been through high school, knows that they would just nod their head and try to hide their smirk. You can’t change their minds; they’ll always be thinking and imagining what they want.

Outside, the halls teem with people trying to get to their next class or break. You debate on stopping by your locker near the theater—you won’t need your books again until you go home thanks to rehearsal, but it would be out of your way to get there, on the opposite side of the arts block. But your books are heavy. Really heavy. Like shoulder-breaking, premature back pain-inducing heavy. You find that your feet have started to take you through the crowds to your locker before your mind decides on the plan itself.

In middle school, your and Beomgyu’s lockers were practically as far as they could be from one another. Yours by the gymnasium and near the arts building and the theater. With your mismatched class schedules, you only got to see each other at lunch and for theater. As your friendship grew, he would let you borrow locker space. It got to the point where you basically co-owned each other’s lockers; everything for classes on his side of the building was in his locker and everything for classes on your side was in yours.

By the time high school rolled around two grades later, the two of you were inseparable. As were your lockers. His at one end of the hall, yours at the other end on the opposite side. This only caused trouble junior year, when the two of you had such a bad falling out you could hardly bare to walk past one another’s locker let alone the other person. You would end up taking roundabout ways to your own locker, which worked until you ended up running into him one day without warning.

But you don’t have that problem now. As you walk past Beomgyu, who’s standing by his locker talking to another theater kid, you lightly slug his shoulder. You turn to walk backward and catch his reaction, and he’s staring back at you with fake confusion and his arms thrown up in the air. “You’ll pay for that!” he calls after you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure I will!”

You reach your locker, a happy smile on your face, glad your best friend is the kind of person you can beat up on. You spin the lock with precision, ready to open the door, slam your books inside on the shelf, and hurry to the theater for rehearsals. You can’t wait to see what strange exercises the director would have up his sleeve today; last time, he had everyone stand on the steps in the audience and each time they recited a line correctly, they got to move up two steps. First to the top wins; you and Beomgyu tied for first.

When you pull out the lock and swing the door open, what you see ruins your mood instantly. The crisp, white, inch-thick script stares back at you with quiet remorse. Remember me? it seems to say. Don’t forget about me. You’re almost afraid to touch it, knowing exactly what it holds in its pages even without having read a single line. If your fingers were to graze it, it’s as if an electric shock would shoot out and stop your heart from ever beating again. A tiny part of you wonders if, if your heart really did stop beating, would Beomgyu come to your side and rescue you?

Or would it be like the other night, with a sharp, bitter laugh and a mild happiness over a forgotten kiss.

You’re jostled out of your stupor by a neat punch to your arm, and you fall back into your locker with a metallic clang. When your vision focuses back on the real world, you see Beomgyu walking away from you towards the theater with a confident smirk on his face. He throws out his hands, his smile growing even wider. “I told you, you’d pay for that!”

You’re smiling too, now, and you hurry and grab the script and race after him.

It will all be okay. The two of you had already talked about it, how nothing could change between you two. Regardless of what the girls in the bathroom would dare to say in front of you. Regardless of what anyone else on campus or your major are thinking. Regardless of the script that burns slightly in your grasp, the crisp paper threatening to cut tiny slices into your delicate skin. You and Beomgyu—inseparable best friends for the rest of time.

It would always be that way. No play, no roles, no romantic leads, would get in the way of that. You’d promised each other you’d be each other’s best friend, always.

Freshman year.

Sunlight streaming through the loosely drawn curtains was what woke you, lit patterns playing across your face. Your back ached from sleeping on a couch at a crooked angle for who knows how long. You stretched and tried to pull at your sore joints, attempting to return them to pre-crooked status. The room was still dark; the lamps were all off and the only other source of light was the television, where Netflix was playing some random anime you don’t remember ever selecting or talking about. Vague memories float up to the surface slowly as you finished waking up: you and Beomgyu had turned in a big semester final project that neither of you had thought would be finished on time but somehow managed to pull off. Deciding to get take out and stay up as long as possible watching as many seasons of anime as you could fit in and—

“Boo!”

Your scream echoed through the small dorm and you pulled at the blanket on top of you, trying to hide behind the soft, comforting quilt. On the other side of the couch was Beomgyu, laughing so hard he nearly rolled off onto the shag carpet rug. You half thought about being kind, and warning him to be careful because if he fell he could hit his head on the coffee table, but the other half said he scared you and deserved whatever happened next.

“How could you be so mean!” you whined, reaching behind you to grab a pillow to throw at your best friend’s face. “How long had you been planning something like that?”

Beomgyu paused his laughter to think. “Probably since I woke up about ten minutes ago. It would have been more elaborate, but then you woke up and I ran out of time.”

“You’ll pay for that, you know,” you muttered, drawing the blankets closer against your chest, where inside your heart still beating faster than usual.

“Even after helping you with that project and pay for dinner? On a college budget?” He paused for another moment, resting his chin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. “Wait, pay for dinner... seems like I’ve already paid for it, Y/N.”

“Beomgyu!” You lunged forward, diving towards his end of the couch. Instead of a successful attack, you landed squarely in his arms, where he proceeded to tug you tightly against his chest. Escape, you soon realized, was futile. You’d have to talk your way out of this one. “Beomgyu, let me go. Now!"

“You know, you sure are whiney when you wake up,” he commented, rustling the hair atop your head. Your heart was still beating quickly and you were convinced the flush of your cheeks was due to large bouts of boiling hot rage streaming through your veins. “And why should I?”

“I would be in a nicer mood if you hadn’t scared me!” You tried to wriggle your arms up and pry your way out, but his grip was solid still, strong and warm. Since when was he ever this strong? His cheeks, you noticed, were warm and rosy as well, but that was from laughing too hard, you were sure. Why else would they be flushed?

“You may have a point…”

“Of course, I have a point! Now let me go!”

Mischief swam around with the stars in your best friend’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, planning something you could only hope wasn’t entirely embarrassing. One eyelid dropped shut, and the smirk on his lips was unmistakable. “I will, but only if you pay for breakfast. From somewhere nice,” he rushes to add. “Student union doesn’t count.”

You released a terse sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine! Deal! Now, release me!”

His arms slid away and you rolled over onto the floor, gently landing between the couch and the coffee table. The carpet was rough against your bare arms, but you were glad to be freed from Beomgyu’s death grip.

He was situated on the edge of the couch, chin resting lazily on his forearm, his eyes filled with mild shock and awe. “Really?” he gasped, as if he couldn’t actually believe you’d agreed. “Even if it’s the overpriced brunch food from the boutique down the street?”

You sighed, staring back at him. “Yes. Even the brunch food from the boutique down the street.”

A moment of stillness, then...

“I’m glad we’re best friends," he said plainly, no hesitation in his voice. His dark eyes had warmed to a welcoming honest color, the kind some people could describe as home. The air around the two of you was still, a precious silence that quietly begged to be broken softly. Outside, the morning birds began to sing their late winter tune, beckoning spring to arrive as soon as possible. The sun filtered through the tiny windows brightly now, filling the dorm with warm yellow like that made everything feel nostalgic. Like the perfect ’80s movie.

When you found your voice, your words were soft but not timid. They held the same amount of honesty and weight as his had. “Me, too. We’re best friends, always.”

A soft smile played at Beomgyu’s lips as he echoed your promise. “Always.”

The walk back to your apartment is chilly. Even though the sun shone brightly ahead, the first freeze of the season the night prior plunged your town from late autumn into early winter. What few leaves remain on the trees might as well be frozen on, and the rest of the dead ones scattered around on the pavement, crunchy husks of their former selves. It’s daylight, but you can easily imagine if darkness were shrouded around you, your breaths would be rising out in front of you in vague translucent puffs. Cold describes everything in sight.

Beomgyu is close by your side, nestled in that ridiculously oversized scarf of his. Christmas is a while away, but you’re already planning on getting him a nice, Beomgyu-sized scarf, probably a deep brown to match his eyes.

“What’cha thinking about?” His voice, clear as crystal, cuts through the air like a sharpened knife, but it doesn’t startle you. It’s warm and inviting against the bitter winter weather, a gentle fire among the cold.

“What I’m gonna get you for Christmas,” you reply, burying your hands into your coat pockets. The pavement scuffs beneath your boots, the walk back home growing boring. As you crossed the street where you two used to part ways freshman year, him to the left and you to the right, you remember when he said his parents told him they were moving during high school. How distraught the two of you became, only to find out he was moving in across the street from your house. Now, you split the rent for a two bedroom apartment. “How about you?”

“To be completely honest, I’m wishing I had remembered my gloves this morning, because right now, my hands are extremely cold.”

You laugh, a bright chuckle, and pull your own hands out of your pockets, staring down at the grey gloves cloaking your fingertips. You hold out your hand towards him. “Want to take one?”

Beomgyu scoffs. “And let you suffer from an equally terrible fate as myself? I think not. At least one of us needs to live.”

You laugh again, throwing your hands back into your pocket. “Fine, be that way.” You cut in front of him, dashing over to the short decorative stone wall running as a divider between the grassy park and the sidewalk. In a quick hop, you’re walking along the top as it gradually slopes higher to the point your feet are even with Beomgyu’s waist.

He stares up at you as you hold your arms at length on either side of you, a small frown playing on his lips. “Be careful,” he warns, the tone of his voice surprisingly stern, something he rarely treats you with. When you look down, you see his brows creased as he follows your pace.

“Yeah, okay, dad,” you laugh, finding the bitter look on Beomgyu’s face amusing. The stone wall beneath your feet is sturdy, and your balance is just as solid. Years of strange theater exercises had brought you that. You can even see your apartment down the street; you’d walk all the way atop this wall, taller now still, and show him. You’ll get to the end and hop off dramatically and tease him for worrying. He keeps pace with you perfectly, still by your side even if there’s distance. The look in Beomgyu’s eyes tells you he wants to reprimand you, take you by the waist and set you safely on the sidewalk before scolding you on every reason why you shouldn’t have done that. But you don’t need him to. You’re perfectly safe with no reason to worry and—

You’ve misstepped.

Your foot is too far from the center, closer to the edge of the stonewall than you had anticipated. There’s not enough foot on the edge to save it. Your impressive balance is misplaced even further as your arms circle widely at your sides, trying in vain to regain some semblance of stability. You can feel yourself pitch sideways, your feet finally coming out from beneath you, and now you’re looking up at the crystal blue sky.

There’s not a cloud in sight, odd for this early winter day, and for the shortest of moments, it’s like you're falling through the atmosphere. The cold wind biting at your cheeks is caused by your descent. The screams you hear are just the air rushing past your ears, calling your name, not anyone else. The clunk of bodies hitting the pavement is just an illusion.

Your vision snapping to black is just a mistake, a cruel trick of fate, like the dark doubts that swarm around your head when you’re all alone. The blackness is almost welcoming, and you succumb quietly.

Twelfth Grade

Four weeks. Just under a month. Your life had gone from bold with color and emotion to two steps from dead and lifeless. Subjects you’d once enjoyed, now dull and monotonous. Walks to school were boring. Lunch and free period were non-committal. You’d skipped theater more than your fingers could count; you’d gotten an email from the director asking if everything was okay.

But it wasn’t. Nothing was.

Because it had been four weeks, just under a month, since you’d talked to your best friend.

What you’d even been fighting over, you couldn’t remember. That entire night is a fogged mess in your memory banks, existing but inaccessible. You know it’s there, but your brain, or maybe your heart, refuses to replay the details for you. The only information it relays is that there was a fight, and somehow some kind of words were said that ended in hot tears and storming out of houses with no goodbyes, take cares, or any sign of always.

Life since then had been weird, like you had shifted from one plane of existence but the world didn’t shift with you. Like a blurry camera shot, where one part of the image is in focus with fuzzy edges but everything else is shaken and smeared like thick wet paint.

All the love and joy theater had brought you since seventh grade was gone, five years nearly shattered to pieces inside your nearly-broken heart. You had no idea when the light would return, or if you would ever act again. It was so closely entwined to him, it physically hurt to walk near the theater or even think of certain plays.

Just like it hurt in the classes you shared. Sitting across the room from each other as far as possible, as opposed to right next to each other and sharing looks and soft smiles. The other students and even the teachers were left in a mild tailspin of confusion. There was never a scene made, nor any words spoken. Glances weren’t exchanged anymore. You never looked in his direction; your heart would ache far too much to handle.

Different pathways were even chosen to get between classes. You didn’t want a chance encounter in the halls, you couldn’t handle it. You guessed he couldn’t either, because you never saw him. There were never any accidental meet ups by your lockers, either.

Your plan had been to skip theater again and take the bus home, riding it around until it dropped you off last. You wouldn’t have to see him, it wouldn’t have to hurt, for that day at least. But you were running late, another teacher asking if you were okay needing brushing off. You needed to hurry and stop by your locker to retrieve your books. The bus was leaving soon; if you wanted to leave, you’d need to rush.

The halls were empty, everyone either in their after school clubs or outside waiting for the buses. You hurried to your locker, fingers anxious to spin the code in, grab your books, and leave. You reached inside, ready to retrieve the books by their spine and disappear from this place for what would feel like a short eternity. The hall was too bright, too empty, too--

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, head whipping to the side. Beomgyu stood mere feet from you, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. There were no longer any stars in his eyes, no warmth or cheer. They were sad, dark pits of self-doubt. They were muted screams, begging for help but not being quite loud enough. The dark circles under his eyes pleaded as well, and the downturn of his lips was what sent your stoic, bored, “I can make this” facade spiraling downwards.

You reached forward instinctively, wanting to cup his cheek with your hand and gently rub away the dark circles with your thumb, but you froze midway. Your voice even hitched. “Beomgyu... you look…”

“Awful? Dreadful? Like hell?” he filled in for you, and you couldn’t help but nod. Your chest was tight, almost to the point you wanted to clutch and tear at your heart to find relief. And the way your best friend was standing, shoulders slumped and body looking one strong wind from caving in like a fragile house of cards, it seemed like his heart was aching, too.

“What happened to us?” you asked, voice quiet and quivering. The hot buildup of tears began behind your eyes, making the edges of your vision blur together in a mass of sad, muted tones. “Why did we—”

“I don’t know,” he answered quickly, anxiously, as if he doesn’t speak fast, he’ll lose you again. He took a tender step forward, leaving only a few feet between you, but it was still too much space. You missed being side by side, close enough to bump into each other’s shoulders or elbow each other’s sides. Beomgyu took another tiny step towards you when you didn't move back. “What were we even fighting about?”

“I don’t know.” You felt like one step away from crumbling inwards, clasping in on yourself and all the way to the cool hallway floor. Your hands were shaking now at your sides, and you gripped your hoodie hem to prevent the shivers from racing up your arms and shaking the rest of you until you shattered into tiny shards. The moment your fingers curled around the soft hem was when you realized: it was his. You’d thrown in on that morning without even thinking. Now, all you could notice was how strongly, how nicely it smelled like him. You took in a solid breath of air to prevent the tears from spilling over, but it was shaky and unconvincing. “Whatever we were fighting about, it’s not worth this. I miss you, Beomgyu.”

His eyes were still empty, no stars in sight, but now they were glossy with tears. His chin quivered, and his lips moved to say something but couldn’t. His fingers curled and uncurled around the leather strap of his messenger bag. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I miss you. So much it hurts to breathe, so much I can’t stand to look at you in class or else I feel like crying. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, please, forgive me and be my best friend again. I don’t think I can take life without you anymore.”

The both of you lunged forward at the same time, wrapping each other in a hug. Your arms clung to his neck while his encircled your waist, holding you close. Warm, salty tears finally spilled over, running down your cheek and onto the soft denim of his jacket. By his shaky breaths, you figured he was crying, too. “I don’t want you not in my life anymore either,” you managed, hoping somehow that you’d made sense.

Beomgyu laughed in your arms, drawing you even nearer. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to explain to your father why I was standing under your window with my guitar instead of just letting myself in like usual.”

You laughed too, but the kind of broken laugh where you find pure happiness just after harsh sadness. Your heart swelled with joy, knowing that Beomgyu was still yours. The time you’d spent apart, not talking or goofing around or shoving each other playfully with stupid grins on both of your faces, had been life-draining. You’d never get it back, even if you spent forever together. You never wanted to go through anything like that ever again.

Beomgyu nestled into the crook of your neck, words whispered so quietly you knew instantly that they were just for you. “We’re each other’s best friends, always. Right?”

You wrap your arms around even tighter, a true smile on your face for the first time in weeks. “Right. Always, Beomgyu, always.”

The apartment is quiet. The shades are drawn open, allowing late afternoon sunlight to spill in and swim around on soft carpet floors, bathing them in warm yellow light. The television in the corner is on but mute, the news airing with no noise. The heater kicked on a minute or so ago, filling the house with nicely warm air. Outside, soft baby snowflakes begin to fall out of the sky, the first snowfall of the season. If the sound had been on, you would have known that the weatherman said the snow was no reason for concern—it wouldn’t accumulate to the point it was dangerous. Just a light dusting, something to make the outdoors look nice and wintry.

But you are unconcerned with whatever the weatherman’s words may be or the consequences of the snow. There are more pressing concerns.

Your voice warbles as you pull out the first aid kit from above the washer and walk back into the living room. “Beomgyu, I’m so so sorry, I—” You bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying; there wasn’t time for that now. The white plastic lid snaps open, and you pull out the gauze, the alcohol wipes, and the bandages with shaky hands. He sits on the edge of the couch, one hand bracing himself on the cushion, the wounded one resting tenderly on his lap.

You lower to stand on your knees and reach out to take the hurt one in yours. You stare down at his split second knuckle, an ugly gash that would surely scar no matter how kindly or tenderly you treated it. Caused because of your stupidity, your recklessness. Caused because you tripped or slipped or something and fell off the wall. Caused because he risked his safety to catch you. You feel your heart break, knowing the scar would be your fault, forever, and you can’t ever fix it no matter how hard you try.

There’s no going back, or rewinding time to try again.

Beomgyu winces as you wipe at the cut with the alcohol wipes, and you mutter sorry after sorry. It’s beginning to not even feel like a real word. You can feel your chest heaving, one step away from a total breakdown as you swim through deep and measured breaths. Guilt pours over you like a thick syrup, sticking to every surface and threatening to drag you down and drown you whole. It fills into the cracks of your armor, bubbling up inside you like a witch’s brew. As you place the gaze and wrap the bandages around his hand, your breaths are coming shallower and shallower, your ability to keep it together fading. When you tie the bandages into place, you let go and drop to sit on your heels, all energy gone. Your head hangs in shame, and you wish you could crawl away and hide somewhere until further notice.

Which would be easier if you didn’t share a damn apartment.

However, your best friend won’t let you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice soft and soothing. His healthy hand curls under your chin, gently begging you to look up, and you comply. His eyes are calm and filled with stars again, and other emotions you can’t quite place. He smiles kindly, and you can feel your heart shatter at that instant. Right now, you don’t deserve that kindness. Your shoulders spike up and tears begin to spill over. Beomgyu’s face collapses into concern, and he slides off the couch to sit on the floor next to you, legs crossed.

When he places his hands on your shoulders, you try to shake them off. “Please, just...” Your voice falls away. How could you ever apologize for what happened? You knew you shouldn’t have, and yet you did. You knew he seriously disapproved, even if he didn’t voice it totally, and yet you continued. You knew, deep down, that you were getting cocky, and yet you didn’t stop. You had plans on teasing him, mocking him for his concern. The guilt presses down and down, crunching against your head, your shoulders, and your heart until you could scarcely breathe. Quiet sobs heave against your frame, from your torso down to your whole body. You could tell, soon, that you’d simply shake apart into fragments that could never be pieced together again.

You injured your best friend from your own stupidity.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says again, and this time, he reaches for you and pulls you into his lap, safely tucking you under his chin. You don’t resist, and even if you wanted to, you doubt you could have done it past all the crying. He gently rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back, soothing you as one would a small child. Once your sobs have subsided, and your breaths return to a semi-normal state, he speaks again. “I don’t hate you for what happened, if that’s what you think. I could never, I…”

You pull yourself slightly from his grasp, enough to stare at him at eye level, coming out from underneath the warm spot of his chin and neck and shoulder. The emotions swirling around amongst the stars in his eyes are new and unusual to yet, and some part of you feels at home with them. Your voice is quiet, almost hesitant, when you talk. “You... what?”

Beomgyu takes a breath, as if steeling himself. "I have something I need to tell you."

"Need?" you echo, head quirking to one side in confusion.

He nods, staring straight into your eyes. When he speaks, his tone is something you’ve rarely ever heard before. “Need. My chest might burst if I don’t get this off it, and that wouldn’t really help me graduate. Or tell you this. So... and seeming we might as well have almost died…” You roll your eyes at his dramatics, and Beomgyu seems hesitant, but only for a moment. Years of going up on stage have prepared him, but you can tell in this instance, he’s honest, 100% himself, and your best friend, not some actor playing a character for some play.

He takes another breath before: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes grow wide, a small gasp escapes your lips, but he doesn’t stop.

“No, that’s not right. I know I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for a long time but this... this is different. I want to keep you safe, to wipe away any of your tears. Seeing you sad just... tears at my heart. It hurts. Whenever you're sad or upset, I feel the same way, even if it’s just words over a text message. I really did feel like I was going to die when we had that fight. Living without you was unimaginable, but I had to go four weeks without you. Without your voice, your stupid jokes, your laugh. I guess I was in love with you then, too, I just didn’t know it.”

Words escape you, any witty comeback gone. You stare at him, the honesty in his eyes, thinking you’d see him differently after his confession. But you don’t. He’s still Beomgyu. He’s still your best friend. He’s still your Beomgyu.

One of your hands raises, and you tap yourself on your sternum. “Me?”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes now, as if he expected some kind of response like this. “Yes, you. I mean, who else would look up at the night sky, invent a star-monster, then worry about it taking me? I’ve wondered if I was really in love with you, like really actually in love with you. But when you fell and I caught you and you blacked out and I didn’t know why... Y/N, I was so worried. I could feel my heart breaking and I knew that if you never woke up, I wouldn’t ever be the same again.”

He’s mere inches from you, arms around you, body heat radiating off in such pleasant ways you feel okay with melting straight into the floor. His hands move from around your back to ghost around your face, like they want to caress you but are too afraid you might shatter like a fine porcelain under his touch. And his eyes—damn, his eyes. Every star, every galaxy, stirring together to create a beautiful milky way, a gaze so firm and caring you feel as if you’ll never look away. That if you somehow managed, too, you’d feel as if you were missing something dear and important.

Your heart flutters in your chest, its beat stuttery against your wrists. Oh, how on earth did you get here?

Maybe it was when one was so starstruck by the other they stopped watching where they were walking and dripped over someone’s strewn out, overstuffed backpack. When the other offered up a seat beside them during the audition to help settle nerves. Maybe it was when they woke up next to each other after having fallen asleep after binge watching an entire anime season or two, with Netflix on some other autoplay show, one was wondering how the other could look so soft and delicate just after they wake. When the other was happy that they were in each other’s lives. Maybe it was when they declared they’d always be friends, best friends, but now always seems to be more weighty and mean a little more than before.

Maybe, just maybe, this is when they slowly turn towards each other, catching the starry glint in the other’s eye. When they slowly lean forward, ever closer, to the point they can feel one another’s soft breath. When gazes go from eyes to lips and back. When heartbeats slowly start to be harder and louder. When you feel like you might be the one crying because oh heavens—this is it.

But there are things those plays never mention, things the audience can never detect.

They never mention how the palms of hands become sweaty, or how automatic it is to take a soft breath before another pair of lips meets yours, a touch so delicate you finally understand what all the hype is about.

How nice it feels to have two hands cupping your cheeks so gently, their little fear of shattering you gone, or how your own hand curls into the fabric of his shirt as if it’s second nature, the most right thing in the world.

How tantalizingly dizzy a first kiss is.

How soft lips are, how soothingly warm to the point you wouldn’t mind if they were all you felt. How tender goosebumps trail down your spine until something begins to pool in your stomach.

How, even though you’ve become utterly breathless, you can’t stop at just one, because now something that's been building and growing for years has unlocked.

Hands that trail from cheeks to ghost over the nape of the neck, sliding down arms softly to then find purchase at your waist. Kisses, more warm, tantalizing kisses that leave you craving for more. Kisses that roam from lips to chins, then trail down the jaw to tease and nip tender patches of skin on necks, only to return to corners of lips for more wholehearted, dizzying kisses.

You’re warm, almost hot, but it’s so pleasant. What exposed skin you have tingles with feeling, with a craving touch and affection, too. The two of you rest your forehead on one another’s, breath still shallow from all the kisses exchanged, hands softly interlocked with fingers entwined, or as much as one can with bandaged knuckles. He finds his voice first, though even it is soft and a little hoarse. “I should have done that a long time ago, huh?”

You giggle and snuggle closer, nestling into the crook of his neck. You place a kiss underneath his chin. Beomgyu rubs even patterns on your back with his healthy hand while you take the bandaged one in your own, cradling it gently. You pull it up to your own lips, kissing where each knuckle is softly. When you look up, you see the stars glowing in his eyes, brighter than anytime you’ve ever seen them.

Beomgyu sighs, eyes softening at the corners. “I guess the kiss in the play won’t matter anymore, hm?”

You lightly slug in him the shoulder, a love-filled smile playing on your lips. He smiles back in a similar manner, his eyes lighting up with happiness. “Oh, and I guess this means you love me back, too.”

People fill and mingle around the diner, looking for an open seat among the crowds of customers. And older couple swoops in as soon as you vacate the booth, not even caring that your dirty dishes were still neatly stacked at the edge awaiting pick up. But you didn’t mind. You push through the doors to wait outside while Beomgyu paid. Even though there’s a small crowd at the counter, you knew exactly which one he was. Beomgyu wore his light blue jacket, the one that accentuated all his features nicely. You’d have to make sure that whatever Beomgyu-sized scarf you bought matched that jacket. He needed to wear it as often as possible.

The first official date was almost over, but you knew there would be many more to come.

Once he’s finished paying, Beomgyu makes a beeline for the door, carefully navigating around all the people crowding the entryway. “Is it always this busy?” you ask when he rejoins you.

Beomgyu shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. But knowing you, the most gorgeous person ever alive, would be there waiting for me was very motivational.”

You do little to hid your smile.

He takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as if it were second nature. Maybe, it was, and you two had just been trying to ignore it. This walk from the diner back to your apartment had been done countless times before, but this one is special. And now, you think, it really is your apartment.

Beomgyu starts to casually rub gentle circles onto your skin with his thumb. “It’s the perfect kind of weather for me to take off my jacket and give it to you to keep you warm, you know.” He then takes a deep sigh and throws his head back. His next words come out playfully clipped. “But, someone had to be smart and wear their jacket.”

“Well, you’re not dating a fool,” you chuckle. When you notice Beomgyu pouting, eyes downcast away from you, you laugh again and poke him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Thank you anyway, Beomgyu, for always thinking of me.”

He turns back to you, all smiles. “Darling, I don’t think I could stop thinking of you even if I tried.”

“Ew, gross.” You laugh, white curls of breath forming in front of you. But, unlike last time, there is no cold or ice in sight. No dark thoughts and doubts plague you tonight. You’re delightfully warm and happy.

“Ew, gross yourself,” Beomgyu mimics, throwing his tone to match yours. “I’m cold too, by the way. So I guess thanks for thinking of me by thinking of yourself. God, you’re like the smartest person ever.”

As the walk home continues, so does the conversation. "Our parents seemed pretty happy when we told them, huh?" Beomgyu mentions, a smile playing at his lips.

“Maybe they planned it,” you muse. “Maybe the director was in on it. They wrote it all together because they decided it was now or never.”

Laughter fills the air, and even in the dark spots between the lampposts are filled with light.

You nudge your shoulder into Beomgyu’s, garnering his attention. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nods, eager to hear what you have to say, you continue. “Why did you throw your lunch on me that day in seventh grade?”

“That was an honest mistake!” he exclaims, eyes filled with desperate honesty. The blush along his cheeks as he looks away is readily apparent. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with sincerity. “But sitting next to you on audition day wasn’t.”

A soft smile plays at the corner of your lips. “I’m glad I got there late, then.”

“Me, too.” A moment of silence falls between you, but it’s comfortable, like an overtly fluffy blanket made just for two. Afterward, Beomgyu is the first to speak again. “Okay, I’ve confessed something from our past that’s mildly embarrassing yet still endearing. Now it’s your turn.” He turns to you with a mischievous grin on his lips. "’Fess up, darling."

It takes a small instant, before: “Oh! You know that time we stayed up all night and watched anime after that big project? When we woke up the next morning, even though you scared the hell out of me, I thought you were pretty cute.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows quirk up, his grin grows wider. “Cute? Me? You thought I was cute?”

Pink blush rushes to your cheeks before you smack him on the shoulder. You drop his hand and quicken your pace. “You were cute, you’re not anymore.”

Beomgyu races to catch up with you, takes your hand again, and bumps into your shoulder gently. “Of course I’m not cute anymore. I’m handsome.”

You make a fake gag. “Oh, please!” There’s no sense of lightness when you shove his shoulder.

“Hey, now,” he says, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand, another fake pout on his lips. “Be nice to your boyfriend.”

You scoff. “Is that what you are now?”

“What else would I be? More than friends but not a boyfriend…” Beomgyu’s eyes brighten as he lets go of your hand and snaps his fingers. “Aha! Your husband!”

You shove him with two hands this time. The idea of being with him like that is overwhelming to the max. “Fine, you’re my boyfriend, then.” The word feels foreign on your tongue, but you can easily imagine them growing comfortable. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Your Beomgyu.

He slings his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close as your apartment slowly grows larger in the distance. He leans his head over and rests it gently on yours. “I guess I lied,” he mutters, and you pull back confused even with his eyes on you, rich and loving. “I told you the play wouldn’t change things between us.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face. “But... we changed in a good way, right?”

Beomgyu answers you with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, caressing your shoulders kindly and pulling you just a little closer. “Yeah, we changed in a good way.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #txt fluff #txt headcanons #txt scanarios #txt imagines #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu headcanons #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #fluff #angst #scarios #imagines #all #prose #txt

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 2 years ago

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SUPEERR sorry for the late update! i went through a hellish week but I really wanted to go on with the story 😭 i wrote down the setting so the ending’s kinda set in stone, so buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourself for a ride.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker [CAN THE OTHERS REDO THEIR NAMES I CANT FIND YALLS ACCOUNTS IM SCARED OF TAGGING THE WRONG PEOPLE IM SO SO SORRY IM NEW TO THIS]

⚠️ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ PLOTTTTT. This chapter onward will mark the beginning of heavy themes. There will be mentions of death, manipulation, discussion of political issues, and profane language. Discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

And when the rain stopped, you two were back to the same scene, but with your hand on his sleeve.

You and Miles walked down the same Brooklyn road, your fingers pinching the corner of his jacket while he led your bike on with his free hand. Your shoes crunched against the autumn leaves, each step like a snapping twig, marking your each step.

Even at its darkest, Brooklyn never slept along with its sisters. The bright windows, the music playing from the underground bars, and the other couples maneuvering through the night like mice on the run. Still, everything seemed lazier and slower— and you didn’t know if it was just Miles or the atmosphere in general. Miles rambled on and on about his childhood show, going on about how his seven-year-old-self thought olives would be the greatest thing to snack on after seeing Jerry pine after it so much, and how after plopping it into his mouth changed the entire course of his life.

“Ever since then, I never ate another goddamn olive for the rest of my damn life.”

You laugh at his dramatics, at the way he shakes his head, but despite the dramatic way he moved, Miles never shook the arm your hand was clinging onto— you needed it more than his story-telling.

“I mean, olives do look like grapes, so I kinda understand the confusion.”

“That’s the biggest foul, really: that olives look like grapes.”

“It is kinda one hell of a foul. Mine’s the fact that raisins also look like grapes.”

And the image pops in his mind like a bubble. “… Jesus. Why the hell does everything look like grapes?”

“Ionno.” You shrug. “Same thing can be said about your head, though.”

He feigns offense, parting his mouth into an ‘o’ while leaning back. “Stop projecting your grapefruit-lookin’ ass.” Miles shoots back, earning a sharp swat from you. “Fucker, you’re the one built like a bamboo shoot.”

"You're the one talkin taller than your own height, you lil, dehydrated, un-sunned potted plant lookin' ass."

You gawk at the full-blown insult, earning nothing but a guffaw from Miles who shook his head.

"I'm just kidding, my girl, m'just kidding." He swiftly pulls you closer, pulling you in with his hand over your shoulders. "You know I'm just playin' with you, ma, you're the prettiest in my eyes." The way he sweetly coos tugs at your heartstrings, your tiny giggles muffled while he sways you around.

"Apology accepted," You snicker. "Riley Freeman.”

“… Future child bride.”

“Future enemy of the state.”

“Thas why you daddy don’t want’chu.”

“At least I got a daddy.”

And the squabble just went on and on.

Tiny jabs of flirting disguised as well-crafted insults, and subtle touches concealed as playful punches. The two of you were crazy in the sort of way that only the two of you can drive each other insane.

Ironically, you loved these sorts of moments with him— just two people simpering down the streets in good ol' New York. But in the back of your mind, there was still that lingering guilt that endlessly knocked against your psyche, begging you to tell the truth.

But the truth wasn’t the hotel, or the life you were living. The truth was a decaying matter locked in a finely decorated cage, where everyone could smell the stench, but they instead choose to ignore it all for the sake of preserving peace.

Miles would never do that. He wouldn’t turn around and shrug his shoulders just for the sake of preserving whatever peace or comfort New York had— he would absolutely fucking riot to disturb the comfortable.

But the thing was, all you had left was that peace, and the slightest piece of your dignity scrapped up like leftovers of a meal.

“Hey, ma.” Miles snaps you out of your thoughts, earning nothing but a small hum from you.

“… Do you know anythin ‘bout about parallel universes?”

You pause for a moment, processing that question like a printer— eyes slowly traveling to meet his as if to confirm if what you heard was correct. Miles shifts a bit, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“.. What?” You airily query, brows knitted together in confusion. He laughs at the way your mouth hung like a lost toddler. “Parallel universes? Ionno, I just heard ‘bout it from my dorm mate.” His fingers reach to scratch the nape of his neck. “Something ‘bout there being another version of us in another universe n shit like that— slight changes, maybe?”

“.. I’ve heard about it from my Physics professor, but I never really delved much into it.”

“Well, I’ve been thinkin a lot ‘bout it.”

Your nose scrunches. “But.. Why though?”

“Well,” The two of you start walking again, with the pace much slower. “It made me wonder if there’s another us in another universe.. Doin’ shit like this.” His hand gestured at the both of you, soon dropping by your side. “You n me, just walking and talking. I wonder if we also like each other in another universe.”

It sounded cheesy. Being lovers in more than one world.

But you liked the sound of it. Lovers.

“I probably hate you in every other universe.” You teasingly laughed while lightly pushing him away.

“Well, maybe there’s somethin’ special ‘bout me in this universe that made you fall for me.” He smoothly chimed, leaning a bit closer. You try to hold back a smile, but it still seeped in the corners of your lips.

“Ionno ‘bout that.”

His grin only widens. “You know you love me, ma.”

You stare a long stare.

I do.

“Shut up.” You mumble, pacing faster when Miles reaches out to hold your hand. “Maaaaaaaa.”

“What do you want, Miles?”

And he looks at you with those eyes of his. The kind that dragged you into this whole mess, the kind that made you crawling back in four days. Subtly, he leans down to your level, eyes in line with your own. Only then, so gently, he presses his lips against yours for a second.

"I wonder if that happens in every other universe too?"

You blink at the act, somewhat speechless.

“I’d be missin out on a lot if I don’t get to kiss you like this in every universe.”

You try to snap back at him, but you could no longer find anymore ammo to fire. Miles sets your brother’s bike aside, kicking the stand down just to take both of your hands— placing them over his shoulders.

"How about you? What do you think?" He suddenly asks. "Who would we be to each other in another world?"

There were a million thoughts blundering your mind, a sort of disarray you weren't used to— the thing was, you didn’t even know who the two of you were supposed to be to each other in this world. Everything seemed all blurry in the future, and you couldn’t even think of one for yourself.

But for once, you couldn’t help but think of what could be.

“Would you rather hear me romanticize, or would you rather hear me be realistic?” You asked of him.

Miles took a moment to think. “I think it’d be nice to hear what’chu think is romantic.”

You leaned in a bit towards his side. “You really think so? What if I end up soundin’ childish?”

Placing a gentle hand over your arm, he simply replied. “You’re young, ma. It’s okay to be a child.”

Turning more towards him, you begin to flit your fingers up toward his jaw. “Then…” Your eyes trailed away from his. “In another universe, we’re just us.” You mumble, your fingers tickling at the back of his neck.

“In another universe, I’ll be doing painting commissions at random shops to save up for Christmas. I’ll be working at that café we saw. You’ll be there, and we’ll meet up and I’ll be the one to ask for your number.” Your hand runs down his sleeve just to intertwine your fingers with his.

“What do you mean you? You can’t do nuthin, I’ll be the one asking for your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “It’s another world, Miles. We ain’t entirely sure if we’re going to be the same people.”

“You’ve got a point,” He piques. “But—“

“Let me finish.” You sigh, and immediately, he snaps his jaw shut. “… I don’t have to escape every night just to see you, nor do we have to meet exclusively every Friday and Saturday. We’ll see each other everyday, and you’ll go to my house— and my mom will make us food while going on and on about us dating, and my dad’s going to scold me to keep the door open just so he can keep an eye out on you.”

Suddenly, all the fantasies you’ve mentally illustrated for yourself every night to dwell upon came running out of your mouth.

“Maybe, I’ll have a few childhood scars, and I’ll paint my nails any color I like— I’ll get a new set monthly, and I’ll let you choose the color. We’ll walk to school together, and I’ll never miss any of your basketball games…. We’ll just be,”

Normal.

“Us.”

Realizing your rambling, you shift away a bit, somewhat embarrassed of all the stuff you’d blurted out. It’s like you could sense him trying to piece together what you’d just said. With a cautious hand, he wraps it around your waist before nuzzling his head into your hair.

"What's stopping us from being like that in this world too?"

You hold onto him a little tighter.

“… It’s getting colder these days, huh?”

Noticing your hesitance to break open, Miles decides to simply play along for now. “Yeah, it’s getting colder, ma, so you,” He softly pulls away, placing both of his hands over your cheeks. “You should start taking care of yourself or else you might start a whole new bubonic plague.”

“Why the fuck do you keep linking that to me?”

“Cause you’re a host of viral plague.”

“I’m not even sickly, damn it.” You say, while feeling an itch in your nose. “You’re just making shit up at thi— hACHOO!” You sneeze down to the ground, narrowly missing your sleeve. Miles takes a step back, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“… Maybe I should be a plague doctor for halloween, and you should be a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

He pictures you with comically large bags beneath your eyes, frail lips, and a white dress with its frock lost in the wind— and he’ll stand beside you, with the large black beak of the mask poking at your hair, with a large black cape flying behind his back.

“… Isn’t halloween this Saturday?” You think back with a frown. “I haven’t celebrated that in a long, long time.”

That was a lie. You’ve never celebrated halloween before.

“Huh?” He snaps in shock. “You don’t celebrate halloween?”

He watches you shrug. “It’s a kid’s thing.” Was what your Father always told you, in the same tone you were currently speaking.

“Awe man,” Miles mumbles. “… I thought you got the hint that we’re going trick or treating for our date.”

“Trick or treating?” That too, you also haven’t done. “I-Isn’t it dangerous? My mother said people would poison the candy and plant shit inside the chocolates.”

“What?” At that point, Miles was piecing together an image of your family with each passing story. “That almost never happens— who can afford poisoning children in this economy? Shit, might as well just use it on yourself with all the bills you have to pay.”

And there it goes again. The economy.

And it strikes you a bit. That guilt of being brought up pristinely uncomplicated. Privileged, as most would call it. Your problems were rather personal, never financial. Growing up, you’d been living lavishly in the comforts of your manor, never having to worry about tomorrow or next month or next year.

And, admittedly, it was unfair.

“… Miles, can I, um, discuss something with you?” You silently query, unconsciously matching your pace along with his. Miles only hums.

“Look. I don’t mean to get political, and I don’t want to sound privileged— but honestly speaking, I kinda am, and I can definitely recognize it.” You confess. “I wasn’t.. Raised in a home where we had to be conscious about money. My parents are well-off, in the way I’m sheltered as hell, but I’m not blind. I can see the city crumbling apart. My brother says that it’s all because people don’t wanna work anymore, and I never understood why.”

He raised his brows. “That’s… Well, I’m not gonna judge your brother from that alone,” Miles states, keeping in mind that he still wants to appeal to your family. “But honestly, that whole view is kinda whack. Listen, nena,” He takes a deep breath. “Imagine working your ass off nine to five— and you’re still getting paid the minimum wage. Rent is due, groceries are expensive, and you’re tired as hell, but it’s all not enough. You can’t even spend any of the money on yourself.”

“Well,” You pique. “… My father said that if the people would just stop buying irrelevant things and save up, they’d be able to live.”

Miles grimaces. “Do only the rich deserve happiness?”

Your head tilts. “Don’t they say that money can’t buy you happiness?”

He shook his head. “They say that because they’ve got the money.”

He spots the confused look on your face. Relatively, he takes your hand and further conveys. “Well, as you said, it’s a capitalist world. Only the wealthy say that because they don’t know what it’s like to be down here,” His hand points below. “In the slums, starving to damn death. Money can fix that shit. Money can fix all this, but they choose not to.”

Your mouth hung open.

“… I never thought of it that way.”

“Mhm.”

“My whole life, my parents have always chalked it up to hard work— but the city never sleeps, so it’s impossible that nobody here ain’t doing nothing.”

And it all processes through you. “Huh, it’s all.. New to me.” Naturally, your hand drags up to pluck the skin off your lips. “I never delved into that sort of issue before. My parents have always been kind of.. Sort of,”

“.. Elitist?”

“I was going to say stuck-up, but that makes so much more sense.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda seein’ it, not gonna lie.” His clicks his tongue. “Look, ion really talk ‘bout this sort of thing much, but I like discussing these sorts of things with you— ‘cuz it’s interesting seeing how open you are to these kinds of topics, even if you were raised like that.”

You turn your head to look at Miles, and your brow twitches ever so slightly at the pang of anxiety drumming at your chest.

“We’re… Really the opposites of each other, huh?”

He hums. “But in a way, we’re still kinda similar.”

“How so?” You ask, a bit dubious of the remark. You were all this, and he was all that. You doubted any sort of similarities you two had, but Miles holds your shaking hand.

“If you and I were solely made to be opposites, we’d be nemeses by now.”

And you ponder.

How long would it take before you start hating me?

How long would it take before I stop seeing that loving gaze of yours?

How long would it take before you discover the truth?

From afar, you could already spot the Gristedes building, as though it were the portal parting your world from his. You eventually take the bike back to yourself, dragging it by the handles. As the edge of the block materializes, you turn to look at the boy behind you.

“I’m gonna have to go ride back now.”

And when he draws closer, a flick of your mind takes the image of Miles’ exhausted face, assuming it’d be similar to what he’d look like once he recognizes the truth about you. You wonder if he feels it too— this strange air between the both of you, going past tension, and delving into something deeper and darker.

You’re so unsure. So afraid of how fragile this entire thing was.

“Ain’t I getting a kiss, nena?”

“You’re so needy.” You huff, opening your arms anyway. “If you get the bubonic plague, you’re gon’ be the one complaining all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, nena, whatever you say— just gimme my kiss.”

And he penguin walks his way to you, leaning down like a kid in search of candy. Miles steps into your view, following wherever you turned— his hands making their own journey across your waistline. Your palms snake up his shoulders, heels faltering backward when he presses you up against a brick wall. Your hands fall down to grip his arms instead, head tilting ever so slightly before taking his lips.

He takes you like you were his favorite drink, digging his fingers into the side of your waist— his body melting like ice on a summer day. With his hand, he angles your chin much higher, while yours trail up his chest, parting your lips to gasp for air, only for Miles to steal it away from you.

And when you part, you’re left a heaving mess.

“Trick or treating on Saturday?” He asks again. “Please?”

“… I—“

“I’ll take a bite of every candy you’ll get just to make sure it ain’t poisoned.”

You laugh at his remark.

“Fine.”

It was strange, almost unfamiliar to you, to meet the gate of the manor at this time of night.

It had you questioning your choices, your rationality, and the soundness of your mind. Your mind wasn’t entirely sound to begin with, fortunately for you Miles liked that about you.

After bribing the security, tossing Antonne’s bike to the side, and creeping into the damn place, suddenly, you’re thrust back into the stillness of your family’s generational household.

The marble tiles, the limestone brick walls, and the grandeur steps that parted by the center were all normalcy to you— in spite of how you’d always deemed your family as ‘capable’ to Miles.

Instead of childhood photos and potted plants, you were greeted by the sight of marvelously carved statues and antique paintings. Rather than a home, it felt more like a museum to you— but in a way, it was also your fault for keeping everything too clean.

It’s unfair.

One day you’ll leave this very house and leave it under the care of Antonne who hardly bore any interest for managing things. Despite the way you’ve learned to force yourself to take interest in numerous fields of whatever-the-fuck, this manor was something you treasured along with the hotel. Your father was well aware of your passion, your skills in tidiness, and that was the reason why he appointed you as Antonne’s proxy initially, but you were greedy for more.

You were a little too greedy to want Miles and the life you’d desired for the longest time. You didn’t know what the future was like, and you’ve grown too sick of having everyone else decide your own future for you. This life of infinite spending and glamour was the only life you’d ever known, and you weren’t prepared to abandon it all. As your mother said, no one’s privileged enough to be born as wealthy as you, and you’d likely carry that sort of financial ignorant bliss to the grave.

But Miles didn’t have that.

His family didn’t have generational heirlooms worth thousands of dollars, nor did they have antique paintings bought from highly private auctions. His home only had two bedrooms, unlike your own which housed tens of them.

You and him were astronomically different in more ways than one.

One of these days, those differences might end up either empowering or deadly to one of you.

Step. Step. Step.

As you treaded up the staircase, your hand jolts away from the icy ivory-pillared railings, cussing a subtle “Fuck,” as you went on. In the dead of the night, the halls appeared eerier and darker— as though you could see your own ancestors walking past the red carpets with their frilly gowns and downcast looks of disappointment. Like you could see them shaking their heads just after seeing you there, wearing Miles’ hoodie.

A scandal capable of ruining the family name. As if Antonne wasn’t enough, you ended up falling for a boy you’d likely run away with had you ever gotten the chance.

Elopement. Dramatically cliché, and somehow it still exists in the twenty-first century— for the star-crossed lovers and the filthy rich. Or maybe you just have really bad taste in men… Or parents! Pick a struggle.

You carried your shoes along with your guilt while trudging down the corridor, knowing you’ll likely have to have someone secretive clean the mess up for you. Antonne’s room was in a separate hall, with Malachi’s closer to your own. Even then, like a mouse, you scurry in silence just so you wouldn’t get caught. When you finally reach your door, a thousand burdens escape from your shoulders, only to hear a faint click when you try to twist the handle.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Why won’t it fucking open?” You whisper to yourself. A few more Click Click Click Click Click’s and you manage to finally recognize that you’ve been locked out of your own damn room. You search through your clothes to find the key, only to realize that it’d been in the pockets of the hoodie you’ve left at Miles’ place. In your anxiety, you pull on the edge of your hair, cursing a million words.

I can’t wake up Malachi.

You place your hand over your mouth.

Your breaths begin to stagger, your exhaustion taking hold of you. You tug at your hair a little harder, as though your current goal was to rip your scalp out— and it hurt, it hurt like absolute hell, but nothing was up to par with the pain brought to you by your own mean mind.

But you think, and you think.

Then you lean back, take a breath, and sigh.

And the next thing you know, you’re stabbing through the lock with a knife.

Well, it was less of a stab, more like a saw to jam the bolt. It took a few several tries, but it did manage to unlock after a snap. You heave a sigh of relief, heading right in before gently closing it shut. Immediately off to rest your head against the flat of your door as a sort of celebration for your success.

“… Where have you been?”

You celebrated a little too soon, unfortunately.

Antonne stared at you from the sill of one of your opened windows, the gleam of the new dawn gleaming in pink and blue behind him, casting a long shadow that trailed past your fluffy carpet and dawned over your darkened face. Ever so slowly, he plucks the dying cigarette from his teeth, the intoxicating scent tugging at your nostrils. For once, Antonne’s taken you aback after the longest while. He looks similarly exhausted, with his unbuttoned dress shirt and disheveled hair, while also reasonably confused by your current appearance.

“I was out.” You shallowly answer, as if it weren’t too obvious. Antonne furrows his brows, only heightening the permanent arch he already endowed. At the sound of your words, he clicks his tongue and flicks the cigarette out the window.

“Was it that boy again?” He speaks a baritone lower, like something being dragged through gravel. His shoulders heightened as he rested his palms above the sill. You sense a sort of imposing façade.

“… Miles Morales?”

Your eyes flit open, ventriloquist-esque. Like a dummy brought to life to perform for the circus. At that moment, the two of you siblings began to notice the semblances mirroring your parents’ ways; the younger sister who weaponizes her own ignorance like her father, and the older brother who, like a dog, barks endlessly like their mother. Your body leans against the handle, placing all your weight down a single foot while preparing yourself for whatever Antonne’s spared to speak.

“… Fifteen years old, lives with his single mother, Rio Morales, who’s a nurse at Langone. He’s close with his uncle, Aaron Davis, and he keeps steady high marks at Visions Academy... And yet,” His gaze narrows distastefully. “Despite going to such an elite school, he continues on to live a shady life, having at least once or twice participated in vandalism, destruction of private property, and simple assault.”

Antonne eyes your reaction, but you only shrug.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He clears his throat.

“His father, Jefferson Davis, momentarily worked for father and applied for security three years ago.“ Antonne takes a step forward, the shadow over his face growing darker. “And on the opening night of Aureum, he signed up to take a shift at the evening party.”

Antonne stood eerily, and so did you. The tension a blur, cuttable with a single slice from the knife hidden behind you.

“Did you know about that too?”

“... What are you insinuating?”

Antonne yells out your name in a bellow, but you don’t flinch. Like a deer, round and wide, your eyes were hauntingly frozen, scrutinizing the way he heaved. He struggled to search for the words to describe you— crass, cruel, wicked, bitch. And it only mulled him downer seeing you look guiltless. With his hand, he drags you by the collar.

“You’re wearing the hoodie of a boy whose father died in the tragedy you’re fucking covering up.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 sent a picture || Just now

Aaron peers at the message at his phone, swiping it upwards, thinking it must’ve been some sort of scam or bot. He chugs down the final sip of his coffee, settling by the couch with a disgruntled moan. He rests his head by the armrest, placing his mug down by the table before him. As he stretches the ache off his limbs, another chime goes off from his phone.

He lazily plucks it from his side, wincing as the bright screen flashed him.

+17479256640 || Just now

This is your nephew, right?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“Shh." You pull a finger over your lips, hushing him as though he were a child. Your other hand drafts away from the lock, and you toss the knife to the side. The loud, clacking way it fell made Antonne jump. And he sees you, and the way your lips curled into this amused smile.

At that smile alone, he falters, remembering so suddenly every detail about the mother you two shared. Every strand of her beautiful hair which you endowed, the darkening of her gaze when she was having fun, and the deriding way she looked at the people she deemed inferior.

I don’t need a knife to kill you, Antonne.

That look you had, a smile which he now recognized as a sneer, was what true hatred was.

“Antonne, maybe you’re forgetting that I’m not covering up just any fuck up, I’m covering up your fuck up.”

And when you took a single step forward, all of what was left of Antonne’s confidence crumbled.

“The building collapsed because you forced the workers to rush the process of the construction— and when the media got a hold of what was happening, you ran to Switzerland with Richard just to avoid the consequences, and all of who dealt with everything was me.” You dug an accusing finger into his shoulder. “I took care of everything in your place, and I sacrificed so much for it. But when you realized how I might take over your spot in the hotel, you came back after three whole years— going through every detail of me that you could find as a weakness. Well, let me tell you one thing, my dearest brother,”

You whisper over to his ear. “You can’t beat me at a game you’ve never fucking played before.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron sits right back up, clutching his phone with strength he never thought he had. Swiftly, he presses the notification— greeted with a photo of Miles and some girl walking down the streets with their hands clasped together. When the text bubble reappears, another photo surfaces with the girl’s face being much clearer. A sense of familiarity strikes him, and he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He zooms into the picture, fingers grasping the bottom of his chin while scourging through his memories.

His eyes trace the details of your hair, every curve and curl— your eyes, downcast and very attentive of Miles’ presence. So aware of him, it’s as though he was all that was left in the world. And he looked at you the same way. For a moment, it was like witnessing Rio and Jeff once more, with those gazes smiles.

‘Pretty. The kind of pretty who knows what she wants, and she can use her own face to get it. When you say something stupid, she’ll let you know that what you said was stupid with just her eyes alone— and it’ll shut me up, and I love it.’

Those were Miles’ exact words. For the last two months, you were all he ever really talked about. Seeing you now, Aaron couldn’t help but raise his brows at the sight of your hand intertwined with his nephew’s. He ought to be lying if he ever said that Miles was exaggerating— you were definitely a looker. And that was what unsettled him the most. He had this gut feeling he couldn’t shake, a burden gnawing at his stomach.

He soon drags his thumbs across the keyboard, typing out immediately.

Aaron Davis || Just now

who’s this?

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

“… What’s happened to you?”

It was genuine. And it wasn’t just curiosity, Antonne was seriously wondering with worry.

“What have you done to the sister I grew up with?”

The sister he grew up with?

Antonne could still remember, every aspect and smile you bore three years ago. And he remembered as though it’d all disappeared just yesterday. You were a smiley little girl— always a little too smart for her own good, and always a little too cheeky. But you were shy, and often kept to yourself. Even during those days, you often hid yourself in the shadows, crawling into the corner of every room you entered with a book in your hand.

He recognized you then. Now you were a complete stranger.

Your hand drops, and you shove your shoulder against Antonne’s. “Grew up with? You never grew up.” You trudge towards the window, closing it shut as soon as you got to the handle. “Meanwhile, I had to be an adult as soon as possible because if not me, then who? Mom’s not here, Dad’s a mess, Malachi’s ten years old, Montrell’s in London, and you ran away.” Your body sinks down to the floor. “When I’m with Miles, I feel… Sixteen, like how I should be.”

“… But if you’d just give me the job—“

“I’m not giving you shit.” You spat. “Not yet, at least, stop fucking rushing.”

Antonne stood, watching you sit by the sill, hand over your nightstand to reach out for your vape.

And the way it exits, so lividly and hatefully, like how mother would smoke after every silent dinner.

You were everything like her.

No matter how much you tried to erase yourself from your mother’s legacy, it didn’t help that you were the spitting image of her.

Even in the way you struggled, you were still your mother’s daughter.

“You.. Remind me of...” Mother. The comment slips after seeing her image overlap with your silhouette. You already knew the ending of the sentence as soon as it exited his lips. As the smoke trickles past your teeth, you look up.

“… You want me to do what she would’ve done?”

The way the moonlight pooled before you reminded him of how the glass shards glimmered around your mother after she’d wrecked her own room.

“You’re already doing what she did,” He murmurs. “Doing stupid shit for stupid ideals.”

You grab whatever you can off of the nightstand, throwing it right at Antonne who steps back from the impact of the book. As you heave, he stared hauntingly.

“You think you’re the only one trying so hard in life? I’m also doing my fucking best. You’re basing me off of a mistake I did when I was seventeen.” He took a step forward. “You weren’t the only one forced into adulthood. Instead of playing soccer and going out on first dates, dad made me run a hotel. Sure! I didn’t do half as great as you’re fucking doing, but once you fuck up, dad’s going to abandon you too.”

“I know that.” You shakily admit. “I know that no matter what I fucking do, the hotel’s going to end up in your hands, and all I’ve got is a shitty arranged marriage bound to go down the drain and a few many nights with too much wine and regrets ahead of me.” You rub your hands together for the sake of warmth, your voice growing shakier as it settles to break.

“But what I want, what I really want— I just want dad to look at me and think, ‘oh, maybe she can take hold at least a part of the conglomerate!’ instead of selling me off!”

It’s as though the Hotel was Antonne’s toy, and you’d been polishing it all these years with great care, knowing damn well he’d leave it off to rot.

But you never wanted that toy in the first place. You wanted your father to see you taking care of that toy, in hopes he’d gift you one that you could take care of for yourself.

“The reason why he’s not giving you any of it is b—“

“Because he doesn’t want the Fisks to use me after the marriage, I know.”

You run your fingers through your hair, tugging as though it were about to fall of your scalp.

“I’ve found… A way to escape it.”

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

+17479256640 || Just now

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You replied || Just now

No.

His knee jumps along to the drumming of his chest. He thinks of Miles, wondering if he’d been kidnapped, coerced, or attacked. He knew the boy— he’s strong enough to fend for himself against many things. He’s well taught, he’s a genius and…

He’s a fucking fool for his lady. Just like his father.

God, who knew that the lone weakness of the Prowler was a sixteen-year-old with a pretty face?

Ding.

+17479256640 || Just now

Sent an attached file

ＣＬＩＣＫ.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

You and Antonne’s heads swerve at the sound of your phone’s ringing. Begrudgingly, you pushed yourself off of the floor, scrambling to get your phone. With another hit off of the pen, you answer the call.

“What is it?”

And in the background, you hear yelling— commands being thrown in chaos and panic. You look at the ID, finding out that it’s one of your father’s aides. With a hushed whisper and a jagged breath, he reports.

“The Warehouse is being raided, miss–“ A gunshot soars through the air, chillingly searing through a momentary silence. The man whimpers, his voice muffled by his hand. “Raided?” You repeat, voice coming to a hush. “Raided by who?”

And with his jaded breath, he answers.

“.. The Prowler.”

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