#like I’m being dragged back so I can’t have time to cross the finish line of my goals

[lady-lauren]

❥ DRACULE MIHAWK X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: knife play (and sword play), sword slicing clothes, sword against pussy, sword/knife against throat, sword to your mouth, (listen his massive sword is everywhere), some fear-play, semi-public sex, former student/master relationship, degradation, praise, some aftercare, creampie

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Time slows as your eyes catch the glint of a black blade. You see yourself in the mirror-finish; frightened, pressed with no escape. 

“I’m growing…tired of this little chase.” 

Cool metal kisses your chest, the heaviness of his sword lingering just above the panicked swell of your breasts. Mihawk gazes down, head tilting as he analyzes the predicament—you, back down in the filthy alley, heartbeat a sonorous tune up the spine of his blade.

“Sounds like someone is losing his edge.”

“I don’t have time for your brattiness. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

He moves the massive saber lower, the trailing point curved, sharp. 

Threads begin to pop before the blade fully begins to slice through your shirt. Carbon steel stings cold against the heat of your tits. 

“I thought your precious world government would give me a pass, given that I’m,” you can’t help but suck in a quick breath as he presses down with his sword, slow, methodical, enough to hurt and not break skin, “y-your student.”

“Former student. Who is very clearly out of practice.”

“Took you two weeks to catch me.”

“Because I’m patient, sweetheart.” 

Though his patience seems to be running thin. You’ve never been on the receiving end of Yoru, the great sword only ever used when your master deemed it necessary. The weapon can cleave apart a war galleon, swing a shockwave to crumble glaciers. 

Yet now the midnight blade is gentle, precise, peeling away cloth until your breasts spill into the night air.

“Wh–what are you—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he presses the tip of his sword to your throat, tilting your chin with the point, “you can benefit from a quick lesson.”

Your swallow rolls against the blade.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never dreamt of this, of being at his mercy. Mihawk never crossed boundaries, not while you were his to teach. Only times change, tides shift, and now he’s taking what he wants.

He doesn’t have to tell you to be still. 

“Pretty.” He twists the wide sword flat, barely catching the hard peak of your nipple with the edge before smoothing over your skin with the blade. Your teeth grit as you shiver, trying to keep your breathing even. Mihawk repeats the motion, teasing your nipple until it hurts from the icy steel. “Sensitive, too.”

Nails scraping in the dirt, your eyes flash to the mouth of the alley, shadows passing in the street lights. 

Mihawk traces the deadly metal along the curve of your breast, so torturously pressing into the fat like he’s testing the elasticity. The blade pinches against your skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to remind you of his meticulous control. 

Adrenaline lights up every nerve in your body as the weapon drags down, a stinging line drawn to your stomach. One wrong move and he could slice you open. Just a single squirm and the heavy sword would pierce skin, impale your insides on the most powerful sword on the four seas.

“Mi-Mihawk, please.” The tremble in your voice is a white flag waving.

“What are you begging for?” There’s a twitch at the corner of his sharp mustache, a smile, self-satisfied and impish. He presses the blade into the softness of your belly, prodding you, teasing. 

“Don’t hurt me, please, I-I’ll—”

“Do anything?” he cuts in, the smile shimmering up to his eyes, concentric rings focusing on how your thighs press together. Hot, needy, all the fight in you draining to one vulnerable point. 

“I won’t hurt you,” the promise comes with a shift of his sword, roaming lower, “just want to play with my catch.”

You try to concentrate on anything other than the weight of danger. A low breeze kicks against the crimson of his cape, mud and dust caking the hem. Yellow haze of distant street lamps reflects off his chest, sweat beading in the grooves of muscle—from the chase or his focus, you can’t tell. He looks a bit older than you remember, all the more wiser on how to play.

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he knocks his boot against your ankle, kicking your legs apart, “because I want to.”

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. The world has shrunk to just you, the sword toying at the juncture of your thighs, and its wielder—nothing else matters. Not the voices in the distance, the hard dirt against your back, the thoughts you had prior to falling prey. 

It’s a surreal feeling of being caught between moments, between life and the fucked up desire to feel more of the crucifix sword against you. 

“Always guessed you were hiding a pretty cunt. Let’s see if I’m right.” 

The blade sinks between your open legs, knife’s-edge dragging along the seam of your pants. Unhurried, simmering like heat slicing through butter. 

Fear kicks in your chest, rings in your ears. He’s so close to the most sensitive part of you, the sword you always admired cutting through your panties. Cold steel like ice against your weeping flesh—you feel strings of your slick glide against the blade as he exposes you. 

You whimper as your bare cunt is spread delicately, the tip of the steel peeling apart your labia.

“Messy already.”

The precision he wields paralyzes you, the razor edge of the blade brushing against your swollen clit. Pleasure sings down your veins like the pinging of metal, chills erupting over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your body to stay still, for your hips not to buck. 

Mihawk teases your clit again, and again, swirling the sharp sword over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke back a sob, muscles in your thighs twitching as you try to stay calm as he riles you.

“Now what if I…?” he asks himself, the deep baritone of his voice laced with curiosity. 

You gasp as the black blade dips lower, curved point teasing your clenching hole. On instinct your legs try to close, stopped only by his quick reaction. His boot kicks at your knee, hissing like you’re ruining his concentration. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t want to make this pretty pussy bleed.”

Patient as ever, he gives you a few moments to collect yourself, lungs taking in too much air. 

Then the sharpness of his sword pressed back into the squish of your cunt, tip barely easing open your hole like he’s testing, analyzing. A too curious predator prodding his meal. 

“Fuck, please…” you bite from between your teeth, clumping dirt in your palms as you fight not to move, fight the fear bubbling inside your belly. 

“Do you know what you’re begging for yet?” 

“Touch me. Please. I-I need something inside me.”

Mihawk circles your opening, spreading wet muscle, “Tempting words.” 

“You know what I mean.”

The blade skims up from your hole, passing through your folds, flicking over your clit with a metallic ping. 

“Clean your mess first,” the giant blade gleams as he so easily moves it over your panting body, bringing the tip to hover just above your lips, “then I’ll consider fucking you.”

Your eyes meet his, the shape of the sword going fuzzy in your vision as you evaluate him. Golden eyes are glazed over with lustful focus, watching, waiting. 

You don’t break your gaze as your tongue falls from your mouth, licking the underside of the blade. Tangy slick, viscous and gooey, meets your tastebuds. You’d be ashamed of your mess if it weren’t for the way his cock bulges in his pants, thick length throbbing down his thigh. 

In all your years of training, he never once let you touch Yoru. And now he’s flipping the edge over your tongue, washing the jet-black color in your spit.

“Does this please you, Master?” you drop the name like acid against the blade. 

“I could cut out your tongue.” He proves his point by digging the great sword into your wet flesh, just enough to hurt. He wouldn’t. But oh how he could. “If I didn’t have better uses for it in mind.”

Careful patience snaps. In a blur, the blade is gone, replaced by strong hands maneuvering how he pleases. A jerk and you’re off the ground, a push and your exposed tits are scraping a brick wall. 

Mihawk fingers the hole he sliced between your thighs, pant seams ripping farther apart as he spreads your thighs wide. 

His cockhead pops into your cunt, length sliding in deep as he groans against your back. 

“So wet from my sword.”

Spearing into the most intimate parts of you, Mihawk sets a grueling pace, heady slaps of skin on skin and his thick cock dragging along your walls. He’s working towards a goal, purposeful, kissing the back of your neck as he seeks release.

Your hands slide down the granulated wall, gritty brick digging into soft skin. Your nipples are puffy against the same treatment, tender breasts singing with pain. 

“Should’ve,” he inhales with a deep groan, distracted by the suck of your cunt, “known you were such a slut, should’ve made you beg for me sooner.”

You moan his name repeatedly, begging him not to stop, all hot whispers into night air. One hand dips around your body, deft fingers smearing over your clit. Orgasm quickly begins to bloom over your senses, making your toes curl and your back arch against him.

You stare at the ground as Mihawk continues to pump inside you, helplessly whining as he chases his high. You’re fine tuned to every thrust, the way he angles, enough to notice the little inconsistencies. A more shallow plunge, a longer pull of your walls along his shaft before his balls meet your ass. 

A hand latches to your throat, lifts your head and forces you back against him. He sucks at your neck, teeth nipping harder than his blade ever touched your skin. His cock swells at the new angle, pressing apart your gummy walls. Over and over he thrusts up into you, slick squelching from the intrusion, dripping down his balls. 

Mihawk fucks you through the gap he cut into your pants, seams now tearing down your thighs. 

“This how you want me to turn you in? Fucked open and dripping like a whore?”

Before you can register the movements, Mihawk unsheathes the knife that hangs from his neck, pressing it to the column of your throat. 

The soft scratch of his beard meets your cheek as the cold metal of the knife skates up your sweating skin. 

“Perhaps I can make you even more messy, hm? Since you get off on this shit.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your neck as you try to tilt away from the blade. Yet some part of you wants to press closer, feel the sharp edge dig into your vulnerable throat. Mihawk’s thumb pets the steel, purposefully keeping it steady as he grinds into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck!” you choke down a whine.

“Worried? I could slice you open now— your bounty is dead or alive.” 

The realization of the true danger makes you weak, hands slipping down the wall. He could. He might. It would make it so much easier. Fuck you, gut you, take the prize. 

“P-please, don’t. Please. I’ll go with you, you can do whatever you want.”

Mihawk hums in a twisted pleasure, the sound snaking down your spine. The knife blade twists against your skin, tugging you closer to him. 

“Let me feel this slutty cunt cum, then I’ll decide.” 

A war breaks open in your mind, a battle between fear and ecstasy, swirling together into a messy battlefield that leaves you in a state of limbo. Neither side can win, not when you want both so badly. The fear makes you sweat, the bliss makes your pussy cream around the fat cock that keeps invading your insides. 

You’re overwhelmed, panting and whimpering as your former master uses his power and strength to control you in ways you never thought possible. 

The curved, sharp edge of the knife slides down your throat, resting at the base as Mihawk drives his hips harder, jostling you closer and closer to danger. 

And the danger is the spark in your belly, igniting the churning coil of shameful bliss that makes you want to sob. The fingers on your clit pick up pace, rubbing fast and mean until you feel too hot. 

“Oh god, please, please, I wanna cum, wanna cum so bad for you,” you grit your teeth as you focus on the blinding pleasure, chasing it up the cliff’s edge. 

“Do it,” Mihawk groans as he licks up your cheek, arching the blade at the base of your throat, “cum for me, sweetheart.” 

He holds the knife tightly to your neck as you come undone, the metal warm from your body. Your moan vibrates against the steel, sharp edge scraping until it hurts. The pain bleeds into pleasure, a wicked mixture that makes your adrenaline filled nerves explode with your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been smashed into by a tidal wave, a rush of emotions and bliss toiling over another in the current. 

You babble against the blade, nonsense and pleas. Mihawk follows your flow, pausing his thrusts as your cunt sucks around him. His fingers against your clit go soft, gentle swirls as you wind down from your high. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, yeah,” he hums with delight as his cock begins to pulse and spurt, pearly strings dripping from where he’s plugged inside your pussy. The mess sprays into your ruined clothes, drools down your thighs.

Mihawk drags the knife over your throat, languid, smearing against the wetness of sweat. He traces the column of your neck, letting you feel the flat of the blade stinging over your skin. 

“You did good, sweetheart, so good.” 

After the knife is sheathed around his neck, he leans forward to trail kisses over your throat, tongue laving over the sore skin rubbed raw from the edge of his blade. 

Your heart is racing, pussy still tight with fear as he pulls his shaft from your swollen walls. 

Mihawk pulls you from the bricks and into his arms, petting your hair as your face tucks into his chest. 

“You feeling alright?” A kiss to your forehead makes you coo, nails digging into him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’m okay. Guess I’m going with you now.” 

A rare laugh rumbles in his chest. Smooth and soft, like a cat purring to soothe. 

“Yes, you are. But we’re going home. You clearly need more training, after all.” 

You still feel a little numb, arousal and adrenaline still buzzing down your veins. Mihawk brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, down your back, then steps away to pull his coat from his shoulders to wrap around yours. 

“And now I have much more…creative ideas for teaching you how to wield a sword.”

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

[komoboko]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

ft: Giyu tomioka and Muichiro Tokito ・mui implied platonic but can be read as romantic

I never wrote for giyu so I hope this is alright ! Also this was just a ramble about them and their hair mmnmjmjn

# giyu !! ☆

While GIYU can’t say he doesn’t know how to do his hair, the boy just doesn’t know how to do it properly. After Sabito and Makomo’s death he stopped putting real time into himself. He’ll do the bare minimum to get himself through the day. In his opinion it’s just “the thought that counts” even though you both know not much thought goes into it at all.

It isn’t until you drag him into your bathroom to actually take care of his hair that it comes back into the picture. He’s heard from Mitsuri and whisper of other female slayers about the pain of dealing with “a disaster of a bad hair day.” Tomioka can only give you a look as if it was a silent apology that you were going to have to deal with his “disaster” when it came to the glob of hair on his head.

Giyu shifts in his chair as his eyes stay focused onto the ground. He can hear how you search for different supplies, different brushes and combs that would fit his hair. His mind reminisces on the whispers he heard from girls gossiping about their own experiences as now the guilt sets in.

“..I’m sorry”

Your eyes turn towards the male who seemed to stay perfectly still in the chair you dragged him to. “Giyu? Did you say something?” You ask the black haired male.

He hesitates for a moment before slowly shaking his head. His body still facing away from you as the only thing moving was his head. “I said.. thank you.” You can only shrug off the doubt that clouded his voice.

Much to his surprise, the feeling of his hair being properly washed is something he wouldn’t imagine he expected to like so much. He couldn’t tell if it was the actually feeling of cleansing his hair, or if It was your fingers that glided and ran through his hair with so much patience. His shoulders slouched as the tense feeling in his body was no longer presence. A sigh would escape his lips as his eyes slowly closed embracing himself in the comfort fully.

While you may of only done this once, it’s a moment that quickly jumps to Tomioka’s favorites. The moment brought a feeling of so much intimacy that he wasn’t expecting. For a moment he felt like he could breathe, the burdens of his comrades who have long pasted on, the burdens of serving as a hashira, the burdens of life for a moment fell from his shoulders. The moment was just between the two of you an everlasting peace that lasted for such a short time but felt so long. Something he needed much more than he can express.

It won’t be a surprise when he sheepishly comes back to you after you both finished your mission for the day. Mumbling something about “the demons put up a decent fight. Unfortunately it messed my hair up greatly. Would you mind.. helping me fix it.” You can’t help but give a cheesy smile before bringing him back to the bathroom where it all started.

# Muichiro !! ☆

Poor poor Gyomei who unknowingly got roped into helping MUICHIRO learn how to do almost a boy thing properly while he attempts to regain his memories. While Gyomei shouldn’t be underestimated for his teaching skills as he trained Muichiro “back into a boy” as he puts it. Once it came to tackling his hair, is the line Gyomei wouldn’t cross.

You’ve heard rumors about his hair. That it was “more tangled than one could imagine” or, “so natty that it was unfixable.” You’ve never believed them of course but you couldn’t help but be curious about them. You only stared back at the boys hair while you could expect he was staring off into space like usual.

Like you expected, the rumors were false. What surprised you were how far off they really were. The comb ran through his hair, while you did encounter other issues with it, it was way easier than you imagined.

Moving the comb through Muichiro’s hair, you can only admire how much smoother it was compared to all the small rumors spread across the corps. You couldn’t help but wonder why his hair smelled so strange, not that it was bad but oddly familiar.

“What do you use for your hair mui?” you mutter. Silence falls upon the room for a moment until Muichiro collects himself as he snaps out of his thoughts.

“Mitsuri showed me how she does her own hair, so I use the same products as her.” he replies softly.

Oh, so that explains the smell. Your face goes blank for a moment before a soft chuckle escapes your lips at the new found information. You open your eyes once more to see Muichiro face properly in the mirror, a small smile creeping up onto his lips.

Muichiro secretly like when you style his hair. He doesn’t voice his opinion directly but you can tell by his actions and expressions he likes it. His favorite style is anything that includes something half up and half down. He thinks it makes him look cool. Though he still very open to try anything as long as your styling his hair.

He tends to drift back towards you whenever he feels the need to get his hair done. He’ll shuffle towards your direction with a comb or another style in his mind for his hair. While he think he just enjoys getting his hair done, Muichiro just enjoys having some peace for a moment and spending time around you.

[crazylittlejester]

Ngl I want Wars to fight the Venturi so bad just bc I think after all the stress building from being in Forks and around Edward specifically and from all the research and precautions he takes against vampires like

That's a lot to feel for a long time and I think he deserves the emotional release of finally having a sword shield and stake in hand and just killing a motherfucker

Or maybe Edward crosses a line and Wars just murders him. I think that would also bring catharsis from not only the stress Edward put him under but the stress and helplessness he felt when Cia did the exact same entitled/possessive shit as Edward.

Ward deserves a lil murder.

I’m actually not sure exactly HOW far into the Twilight story I’m gonna go with this. The first book/movie for SURE, and most likely some of the second. There are a few elements I HAVE to include: Jacob also being an ass (and a wolf which is revealed in the second one), Bella breaking her hand on Jacob’s face, Bella going fucking NUTS and recreationally cliff diving, etc.

SO: including the Volturi is NOT ruled out. I just don’t want this fic to be too long or feel like it’s dragging but I’d love to include them, and if I can find a reasonable way, I will

AND DON’T YOU EVEN WORRY I’M GONNA ALLOW WARS AT LEAST ONE MURDER (which will most likely be at least one of those vampire guys who kidnap Bella in the first movie). After fuckin’ everything he deserves it /j. Plus I wanna be able to explore his whole mentality/thinking process around killing things/monsters/people(?) since he’s a trained soldier and a vampire is the most human/hylian looking thing he’d have killed since having to fight for his life against traitors in the war. Like how does that affect him? How does that affect him HERE in THIS scenario, in FORKS, a world where having to kill to survive is NOT normalized? How does the knowledge that he was put in a “I don’t want to die and to not die I have to kill” situation affect him in this entirely different place where Charlie is able to sit him down and try to work through that trauma with him?

Wars has a lot of issues going INTO all this, and he’s suddenly 16 again in a world that’s unfamiliar to him. Edward and Jacob both fucking suck, Wars’s high school friends fucking suck, he’s absolutely miserable and Edward makes his skin crawl. The only person he feels he’s really got on his team is Charlie, but even Charlie doesn’t understand everything. And not just the vampires and werewolves, no one in this universe understands Cia or the War of Eras or any of it. He’s got at least one person who has his back, but he feels so alone because he feels so DIFFERENT. So yeah Wars definitely gets to go off the rails a few times, as a little treat 😭 He earned it, he gets to cause problems and witness the american mall for his mental health. He gets a cat too, also for his mental health

Genuinely I’m so excited to start sharing this fic. It’s gonna be crack, a LOT of fucking crack, but it’ll also have more interesting elements to it and I cannot WAIT to share. I’ve decided to finish writing the entire thing before I post any of it, that way I can have a predictable and reliable update schedule for it, but really I can’t wait to drop this shit out there aksnddkd

[what-gs-watching]

“I can only smile like this because I have lost so much.”

Y’aaaaaaall, how excited am I that Doctor Who is finally back?! The 60th anniversary specials got me so on board for 15, and I am really so curious about how his arc is going to play out. Nunuwho, and all that. I’m here for it, I’m ready, I desperately need the distraction. 

Obviously, last time we saw 15 he was getting into hijinx with his new companion Ruby over Christmas, and I appreciate that’s exactly where they picked up for the first episode. 

Let’s talk about it. 

Space Babies

Wherein the Doctor and Ruby end up on a space station and something is definitely wrong.

Okay so, this episode was honestly just really cute from start to finish. Babies on a space station? Running the station, rolling around in little strollers? Trying to fight the boogeyman? Fucking adorable. Was the CGI to move their mouths weird? Of course. But again, I’m totally bought into this absolutely ridiculous situation so you gotta just roll with it. It’s pretty clear that this season is going to be a lot more whimsical than they have been in the past, and that might not be some people’s thing, but oh well. I can’t drag myself away from Doctor Who, it’s become too much of me, so I really will just follow where they lead, why the eff not. 

It’s also obvious they’re gonna keep leaning into the whole Timeless Child business, and I’ll go along with that too even if I was NOT a fan of the Flux because I’m interested to see what 15 is going to make of it. He was surprisingly upfront about where he was from when Ruby was grilling him, that was something that historically had to be PULLED out of the Doctor. Telling her, “the one that was adopted was the last one left” (which, isn’t he technically the first time lord also, since they basically harnessed whatever he technically is to become time lords?) And then this man actually said the word ‘genocide’ AND  expressed his gratitude about the fact that he’d survived. Is the Doctor finally letting go of the guilt he felt over that entire absolutely insane situation? 15 really is all about that emotional growth. You love to see it. 

Bypassing the ridiculousness that is a monster made out of straight up baby BOOGERS, I also thought it was interesting that they let that creature live. I’m not sure 10 would have. But again, the whole ‘the only one of my kind’ thing. Adopting the forgotten. Saving everybody, for once. 

Basically, the whole thing was pure fluff. And I like that sometimes. Cute first official adventure. Even though I gotta say I was surprised he gave Ruby a key like, fucking immediately. 15 really is going all in on those human emotions. It’s gonna get him in trouble, gang…

The Devil’s Chord

Wherein Ruby makes a request for where she’d like to go, and they land in 1963, but again, something is definitely off.

OKAY so, here’s the thing about this episode. Asking to see The Beatles recording their first album is a DIRECT LINE to my heart. Ruby talking about listening to records with her aunt - that’s me with my dad. And it’s absolutely what I would suggest. I enjoyed that he said everyone asks about the Titanic (I would too, eventually) but this girl got her priorities right. 

And I loved how he reacted to it. Pure fucking joy, 15. And the little vignette with them getting dressed up and strutting through the fucking TARDIS, yelling “I’ve got wigs galore!” And then being so absolutely excited about landing basically on the cross walk of Abbey Road. Just, all of it. Pulling all kinds of strings for me. I can’t even. 

I can also appreciate how  they got around not being able to utilize actual Beatles music - music is dying! Music is gone! John and Paul singing about having a dog; “my dog is alive, he’s not dead … he’s not your dog, if you want a dog get your own.” I loved the surprise of it, how absolutely absurd. 

The conversations that Ruby and The Doctor have with Paul and John too…the whole episode is a love letter to music, and I love that. 15 says something like “songs that lift you and devastate you and-and make you soar…” and shit, that’s exactly what it is (I say, as I continue to cry through The Tortured Poet’s Department).

John saying “why do I wake up crying?” ugh. The whole fucking thing. As someone whose life has always revolved around music in some way or another, the thought of losing it really is mind melting. All the feels.

All that to say - the Maestro. Damn, gang. Hard fucking whimsy, I see. And what an absolute psychopath. In a creepy, good, but also terrible way. What the fuck was that? 

The point being now we know a little bit what they’re up against - because 14 played a game at the end of the universe, they apparently let gods from the Pantheon into the universe. So now we’re less about aliens, and more about forces The Doctor really shouldn’t be fucking with, but is going to anyway. Because he caused it, after all. And the devastation he had when he realized that - 15 feels so much, so hard. Gonna hit the entire emotional spectrum with this one, which is so not a Doctor thing, and I will enjoy the entire ride.

 There were so many good moments in this one - Ruby playing the piano on the roof, or when she was trussed up in musical notes and just started emitting Christmas music - and that’s the other thing, the Maestro saying “this creature is very wrong.” Girl, what are you? I love the companion backstories, I really do.

Oh AND The Doctor declaring they had to hide, at one point. My dude is realizing his limitations. 14 wondering what he was underneath all of the gadgets and the time machine really sunk in. And then him talking about how his soul was ripped in half? Jesus. Growth, growth, growth. 

Someone might as well get the emotional epiphanies I should probably be having. It counts if I watch someone else go through it, right? 

There’s too much to say about this one. I loved it, even if I did think the last musical number was almost a bridge too far. But, I’m already on this train, so I’m giving up on clinging to expectations.

Boom

Wherein the two of them land on a planet that’s clearly at war but maybe it’s not all that they think it is.

This one is definitely more classic Doctor Who - immediately they’re in danger and it just ramps and ramps and ramps the entire episode and you can never really relax. I love those. This episode is basically all stakes. 

Doctor standing on a landmine? Check. Ruby valiantly trying to help but most likely is going to make it worse but does it anyway? Yes. Post-apocalyptic “ambulances” wandering the battlefield killing people if they’re injured instead of actually helping them because an algorithm decided it? Of course. 

I feel like a lot of shows lately have been trying to lecture me about the danger of AI (I’m looking at you, Murder At The End of The World, which was so terrible I didn’t even bother writing it up) and I’ve been like ‘yeah yeah I get it jesus’ but I think they did a solid job of it in this one. Capitalism and AI together is honestly a worrying combination, and they got me with this plot.

Essentially, 15 is trapped on a landmine that immolate whomever it ensnares basically, turning him into a giant bomb  which isn’t great because as we know he’s a big ol’ space-time event and he needs to get out of it but then the daughter of a soldier we saw killed by the ambulance shows up and then another soldier coming after the kid and things just go haywire. 

The point is, AI is running everything because war has become an industry (more than it already is) and the algorithm is forcing casualties in a war that literally doesn’t exist and everything is kind of terrible but the Doctor manages to talk his way out of it sort of, by connecting to a projection about being a father and protecting their kids always and forever, no matter the form they’re in. 

It’s kind of sweet that they’re letting 15 talk more about his long, long life - in the previous episode he mentioned his granddaughter and when Ruby asked if he had kids he said something like “did have, will have” and then at the end he tells the child he’ll be back to check on them and that “fish fingers and custard” is his favorite which obviously made me squee and I just really appreciate that he’s more…integrated? It’s always felt like they worked so hard to make sure they’re all different and of course they are, but they’re all The Doctor and I want that thread of all of the things that have come before. 

Also, Ruby again with the weirdness, making it snow after she gets shot accidentally and then grabbed by the ambulance, basically dying on the ground. Girl is complicated. Gimme that backstory!

The other thing I really enjoyed was the mockery of “thoughts and prayers”. Fuck people who hide behind that. Fuck corporations that hide behind that. The Doctor’s not taking your shit, and neither should we. 

All that to say, all three of these episodes were ridiculous in their own ways, and I’m about it. So far, 15 is 1000000% his own thing and I love it even if it is fairly far off the beaten path for Doctor Who and I’m excited to see where else he’ll take us. 

Like he said, “There's hardly any time that we're not dead. Which is a good thing, too. We've got to keep the pace up.”

[anincompletelist]

[read free on patreon here!]

written for the word prompt: thunder

“Can I sleep on your floor?” 

Half-awake, Henry blinks the sleep from his eyes and squints at his new roommate, clad in a checkered pajama set and clutching a blanket tight to his chest outside of his bedroom door. 

“What?” he rasps. 

“Fuck. Sorry. I should’ve explained first,” Alex curses, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night but there’s this storm that came through after we went to sleep and it’s just— I don’t— I don’t do thunder.” 

“You don’t… do thunder,” Henry repeats. Part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming. It’s the only way he’d imagined Alex would ever show up at his bedroom door in the dead of night. But during his move-in interview, Henry had admittedly pictured him less ashen and visibly trembling when it happened. 

“Like, loud noises,” Alex elaborates with a jerky shrug, talking so quickly that Henry struggles to understand him. “Usually I make arrangements but I didn’t know the rain was coming and—”

Before he can finish, another round of the storm bears down outside, a flash of lightning and then an angry, rumbling line of thunder. Alex’s eyes squeeze shut and he drops the blanket to the floor to clutch his hands over his ears instead, a stark contrast from the confident, bubbly person he’d been at dinner hours before, eager to get to know Henry over beers and his homemade Tex-Mex. 

Henry wakes up a little more at the sight of it, dropping down to scoop up the soft blanket and toss it back around Alex’s shoulders, putting a hand on his hip and pulling him through the open bedroom door. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, over and over again as Henry leads him to the bed. “Can I sleep on your floor? I’m sorry, I—” 

“Alex,” Henry stops him. “It’s alright. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, no. You can’t sleep on the floor. This is your room.” 

The sky rumbles outside and he quickly goes back on his decision, diving sideways to burrow himself beneath Henry’s duvet. David grumbles a bit at being woken up, then promptly rearranges himself right up by Alex’s snuffling nose on the pillows with a curious sniff. 

With a delirious, lopsided smile, Henry grabs the extra one and a clean blanket and heads for the rug. 

“Wait,” he hears from the pile of his sheets. He glances up at Alex’s eyes, the only thing visible from under the blanket, and raises a brow. “You can— it’s a big bed. Just— you can sleep on the other side.” 

Henry hesitates for a moment. “I— are you certain?” 

“I mean, it’s fine with me.” Alex slides both hands over his face. “Fuck. This is not how our first night as roommates was supposed to go. I’m so sorry, Henry. You probably think I’m, like, insane.” 

His smile grows a lot less lopsided and a lot more fond as he crosses back over to the bed, slipping quietly into his own side. He lays facing Alex, David nestled between them, and thinks about how nice it is to have someone around again. 

“I don’t think you’re insane.” 

“Right,” Alex huffs a shaky laugh, his eyes still wide as he blinks, but shivering lessening. “Just don’t kick me out, okay? M’not usually like this. I promise. I’m really cool.” 

Henry presses a grin into his pillow just as Alex’s fingers start lightly tracing over David’s ears in a steady back and forth, tugging him closer to his chest. 

“Either’s fine with me, I think,” he murmurs. 

“You’re always welcome in my bed too, y’know.” Henry’s eyebrows fly into his hairline as Alex rushes to correct himself, a flush spreading on his cheeks. “I mean— fuck. Holy shit I am so not playing this cool right now,” he breathes. “I just meant, like, if you ever have any weird shit that you’re scared of, I— I’m here for you too, I mean. For— for a long time, I hope.” 

Beneath the covers, Henry’s heart does an odd little flip-flop in his chest, almost like something thawing and chipping away, a new layer presenting itself underneath. He raises a hand to pet David as well, and he doesn’t move away when their fingers brush. Alex smiles softly, even as the thunder rolls quietly outside the window. 

“I’d like that very much, Alex.” 

Pez had been right, not that Henry would ever admit it to him. Finding a roommate was a very, very good idea.

[euphoricimagination]

Summary: the second day of the training camp finishes, leading to your first date with your gamer-boy. Two weeks later the official, week long training camp starts, Inarizaki finally joining you and leading to emotional and funny memories with your dear foxes.

Kenma x reader; Haikyuu x reader

Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

From the beginning

The next day you have to wake up at around 5 am with the girls to be able to make breakfast for the teams, and around 7 am you start hearing some loud voices and a lot of shoes sounds, meaning that it was time serve breakfast. Bokuto as always is way too excited when you gave him his plate back, almost being drag by Akaashi to his table to not stop the line. When you finished serving to the boys it was time to serve yourselves.

“Ken, aren’t you hungry?” you look at his plate which still had food on it

“I’m full already” says taking your hand under the table

“Can you at least eat the omelet?”

“Did you make it?” he asks, making you nod “Fine, I’ll eat it, I like your food”

“Thanks, pretty boy. Look, I know that you have a small appetite, so I’m not going to force you to eat more if you can’t…”

“Thank you”

“But you still eat way too little, so I’ll l give you snacks throughout the day, and I’m not accepting no’s as an answer” you say getting up and kissing his forehead before going to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

At around 11:00 all teams have a collective break after hours of practice. The majority of them go outside or just go and sit doing somewhere. To your surprise, you see Kenma sitting in the stairs at the door, talking to Hinata and Kageyama, so you go to where they are.

“What genre? How can you possibly choose only one…?” says Kenma frowning while continue murmuring to himself

“Did you ask him what’s his favorite game?” you ask sitting besides Kenma passing him a cereal bar, Hinata just nods “Makes sense why he’s like this. Hey, stop frowning and eat” you tap your finger on his forehead, earning a little glare.

“But how can I just pick one game? There are so many good options” says moving closer to you, linking your pinkies together after opening the bar. He continues murmuring games trying to make up his mind, so you just decided to talk to the boys

“So, you guys failed an exam?” you ask the duo

“Yeah, I failed English and Kageyama failed Literature” says Hinata receiving a bunch of insults by Kageyama “Hey, at least my English answers were correct, just in the wrong order! You just did bad!”

“I don’t care, no Japanese person needs English” Kageyama crosses his arms

“Do you plan continuing with volleyball after school Tobio-kun?” you ask

“Of course, I want to play at world level one day”

“And how do you plan to talk with them? They’re not going to speak Japanese. And even if it’s a non English speaking country, they will know the basics of English”

“Well…” you can almost see his brain malfunction, making you chuckle

“You didn’t really think about it, huh? If you want to play for the world, you’re going to need the basics of English”

“Ha! Even Yn is saying how dumb you are” says Hinata, making Kageyama start fighting with him again

“I don’t think I can pick just one, but Animal Crossing is definitely there” Kenma whispers looking at you, completely ignoring the two boys “It brought you to me”

The matches continue in the afternoon, now with Karasuno and Nekoma are playing against each other. In one of the quick attacks of Hinata and Kageyama, Lev was very close to block him, leading for him to succeed right on the next attempt, surprising the Karasuno team. On the next play, Karasuno receives the ball and you noticed that Lev was ready to jump when he sees Hinata coming to him, but something stopped him and is able to touch the spike that was sent to their ace. Yaku then digs the ball and sends it to Kenma, who sets the ball to Lev and easily score a point.

Karasuno asks for a time-out so you just go around passing the things.

“Are you going to be able to grow if you continue relying on defense?” you hear coach Nekomata say

“They definitely seem to be frustrated” you add

“I know, they seem to be making more mistakes than normal”

The game continues, with Karasuno receiving the ball and the last hit being sent to their Ace, but at the same time Hinata jumps after the ball, ending in both of them colliding. Hinata was clearly moving by instincts, but it could have ended terrible.

“Maybe their evolution will start sooner than I thought” coach Nekomata whispers right before the weird duo and their coach go outside, a tense atmosphere rising.

A few games later, the guys from Karasuno have to leave, so you go to talk to Kageyama before they leave.

“Tobio-kun” you call him “Can I know what happened in the match? I could feel the tension”

“You know the quick attack that we do? Where he has his eyes closed?” you nod as an answer “Well, now the idiot wants to do it with his eyes open, but he has no technique whatsoever”

“I mean, not a good timing, that’s for sure”

“Exactly! We are so close to the Interhigh, it would be impossible to just change it now”

“Well…I don’t know how you two train, but I believe that if there’s someone that can change it fast, it’s you. You’re one of the best setters I have seen”

“T-thank you” says bowing with an evident blush in his face

“I hope to see a better Tobio in two weeks, bye bye”

“I’ll work hard” With that you go to where Hinata, Lev and Kenma were talking, hearing Lev first

“Next time I'll block you again Hinata!”

“I will beat you next time Lev!”

“Both of you need to practice a lot more then” you add once you were close enough

“I will Yn! I can’t wait until the week of practice; it’s going to be so fun!” says Hinata, but he looked a little down

“Yeah! And I can finally see Inarizaki! I’ve been wanting to see them since Yn-chan said she was their manager!” Lev exclaims

“Inarizaki?”

“My old school, I used to live in Hyogo before coming here” you explain to the orange boy

“Are they good? Like…better than Nekoma?”

“Yeah, they are, Nekoma’s defense it’s better though. Don’t look at me like that Lev, you know that it’s true”

“But WE are your team now!”

“Just because Yn is our manager doesn’t mean that we’re better than Inarizaki, we’re not” says Kenma

“That’s sounds soo cool!! I want to play with them!” Hinata exclaims “By the way, are you two together or something?”

“Yeah, we’re dating” says Kenma calmly

“Wait, for real? How come I didn’t know?!” asks Lev almost offended

“Because you’re dumb” Kenma answers “Literally everyone else on the team knows”

“You two look good together! I’m happy for both of you!” says Hinata

“Thanks, Shoyo” you smile “Keep working on spiking with your eyes open, I’m sure you can do it with enough practice”

“You think I can do it?!” he asks with his eyes shining

“Yeah, I don’t see why n-fuck, Shoyo!” you get surprised by the sudden hug that Hinata gave you

“Thank you!” he says excited

“I want a hug too!” Lev joins, passing his arms through both of you

“Not this again” you pat Hinata’s head and Lev’s arm

“Kenma-san! Joi-”

“No”

“Bu it’s your girlfriend!”

“And I want to be the only one when hugging her”

After that you say goodbye to the rest of Karasuno, it was visible for everyone that Hinata was much happier than before when he entered the bus. Right after their bus left, Kenma took your hand and squish it.

“I think Shoyo really appreciated what you said, probably his team didn’t want to try it”

“I can’t blame them, I’m not even sure if it’s possible to do it with that speed, and I agree with Tobio-kun that it’s not the right timing. But he seemed down”

“Of course you noticed, thank you for helping him, I didn’t know what to say” says giving you a quick kiss in the lips

“You really like Shoyo, huh? It’s rare to see you so friendly with someone”

“He’s nice”

“I’m happy that you have other friends, just don’t replace me” you tease him

“Like I could find someone as good as you”

“CHIBI-CHAAN!!” when you turn around at the scream, Bokuto lifts you up in a warm hug “see you soon!”

“See you soon Bokuto-san! Its fun having you around” you hug him back

“You need to cook more for us, your cooking it’s seriously the best!” he shakes you lightly while putting you down

“Thank you, Bokuto-san”

“Kenmaa! Take good care of our chibi-chan” says hugging him slightly, making Kenma tense slightly

“Of course Bokuto-san”

“Bokuto-san, I think Yuki was looking for you. Did you talk to her?”

“Ah no, I’m going to see her! See you in two weeks chibi-chan!” Bokuto gives you a kiss on your temple before walking away

“Thank you, I like Bokuto-san but it can get uncomfortable sometimes” he says with a sigh of relief

“I got you. Let’s go, I’m getting tired”

After saying goodbye to the rest of the schools, you go to check the gym to make sure that everything was ok and in their place before closing it and going to where Kuroo and Kenma were waiting.

“This was a nice weekend, I can’t wait for the week of practice, it’ll be fun” Kuroo says on the way back to your homes

“It will be chaotic, that’s for sure”

Once you arrived to the neighborhood, Kenma pulls you to his house right away. You lay in his bed while he was getting ready in the bathroom, only looking up from your phone when you heard the door open, finding Kenma coming towards you and immediately plops on top of you, laying his head on your chest.

“Not playing today, pretty boy?” you ask playing with his hair

“No, I’m tired, I want to sleep” says snuggling even more

“Let’s sleep then” you move just enough to kiss the top of his head “Goodnight”

“Goodnight”

++

A week pass fast between practices, the team is getting better and better and Lev is slowly making progress in receiving and spiking, and while he was still quite immature about it, soon enough he will be a key piece for the team

It’s Saturday morning and like usual you go to Kenma’s house; this time however, he’s not only opens the door immediately after your first knock, but also seems overly excited.

“Hi love” says kissing you

“Hi, everything alright?” you ask surprised

“Yeah, ehh…there’s this gaming convention today and I wanted to go…but it’s okay if you don’t want to, it’s sudden an-”

“Sure, let’s go then. I didn’t know there was one happening” you say

“It was announced a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if we could go, you know how Kuroo can get with practices now that we have to go to the other tournament”

Once you arrived to the convention, you noticed Kenma’s eyes go wide, excited at the view. Despite being relatively early, it was still crowded, so he grabs your hand and starts walking towards the first stall that caught his attention. You let him set the path because of how excited he was, so you continue going from stall to stall, Kenma’s buying a few games, merch and playing.

Throughout the whole day Kenma didn’t let you pay for anything, from food to merch that you liked, despite all your protests against it, claiming that he ‘wanted to spoil you for everything you have done to him’. Once the convention was over, you go back to his house since he wanted you to try some games he bought.

“Thank you for coming with me” he whispers “I know that you play games casually, so this was probably boring for you”

“It was fun actually, I like watching you play anyway and I got cute merch. Plus, you looked really cute all excited”

“Shut up” says blushing hiding his face on my your shoulder

“For real though, I love seeing you excited and happy, now I really want to watch you in a tournament, so invite me when there’s one”

“Definitely”

You play together for a few hours, and when you got bored of playing, you just sat in between his legs and watched him play. Around 2 am you started to get sleepy, so you cuddle more into his chest, falling asleep soon after. You obviously didn’t notice Kenma’s eyes when he noticed that you feel asleep cuddling him, they were full of love while kissing your forehead and whispering to himself “how did I get so lucky?” before turning off his console and hugging you back, falling asleep with smile.

The following week passes like normal, and before you noticed, is already the training camp. On Monday morning you all get into the bus to go to Shinzen High, in Saitama; since it was a short ride, you arrived relatively early, so you still had to wait for Karasuno and Inarizaki.

“Guys, you can go in if you want to. Inuoka, can you take this inside for me? I want to wait for Inarizaki” you say to the puppy-like boy

“Of course Yn-san, I’ll take care of it”

“Then I’ll wait with you for Karasuno, since you’ll be busy with your foxes” says Kuroo while the rest of the boys, except for Kenma, go to the gym “I thought you were against of wearing shorts in front of horny teenagers? Now there’s more”

“This place is so hot though, and if anything, having Inarizaki around makes me feel safer, those idiots won’t let anyone get close”

“Good point, the twins are like your personal body guards. What about you Kenma, waiting for shrimpy or staying with your girl?” teases Kuroo

“Both” simply answers while the bus from Karasuno arrives, an excited orange hair dude opening the door and jumping out

“Kenmaa, Ynn, hii!!”

“Hi Shoyo”

“Hi” Kenma says quietly

“Guys, is that the Skytree?!” asks Hinata enthusiastically

“Ehhh is just a normal tower” says Kenma

“Sometimes I wonder if you guys know how to use the internet at all” you joke “even I knew how the Skytree looked waay before coming to Japan”

“Yn! You don’t have to be so mean! By the way, you look awesome!” Hinata looks at your legs briefly, a small blush appearing

“Thank you”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of insects, it's annoying” says Kenma killing one on his arm

“SHOYOO!” Lev screams coming down the stairs “did you grew any taller?”

“That’s such a rude way to say hi to someone, besides it’s impossible to grow in 2 weeks”

“Well, I grew 2 mm since we saw each other” says Lev, surprising Hinata

“Cool, you’re a giant, we get it” you joked “you guys can go inside”

“I’m going to see the gym!” says Hinata leaving with Lev

“Chibi-chan, your foxes are arriving!” screams Kuroo, making the Karasuno third years confused. The bus enters and parks before the boys come out, the first ones coming out being Atsumu and Osamu, who came running to you the moment they saw you approaching the bus

“Don’t yo-”

“Chibi-chan!” they scream closing the gap while trapping you in between them, giving you a tight hug

“It’s too hot for this, guys, let go” you chuckle

“No, ya missed us too”

“Who do ya missed more? Me, right?” asks Atsumu

“She missed me more!”

“Let her go, you annoying idiots, or I call Kita-san” calls Suna with a smirk while opening his arms, making you squish your way out of the two boys to go to his chest “Hi chibi-chan” he whispers, hugging you quickly with a kiss on the forehead

“Rin, I missed Rin more. Hi” you snuggle into his chest with a playful smile

“Liar!”

“Ya love us too much”

“Shut up” you move away to go to say hi to the rest of the team while the guys go to say hi to Kuroo and Kenma. You were talking to Kita when you look over to Kenma, who was flustered over something that Osamu said to him, teasing look that appears towards you once you made your way there

“So things did work out with yer gamer boy, chibi-chan” whispers loud enough so only the three of us could hear “Ya need to tell Tsumu or he will whine that ya don’t trust him; but Sunarin should be the first one to know”

“That was my plan, I wanted to talk to Rin first”

“About what?” asks Kenma

“I’ll tell you later, I already feel bad as it is”

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s between you two, I trust you”

“It’s okay, I will-”

“As cute as ya are, yer making me sick” Osamu interrupts you while pulling you into his chest “but don’t worry Chibi, he’ll be fine as long as ye’re happy”

You all go to the gym after, coach Nekomata calling you as soon as you enter to organize how the matches will go; since only 4 teams could play at the same time, you had to draw to see who will play against each other. The first ones were Inarizaki vs Ubugawa and Fukurodani vs Karasuno.

You go to sit with your team in between Lev and Kenma, the latter linking your pinkies together. While watching the match you notice that the Karasuno players are trying new attacks, but failing miserably everytime.

“Is it me or Inarizaki are taking it lightly?” asks Kuroo looking at your foxes, which made you focus on them. They were indeed taking it easy

“To be fair, I don’t really think they will have many problems with any team outside Fukurodani”

The matches continue throughout the day, with the normal break for lunch. After dinner the guys had time to do free practice if they wanted, or they could go and relax.

“Are we playing tonight?” Kenma asks you before going to take a shower

“Let me talk to Rin first, I’ll be there as soon as I can. And it’s not like you sleep early anyway”

“Ok, good luck. See you later” he gives you a quick kiss before you leave

You walk around the gyms to go to the one Inarizaki was practicing in1, passing the third gym alongside the tall blonde boy from Karasuno.

“Chibi-chan! Karasuno’s four eyes! Want to help us practice?”

“Sorry Tetsu, I need to talk to someone first, it’s really important” you exchange looks with him, and while he didn’t really know what it was, he understood enough to not continue

“But chibi-chaan! You just need to throw some balls at Akaashi!”

“I know, Bokuto-san, I just can’t today. Sorry”

“Bokuto-san, she has things to do too” Akaashi adds

“Okay…”

“I promise to help you tomorrow, Bokuto-san” you say making the boy look much happier “Tetsu, I trust you with Lev?”

“I got it chibi-chan, go ahead…so four eyes what do…”

You continue walking, finding the guys in gym 4. They had the door closed, but you could hear the twins screams from outside, so you knock on the door before open it. The guys were having a match between them, and since they were too focused playing, you entered and wait for them to finish without them noticing you. The more minutes pass, the more nervous you feel, fearing Suna’s reaction; but you knew that you had to do it soon or it will be worse for both. Once they finish their match you pass them their water bottles and towels.

“Chibi-chan, I didn’t see ya there” Osamu takes the bottle from you

“I didn’t want to interrupt you guys, you were really good”

“Thank ya Chibi” says Atsumu kissing your forehead

“I came to steal Rin for a sec, do you guys mind?” you move to grab him by the arm, him giving you a confused look. You made eye contact with Osamu, who seem to understand what you were going to do, giving you a small smile

“Go ahead, Yn-chan, we need to rest anyways” Kita answers you

“Thank you, come on Rin” you push him out of the gym, him chuckling by your poor attempt to make him move “I’ll help you guys after!”

Once out, you take Suna’s hand to pull him all the way to one of the hills that Shinzen had, near to where you were supposed to sleep. You sit on the grass, Suna laying right beside, both of you looking at the lights from the classrooms

“What is it Chibi?” asks pulling you closer to him, so you lay your head on his shoulder making him pass his arm through your shoulders “You’re nervous”

“I-I don’t really know how to…how to say it”

“Just spit it”

“Do you…do you like me?” you whisper without looking at him

“So you knew” he sighs closing his eyes “Yeah, I fell in love with you”

“Oh…” you feel your eyes get watery, you had a slight hope that he just liked you as a friend “I’m… I’m sorry…I”

“You’re dating Kenma, aren’t you?” he asks, making you look at him surprised. He had a sad smile on, his eyes shining while looking at the classrooms “The look in both of your eyes is very telling, plus you were in his house every time we played COD, you could practically see him smile through the headset whenever he talked to you; only a fool wouldn’t notice”

“…I’m sorry”

“For what? Following your heart? Finally putting yourself first?” says while drying a tear from your cheek with his finger

“What do you mean?” You sob. He cups your face with both of his hands, making you look at him; while he also had tears on his eyes, he still smiles playfully at you

“You dealt with the twins on your first day, despite being shy and not know the language; you became our manager because Tsumu asked you and because you wanted to help us in any way you could; you offer yourself to talk to every team that came to play with us just so our first impression wasn’t bad and we could properly practice, despite hating talking to people. You gave up your first vacations in Japan just to help us practice. Before you had to leave Hyogo, you tried your best to smile just so we didn’t feel worse, despite being hurt yourself. And that’s just some things you did for us, I’m not even saying the things that you did just to help me, Tsumu or Samu” he says as he continues drying the tears falling “you always put people before you, and now that you finally put yourself first, you’re saying sorry? Idiot”

“I just… I feel bad, I really can’t see you as more than my best friend. And it’s probably really selfish, but I don’t want to lose you either”

“When I realize that I liked you, I knew that it was a 50/50 chance that you felt the same way. You don’t, and that’s okay, I’m not an asshole that’s going to force you to be with me. Don’t worry Chibi, I’m still your best friend, I’m not leaving you now or ever” he kisses your forehead lovingly before pulling you to his chest

“Thank you, Rin, I love you, sorry it’s not the same way” you whisper, snuggling more into him

“I love you too, chibi-chan. I’m happy for you, Kenma’s a good dude and clearly loves you too, so stop crying, you idiot” says hugging you even tighter. You stayed like that for a few minutes, hugging each other. After a few minutes, once you finally calmed down and stopped crying, you move away and look at him

“If for some reason you two don’t work out, I’m always here” he teases you, making you chuckle as he pats your head

“Thanks? Let’s go back, I need to tell Tsumu before he whines”

“Yeah, let’s go”

You go back to the gym where the boys are, his hand squishing your shoulder right before entering. The first one to notice you back is Osamu, who comes to you and reach your hand

“Everything ok?” he asks while looking at Suna

“Yeah, everything fine” Suna answers

“Tsumu! Come here” you call him, making him come immediately when he noticed that the three of you were together “I need to tell you something”

“Is it what ya told Samu? He hasn’t tell me a thing, it’s annoying”

“Well, it’s not my secret to tell. Why would I tell ya?”

“I’m dating Kenma” you say before he could answer back to Osamu, making him look at you surprised

“Ye’re dating? Is that what ya told Samu in the Nationals? Chibi-chan! Why ya didn’t tell me too!?”

“We weren’t together for the Nationals, I told Samu what I felt because he knew beforehand and I needed to vent to someone. I have been dating him for a month now”

“And ya tell me just now!? Chibi-chan!!”

“That’s the only thing that you have to say?” you whisper astonishing

“Honestly Tsumu, how did you not notice? It was quite obvious” says Omimi

“Ehh?!”

“Did ya even look at our Chibi at all? Ye’re such an idiot sometimes”

“Shut up!”

“Happy for you Yn-chan, but we should probably continue practicing now, do you want to help us?”

“Of course” you say getting ready to enter when you felt a hand in your arm that pulled you into a chest

“I’m happy that yer happy Chibi, but if Kenma-kun hurts ya he will deal with me” Atsumu hugs you tighter before going back to the court

The guys go back to practice with you helping them, and quite honestly, you low-key missed being their manager; while you still love your cats, you know that they heavily depended on luck whether they win or not, so being back to them felt refreshing.

At around 10 pm, the guys finish and go to shower, while you go back to the dorms to rest too.

“Hi” you say arriving to the top of the stairs, Kenma was waiting for you sitting down there while playing

“Hi” he smiles, but you notice it become more of a frown once he saw your red, puffy eyes “everything okay?”

“Yeah” you give him a kiss on the cheek, making him blush while you sit in between his legs, hugging him while he passes his arms through your waist to continue playing. While he was playing you tell him what happened with all the necessary details for him to understand. There isn’t a big reaction from him, mostly smalls hums, but you can feel his arms go a little tighter

“Don’t worry, he isn’t going to try anything, I trust him”

“Hmmm” he hums, you can tell that he’s thinking about something and doesn’t want to say it

“Hey, look at me” you take his cheek with your hands “What is it?”

“Nothing…”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon, tell me”

“…Why?” he avoids your eyes, chest moving up and down faster than before “Why me? Why are you dating me?”

“Why you? Please tell me you’re not comparing yourself to Rin”

“I mean…you had so many better options. Suna, the twins, Bokuto-san, Sakusa-san…maybe, even Kuro”

“But they’re not you. I love the way you snuggle into me, how you pause your games whenever I need you, how you always let me cuddle you when you’re playing, how calming and relaxing it’s being with you, letting me be my full self; and there’s so much more. I’m in love with Kozume Kenma, and I wouldn’t change it at all”

You say the last part looking directly into his eyes, your hands on his face to make sure he looks at you. He closes his eyes, breath slowly settling while you caress his face. He pulls you in into a hug, while snuggling his face on the crock of your neck.

“Yn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you” he hugs your tighter “I love you too”

“Thank God, cause I went all cheesy on you” you say, making him chuckle a little “seriously though, don’t compare yourself to anyone ever again, ok?”

“Okay”

++

The next day of matches goes pretty similar, all teams getting to play against each other. You notice that Karasuno not only were the worst by far, but it also seemed like they were trying new moves and failing constantly. Unless the two were of them were having matches at the same time, you were going around between managing Nekoma and Inarizaki; and while tiring, you finally felt fully complete with everyone by your side.

At some point of the afternoon the other managers call you outside, telling you that we had watermelons for the boys.

“The parent from the Shinzen boys bought them all” explains Kaori to you while cutting them in triangles “they are really good”

“This will be a good snack for such a hot day” says Kiyoko

Yuki goes to call the boys when you finished cutting the fruit, and soon enough the sea of boys came out happy to have a delicious snack and break. The girls and you go around passing the fruit, so you go around where the majority of Fukurodani was

“Thank you chibi-chan! Are you helping us today?” asks Bokuto, eyes sparkling a little

“Ehh…”

“She’s helping US, Bokuto-san” says Atsumu arriving with a smirk on “Can I have another piece Chibi?”

“Sure, don’t eat too much though”

“But you said you’re helping us today!” says Bokuto, his hair somehow getting lower as sadness appears on his face.

“I can help both of you” you sigh, not wanting to make neither sad “an hour each so it’s fair. Deal?”

“Yay!” exclaims Bokuto, hair magically going upwards again

“Guess it’s okay” Atsumu pouts while rubbing your hair

“Both of you need to promise me to not over-practice thought, otherwise I won’t help any of you again”

“Deal”

“I’m going to offer more watermelon” you go to one of the hills where Kenma, Hinata and Lev were “More watermelon guys?”

“I want one” says Hinata and Lev at the same time, taking one piece each quickly

“Ken?” you ask him

“I’m fine with one, thanks”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry” says with a little smile

“Yn-san, sit with us for a while! You need to relax too” Hinata tells you

“I still have some left though…”

“I’ll have one more, thank ya chibi-chan” Osamu plops next to where you are

“Guess I’ll take the last one” Suna takes the last one and sits next to Osamu “Now sit and relax before I pull you into my very sweaty arms”

“You don’t need to threaten me” you sit down in between Kenma and Hinata

“I will if that’s what it takes for you to relax a little, that’s what best friends are for”

You all continue talking for a while, Kenma linking your pinkies as soon as he finished his watermelon. Kenma was comfortable talking to Osamu and Suna about video games while Hinata and Lev were seeing who could throw the watermelon seeds the farthest with their mouths.

“Ah yeah, there’s rumors about a new Kingdom Hearts game, something like a remake of the old ones. You haven’t play the originals right, love?” asks you Kenma taking you out of your little trance

“No, I’ve just played the new ones. I really like it though, it’s one of my favorites” you say laying your head on his shoulder, happy that he was so relaxed talking with them

“We should buy it when it comes out then”

“Where did you heard that rumor? There’s no official news about it” asks Suna, looking at the both of you with a small smile

“It’s a rumor from a forum, they always seem to be right though, it’s impressive. They also…”

They continue talking while you rest and chuckle at them until the break is over, you going back inside to continue the matches; everything pass by as quickly as always

After preparing and serving dinner you go to the third gym, to where Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi and Lev were practicing. Kuroo is teaching receives to Lev, who seems in pain, but once you arrive you spend half an hour throwing balls to Akaashi so he can set it to Bokuto, and then the other half helping Lev with his receives. After the hour passes, you go to the 4th gym to help the foxes out, who were practicing serves today.

On you way there you pass in front of a very annoyed Kageyama and a worried Yachi, both sitting in the stairs.

“Are you okay guys?”

“Yeah, I’m just trying a new toss and it’s not working” says Kageyama “I can’t make it fall in the right bottle”

“I am no coach, but wouldn’t it be better if you try to imagine the spiker instead of just trying to hit the bottle? That way it feels with more purpose”

“That could work! Hinata doesn’t really look like a bottle after all!” adds Yachi trying to cheer him up

“Ask your coach about it, his job is to help you after all. Gotta go, see you”

“Bye!”

“Thank you, Yn-san”

You arrive to the gym where your foxes are and help them to keep track of everything, from how many ace services they had to how many times they fail to receive. When you told them to stop, you all clean up the gym before leaving to the school so they could shower. When you arrived there, you received a mix of kisses and pettings on the top of your head as a good night, so you go upstairs to where your room is only to find Kenma already sitting in the stairs waiting.

“Hi” you whisper making him smile and open his arms so you can cuddle him, putting your head on his shoulder while sighing as he passes his arms around “This is nice”

“It is” says while putting his chin on your shoulder. Your stay like that for a while, as you finally letting yourself relax a little “are you okay?”

“My head hurts”

“Again?”

“I blame the summer, Hyogo was much more bearable”

“You need to stop pushing yourself, you do too much” he flicks the top of your head slightly

“You’re the ones playing, not me”

“And you’re the one managing two teams while continuing doing tasks. Go to sleep”

“But…”

“You can be so stubborn sometimes. Sleep, I’ll stay here with you”

“Thanks”

The rest of the days go by pretty similar, matches between the teams, Karasuno finally getting some of their moves to work properly, cooking with the girls, helping the guys from the 3rd and 4th gym, spending time with Kenma at night; and most importantly, finally spending time with your foxes.

You were a day away from the last day of the training camp when coach Nekomata calls you outside right before the guys finish their practices, telling you that they will bring things to do a barbeque and asking if you could prepare all the vegetables and side dishes alongside with the girls. You enter back to the gym and go where Nekoma and Inarizaki were sitting, both teams having a conversation, so you went to where Kenma and Suna are, who were having a talking to each other

“…please take good care of her, she’s an angel” you hear Suna say, neither of them noticing you getting close

“Of course I will”

“Who’s an angel?” you ask sitting down in between them, putting your back into the wall. You see Kenma trying to hide his blush by looking away while Suna laughs

“Oh you know, just the Karasuno manager. Both of us have a huuge crush on her” Suna nudges you in a teasing manner

“Kiyoko-san? Ken, I didn’t know you had a crush on her! I’m so hurt! She’s an angel though” you fake a reaction, gaining a glare from Kenma.

“I don’t. You’re the only person I actually like to be around” he pouts taking your hand while looking at you, eyes softening immediately after seeing your playful smile. You take Suna’s hand, crossing both of them in your lap

“I swear, if you two weren’t my best friends I would be so offended right now” says Kuroo butting while Kenma rolls his eyes

“I’m happy that you two get along” you whisper laying on Kenma shoulder while the two of them exchange a look

“If chibi-chan wasn’t so happy I would be vomiting right now” adds Suna squishing your hand, a mix of happiness and sadness in his eyes

“Disgustingly adorable” adds Kuroo again with a genuine smile on “Anyways, we have to play, is the last match of the day, Inarizaki vs Nekoma”

“I’m going” says Kenma making Kuroo go to tell the team, before he stands up, he kisses your forehead and looks at you “You’re not helping today”

“What?”

“You’ve been helping everyone, relax a little for today”

“But it’s…”

“Don’t worry Kozume-san, we will make sure she stays here” says Akaashi receiving a thanks from the blonde boy before leaving

“Akaashi!” you say in disbelief

“He’s right Yn-chan, you have done a lot this week. Relax now” he then turns to Bokuto, telling him something

“This hurts a bit to say, not gonna lie, but it really looks like you two are made for each other” whispers Suna before kissing your forehead and standing up.

During the match Bokuto makes sure to not make you do anything, sitting behind you while hugging you tightly to limit every attempt of standing up. After the match ended, Inarizaki winning by little, Kenma pulls you away to the dorm so you can properly rest; both Bokuto and Atsumu, being the more emotional ones out of the bunch, were completely on board if that meant that you get to rest. You arrive to his dorm with the rest of Nekoma.

“Yn-san, hi! Are you okay?”

“Hi Inuoka, I’m better” you say sitting in Kenma’s futon, your back on the wall “are you not practicing today?”

“No, I wasn’t feeling too good so Kuroo-san told me to not practice today”

“Ahh I see, that’s good then” you say while you lean on Kenma's back. You spend a good time like this, him letting you lay on him while you were talking to Inuoka until you fell asleep.

The next morning after eating breakfast with the boys, you stay with the girls to prepare the side dishes and snacks for the barbeque. It was going to be at lunch time, but considering the amount of food we had to make you opted to start early, so you and Yachi were in charge of making onigiris. After a while you went outside were the barbeques were being lit, cutting all the veggies while waiting for the boys. When the matches ended and all the boys come out, ready to eat. After the coaches praise the teams, all of them start to enjoy the food and talking with each other.

“Chibi-chan, let me get ya some food” says Osamu when he notices you near him, taking your plate and putting some meat on it “there you go”

“Thank you Samu, did you like the practice week?”

“It wasn’t bad, I honestly think that we enjoyed spending time with ya again more” says while you eat

“Same, having you here felt like going back home”

“And ya know, I’m happy to see ya so happy with Kenma, he loves ya a lot” he pats your head before heading off. You go to where Kenma, Suna, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are sitting, with Kuroo almost screaming at them so they eat

“Tsuki, you need to eat more. KENMA YOU TOO!”

“Relax Tetsu, no need to scream at them, want some onigiris guys?”

“I’ll take one, thank you Yn-san” says Yamaguchi. Tsukishima denies politely the onigiri, thanking you for no pressure him while the rest are taken by Suna, Kuroo, Daichi and Bokuto

“Ken? Want one?” you sit down next to him

“Did you make them?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to eat if you’re full though”

“No, I want one, I like your cooking” says taking one

“Of course chibi-chan is the only one who can make Kenma eat” he sighs “Tsukki you should try one too, they’re actually really good”

“Yes Tsukki, they’re so good!” Yamaguchi exclaims

“Way better than Samu’s” adds Suna

“You don’t have to Tsukki, I can always pack some of them for whenever you’re hungry”

“Thank you Yn-san, I’ll take that option”

Since you had the whole afternoon free, you talk for a good while, the twins joining. At some point in the afternoon Kenma and you ended up sitting in the hill, both of you in your phones just enjoying each other presence while the twins went to do something

“Chibi-chan” Suna calls you, coming to you with a little smirk and pulling you up by the arm with your back in the direction of the school “How is my favorite girl doing?”

“What do you want?” you squint

“What? Me? Nothing. Can’t I come and talk to you?”

“Suure…it’s too quiet, where are the twins?” you try to turn around, but Suna grabs you by the chin before you could even glance

“Eyes on me, princess, I’m the one talking to you” he smirks making you scoffs while blushing. You look at Kenma briefly, who seems to be trying to not laugh, a different reaction to what you expected to see

“What are you…” you get cut by a bunch of water being pour at your head, making you turn around only to find Atsumu and Osamu laughing like crazy, both with a small bucket on their hands, Suna and Kenma joining them. The scene caught the attention from a few of the others, from coaches to other teams “What was that for?!”

“I guess ya could say…that Sunarin…made ya wet” Atsumu tries to say in between laughs.

“I hate all of you” you act annoyed, trying not to laugh “Kenma! You saw them and didn’t tell me! You traitor!”

“You always say you miss their antics” he shrugs, playful eyes looking at you

“Ya love us, don’t lie” Atsumu hugs you “See, I’m getting wet too for ya too”

“I should be angry at you”

“But ya aren’t” Osamu pats your head “we love ya too”

“Why am I friends with you?” you sit down again next to Kenma, thankfully the hot summer air was already helping with the t-shirt. The guys sit around you, Atsumu hugging you tightly

“I don’t want to leave, I missed being around ya chibi-chan” he pouts

“I missed it too Tsumu, it was fun when you guys dragged me out of my house”

“If you had cooperated then we wouldn’t have dragged you out, you never wanted to go and walk around” Suna sits in front of you alongside Osamu

“I know that I don’t say this a lot, but thank ya” Atsumu whispers

“For what?”

“Being my friend…I never had a lot of friends outside of Samu, most find me rude and don’t even try to get to know me. So thank ya for getting to know me; and deal with my fangirls when ya were our manager; and deal with us too, we can be annoying”

“Thank you for talking to me first, I wouldn’t have talk to anyone otherwise” you chuckle, playing with his hair as he snuggles into your neck “stop being so sappy, it’s not like I’m leaving the country soon”

“I try to express my gratitude and this is what I get! Rude!” whines

“Ya did get really sappy, chibi-chan is not dying” Osamu adds

“Shut up Samu! Ya two should thank her too!”

“You are the annoying one, we don’t give Chibi half of the trouble that you do; plus she knows that we love her already” Suna says

You continue talking, mostly making fun of each other, with you laying on Atsumu's lap, Kenma was also joining the conversation here and there but mostly chuckling with the conversations. The sun is almost gone already, so you had to head back to the rooms so the boys can pack their things. Since they leave at midnight, you decided to go to take a shower and put your pajamas on; and like usual, you see Kenma sitting on the stairs already waiting.

“Are you coming out at midnight?” you ask, sitting next to him

“Yeah, I want to say goodbye too”

“Thank you for talking to them, I know you don’t really like talking to people”

“They’re important to you, the least I could do was try to get along. Although I don’t think we’re friends yet”

“I didn’t expect for you to become besties, but it’s nice seeing my boyfriend and best friends talking” you give him a kiss on the cheek before laying on top of him

A few minutes before midnight you go out to say goodbye, almost all of teams saying goodbye to the foxes since they were the first ones to leave. You go and say goodbye to everyone with a tight hug, even the first years that you just met, leaving your three idiot friends for last, noticing that Kenma was just finishing saying goodbye too.

“Don’t you dare to say something cheesy again” you say to Atsumu hugging him

“Fine, fine…Kita-san! Can we steal her back?!” screams receiving a glare from Kita “sorry…let’s see each other at Nationals this time, ok? Love ya lots” whispers, kissing your forehead

“Of course, love you too, now go in” you try to push him into the bus, making him chuckle by the lack of force. You go to Osamu now and hug him too “See you Samu”

“See ya chibi. I’m glad everything went well, so now try to enjoy yer happiness. But I’m the better chef between us”

“Our team begs to differ on that”

“They are my recipes!”

“And I cook them!” you smile once he pulls you in a hug

“See ya at Nationals, love ya” he ruffles your hair before going in. Finally you go to Suna, who is taking photos as always.

“Stop”

“When I haven’t take photos? Don’t worry, you look beautiful as always” says pulling you into a hug “no matter how ugly the photo is, you’ll always be beautiful”

“Rin…”

“Sorry, but it’s true. I’m happy for you chibi-chan, truly; and while it hurts that you don’t love me in the same way that I do, I can deal with it, I’m not going to lose you. See you at the Nationals. Love you, so much” he whispers into your ear before pulling away and putting your foreheads together

“I love you too, you know that”

“That’s enough for me” with that he kisses your forehead and moves away to enter the bus and get ready to go, you waving at them as they leave with a knot in your throat

“Don’t worry chibi-chan, we’ll go to the Nationals this time” Kuroo gives you a side hug as he and Kenma arrive to your side, the latter taking your hand

“We will”

[newmiriamsmysteries]

[ Blurb - "Poor Johnny's"]

The familiar twang of Colter Wall’s voice from the jukebox, mingled with the atmosphere of Poor Johnny’s bar.  Quiet conversation and drunken laughter always made my older brother’s tavern feel like home.  Cigarette smoke hung like a fog beneath the stained glass “Coors Light” lamp that illuminated the green felt of the pool table beneath.  I took a drag of my own cigarette and tapped the ash into a small glass tray nearby.

“You know I hate that you do that,”  My older brother, Jack, said as he walked toward me.  Fit and muscular, his former occupation as a bouncer had been good to him.  Until he decided to trade that lifestyle in for one of his own making.  Wavy blond hair framed his bearded face.  In his hand, he held a glass of Southern Comfort mixed with Pepsi.  

“I only smoke when I drink…and I happen to be drinking.”  I replied,  plucking the glass from his hand.  I took a swig and closed my eyes real tight.  I shook my head a bit as the familiar burn of the whiskey filled my chest.

“You were never good at that, either.”  Jack chuckled as he pulled his pool cue from the rack against the wall.  “Talk to me, Miriam.  What spook or specter has you all twitchy this time?”

I leaned forward, glancing over the scattered billiard balls.  I zoned in on an orange solid one lined up for a corner pocket.  I pulled my arm back then forward, sending the tip of my cue into the cue ball.  The white orb rolled toward the orange one, knocking it into the pocket I was aiming for.  I could feel Jack’s blue eyes on me while he waited for my answer.  

“I got a case today,”  I started.  “A rough one.  A kid and his mother.  They got caught in a real bad house fire.  Nathan said it could have been arson or premeditated murder, he doesn’t know yet.”  

“Jesus…”  Jack breathed and crossed himself.  Quite a religious man, my brother.  “Max find anything yet?”  He lined up his shot and took it, sending the purple striped ball into the side pocket in front of me.  

“He hasn’t finished the autopsies yet,”  I said, leaning a bit on my pool cue.  I ran a hand through my wavy, dark red hair.  “I’ve been seeing the mother.  She was burned real bad, Jack.  She can’t figure out how to communicate.  Even Willie can’t get through to her.”  Instinctively, my hand went to the vintage locket resting at my throat.  A keepsake from my favorite ghostly informant.  

“I couldn’t do what you do.”  Jack said, shaking his head.  “Seeing ghosts.  Being friendly with Vampires.  It’s terrifying.  I also kind’a feel bad since it was me and Lily that made you this way.”

I sighed and chuckled.  “You were two kids playing with a Ouija board.  My abilities would have woken up on their own eventually.”  I shook my head.  “I don’t care for the shaky truce with the vampires.  But sometimes they have information that I need and can’t get anywhere else.  As far as the ghosts go?  Well… what’s the point of being psychic if you can’t do something with it?”

“They can’t help how they died just about as much as you can help losing this game.”  Jack teased.  “Oh so… if you didn’t have enough stress, I have more for you.”

“Jaaack…”  I whined.

“I’m sorry!  But if I don’t tell you, you might find out another way.”  He began.

I took another swig of my drink, steeling myself.  “Alright, what is it?”

“Jason Dunnigan is back in town.”  

I leaned back against the tall bar table behind me, all air having left my lungs.  

“He was in here this afternoon asking about you.”  He finished.

“Dammit..”  I hissed, though butterflies kicked up in my stomach.  Jason Dunnigan, my “one that got away”.  I could never find anyone to replace him and honestly; I don’t think I wanted to.  I had been a messed up girl when he met me.  But he had the patience and took the time to let me know that I’m worth caring about.  

“What did you tell him?”  I asked.

“The truth.”  Jack replied, moving around the pool table toward me.  “I said you were a private investigator on retainer by the city cops.  I also said that there was a good chance you’d be in here tonight.”

I stood up straight and faced him, though he was a whole head and shoulders taller than me.  “Why did you do that?!”  I asked, setting my pool cue down on that table.  I drained what was left of my drink and put out my cigarette.  My leather jacket hung on the back of a nearby chair, I grabbed it and slipped it on over my shoulders.

“Miriam, you can’t run from him forever.  He was a good guy, we all liked him.”  

“Sure.  He’s a good guy.  Okay.”  I said sarcastically.  “Such a good guy that he broke my heart and ran off.”  I pulled my hair out from beneath the jacket’s collar.  

“Miriam…”  Jack sighed.

“Maybe I can get out of here and get home before he shows up.  Maybe he doesn’t know where my office is and won’t find me for a while.  That’ll give me time to think of something…”

I moved to leave — 

— just as the door to Poor Johnny’s opened…. 

[coyotesamachado]

Picture Perfect Porcelain

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader/Original Female Character

Her arm curls around the door so it’s lined up along the edge of it, Bob thinks he sees a droplet of water track from her wrist back down to her elbow, but his glasses are back in his locker and he really wishes they weren’t right now. He swallows thickly, because it’s different when he knows she’s naked behind there as opposed to it being salt water after she had been thrown into the ocean by Coyote during dogfight football.

Basically, I love hot showers.

Title is from Ever After by Marianas Trench.

Callsign is Mist.

This is cross posted from my AO3, link in the source.

WC: 2907.

Warnings: 18+, smut, hot showers, girl can’t deep throat, oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, rooster is a menace.

Walking into the shower room, Bob could kick himself. She always waits until everyone else is finished with their showers, because she likes to have hot showers, the kind of ones that turn the room into a sauna, and leave no hot water for anyone else. Apparently, he hadn’t been fast enough though, because Mist is in here and he still hasn’t had a shower.

The door closes behind him and he flinches as the resounding bang echoes around the room. He hears her gasp, and she’s opening the door to her stall and peaking her head out.

“Bob! Shit, sorry, I was told everyone had been through already, I’ll finish up,” she rushes out.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just have a cold one. I don’t mind,” he says quickly, trying to placate the situation because he doesn’t want to take away her shower time. His own are a moment to decompress from the day, and since she tends to take the longest and the hottest whenever she has the chance, he can only imagine that it’s the same for Mist. Her arm curls around the door so it’s lined up along the edge of it, Bob thinks he sees a droplet of water track from her wrist back down to her elbow, but his glasses are back in his locker and he really wishes they weren’t right now. He swallows thickly, because it’s different when he knows she’s naked behind there as opposed to it being salt water after she had been thrown into the ocean by Coyote during dogfight football.

“No seriously, just give me a minute and I'll wash all this soap off and then it’s all yours, plenty of water left.”

She pulls her arm back and goes to lock the door behind her when Bob speaks again, it’s so soft that she can barely hear him.

“What was that?” she calls out, her voice singing out over the noise of the shower.

Bob rubs the back of his neck, wondering whether he should repeat himself or just let those words disappear with the steam.

“Bob?”

This was going to end badly, he could tell.

“What if...”

The door opens again, her head and shoulder appear before him. While he wishes he had the kind of easy assurance that Hangman does to ask for what he wants, he doesn’t. It deflates him a little and he sighs.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be out in the locker room when you’re done,” he says, turning away from her and going to walk out.

“Wait! Were you... Are you... Will you...” she stutters, and she wishes she had the kind confidence that Phoenix has, to say what she wants without stuttering over it.

The steam is still thick around them, but it feels thicker than it had a minute ago.

“Bob, what if you just joined me, instead of waiting or...” she trails off again, and it’s so difficult to just put herself out there.

He turns back to her, and the door is open a little more, her collarbone now in his line of sight and he feels ridiculously overdressed. He stands there staring at her a beat too long and she breaths a long sigh.

“Sorry Bob, I just, I promise I’m nearly done, just forget what I said.”

It’s the door closing again that pulls Bob from his head and he’s dragging his shirt over his head, and unbuttoning his pants as he walks over. The shower turns off before he can knock or speak again. He feels like his lost his shot, but for once, he doesn’t want to walk away from it without trying.

“Turn it back on,” there’s a demand in his voice, and it kind of shocks him because he only really talks like that when he’s in the plane and needs Phoenix to do something in particular. He hears the gasp behind the door, and he smirks to himself. But her shower is back on and he feels the steam where he’s standing. The snick of the lock opening again captures his attention, and his heart is beating an unhealthy rhythm. Her hand is darting out like she’s trying to grab his shirt and pull him in, but when she only meets the smooth skin of his chest, there’s a choked off groan hitting the back of her throat.

She pulls open the door and steps back into the heat of the water, hoping the steam gives her a little bit of modesty. For the fact that Bob isn’t wearing his glasses, he really wishes she was closer right now. He drops his shirt on the little bench seat next to him, and turns to lock the door behind him. He takes in a deep breath, it’s all humid air at this point, and tells himself he can do this. She’s watching him carefully from where she’s near pressed up against the back corner. She feels like she should look away, but he’s bending down to shed himself of his pants and she can’t take her eyes off him. He folds both his pants and underwear neatly and puts them with his shirt, and her eyes are glued to the curve of ass down to the muscle of his thighs. When he turns, she’s suddenly very interested in the tile beneath her feet.

He hisses when the water touches his skin, used to the more tepid temperatures that came with being on a carrier, not this, which feels like she hasn’t even got the cold water turned on.

“You can turn it down, I won’t die not having a hot as hell shower,” she laughs, and it’s cutting through the tension, so Bob feels himself smiling.

“I’d rather not walk out looking like a lobster,” his voice is jovial, but he means it as he tries to avoid giving Hangman another reason to tease him.

“I think you’d make a very attractive lobster.”

And that’s what breaks his resolve, so he turns to face her, finally close enough that he can see the droplets of water caught on her collar bone, the lines of her hair plastered to her shoulder, and he picks a freckle that’s sitting right there at the front so he’s got something to look at.

“You’re being a gentleman,” she utters, taking a step closer to him. And yeah, he is, because this feels like he’s about to wake up any moment, alone in his bed and he’ll miss the heat of the shower. He doesn’t know how he’ll look at her in the morning if that’s the case.

He’s just blinking at her, and he knows he should be doing something but it’s been a while since he’s been in this position. Well, not this position exactly, but a woman, naked in front of him isn’t something that happens every day.

“Bob, I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispers and she’s right in front of him, her eyelashes sticking together in the damp. She places a hand on his cheek, her thumb moving in a comforting motion, but she’s really waiting for him to tell her to stop, to tell her that he doesn’t want this.

When he doesn’t, she gives him a gentle kiss, and Bob’s grateful that his brain switches back on in that moment, and he’s able to kiss her back rather than just stand there dumbly. His hand wraps around her hip and his thumb digs into the soft flesh above it. He backs her up until her back hits the wall of the stall and she’s barely in the spray of the water. She sucks in a breath at the change of temperature that hits her suddenly.

A quick sorry is mumbled against her lips, but she shifts her hand to the back of his neck, her other one reaching up to meet it, so she can pull him closer and deepen their kiss.

He hisses when the heat of her skin is pressed up against his chest, and she grins into him. She breaks the kiss but keeps him close and Bob doesn’t really know what to do with that information.

“We should get you cleaned up.”

“We should?”

“Mmhmm.”

And she’s letting him go, slipping from between him and the wall, and if he wasn’t getting hard before, the drag of her body would do it.

He smells the citrus of her body wash, and no, he would not admit to anyone else that he had paid that close of attention to her, that he recognizes the scent of her soap. There’s a slip of her hands on his back, the cold of her wash, and he moans at the feel of her hands running over him. She rubs at the knots in his shoulders, he feels them loosening up in the warmth of the shower and the careful ministrations of her fingers. She runs her hands down the length of his back, over the curve of his ass and he jumps a little when she smacks him gently. The soap suds fall around their feet as her laughter rings through the shower room.

She moves around him, a hand on the back of his neck, up over his shoulder and down the line of his chest. He finds the freckle on her shoulder again, giving something to focus on rather than the feel of her hands against him. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, concentrating on her work as she lathers him up. He finds it just a little bit adorable when he looks back up at her, and he wonders whether she does it while she’s flying. God, now he’s going to be thinking about that when he’s up in a plane. Thankfully, Phoenix sits in front of him.

Her eyes roam over him, easily giving herself permission to look. Her hands track a path over his chest, down his front until her hands dip low across his hips and he sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sensation.

“You don’t...” “I want to,” she interrupts quickly, not giving him a chance to shy away from her.

Bob moans loudly at the feeling of her hand wrapped around him because it’s been so long since it wasn’t his own hand. She kisses him quickly, trying to silence him, but it’s messy as laughter starts falling from her lips, because it doesn’t work. So instead, she buries her face in his neck as her body wracks with her giggles. It brings a smile to his own face, despite the fact that her hand is still on his cock. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her under the shower spray with him, and grins when she looks up at him, hair plastered to her forehead. He pushes it away with a gentle hand before gripping the side of her face and kissing her hard. He bites at her bottom lip when she squeezes him, her hand slick with water and soap, so she glides easily over him. When her thumb pushes on his tip, Bob tosses his head back, when she does it again, the moan is ripped from him, echoing off the walls of the shower room.

“Shhh Bob, someone might walk in,” she chides, but the fact she swipes her thumb over it a third time, tells him there’s absolutely no heat behind it.

She pushes him up against the opposite wall, giving him a quick smirk before she’s squatting down in front of him and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” he utters, and Mist grins because she doesn’t think the word ever sounded so sweet.

It’s not comfortable, but knees on a tile floor would be significantly worse. She takes him in her mouth and Bob honestly doesn’t know what to do with his hands right now. It’s an overload for his senses, the heat of her mouth and hand around him, the near suffocating steam, the spray of the water and the cold wall behind him. It’s a lot.

She works her mouth over him, trying to take him as far as she can, but she can only get to her hand before she’s choking and pulling back with a cough.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, before trying again with the same result, it’s definitely not as easy as they make it look in porn. But Bob places a comforting hand on her cheek, like he’s telling her that she’s doing great, that it’s the effort that counts. So, she swirls her tongue around the head, focusing on making that feel good while her hand takes care of the rest of his length. His breath is coming out in short pants mixed with the occasional moan when she twists her hand just so, and then her hand is speeding up while her tongue laves over him, and Bob’s moans grow louder and more frequent until he’s pulling her by her hair off him and she’s moaning at the sensation. He comes, it mostly missing her still open mouth but landing in painted stripes across her cheek, chin and chest. Bob wishes he had photographic memory at that point, because it’s an image he never wants to forget.

It’s cleaned off pretty quickly with her in the direct line of the shower.

She stands up slowly, taking Bob’s offered hand to help her, and once she’s level again, he's on her in an instant. His mouth slips over hers and he’s quickly deepening the kiss before she can really react. She wraps her arms around him again, pressing closer this time, and he’s less careful in his movements now. His hands run up and down the length of her back, over her sides and when he brushes the swell of her breasts, she huffs out a satisfied breath. He turns them around, taking the heat of the shower spray, one of his hands running down the length of her body until his fingers are sliding through her folds, teasing her gently. She’s so so wet, and Bob wonders idly whether she touches herself when she showers or if getting him off really affected her that much. A part of him wants to ask, but the other part of him doesn’t really want to know the answer to that. The self-conscious part of him is telling him that it’s just a part of her nightly ritual, but the other part that can acknowledge her soft moans and the cant of her hips chasing his fingers, tells him that it’s all about him.

He circles one of his fingers over her clit, drawing the sweetest sounds from her, and his cock jumps in interest. She’s practically mewing under his hands, but it’s just not enough for her.

“Please Bob,” she whines, her voice high pitched. He smirks at her and pushes a finger inside her, groaning at the heat around him. He brings his lips to hers again, and he swallows her little moans like they’re an oasis in the dessert. His thumb swipes over her clit as they kiss, and he hopes he’s making her feel as good as she made him feel.

As he plunges two fingers inside her, he pulls her hair at the same time, and Mist near about screams at the sensation. Bob hadn’t realized hair pulling was a thing he liked until it made her make those pretty little sounds, and by God, if he hadn’t just come, he’d be coming again. She rocks herself back and forth on his fingers, and the only thing that would make it better, is if it was his cock inside of her instead of his fingers. But then her moans pitch up and she drops her head to his shoulder, sucking messy, wet kisses there while she rides his fingers to her orgasm. He tugs on her hair again and she’s trembling around him, coming silently like it’s a surprise.

He lets go of her hair and wraps that arm around her, holding her close as he slows his fingers. He slips them from her when she stops shaking and washes them off in the shower that’s slowly cooling. When she looks up at him again, her smile is bright, but her expression quickly turns to embarrassment when she notices the line of red and purpling bruises she had sucked into his collar while she rode out her high.

“I’m so sorry Bob, I’ll help you hide those,” she says quickly, tucking her chin and looking down.

“Hey, no need for that Mist, don’t care if anyone sees them,” he says, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

He’s smiling, satiated and happy, glad that she had been in the shower when he’d walked in. She smiles shyly back, and he kisses her again, this time soft, like an assurance that everything is fine between them. He holds her close, pressing his forehead to hers and she finds something comforting in that.

“If you ever want a round t....”

“Yes, absolutely, as soon as possible.”

-

Phoenix walks into their common area, and throws herself on the lounge opposite Rooster.

“Where’s Mist?” she asks him.

“Showers,” he grunts in response.

“What about Bob?”

Rooster has the decency to look a little sheepish as he finally catches her eye.

“Showers.”

Phoenix’s jaw drops.

“Rooster, what did you do?

[primofate]

Haikyuu! Drabble: When you get hurt (minor injuries)

Note: Ugggghhhhhhh I love these men. Honestly. wtf. How can you have so many good guys in one anime. Also please don’t take this as a sign that I’ll stop posting for Genshin, but you know, give me some space to hype over my other fandoms please XD

Warnings: it’s seriously just plain fluff

Characters: Kageyama, Tsukishima, Oikawa, Bokuto, Ushijima

Kageyama

“What happened to your knee?”

Is the first thing he says, his face as serious as ever, eyes looking at your bandaged knee as he approaches you in class. You laugh nervously as you unwound the school bag away from your shoulder, placing it on your desk.

“Ah, I was walking Momo-chan last night...But you know, he’s gotten so big and I guess I was a little distracted...He saw a squirrel and just went running for it and...” you trail off, feeling Kageyama’s aura change. You knew he was about to call you reprimand you, and sure enough, he says “Idiot,” just as he would to Hinata.

On closer inspection you also had a bandage around your wrist. He guessed that you tried to hold on to the leash and it dragged your hand across the pavement. 

After berating you with that one word, he wouldn’t say anything else about it. But he would, whenever he could, show some concern that you wouldn’t usually see. “I’ll take that,” he grabs your lunch box from you and you look up at him all confused as to why he’s carrying it for you today. 

But, he stops at the door of the classroom and then turns around. “Actually, let’s just eat here,” as opposed to the school rooftop where the two of you usually ate. 

And then, at the end of the school day, before you could even lift your bag over your shoulder, he’s already there and lifting it on HIS shoulder. You’re dumbfounded. “Are you going to your club? I’ll walk you first then go to mine,” 

Then it hits you. It’s because you’re hurt, and he didn’t want you to strain your knee or wrist anymore. You secretly smile but let him do what he wants. There was no stopping him when he set his mind to it after all. “Tobio-kun, you know, it’s just a scrape, I can still do things by myself,” 

“Shut up and just let me do it...” he mutters under his breath, until he drops you off to your club and goes his own way. 

And then, as your nightly routine to walk Momo-chan, you’re stunned when you see your boyfriend standing there, outside your house gates. Hands in his pockets. “T-Tobio?” 

He lived close by, but still, you didn’t expect him to be there. He snatches the leash away from you, your dog is just happily gazing at the two of you, tail swishing wildly at the fact that TWO of his favourite people are walking him today. And again, Kageyama says,

“...I need to go for a run anyway,”

Tsukishima

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a Tsukishima-san,”

A girl in the basketball team uniform appears at the doorway of the gym, all members turn to her as she bows and straightens up. Tsukishima sighs in relief. Finally an actual excuse to rest from training. 

“That’s me,” he towers over the girl, who only blinks up at him, slightly intimidated. “Ah, uh, yeah...Y/N said that you have her spare glasses?” His eyebrows perk up. Right. You were in the basketball team, for some reason he always forgot that detail. 

He turns away without a word and goes to his bag. He did, indeed, have your spare glasses. You left it at his house last time during a study session, being the airhead that you are. He retrieves it but before handing the black box to the girl, he asks. “What happened to the ones she has?” 

He wasn’t thinking much of it. Perhaps someone accidentally stepped on it, or maybe you even accidentally broke it.

"The ball hit her face,” 

“Is she--”

The words of worry practically dies on his lips. He could feel and sense Yamaguchi and Sugawara listening in to the conversation and he’d drop dead before getting caught being worried for someone. But still, this is why he always told you that you needed sports glasses. A scratch to the eye could be dangerous.

He sighs pretty loudly, and turns to face Sugawara who was off court, standing next to Yamaguchi who was also taking a small break. “Sugawara-san, I’ll be back,” There’s a big smile on his vice captain’s face, same as Yamaguchi who knew that his friend was actually worried. 

Tsukishima ignored their stupid smiles.

“Oh! Kei,” You look up as the door to the school clinic opened, you were just sitting on one of the beds, legs moving back and forth and waiting for your teammate to retrieve the spare glasses for you. Tsukishima said that he’d handle it and as he passed the black box to you he grabs your chin and turns it in his hands, looking at your eyes. 

There was a cut under your left eye that was already patched up. He releases your face when he was sure it was actually nothing serious, only to cross his arms and smirk at you. “See, I told you that hard head of yours would come in handy. Also receive the ball with your hands, not your face,”

You puff your cheeks out in annoyance and put your spare glasses on, feeling brand new. “Sure did, but my glasses aren’t as strong as my skull,” you sulked and he only blinked. “and I was taking a break! Then suddenly I see the ball coming at me, I don’t think that’s my fault!”

“I believe you. Your team has horrid ball passing skills after all,” he’s relentless with his insults but you knew that’s just the way he was. The fact that he came all the way to the school clinic told you enough about his worry. So, you ignore his last remark and smile up at him, “Thanks for checking on me, Kei,” 

He clicks his tongue but places his hand on your head, “Let’s get you new ones tomorrow, and maybe now you’ll listen to me about those sports glasses,” 

Oikawa

“She’s absent today,”

Oikawa’s face fell. You hadn’t told him anything about being sick or being unwell today. He wondered what happened. However, despite his looks and carefree personality, the Aoba Johsai captain was someone who was actually quite detailed. “In that case, can someone pass me her homework? I’ll go and deliver it to her!”

Safe to say your classmates were always surprised at how much the captain doted on you. He wasn’t always doing it openly, but at least he was thoughtful and thorough.

“Y/N-chan~ How could you leave me all alone in school today?” You could practically hear the pout from the other side of the line. He’d gone to the school grounds to get some private time to call you. 

“Sorry Toru, I can’t really walk properly. It should be fine in a few days though,”

His heart did a little leap, worry etching itself on his features. “What do you mean? What happened?”

The pout in his voice was gone, replaced by what you always called “the captain voice”. 

“I sprained my ankle...It’s a long and stupid story...” you laughed but you heard him sigh. “Well, I have no choice then. Your prince will visit you after-school today!”

You didn’t think he really would. He had volleyball practice and he took those seriously. But at 8 pm, just as you finished dinner, your doorbell rang and next thing you knew he was in your room. 

Your mother just LOVED him. Sometimes you thought even more than you. She was unaware of how hyper Oikawa actually was. He certainly knew how to play his cards right. 

“Alright princess, let me see that foot,” While you were sitting on your chair he practically bent down on on one knee and inspected it. He did kind of look like a prince like that, with his volleyball jacket. Then he suddenly plopped on the floor with his legs crossed. “AAhhhh! That sucks you won’t come to school for a few days!” He was whining again and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

Without fail, every day that you were absent, he showed up at your house after practice.

Bokuto

It’s not that you were particularly clumsy. You were actually a pretty careful person, and that’s why Bokuto always trusted your cooking skills over his. Baking a cake shouldn’t be too hard, but you were rather unfamiliar with the oven at his place.

“Mm, so, it says here to just leave it in the oven for 45 minutes!” he has this big smile on his face and you shake the batter in the round container again. The oven had already been pre-heated and when you open the door to it, hot air greets you. 

You took the round container in your hand, and push it in. It sits just at the front of the oven and you really hate it when that happens, so, with your boyfriend still focused on the recipe (and without mittens cause you think it’ll just be quick push) you try to inch the round cake pan further in with your hand. At one point, you accidentally touch the inside of the hot oven and you recoil your hand with a loud gasp. 

“WHAT?! What what what?!” Bokuto flings the recipe book away and clutches at your hand. In all honesty it didn’t hurt that much, but you had made contact on the hot surface just enough for it to sting and startle you. “Nothing Kou, I just accidentally touched the oven,” you laugh sheepishly but he’s pulling you over to the sink.

The boy is panicking.

“Water!” You’re amazed at how he even knows what to do, running water now splashing on your hand. It wasn’t even enough to burn you, it was just a little red, that’s all. “K-Kou, it’s totally fine,” 

But he turns to you with a waterfall of tears running down his eyes and his hair has deflated from it’s usual spiky style. “I-I’m so useless!” 

‘Ah there he goes,’ you think. But you’ve been trained by Akaashi how to handle these kinds of outbursts from him. “Not at all Kou-kun, you mixed the batter so perfectly. I usually get tired when I do that, but you have really strong arms! Next time I’ll let you handle the oven too, is that okay?”

He stares at you blankly for a moment. The tears have disappeared and his lips oh-so slowly curve into a smile. He gives you a thumbs up, back to his usual flair and confidence. “Of course! Leave it to me!” and he laughs triumphantly while you thank Akaashi in your mind.

Ushijima

Cooking for him and Tendo at the dorms was like a weekly routine. It was mostly for Ushijima, but Tendo liked crashing the cooking party too.

“Be careful.” Ushijima says as he passes the vegetables for you to chop. You did so without any incident. The cooking itself passes by without any incident, until your hand slip off the plate you’re holding and it comes crashing down the floor, shattering into pieces, some of the pieces flying off in different directions.

Ushijima and Tendo perks up in alarm at the sudden sound, with Ushijima being the first to rise on his feet and assess the situation. You’re about to carefully just move away from the mess you made, shards littering around your feet. “Don’t move,” Ushijima tells you, noting that you were only wearing his over-sized slippers. He sees that one of the shards has cut your foot. It was small, but since it was fresh, it was still bleeding. 

“If you move you’ll hurt yourself, wait for me,” you do as told as Ushijima first sweeps off the rest of the shattered glass with a broom, disposes of it. Next he comes to you with a new set of slippers, puts it down on the now clean floor, and tells you to carefully slip out of the ones you have on, he was cautious about the small pieces. Only when you were neatly into the new set of slippers did he clean off the rest of the glass.

Tendo only sat and watched in amusement. His captain was very thorough, even with things like that. “I’ll go and get a first aid kit~” he offered as he stood and sauntered off. “Y/N, sit over there,” he pointed at a nearby chair and you merely follow. There was no use saying no to him, you knew he just wanted to check if everything was in order.

Sure enough just as Tendo comes back with the kit, Ushijima inspects your foot, eyes scanning all around it. It seems that there was only that one cut and it’d be easy to treat. You weren’t surprised that Ushijima knew what to do, watching him take some cotton and pour some alcohol on it, muttering under his breath that it would sting a bit. 

By the end of it, the cut on your foot was disinfected and bandaged properly. “Oohhhh! Good job Wakatoshi-kun!” Tendo praised his friend for the clean job and Ushijima nodded his head with a small “Mm,”

“Thank you,” you smile up at him, “and sorry for the plate, I wasn’t paying attention,” 

Ushijima makes a thoughtful sound, perhaps a little confused by your apology “...The plate is of no great value,” he simply says “it can be replaced.”

"I can’t say the same for you Y/N, so it’s good that you weren’t gravely hurt,” The blush on your cheeks is obvious and Ushijima doesn’t understand what has you so flustered, he’s just being his honest and straightforward self. 

Tendo only laughs at the display.

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[huggybug]

finally getting around to writing this

disclaimer: reminder that this is complete fiction, it’s not a direct representation of pat and brendan’s relationship!!!

happy dilf day!

It was awkward. Your son’s tournament this week went horribly wrong and with his luck, it was the one weekend that Brendan was home for which meant he was at every single game. Now, you were all in the car, driving home from the rink after his team came in 16th out of 20 teams. The silence was the most uncomfortable thing you’ve ever felt, especially since you could feel both boys absolutely fuming in their seats.

“You’re never going to make it anywhere if you keep playing like that” Brendan broke the silence and you looked at him right away. You heard your son mumble something in the back seat but Brendan kept on going, “You can’t play like that, especially when there’s scouts watching”

This tournament was the one that college scouts usually came to watch, it was one of the most important tournaments of the year and as disappointing as the team’s performance was, you didn’t think it was fair to blame it all on your son.

“I wasn’t the only one out there…” You could tell that your son was feeling a little dejected and you couldn’t blame him. Brendan was being ridiculous, blaming it all on your son and you knew it.

“I don’t care, you’re the one who could have changed it out there. You’re my son, the captain of your team. You should know better” Brendan continued to tear into your son while he stayed silent, “That’s embarrassing, aren’t you embarrassed?” Your eyes widened, shocked at how brutal he was being.

“Brendan” You scolded, “That’s enough” He looked at you but you just shook your head sharply. Brendan parked the car and your son scrambled out as fast as he could. You followed quickly, rushing into the house behind him.

“Can I please just go to bed?” He asked you, eyes pleading for you to say yes. You took a deep breath and pulled him into a hug, feeling terrible for the way Brendan handled that.

“Of course, don’t worry, I’ll talk to him” He nodded and dragged himself upstairs, clearly drained from the day. You followed, heading to your room to get ready for bed and soon enough, you heard Brendan entering the room.

You continued moving around the bedroom, finishing your routine and changing while ignoring your husband. “What? You’re not going to talk to me now?” Brendan grabbed your hand when you walked past him but you shook him off. “C’mon why are you mad?”

“If you seriously don’t know the answer to that question, I’m not going to walk you through it Brendan” There it was again, the use of his full name. He actually couldn’t remember the last time you called him ‘Brendan’ it was always babe or Bren, never his full name.

“I’m just frustrated, he is so much better than that”

“You don’t think he knows that? It was a bad weekend Bren, he knows and he doesn’t need you pouring salt in the wound and making it worse”

“I just want him to live up to his potential” He froze when the words left his mouth.

“Oh, you finally heard it?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest and he sighs, “You sound exactly like your father Bren”

“Don’t say that” He snaps which makes you shake your head.

“You spent all your life trying to prove everything to your dad and now you’re making our son do that too” It was a little unfair to say, you knew his relationship with Pat was a touchy subject but you were defending your son, it didn’t matter.

Brendan made a vow when your son was born, he promised himself that he would never turn into his father. He didn’t want his own son to grow up feeling the pressure and obligation of ‘being a Brisson’, something his father used to tell him was a blessing.

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are!” You were tired of Brendan acting like this wasn’t his fault, like nothing he said was out of line. “You’re doing exactly what you used to complain about your dad doing Bren. I remember you coming to my dorm just absolutely devastated because your dad said something stupid about a game and you just couldn’t stand him being disappointed in you. Is that really how you want to be? A dad who makes his own son feel like that?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything” He said quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

“Yeah, no kidding” You scoffed, sitting next to him and placing your hand delicately on his back, “I know you mean well but sometimes it’s better if we just let him process it in his own way”

“I hated my dad for doing that” Brendan shook his head, “Fuck, I hate myself for doing it now”

“Calm down Bren, you can talk to him and I know he’ll understand. You’re a good dad, I know that and he knows that, you’re nothing like your father”

“Yeah… yeah I’m gonna talk to him” Brendan smiled, taking a couple breaths to hype himself up.

“Not tonight. Give him some time, you can talk to him in the morning” You said gently, “Let’s get some rest” Brendan sighed but agreed, letting you coax him into bed quietly. You took a deep breath once he was asleep, it had been a long day and you were glad it was finally over.

[ko-eko-ev-go-ms]

Am just hoping that this is something I process quicker ? Maybe ?

Hate when you realize something was more serious and happened and more specifically that you finally realize it’s something you’re gonna have to process for a while rather than just rapidly move on from, especially when it’s like way after the fact and just blegh

[just-jordie-things]

A Lover And A Fighter - Richie Tozier

word count: 3122 warnings: swearing, sight sexual harassment summary: Richie promised (y/n) that he wouldn’t get into fights anymore, but sometimes he just can’t help himself.  Especially when it comes to protecting her.

___

It was an understatement to say that Richie was protective of you.  The boy was downright insane about it.  Everyone in Derry knew not to fuck with (y/n), not unless they wanted Richie Tozier tracking them down and beating them half to death.

You’d given him a talk numerous times.  But not once did they work, it always went in one ear and out the other..

He’d beaten up three ex boyfriends, a couple guys that looked at you the wrong way, and Greta Keene.  He was proud of that amount.

But he’d promised that he would try his best not to act out on your behalf anymore.  And you made him pinky promise.  That’s a big deal.  And he didn’t want to break your trust or your promise.

However… once he walked past Henry Bowers and his dumbass friends, and heard your name being mentioned, he couldn’t stop himself from getting involved.

“What was that?” He spoke before he could think things through.

The boys turned to him, each bearing a scowl that wasn’t out of character.

“I said, (y/n’s) not fucking worth it,” Henry practically growled out.  “Now why don’t you fuck off, Tozier?”

“Your damn fucking right it’s not worth it,” Richie spat back, turning away, doing the right thing.  “I’d break your goddamn nose” He muttered under his breath.

“It’s not worth it to try and get in her pants,” Henry called out before Richie could walk far enough away.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Cause she’s such a slut anyways, it’s not a real victory to fuck-”

Richie had never whipped around so fast.  And with the punch he delivered went all common sense, and all the promises and reassurances he’d given you to prove he was going to ‘mature’ as you’d begged him to do. ___

“Hey, Richie,” You held your phone between your ear and shoulder as you painted your toes.  “This is like, my fifth message… so… call me back, I guess.  Okay, bye”

You sighed as you set the phone back on it’s holster.  Richie wasn’t the type of guy to stand you up, especially on taco tuesday.  And even if something came up, he always always, called.  But now he couldn’t even bother to return one of your calls, leaving you to assume that he was upset with you for some reason, and therefore ignoring you.

You weren’t sure what you did, and at this point, you also weren’t sure that he was going to tell you either.

When Richie didn’t want to talk to someone, he was the damn best at avoiding them.

But he’d never given you the cold shoulder.  And there was a time that you’d thought he never would.  Richie was your best friend, you trusted and confided in him more than anyone else, even the other Losers.  And in the last seven years of being his best friend, he’d never treated you this way.  In fact, he always treated you amazingly, like a princess, it was very surprising actually, the way he cared about you.

It was that care that always led him to picking fights where he shouldn’t be, though.  It started with your ex boyfriend.  He broke up with you once a ‘better, prettier’ girl showed interest (his words), and the next thing you knew, Richie was throwing him against the lockers.

When your next boyfriend straight up cheated on you, Richie took care of him too.

He broke the third one’s nose.

And then there was the Greta Keene incident… Beverly may have let it slip that Greta had been writing nasty rumors about you in the girls bathrooms.  And Richie declared that he didn’t have a problem beating up a girl if it was justified (and if that girl had man arms).  That was when you drew the line, and made Richie swear to try and control his anger.  And he pinkie promised to work on it, and that he wouldn’t get into any more fights over you.

You weren’t sure why he got so enraged over these things.  It was just drama, and you found it pointless that he tried to bring you justice, since he was so reckless about it.

It was getting late, and you knew that Richie wasn’t going to return your calls.  So you finished painting your toenails blue, and decided to spend the night in your room, reading, alone.

Even though you should have been eating a bunch of tacos and gossiping with Richie.

Just as you got situated in bed, and had turned off the overhead light in exchange for the soft glow of your lamp on the bedside table, there was a knock on the window.

When you glanced over, you could tell it was Richie by his silhouette, and you frowned slightly.

Nonetheless, you got up and unlocked the window, before sliding it open.

“Where the hell have you been?” You asked.

He could tell that you couldn’t see his face very well.

“Busy, you gonna let me in?” He grinned.

“Richie, it’s-” You glanced over your shoulder to the alarm clock on your table, before glaring back at him.  “-midnight.  Are you kidding me? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“What? (y/n/n), no-”

“Then how come you were dodging all my calls? And you’re seven hours late?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest..

Richie crawled in through the window, even though you hadn’t invited him in yet.  But he figured it was only a matter of time before you cave anyways.

Your distressed face disappeared as you caught sight of him now that he was in the light.  His left eye was bruising, and so was his right cheekbone.  Along with a split lip and a bloody nose, it was clear what had happened.

“Oh, Richie…” You mumbled, hand reaching up to cover your mouth as your eyes widened at the sight of him.  “Tell me you didn’t-”

“Look it’s not what you think-” Richie tried to protest.

“Don’t give me that shit”

He knew he fucked up, because you weren’t yelling.  Your voice was soft, and low.  You were heartbroken.

He stared down at the ground, too anxious to look at you anymore.  Not when you looked so disappointed in him.  

“You promised- you-you pinky promised me-”

“I know-! I know and I’m sorry, really, I’m really fucking sorry” He told you, desperately hoping that you’d forgive him.

You shook your head at him, and gestured for him to sit before you left the room.  Richie was the most frustratingly complicated person that you knew, and it drove you insane.  Why he couldn’t just walk away and not beat the shit out of people… you weren’t sure.  But it really hurt you that he didn’t even seem to try, and he broke his promise.

Richie was sitting on the side of your bed when you came back into the room.  He chuckled as he eyed the first aid kit in your hands, the same one that you’ve used the last four or five times you dealt with the aftermath of his episodes of rages.

“You don’t have t-”

“Yes I do” You cut him off and unpacked what you’d need.

You were upset, you were fuming, actually.  It angered you that Richie broke his promise, not even a month after making it.  That promise was important to you, because he was important to you.  And now here he was, waiting to be fixed up by you once again after he so stupidly, so recklessly got himself beaten to a pulp.

But no matter how angry you were, you remained silent.  Dabbing at the excess blood under his nose, which at least wasn’t bleeding anymore.  And when you were finished with his cheek, you moved on to rubbing cream over the bruise on his cheek.  Richie’s eyes fell shut as he sighed in relief at the feeling of the cool lotion, and your gentle fingers.

He knew your silence wasn’t a good thing.  In fact, it was the worst thing.  It meant he messed up beyond redemption.  And he’d never fucked up that bad before.  Sure, he’d pissed you off and frustrated you on the daily, but that was just the hallmark of his friendship, and it was never anything serious.  Just when he dragged you out in the middle of the night for slushies, or got you in trouble in class because he was running his mouth.  He’d never made you this genuinely upset before.

“(y/n)-”

“Save it” You muttered before he could even start with the apologies.

That was another hallmark of his friendship.  You knew what came next.  The apologies, the excuses, the begging for your forgiveness, followed by a playful ‘you know you love me, you need me’ and puppy dog eyes that you couldn’t refuse.  Except tonight, you might just be able to.

He took you by surprise when he didn’t protest, and snapped his mouth shut.  Your eyes met his for a moment, before you started applying a smaller amount of lotion on the bruise surrounding his eye.  It was going to look a lot worse in the morning, but this would help with the pain now.

You hated that your heart ached for him right now.  You hated that you wanted to cry and hold him and make him feel better.  Because you were so fucking mad-

“I don’t understand,” The words suddenly spilled out of your mouth, as if your mind just couldn’t take them swimming around in your head anymore.  “I just- I- I don’t fucking get it”

He nodded, ducking his head down, only for you to lift it back up by his chin and continue with the lotion.

“I care about you, dumbass, and all I asked, which I thought was simple, all I asked was for you to stop with the fighting-”

“I know” He mumbled back.

You stared at him skeptically, wondering if he really did know, or if he’d show up again in a few weeks with the same battered face and guilty look in his eyes.  Richie didn’t look back at you.  He couldn’t.

“Who?” You asked, trying to soften your voice so he wouldn’t whither away from you like he was doing right now.

“You’re not gonna like it” Richie answered, fingers pinching at your bedsheets in an attempt to distract himself.  From the pain that burned across his whole face, or from the intensity in your eyes, he wasn’t sure, but he needed the distraction.

He hadn’t had a smoke in months, but it sounded pretty damn good right now.

“Well, newsflash, I don’t like any of this,” You told him.  “But I think I deserve to at least know what happened”

Of course you do, Richie hung his head in his hands.  You deserve so, so much better.

You watched as he rubbed his palms over his eyes, and it took everything in your power not to take his hands and hold them in yours, to tell him it was okay and you forgave him.

“Bowers”

He muttered the single word without even looking at you.  But he didn’t have to look at you to know exactly what you looked like in that moment.  You probably had a dropped jaw and furrowed brows.  Disappointment, disgust, anger, all displayed in one heartbreaking look.

“Richie…” You murmured without meaning to.  “Why? Why would you-”

“I had to, okay?” He shot up suddenly.  “I know that you hate it, and as soon as I swung I- I knew I fucked up, but I had to”

You wanted to argue it, argue that there’s always another option, that he can always walk away.  But you bit your tongue.  Something about the way he spoke told you that there was more to this than his stupidity.

“I’m sorry, (y/n/n), I am.  But I… I don’t regret it”

Your heart sunk all the way down to your stomach.  Richie had such a toll on your emotions and he didn’t even know it.

“Tell me what happened” You said quietly, and shifted closer to him.

You wanted him to know he had your undivided attention, and that he should have the chance to at least explain what happened.  You pulled your leg up to rest on the mattress, and turned your body to face him.

Richie looked at you before looking back down at his hand, which was now fisted in your blankets.

“Richie,” You hummed, brows furrowing as you saw how reluctant he was to opening up.  “Tell me” The words were so soft, it was almost inaudible.

You wondered what Henry could have done that Richie didn’t want to tell you about.  He must have really outdone himself.

“He was just talking shit-”

“Richie,” You cut off his bullshit before he could even start.  “Come on, the truth”  

“It’s not-”

“I deserve to know, Tozier! Whatever it is, I don’t care, okay? Just tell me-”

“He said you weren’t worth sleeping with!”

Just like that, you’d gotten him to snap.

And you shut up instantly, shocked by the outburst.  His words processed slowly in your head.

“He said it wasn’t worth trying because you’re- because you’re a slut, and it wasn’t fucking true!” Richie continued to yell.  Not at you, he just couldn’t contain his own anger anymore.

And you thought you were pissed.

“Motherfucker had your name in his nasty fucking mouth and he was telling his buddies fucking lies and I couldn’t- fuck I couldn’t walk away.  I should’ve fucking killed him”

You were staring at him, speechless.  You should’ve known it was about you, Richie was always so fiercely protective of you.  And Henry’s wouldn’t be the first nose that he’d broken protecting you.  But this wasn’t like before.  He’d beaten on your ex boyfriends after they broke your heart.  Henry hadn’t said or done anything to you, he was just doing what boys do.  (Make shit up because they think it makes them impressive when really they’re even shittier than they look)

“I didn’t mean to break your promise,” Richie huffed.  His face was slightly flushed after his mini tantrum.  His hands grabbed both of yours, holding them close to him.  “I’m so sorry I put you through this again”

You were still silent, but he knew this wasn’t a bad silence.  You were still processing, still trying to figure out how to forgive him while making sure this was the last time he crawls through your window looking like this.

“I hope you know that it came from a place of- of caring about you,” He added.  “Caring about you too much, I guess” He mumbled as an afterthought.

Your stupid lovesick heart skipped a beat at the sweet words.  Richie wasn’t one for words, at all, but he somehow managed to say the most loving things without even realizing it.

“I can’t promise it won’t happen again, that much is clear.  And if Bowers says one more goddamn thing about your ass I’ll fucking string him up- I will- but I can promise I’ll try, okay? I will, I’ll really try”

He squeezed your hands a little bit, hoping you believed him, hoping you trusted him.

Your eyes flickered between his for a moment, and you could see in them that he was being sincere, and that he was broken up over hurting you.

“You…” He started to speak, but trailed off unsurely.  “You deserve better” He finished.

His eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, before he turned away.

You shake your head, before you let go of one of his hands, and took his chin between your thumb and index finger, turning him to look back at you.

“(y/n/n)-”

You cut him off when you leaned in and gently kissed him, trying to be mindful of his split lip.

Richie’s eyes remained focused on your closed ones, too stunned to close them, or really kiss her back.

He wanted to kick himself when you pulled away.  He managed to miss his fucking chance because he was too slow to do anything about it.

Your eyes fluttered open in such a beautiful way Richie swore you were holding his heart in your perfect little hands.

His brows were furrowed like you’d confused him, and you absolutely had.  He hadn’t expected you to kiss him.

“Why’d you do that?” He asked breathlessly, and your cheeks burned pink.

Your shoulders raised a bit in a shrug, and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling too much.

“I just… wanted to” You whispered.

A smile twitched on the corner of Richie’s lips before his hand cupped your cheek, and he pulled you in again, so he could kiss you right this time.

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than he’d imagined they’d be.  And he’d imagined countless times what they’d feel like.  Daydreaming in class, before he fell asleep, and being right by your side for the last seven years.

Kissing you was bliss.

He did it again, taking your face in both of his hands and pulling you impossibly closer.  He could feel your lips smiling against his own, and once again, his heart was beating out of his chest trying to get to yours.

“I’m in love with you, (y/n/n)” He murmured when you parted, and you laughed softly.

“That makes sense,” You replied, reaching a hand up to play with the curls on the back of his neck.  “And… I love you too”

Richie gave you a sunshine smile, which you couldn’t help but return.

“I’m still upset, by the way,” You told him, still playing with the curls.  “But only cause I’m tired of seeing you covered in bruises, okay?”

He nodded, and you leaned your cheek further against the palm of his hand.

“I promise to try” He said, and then raised his pinky.

You looked from his hand and then back to him, a slight glare in your eyes.

“Come on, just do it,” He urged, you rolled your eyes, but he was persistent.  “Just link fuckin’ pinkies with me”

With a giggle you hooked your pinky with his, and held it for a moment.

“You want to go get tacos now?” He asked, and you grinned, nodding your head.

“You read my mind” You answered, and followed him back out the window.

It dawned on you that Richie was both your lover and your fighter.  And he held those titles proudly.

As he took your hand and walked alongside you down the street, he decided there were no other title he’d want to be labeled, besides yours. ___

taglist: @thegr8kush​

xoxo ~ jordie

[aastarions]

stay gold [chapter four]

Previous Chapter || Series Masterlist || Next Chapter [TBA]

Pairing: Zhongli x Female!Reader

Series Tags: Eventual Smut (18+), Kinda Slow Burn, Reader has a Backstory/Lore, Heavy Liyue Lore, Lots of Fluff, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Reader uses She/Her Pronouns

Word Count: 6,800+

A/N: I honestly wasn’t sure when I’d end up finishing this chapter, but I somehow managed to find a huge burst of writing motivation this weekend and took full advantage of it! It’s scary how each chapter keeps getting longer and longer, I don’t know if that’ll keep happening but >.< yeah, thank you for all the support for this series so far, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think 💕

To My Dearest Child,

I beg of you, please come home. Come home so we can talk and come to an agreement together. You cannot just run away from your responsibilities, to both this family and to your nation.

But, if there is a compromise that the both of us can reach after a much needed discussion, I am willing to budge on some things. Just please come home.

Your mother was always best with words, not me, but I’m trying my best in her absence. If you need assistance in returning home from Liyue, please inform me as soon as you can and I will prepare the proper arrangements.

I hope to hear from you soon.

-Dad

The impulsive urge to tear the letter to shreds – into a thousand tiny, unrecognizable pieces crosses your mind initially. With great reluctance, you abstain. Rather you allow it to drift from your fingertips onto the hardwood floor, hands reaching up to frantically swipe away the tears that have begun to accumulate along your lower lash line.

It’s not fair – those are the first words that come to mind as you burrow yourself beneath the few blankets that once hung along the back of your small couch. You didn’t ask for such a heavy burden to be draped upon your shoulders, weighing you down like an anchor constrained to your body from the beginning of your teenage years to now.

The minutes tick by yet you continue to idle on the couch, knees dragged up to your chest as you contemplate your eventual response. Seconds slow into minutes while you remain cooped up in your tangled web of thoughts, unsure how much time has actually passed since you returned home and read the letter.

You know that eventually a formal response would have been demanded of you, as if running away to a different nation entirely wasn’t enough of a message. Though, you can’t deny the small part of you that wants to return home. That wants to rid yourself of the guilt that’s plagued you since you first stepped foot on the docks of Liyue Harbor.

That wants to fulfill the duty you were raised to uphold.

Coming from one of the two royal families of Fontaine, you’ve spent a large majority of your life within the confines of your family’s estate. Almost like a castle atop a hill, looking over the rather expansive village of Petrichor from quite a distance.

Being a member of such a prestigious and wealthy family, there were expectations set upon you from the moment you could walk, talk, read, write – a reputation to live up to in the eyes of the people. As you flourished, well, more like stumbled, into your teenage years those duties only increased tenfold.

It wasn’t until you reached adulthood that the ridiculously large estate began to suffocate you.

More and more you yearned for a life free of prying eyes of the public, free of expectations and royal duties. The years kept passing – you watched those you went to private school with get married, bear children, decide their own paths for their future with melancholic jealousy coursing through your veins.

So when you were brought into your father’s office one stormy afternoon to receive quite literally the second worst news of your life, you decided to finally do something about it.

You spent two weeks straight researching the other six regions of Teyvat, the prosperous nation of Liyue catching your eye and your memory – bedtime stories your father used to tell you as a child of the beautiful mountains and waterfalls of his hometown.

It took every ounce of mora you had accumulated from years of birthdays and holidays, along with a few connections due to your status, but you were on the fastest ship to Liyue Harbor without as much as a farewell to the life you were leaving behind. Only a short, vague letter to reassure your father that you hadn’t been kidnapped or something of the sorts.

Sure, adjusting to an entirely new routine with freedom you had only dreamt of was overwhelming at the start, lonely even. You’re fully convinced that if you hadn’t bumped into Zhongli a little over a week ago, you might already be on the first ship back home.

He’s shown you nothing but hospitality and kindness in the short span of time you’ve known the dark-haired history buff. From the moment he helped you find your way to Wanwen Bookhouse to your Kamera lessons in Yujing Terrace, to yank the stem of your budding friendship out so prematurely would fill you with an intense amount of regret.

There’s still so much you want to learn, both of this nation and of him – your unrelenting desire for a life free of royal constraints has not been quelled just yet.

With all that in mind, you peel yourself out of the cocoon of blankets and head towards your small desk in the corner of the living room. Grabbing your stationary, you begin to write your response, though it’s anything but decisive.

After many, many scrapped sheets of paper, the letter you wind up sealing into an envelope is short and straight to the point: similar to the one you left behind so many weeks ago.

Dad,

I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to come home just yet. I hope you can respect that.

I’ll write to you again in approximately a month’s time on whether or not I’ve come to a decision.

Please give everyone my best regards.

As it turns out, a month is not nearly enough time for you to make a decision that holds so much bearing on your future, you think as you stare blankly at the equally empty sheet of paper before you. The start of a headache festers in your skull as you try to conjure up what to possibly write down, words failing you when you need them the most.

For the past few weeks, the last thing on your mind has been what your decision will ultimately be.

Instead you’ve been spending a majority of your time outside of work with the enigmatic funeral consultant himself. Whether the two of you are meandering through Liyue Harbor, fetching a cheap bite to eat at one of the many dining areas along said harbor, or simply lounging in his office with the occasional Hu Tao – Zhongli has quickly cemented himself a permanent spot in your once lonely days.

Which makes writing this letter in front of you increasingly difficult, even worse than it had been a month prior. The tall pile of crumpled up attempts on the cusp of spilling from the bin from the past few days is evidence of such.

You take a swift glance over to the clock that hangs crookedly on your wall, eyes widening at the unexpected time that it presents. With only fifteen minutes before your morning shift begins, it’s safe to assume you’ll be late if you continue to dwell on this letter for much longer.

“Guess it’s gonna have to wait again…” You mutter to yourself, lifting yourself out of the chair and heading straight towards your closet in search of some fresh, comfortable attire. Emphasis on comfort given your anticipated plans for the late afternoon and early evening.

There’s less than five minutes remaining by the time you slug a rather weighted backpack over your shoulders, bolting out the door but mindful enough not to trip down the steep staircase in your haste. You say your usual greetings to Chen the Sharp and Dongsheng as they get prepared for the morning rush of customers just before finally waltzing down the stone path towards the docks.

There’s only less than a minute remaining when you finally reach your destination, an apology already rolling off your tongue as you step into Kai’s Teashop. Only it’s drowned out by the early crowd of customers as they wait to place their orders. Some with understanding patience and others, not so much.

By the time your belongings are stashed in the back and your apron is slung over your frame, ready for the shift ahead of you, the letter has long since slipped from your memory. Instead, your mind is quickly consumed with a myriad of coffee and tea orders ranging from a simple espresso to a milk tea with three servings of cocoa, two servings of caramel, and exactly five ice cubes.

The slew of sailors, merchants, and Liyue citizens alike tends to dwindle the closer and closer the sun reaches its highest point of the day, a relief to both yourself and your co-worker who announces that they’re heading for a much needed break.

As they promptly exit the shop, you start on washing the dishes that have been tossed haphazardly aside during the morning rush. There’s only two customers still lingering inside the building, regulars that often keep to themselves while enjoying their beverage.

It’s at this time that two very familiar faces make their way into the shop, a small grin tugging at your lips – your mood is instantly lifted by their presence.

“Good morning!” Hu Tao says with her usual heightened enthusiasm, “I think…it’s still morning, right?”

Both you and Zhongli glance over at the clock, replying in sync, “For another two minutes, yes.”

“Oh! How did your meeting go this morning?” You remember the two of them discussing a potentially huge partnership all weekend, a high ranking member of the militia from Natlan who had sent a letter to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor wanting to discuss a possible deal.

“It went great!”

“It did not.” Zhongli corrects Hu Tao almost immediately, “The deal nearly dissipated before we even had the chance to discuss it when the Director made a mockery of–”

“–I think what truly matters is that in the end, a deal was made! With tensions rising in Natlan, the last thing they need to worry about is where to rest their fallen soldiers! That’s where we come in!”

How morbid, you can’t help but think to yourself. Death has never been an easy topic for you, but you can agree that Hu Tao makes somewhat of a point, albeit potentially insensitive, but a point nonetheless.

“Well, at least it all worked out, yeah?” You say while finishing up the last of the dishes. As you wipe your damp hands on the nearest towel, the sound of the entry doors opening drags your attention to a pair of women who’ve just walked in.

The one with a Hydro vision adorning her chain necklace speaks up first, a sort of nostalgic glee in her tone, “I saw the sign outside was promoting boba milk tea, do you still have some available?”

“Oh sure, what flavor and size did you want?” After taking both her and the woman at her side’s orders, you head to the back of the shop to get the freshly prepared tapioca pearls from their heated container.

An Inazuma speciality, yet your boss was able to pull some strings with some suppliers overseas to have boba imported regularly to Liyue Harbor. They had initially arrived yesterday, but after some trial and error on preparing them, Mr. Kai wasted no time in creating promotional boards and a brand new menu to include the gooey, round pearls.

Heading back to the front, you overhear the tail end of their conversation, “...it’s been so long since I’ve been back home to Inazuma, I forgot how much I missed the boba! I know you’ll like it too, trust me.”

You hand the two of them their drinks and ring them up for the purchase, wishing them a great rest of their day as they promptly exit the shop. When you turn to face your two friends once more, on the cusp of asking them if they’d like to order anything, Hu Tao seems to have her mind already set.

“Can I try that…what did they call it, boba milk tea?” She asks with wide, curious eyes, “Surprise me with the flavor though!”

“Of course, do you want to try it too, Zhongli?”

Zhongli appears to think it over for a brief moment, “It couldn’t hurt to try something new, sure.”

“Got it, I'll be right back!” You excitedly head for the back of the shop once more.

For Hu Tao’s drink, you end up preparing a fragrant violetgrass milk tea with a small serving of boba that lingers at the bottom of the cup. For Zhongli’s drink, you keep it rather simple with an oolong milk tea, again with a spoonful of boba mixed in.

You return to the front only to find Hu Tao giggling rather maniacally while Zhongli’s narrowed gaze burns a hole through the side of her head. Though his expression instantly softens when he picks up on your presence, clearing his throat as if to catch his boss’ attention, too.

“Here ya go!” Handing each of them a glass and a straw, you excitedly anticipate their reactions to the Inazuman speciality, “Let me know what you think.”

When Hu Tao takes her first sip she manages to immediately capture a few pearls, seemingly unphased by the sudden solid in what appears to be a liquid beverage. On the other hand, Zhongli’s reaction is entirely unexpected.

He doesn’t experience the bubbles in the first long sip, but the second has his eyes widening in surprise before he seems to nearly choke – a short series of coughs escaping from him as he holds the drink far from his mouth. Your initial concern is fortunately washed over with relief when he’s quick to recompose himself, tugging at the knot of his tie with a slight shake of his head.

“Don’t be dramatic!” Hu Tao claps a hand to his back, “They’re pretty good, right?”

“I have not had the opportunity to taste them yet, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Zhongli quips in a rare sarcastic manner before cautiously taking a third sip of the drink.

His eyes appear to light up as he carefully chews on the gooey tapioca, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before providing his final verdict, “The texture is rather…unique, but I find the taste to be quite enjoyable. The milk tea is delightfully refreshing as well, making for an overall delectable beverage.”

The both of you then glance over to Hu Tao for her opinion, surprised to see her glass nearly empty. She takes one more long sip before stating a simple, “It’s yummy!”

“Thank you for the splendid treat,” Zhongli sends his ever gentle smile your way and suddenly the room feels a few degrees warmer than it had been only seconds prior, “however, the Director and I have a few more obligations to fulfill in the coming hours, what time shall you and I convene later this afternoon?”

You don’t get the chance to answer before Hu Tao interrupts, “Oh? Where are the two of you going, hm?”

“We will be hiking up Mt. Tianheng to witness the meteor showers this evening.”

You nod in agreement – out of the many books you’ve read through this past month, one regarding celestial phenomena documented throughout Liyue history stuck out to you the most. Specifically, the tales of certain occasions where meteor showers decorate the twilight sky in a multitude of bright, albeit quick stripes. An occurrence that can only be witnessed once every five to seven years in Liyue according to a historian whose name you’ve already forgotten.

Needless to say, after countless research on the next anticipated showers, behold your surprise when it turns out the next one is expected to occur today. Having discovered this a little over a week ago, you were quick to bring it up to Zhongli with excess zeal, given he had been the one to recommend the novel to you in the first place.

That’s when the two of you made plans to hike Mt. Tianheng together on the day of and get an unobstructed view of the entire celestial event. To say you’re excited would be a huge understatement.

“How cute!” Hu Tao says animatedly, “I’ve heard that it’s good luck to wish on those.”

“You’re thinking of shooting stars, a little different.” You correct her.

Rolling her eyes, she responds with, “Either way, I hope the two of you have fun! Not too much fun though, if you know what I–”

“We will be taking our leave now,” Zhongli sends another pointed look in his boss’ direction before addressing you, “I will return around four, if that works best for you.”

“Perfect, I finish at four today so we can head straight for the trail once you’re here.” You also remember that you need to prepare the sandwiches you had decided to make as a light dinner atop the mountain. Given the excessive amount of walking planned, a heavy meal would only do more harm than good.

Just as you’re thinking of where to go on your break to gather the ingredients needed, Zhongli and Hu Tao bid their farewells to you and make for the funeral parlor for their scheduled meetings.

On the other hand, you wait for your coworker to return from their lunch to take your own. There’s an extra hop in your step as you walk through the lower half of Liyue Harbor, an extra sense of glee in your tone while speaking to a few merchants.

With your thoughts consumed with anticipation for the afternoon ahead, the last thing you’re worried about is the empty letter that remains on your desk back home.

Although it does manage to cross your mind for a brief, fleeting moment near the end of your shift. You’re tucking the freshly made sandwiches into your bag in the back of the shop when the thought strikes you like a phantom – a manifestation of your indecision – emerging from the shadows. Looming over your shoulder waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

You shake your head, hoping in turn it’ll dispel the less than welcome thoughts from your mind. It feels rather silly to let something as mundane as writing a letter have such an affect on you, but it’s the finality of your choice that gives this simple sheet of paper such a profound meaning.

Much to your delight, the sound of the entry doors chiming at exactly four on the dot drags your focus back to the present. The sound of Zhongli speaking with your coworker erases the letter from the top of your memory altogether and swiftly replaces it with your earlier anticipation.

With your backpack now slung over your shoulders, you return to the front of the teashop and nod at the dark-haired funeral consultant who’s just glanced over at you, “You’re punctual as always.”

“Indeed,” he nods in return, “Are you ready for our excursion?”

“More than ready.” You’re unable to mask your own giddiness, sending a large smile in his direction while making your way to his side – one that crinkles your eyes and rounds your cheekbones.

Zhongli’s usual stoic composure melts away as he returns your grin, a dusty pink settling over the curve of his nose as he gestures towards the front doors to begin your afternoon adventures, “After you, then.”

Minutes later and the two of you are making decent progress towards the mountain that looms over Liyue Harbor, almost like a guardian of the prosperous city. Though it doesn’t take long for you to reach the bridge near your apartment, effectively leaving the harbor once you’ve crossed it, there’s still quite a ways to go before you’re at your destination.

As evident by the way you’re already winded after the second long set of wooden steps that make up bits and pieces of the trail. Your attempts to even your labored breaths are for naught as Zhongli halts in front of you, effectively allowing you a moment of respite.

“Allow me to take this burden off your shoulders,” he turns and reaches for the strap of your backpack, hooking a single gloved finger beneath the leather fabric, “though if you feel you’re unable to continue, I may know of another spot–”

“No! No, I can do it…but if you don’t mind taking the backpack…”

Letting out a soft chuckle, he waits until you’ve turned your back to him to grab the bag off of you entirely, slinging it over his own shoulders as though its weight is equivalent to a mere feather. You’re aware that you don’t have the best upper body strength, but watching him trek onwards so easily has you slightly gawking at his hidden strength. What else do you have yet to learn of this dark-haired funeral consultant?

He continues to exude his physical prowess the further and further the both of you head up the mountain – from his steady breathing to his lack of perspiration, you ogle at him from a few yards behind in both awe and envy. Despite how easy this seems to be for Zhongli, though, he remains attentive to you and your frequent breaks.

Just when you think your legs are going to cave beneath you at any second, you reach a small plateau with what appears to be the perfect location to get comfortable for the evening ahead. Zhongli appears to have the same idea, deterring from the path and heading for the large tree that lingers on this flat section of the mountain by its lonesome.

You manage to remain standing long enough to grab the blanket stashed in your bag, lying it over the grass directly next to the trunk of the tree before practically throwing yourself onto the gentle fabric in exhaustion. Taking a much more gentle approach, Zhongli slowly seats himself at your side after lying your bag down near the tree.

“My legs feel like jelly…” You bemoan, eyes slowly falling shut for just a moment as you embrace the cool breeze that whips across your frame from this altitude.

Zhongli hums in amusement before saying, “I did offer on multiple occasions for us to travel a less inclined path, but you insisted otherwise, quite adamantly if I recall correctly.”

“But it was worth it!” Slowly sitting up, you rest your weight on your arms that remain outstretched behind you, “We got the best seats in the house with this view!”

“I suppose we do.” He agrees.

The view before you is in fact rather breathtaking – not literally like hiking up to this point had been – but a view one can only stare at in complete awe. Streaks of pink and blue decorate the sky, slowly fading down into the rich gold of the sun as it sets beneath the ocean’s horizon.

Although it’s still bright enough for those to see where they’re going, some businesses down at the harbor have already set flames to their street lanterns. You eagerly anticipate the view once darkness engulfs the evening and the lights truly start to shine throughout the beautiful city.

Glancing over at Zhongli, it appears he’s staring just as fondly over Liyue as you were, though there’s definitely an extra sense of admiration in his gentle gaze. Almost like a sense of pride for the nation he’s lived in his entire life.

The thought of this gaze being transferred onto you crosses your mind for a split second, a fleeting intrusive thought that has you shaking your head to dispel it just as fast as it had arrived. Friends wouldn’t stare at one another like that, after all.

You quickly return your train of thoughts to the love Zhongli quite obviously holds for Liyue. It reminds you of the way you used to stare with amazement and wonder every time you’d go to the capital in Fontaine. Before you can dwell too much on that, your stomach rumbles both abruptly and loudly.

Zhongli turns to you as you fumble through your bag in search of the sandwiches you prepared only hours earlier, thankful they didn’t get squished from the journey as you lay them down on the blanket.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, wanting to be polite before you devour at least one, if not two of the prepared sandwiches.

He shrugs, “Maybe just a tad, what options do you have?”

“Well, there’s matsutake and meat, egg and cheese, grilled tiger fish–”

The look of disgust that etches onto his features at the mention of seafood has your interest immediately piqued, “You don’t like fish?”

“No,” Zhongli’s remarks bluntly, “ I have encountered enough sea creatures to satiate me for the rest of my life. I need not be reminded of them while trying to enjoy a meal.”

You try so hard not to burst into laughter at the thought of the man before you having a vendetta of sorts against fish, but your cackles eventually echo through the evening while you clutch your stomach in desperate need of air.

“Sorry, sorry–” your apology is followed by one more bout of giggles, “I just…what kind of personal problems could you possibly have with fish?”

The number one fish hater in all of Teyvat can’t help but let out a small laugh himself, “It is…a rather long tale, perhaps I can tell it to you sometime in the future.”

He settles on the matsutake sandwich instead while you happily munch on the others you had prepared, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you as you eat.

Just as you finish eating, Zhongli breaks the silence, asking, “How have you gotten accustomed to life here in Liyue so far, if you don’t mind me asking? I believe it has been slightly over two months since you arrived, correct?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You agree, “In the beginning it was hard, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to outside of my coworkers so more often than not I would get really homesick...”

“I can only imagine the difficulties one faces when uprooting their entire life.” He offers you a sincere smile, almost as though he’s encouraging you to continue if you feel comfortable doing so, which you do.

“If you and I didn’t meet…I think I would have moved back home already, despite what’s waiting for me there…”

This revelation – this entryway into your enigmatic past – intrigues the man at your side as he gently pushes further, “In the time we’ve known each other, you’ve spoken sparingly of your life in Fontaine. Please do tell me if I’m overstepping any boundaries, but is there a particular reason you stray from talking about it?”

With that, the dam bursts so easily; the concrete that once held strong tumbling down into the river of your future as you tell Zhongli all about your royal past in Fontaine.

You start with your family name and its generations of wealth from successful agricultural developments hundreds of years ago, how the eldest child was always expected to maintain this success. But your mother had wanted something different for you, she had wanted you to be able to decide your own future – she often told you as a child this much. She promised that she would make great changes while continuing to uphold the family’s core traditions.

So when you lost your mother at the age of eight to a terrible illness, your father had no choice but to take on the burdens himself. A man originating from Liyue, he spent months locked away in his study learning all he could from your family’s archive of journals in order to take over your mother’s duties.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough, but you only learned of this well into your adulthood. The day that your father brought you into his office to tell you that in order for peace to remain within the walls of your large estate, a marriage between you and the eldest son of the Blanchet family would have to take place.

The Blanchet family accrued its immense wealth through fleeting luck in the mining industry, but they were always yearning for more, to cement their name as the wealthiest in all of Fontaine. With your family in the way of that, they took advantage of your father’s growing struggles and offered a solution: combining your families into one with a marriage.

You continue to tell Zhongli how this was your last straw, that you couldn’t imagine throwing your autonomy away like that. So you did the only thing you could possibly think of. You ran away.

“It’s been about three months now since I found out about the arranged marriage and my father wrote to me about a month ago, asking me to come home.” Against your will, tears begin to build at your lower lash line, “I haven’t been able to give him an answer, even though I don’t want to go through with it, I feel like I’m obligated to.”

“One cannot be forced to consent to a contract they were not present for, so you hold no obligation to fulfill what your father and this other family decided upon without your prior knowledge.” He speaks so matter-of-factly, his values that mirror the Geo Archon you’ve learned so much about bleeding through his speech.

You don’t even realize that a lone tear has slipped down your cheek until a gloved thumb reaches over and swipes it away, followed by his smooth, honey-like voice reassuring you further, “I have full faith that there must be another way to restore your family’s success without the need for a loveless marriage.”

“Maybe…”

There’s a million thoughts racing through your mind, but you struggle to form cohesive sentences that express exactly how you’re feeling. The only thing that does manage to slip past your lips is an apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the night or make it awkward by dumping my family problems onto you, I’d like to just forget about it for now, if that’s alright.”

“Nonsense.” Zhongli smiles warmly in your direction. “It was me who brought it up in the first place, I apologize if I upset you in any way.”

You shake your head adamantly, staring off into the darkened evening before you, “No it…actually felt nice to talk about my feelings, for once, so thank you for listening.”

“As I’ve told you once before, whenever you require a listening ear, I am always happy to oblige.”

You start to wonder what you could have possibly done in a past life to be blessed with the friendship that has flourished between you and Zhongli, what God you might have appealed to. There’s only so much time for you to dwell on that when a streak of green suddenly soars along the stars – the first meteor of the night.

“Did you see that, Zhongli?!” Your once forlorn expression is so quickly swapped with one of admiration as you point towards the meteors flashing through the sky. He acknowledges you with a low hum, gaze also transfixed on the celestial phenomena before him.

For now, the two of you watch in silence.

Something compels you though, after a while longer, to glance over at the dark-haired male beside you. When you do, you’re surprised to see he’s already begun to meet your eyes. His own golden pair shine brightly under the moonlight’s glimmer, once again reminding you of the purest Cor Lapis.

Nothing is spoken between the both of you for what feels like hours, though you’re certain it's only been maybe half a minute. Zhongli is the first to break the silence and eye contact when his gaze trails over your head, “There's…”

He leans over, outstretching his arm until he seems to capture something above you. When he draws his arm back you catch sight of a geo crystal-fly that’s taken purchase on the top of his hand.

“Most of them avoid human contact,” you say in fascination, “are you like…a crystal-fly whisperer or something.”

Zhongli tries, but struggles, to maintain his laughter at your comment. He’s careful not to frighten the small creature, examining its lopsided stature, “This one appears to have a damaged wing, which might explain its docile nature.”

“Is there anything we can do to help ‘em?”

“Unfortunately, I’m unaware of any medical procedures regarding crystal-flies,” he sighs, setting the little thing down onto the blanket. “However, these creatures have no natural predators, but are often snatched by humans for their crystal cores. It is but a natural course of life for them.”

Before either of you can intervene, the geo crystal-fly flutters its wings and begins to fly off into the night, albeit with a slight wobble in its patterns. As you watch the small creature soar out of eyesight, you catch notice of the moon and its placement in the night sky. It was getting pretty late.

“I think now’s a good time to head back to the harbor, as nice as being up here is…” you slowly lift yourself up from the blanket, stretching your muscles with a low groan from having sat for so long.

Zhongli follows suit, helping you pack everything into the bag, “I hope you found that the meteor shower lived up to your expectations.”

“It did!” You allow him to shrug the backpack over his shoulders once more, easing the burden from your own, “Thank you…for tonight, Zhongli. For being such a great friend, coming up here with me, listening to me ramble on about my silly problems…”

“There is no need to thank me, as I recall the saying, that’s what friends are for.”

If a man like Zhongli is this attentive and kind with his friends, you can only imagine the dedication he would put into a romantic relationship. The thought crosses your mind just as the two of you begin to descend the mountain, and this time you can’t just get rid of it with a simple shake of your head.

There’s no denying that he’s more than conventionally attractive – it just so happened to be one of the first things you noticed when you bumped into him all those weeks ago. His good looks paired with his gentleman-ly attitude has you surprised that he is in fact, very much single.

It’s not like you’ll be the one to change that status, though, given all that is going on with your personal life, your familial burdens. Most of all, it’s not like you’d actually want to risk this perfectly good friendship for something more…at least, you’re still trying to convince yourself of that.

You try to shift your focus back to the trail ahead, not wanting to snag yourself on any stray branches whether it be ones lined across the dirt or hanging low from the trees above. But of course, it's when you’re actively trying to avoid tripping that you manage to trip down one of the more narrow sets of stairs near the bottom of the trail.

Just as your eyes frantically shut in anticipation for the harsh fall, they reopen just as fast when a sudden warmth envelopes your entire frame. It’s not a person, though, but rather strips of gold rapidly circling your body, a shield of sorts. Zhongli had long since whipped around to face you, one palm outstretched in your direction as he controls the elemental force.

You allow this shield to aid you upright, watching it vanish when Zhongli drops his arm back to his side. Seconds later and he’s next to you, checking for potential injuries you could have sustained.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice laced with worry.

“Yeah, yeah, my foot though…I think I twisted it…” A hiss passes your lips when you make any attempt to apply pressure on your left leg, “Was that your vision that you used?”

“My vision– oh, yes, but we have more pressing matters to address.” He wraps a secure arm at your upper middle, allowing you to drape one of your own arms over the back of his shoulders, “Will you be able to walk with my assistance, or shall I carry you the rest of the way?”

You want to protest his suggestion of carrying you, but the dull throb emitting from your ankle has you reluctantly muttering out, “I don’t think I can walk the rest of the way…but–”

A squeal is ripped from your throat when you're suddenly scooped into Zhongli’s arms, throwing both of your own around his neck as he draws you close to his chest. He continues the trek downwards with ease, as though you weigh no more than a mere pebble.

“Have you always been this strong?” You ask incredulously, witnessing no falter of his breath or perspiration on his forehead.

“I was rather…rowdy in my youth, you could say,” Zhongli chuckles, “I’m much stronger than I may appear outwardly to most people, my…vision also helps.”

On one hand, you could count all of the people you have met back home who adorn a vision. It had never been something you aspired to receive, but it’s difficult not to admit how much fun it must be to be able to manipulate your designated element at your will.

“Well, thank you for saving me, that shield of yours is pretty handy.” You say while allowing your head to slowly fall onto his shoulder, your forehead nestled against his neck.

Exhaustion has quickly overwhelmed you, a series of soft yawns spilling from your mouth. It’s only now that you hear the slightest hitch of his breath, but you chalk it up to his own tiredness from today’s activities.

You think you could fall asleep just like this and you nearly do, despite the sounds of citizens wandering through the harbor getting louder and louder. Until your eyes flutter open and you realize that you’re only a few feet away from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor – not your apartment.

“Zhongli, this–”

“Apologies, I should have asked you first,” he safely assumes the words that were about to leave your lips, “Will you allow me to examine your leg before you return home? A bandage of sorts may be required to maintain swelling, along with a herbal concoction to remedy any pain.”

You nod, half-expecting him to bring you to his office while he fetches medical supplies from his home. When he takes a slight detour, heading up a set of stairs and down a short hallway, you grow a bit giddy at the thought of being able to finally see his abode.

The first thing your eyes focus on when he carefully opens the front door is…well…nothing. Not that he doesn’t have anything, but rather the amount of knick knacks that take up his dwelling makes it hard to focus on just one thing in particular.

His couch is almost as comfortable as your bed – actually, it might be more comfortable. The way you melt into the plush, satin cushions so easily when Zhongli sets you down carefully onto it, one could easily fall asleep here. He makes sure your injured leg is elevated, your swollen ankle exposed to his gaze for proper examination before promising to return with some supplies shortly.

Almost immediately you yearn for his gentle touch once more, his body heat that radiated off of him and warmed you the rest of the way down Mt. Tianheng. Your mind wanders even farther, imagining how peaceful it would be to fall asleep in his embrace, those strong arms keeping you close to his lean frame all throughout the night.

Far too exhausted to shake the thoughts away this time, you tell yourself that even if you do harbor any sort of silly, short-lived crush for the funeral consultant, you’ll just simply get over it. Besides, how hard could that be?

When Zhongli returns to his living room with a stash of medicinal supplies, he finds you with your eyes heavily shut and on the cusp of falling into a deep slumber. You’re awake just enough to hear him enter with a soft chuckle, to hear the sound of a fabric being unfolded, and finally the feeling of a warm blanket being draped over your figure.

“From just a mere glance, your ankle doesn’t appear to be too swollen…we will check it again in the morning instead, sleep well.” His voice grows further and further away the deeper into sleep you fall until he’s long since retreated to his bedroom.

Your final thoughts of the evening before you’re entirely engulfed in the embrace of slumber is that yeah, getting over a little crush like this can’t be that hard.

You won’t let yourself sabotage the one good thing that’s entered your life since starting anew, especially not when the letter addressed to your father with your final decision – the one that will determine your entire future – remains empty.

[ahgastae]

paper tiger (part one) – min yoongi x f!reader

➥ word count: 3.7k | college!au | bullet points | fluff | e2f2l | angst (later)

➥ m.list

➥ a/n:  this was originally gonna be a fully written fic but i’m turning it into bullet points and using it as a springboard to (hopefully) escape my writing block. there will be a part two to this!! and probably more depending on how far i go with it! my schedule’s just been,, pretty crazy lol. anyway, feedback is appreciated, as always, and i hope you enjoy ♡

truth be told, you never would have imagined your path would cross with that of the infamous campus “bad boy,” min yoongi. you thought you two were—for lack of better phrasing—complete polar opposites. but then an introductory poetry class forces you both together for a semester-long project, and you learn how to read between more than just the written lines.

it’s move-in day for the new year at your university

you and your friends all made a deal to get there around the same time to help each other get settled bc unpacking can be a bit of a bitch

you normally share a dorm with one of them, but there’s an odd number of you guys this year since nayeon graduated last semester

so you—being the amazing friend you are—took one for the team and accepted the random placement

you’re the first of your group to arrive when you get to campus, so you decide you may as well start taking things up to your room while you wait

fighting your way through the chaos in the main room is a bit of a struggle, but you finally manage to may your way to the elevators

luckily, there’s already one waiting when you get there and with only one other person standing inside

he looks like he must be another student, but for some reason you can’t shake the feeling there’s something familiar about him

maybe you’ve seen him at one of those parties nayeon liked to drag you along to??

the elevator doors start closing before you can dwell on it for too long

your eyes widen and you break into a small jog, clutching onto your box of belongings for dear life as you hurry to make it in time

“wait!” you call out to the guy already in the elevator. “hold the doors, please!”

he doesn’t even look up from his phone.

the elevator doors shut right as you reach them

you slow to a stop with a small huff, trying not to be too frustrated at the fact that that guy just completely blew you off

pretended like he didn’t even notice you sprinting towards him like a mad woman

alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it was still rude

what kind of asshole lets the doors close right in someone’s face just so they can get to their floor a few seconds earlier??

you roll your eyes, pressing the button to call for another elevator and pushing mr. “i’m too impatient to hold the door for two seconds” out of your mind

your friends will be there any minute and you guys have lunch planned after you’re finished unpacking, so you’ve got plenty of other things to focus on

no use getting all worked up over some random guy you’ll probably never see again anyway, even if he was a dick

after spending more time than you’d like to admit lost in the halls, you finally reach your dorm

only to find that your dormmate—whomever they may be—has already taken the liberty to unpack all of their things

and you mean all of their things

the place is already completely cluttered despite it being the very first day and your dormmate being nowhere in sight

you decide figuring that out will just have to be later y/n’s problem, though, bc it’s not long before you get a text from jihyo asking where your dorm is

it’s accompanied by a selfie with all the girls crowded behind her, bright smiles on their faces

you feel a smile of your own coming on as you type out a response

maybe today will go back to looking up after all

later that day, you’re at lunch with all your friends, sharing what you guys did over the summer while you weren’t together

you were pleasantly surprised to find nayeon tagged along, happy to see your old dormie even if you couldn’t live together anymore

you’re in the middle of telling her about a mishap with the bookcase in your new dorm—let’s just say you were not expecting to find a collection of...“adult” novels while putting your textbooks away—when something across the restaurant catches your eye

sitting there, at a booth secluded in the corner, is the asshole guy from the elevator this morning

you kinda panic a bit upon seeing him, hitting your knee on the bottom of the table and catching the attention of the other girls

“everything okay?” jeongyeon asks

you vaguely gesture to the stranger sitting at the table in the corner, briefly explaining what happened w the elevator this morning

you ask nayeon if he was at one of those parties like you thought

“oh, yeah, i know him! that’s min yoongi!” she exclaims. “but i don’t really think he’s the type who would be at one of jackson’s parties.”

this prompts a conversation on just what “type” min yoongi is

which, of course, is the “bad boy”

your friends then take turns speculating about him and the kind of person he is, some even sharing rumors they’ve heard about the infamous min yoongi around campus

jihyo says he used to be the star of the university’s basketball team until he got kicked off for some mysterious reason

“everyone thinks it was fighting or drugs or maybe even something worse, but no one really knows what happened,” she shrugs.

you just kinda nod along, eyes drifting back to the black-haired boy sitting with his small group of friends

you briefly wonder if he’s really all that bad when his eyes suddenly flash up to meet yours

and while you think he’s absolutely beautiful

his glare intimidates you to your very core

and you can’t help but think that maybe the stories are true

the next time you see min yoongi is on the first official day of classes

and you’re running late to your first one bc your dormmate—whom you still have not seen, let alone met—somehow moved your toiletry bag before you could take a shower

you’re on the verge of a breakdown, absolutely refusing to walk in late on the very first day and sprinting across campus with your still-damp hair flailing around behind you

you (unceremoniously) burst into the classroom two minutes before class is scheduled to start, drawing everyone’s attention to you as you stand in the doorway catching your breath

obviously embarrassed but glad not to be late, you sheepishly slink to one of the last available seats in the back of the room

everyone’s eyes are thankfully pulled off of you when the professor starts talking seconds later and you take a moment to actually collect yourself

the professor rattles on about beginning of the semester stuff, attendance and syllabi and all that crap

you kinda let yourself go into daydream mode while he talks

it’s an introductory english class focused solely on poetry and you’re really only taking it to fulfill a liberal arts requirement for your degree

pretty much expected to be your fluff class for this semester tbh

the sound of the classroom door slamming jolts you out of your thoughts, and you jump when you hear a deep voice next to you

you look up to find, lo and behold, none other than min fucking yoongi asking if the seat next to you is available

admittedly, your first reaction is to look around and make sure he’s talking to you, and then see if there’s any other empty seats that are not right next to you

unfortunately (for you, that is), there aren’t, so you have no choice but to nervously nod your head

yoongi doesn’t say anything else as he sits down and you wonder if he recognizes you from the elevator the other day

somewhat hoping he’ll apologize or something so you’ll at least be a little less intimated

but he doesn’t

he doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the class period, doesn’t even look in your general direction at all, and gets up as soon as the professor releases the class

you try not to think too much about it or let it bother you

you take a minute to pack up your thinks since your next class isn’t for a while, standing up from your chair and getting ready to leave when you notice something underneath the desk

you kneel down to pick up the worn, bound notebook and look around to see if any of the students left in the classroom claim it

but no one seems to bat an eye

the next class is already starting to filter in and you don’t want to linger, so you just decide to take it with you for now

you head to the library for a quiet lunch, where you had planned on getting a head start actually reading the syllabi for some of your classes

at least, until that notebook spills out of your bag

it falls open on the floor, giving you a good view of what looks like a poem scribbled on its page

you know you have no business reading it since it’s not yours and is probably fairly personal stuff from your initial skimming

but, soon enough, your curiosity eventually takes over and you’re scanning through the pages and reading the words heartfully scrawled within them

and honestly... your heart kinda breaks for whoever this person is

“the moment i’m flying high as i wished / my shadow grows in that blasting stark light / please don’t let me shine / don’t let me down, don’t let me fly”

their pain is evident in their words, bleeding off the page and right into your sympathetic heart

you have to push those feelings away, though, when you realize there’s about ten minutes left before your next class starts

and that what you just did is a huge invasion of privacy

but... as you sit down in your next lecture...

you can’t help but wonder who the journal’s owner is

and just who came up with all those beautiful words

that night, you and your friends (minus nayeon :( ) are all collected in momo and sana’s dorm room to recount how your first day of the semester has gone

dahyun’s halfway through a story about a girl who took off her shirt to wipe up some coffee she spilled (a real thing that i actually  experienced btw) when you remember the journal

jeongyeon, noticing your lack of attention, asks what’s up

you start with the journal—even guiltily admitting that you may have read a page or two—which then reminds you of your first class that morning

including your experience sitting next to a certain min yoongi

surprisingly, your friends seem to gloss over the fact that you snooped into some stranger’s personal thoughts and feelings and jump to hear about the infamous bad boy who chose to sit next to you of all people

(you pretend to only take a little bit of offense to that)

they ask what he was like and if he said anything to you and if he’s really as scary as people say he is

and you?? don’t really have anything to say?

yeah, he intimidates you to hell and back, but it’s not like he actively did anything to make you afraid of him in any way

you... would maybe even go as far as to say he was kinda cute, even with the seemingly permanent scowl on his face

your friends definitely don’t miss that part

they all start teasing you—in good faith—about having a crush on the “bad boy,” and after only one day of class, no les

you’re adamant that it’s not like that and that you wouldn’t want to get yourself involved with someone “like him” anyway

(even though you really have no idea what that means)

thankfully, your friends let it go pretty fast and move onto some other piece of drama that managed to occur that day

but not before jeongyeon says something, albeit jokingly, that sticks in the back of your mind

“who knows? maybe that mystery journal actually belongs to mr. bad boy himself.”

could it...?

no, that’s probably not it

you decide that can’t be true

what are the chances of min yoongi being able to write like that??

the rest of the night goes by pretty much without incident and you return back to your dorm fairly late

your dormmate is still m.i.a., or at least they are to you

you’re honestly starting to think you’re living with some kind of ghost

how is it possible that you still haven’t run into each other??

but anyway

now that you’re finally alone again...

your mind wanders back to the journal

and its owner

yoongi definitely doesn’t strike you as the type to write something like that

you’re not an expert on poetry or anything (actually quite the opposite), but you just don’t see how it could be him

still, the thought lingers in the back of your mind as you fall asleep

along with the stark image of two dark, clouded eyes

a couple days later, you once again find yourself walking into the lecture hall for your (and yoongi’s) poetry class

with a full day between the last time you’ve seen yoongi, you’ve kinda been able to push him and the journal from your thoughts

you only had a few classes yesterday and spent the rest of your time either waiting for your elusive dormmate to finally reveal themselves or reorganizing your class folders while listening to some music

you never really thought of yourself as a “creative” person, but music was one of the few arts that you could actually find yourself getting lost in

but between school and grades and just growing up in general you found yourself unable to express that passion more and more

and now here you are, an emotionally constipated perfectionist who would sooner keel over than be able to write anything like what was in that journal

and there you go, thinking about it again

at least this time it’s a good thing, since you’re sitting in your poetry class eyeing all the students who walk in

you got there early this time in the hopes of finding the journal’s owner, but so far none of the people who have walked in strike you as the person behind the poems you haven’t been able to shake

then your professor arrives and starts his lecture, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed as you solemnly resort to taking notes

min yoongi walks in late, again, and you’re surprised when he still sits next to you despite the various empty seats in other parts of the room

you begrudgingly notice that he seems kinda nervous or on edge

you debate asking him if the journal belongs to him when the professor announces the first big “project” of the semester

wow, second day and you’re already getting into the real shit

they really do move quick, don’t they??

he clarifies that yes, it is a big project and a big part of your final grade but that’s why he’s letting you know about it this early

the project is something that’ll take place over the entire semester and will require you to work with at least one other student

already, you’re like “oh fuck” because you don’t know anyone else in the class and you hate group projects as is

why should you have to put your grade in the hands of some other students when you have no idea what kinda work ethic they have??

and especially when you can do it just as well all by yourself???

but before you can mentally rant anymore, your professor goes on to explain what the project actually is

everyone is tasked with writing a series of poems throughout the semester. a portfolio of sorts

they can be as long as you want or in any poetic form you want, as long as they come from the heart and mean something to the person writing them

everyone else seems pretty excited about it but you’re just sitting there confused as hell bc “wtf does that mean??”

but you don’t even get the chance to think about that before someone—a boy in the front row with an?? australian? accent—asks, “then what do we have to work with someone else on?”

and your professor goes on to explain

whoever you work with is basically going to be who you’re bouncing your ideas off of

he wants you to share your poems and ideas back and forth for the entire semester and get your partner’s opinion on your writing before it makes its way to him

see if they can tell if it’s coming from your heart before it gets to the real deal

and then, at the end of the semester, when you (supposedly) have a better understanding of each other due to “connecting” over your poems for four months

you have to write one final poem together and turn it in to him with the rest of your “portfolio”

uhh... what?

he’s expecting you to not only communicate and share your “deepest thoughts” with some stranger in this random fluff class that you basically only took for the easy grade

but he wants you to actually sit down and talk about theirs, too??

the professor finishes up by telling the class they can start splitting off into duos/group now if they want, as long as everyone’s found someone to work with and let him know by next week

he doesn’t “want you guy to waste any time when you could be reflecting!” and people are already starting to flock together inside the classroom

you sit there kinda slack-jawed for a few minutes, watching how most of the class is already finding their groups and declaring themselves partners for the weeks to come

the first thing you think about is how the hell you’re going to find someone adequate to work with by next week

the next is whether you should try and find the journal owner to be your partner

you already know they have a pretty good idea of what they’re doing when it comes to poetry

and, honestly, that’s what you’re going to need since you haven’t been much of a creative yourself for a while now

but how are you going to do that when you have no idea who the journal owner even is??

yoongi, who has also made no attempt to find a partner of his own, rises from his seat, the chair loudly dragging across the tile floor

you’re pulled from your thought yet again, just in time to watch his back as he walks through the classroom door

something in the back of your mind nags at you to go after him as he walks away, but you force it down with a shake of your head

even if he was the journal’s author, there’s no way in hell you’re sticking yourself with min yoongi for the rest of the semester

a week later, you’re just about at your wit’s end

you spent all of the time your professor allocated to you trying to find a partner but it seems like pretty much everyone has already found someone to work with

and you’re too much of a coward to ask if you can join any of the other existing groups

(that and you really want to keep the amount of people you have to interact with to a minimum)

and on top of that, you still don’t know who the journal’s owner is

the two class periods you had in between were just as helpful as the first one you spent looking

meaning not at all

and on top of that

you’re quickly finding that you can’t write poems for shit

everything you’ve tried to write so far has some out sounding forced and cliche

how is it so easy for agust d to do it?

oh, yeah, you also found some kind of nickname or something scribbled into the back cover of the journal, which is what you started calling the owner from then on

at least, what you’ve been calling them in your head

your friends kind of lost interest in the “mysterious journal” story shortly after jihyo started going out with one of the captain on the rival school’s dance team

so you’ve pretty much been left to figure things out on your own

anyway, you walk into class ready to ask your professor if he would be willing to make an exception and let you work by yourself when you receive an odd surprise

min yoongi, who has continued to sit next to you over the past week, is not only back in his “usual” set, but he’s actually there early

you’ve grown so used to him walking in late that it’s a bit of a shock and you forget all about why you wanted to talk to your professor and sit down

and before you know it, class is started and he’s calling for everyone who hasn’t already confirmed their partners with him to come down and do it now

you almost feel like your heart’s going to jump out of your chest

you still don’t have a partner and you really don’t think there’s anymore time to find one now

maybe there’ll be an odd number of people in the class and he’ll just let you go solo anyway?

or will he make you join another group since he technically said it doesn’t have to be just two people?

you’re about to overthink yourself into a panic attack when someone—pretty aggressively—poke your shoulder

you turn to ask them to leave you alone when you realize it’s none other than min yoongi himself

he’s sitting there staring at you with this bored look on his face and you’re about to ask what he wants when he says,

“do you wanna work together?”

and you blink

“w-what?”

“do you want to work together?” he repeats. “or do you already have a partner?”

well, you can’t really say no now, can you?

not when your professor’s getting closer to your name on the roster and yoongi’s staring at you expectantly with those shrouded eyes and you really don’t have a part and he’ll find out that you lied if you say you do and—

“...do you already have one?”

you inwardly cringe as soon as the question leaves your mouth

min yoongi, however, raises a brow

“would i be asking you if i did?”

“...”

you stay silent for a moment

“okay, yeah. we can work together”

and that’s how you ended up stuck with min yoongi for the semester

[f1united]

Ensemble - Chapter Two: The Girl and The Gift

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Your Arthur Leclercs best friend. So why, after a random night in London, are you falling for his brother?

Chapter One: The Start

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and sex.

Word Count: 5.8k

Note: This chapter begins in London and is marked where it switches to Mykonos. There are then some flashbacks mixed in so just watch out for those. Let me know your thoughts, enjoy!

*****

Chapter Two: The Girl and The Gift

Not long after Pierre had joined your table, Charles emerged from the toilets. Pierre had waved his hands to inform him of his updated location as he sat in the empty seat, unknowingly signing himself up for a night full of girly gossip and drama. The evening was spent reminiscing on childhood memories and sharing stories. It wasn't until Nat checked her phone that you realised how late it was getting.

"We better get going," She announced as she checked her phone. "The last train is in half an hour." You lived just outside of London which meant that most nights out were cut short by trains unless you had booked a hotel. You hummed in agreement as you finished your drink watching as Pierre began to whisper in Lucy's ear. They'd been flirting all night so her next sentence didn't come as much of a surprise.

"I'm going to chill with Pierre for a bit, I'll find my own way home tomorrow" The rest of the girls saw it coming too.

"Are you sure?" Katie asked. "I don't want you ending up in London on your own with no way home." She had a point. London could be quite daunting when it was late and dark, especially if you weren't a local.

"Well why don't you stay too?" Charles nodded his head towards you as he spoke. "That way you could leave together." Not one part of you questioned Charles' intentions as he spoke. He remained the responsible 'Arthur's older brother' that was being sensible and mature, making sure that everyone got home safely.

"If that's alright with you?" Your question was answered with a nod of his head. You all began to grab your things and headed outside, saying your goodbyes, telling them to text you when they were home safe as they encouraged you to do the same. By the time they'd headed for the station, Pierre and Lucy were already nowhere to be seen.

"I'm not sure about you but I'm in no rush to go back to the apartment just yet!" You spoke to Charles as you looked at the night sky above you.

"Where do you want to go in the meantime?"

“Have you ever explored London before?" You answered his question with one of your own. He shook his head. "So you haven't seen all beautiful sites it has to offer." The sarcasm was evident in your voice as you pointed down the alley way you were walking past full of black bins and plastic bags full of rubbish.

"I've only ever been here to celebrate races and I can't say I've seen much other than the inside of some bars and restaurants.”

"Well you're in for a long night Leclerc." Two hours ago Charles wanted nothing more than for him and Pierre to go back to the apartment. The lack of alcohol he'd consumed throughout the night was only adding to the tiredness he'd accumulated over the race weekend. However as you dragged him through the streets of London he realised there was no place he'd rather be.

You'd ridden Boris bikes alongside the River Thames, shown him your favourite restaurant in Covent Garden and taken him through Piccadilly Circus all the way to Oxford Street where closed shops lined the dark streets, pointing out your favourite ones as you cycled past. He never did things like this. As a F1 driver it was difficult for him to go almost anywhere without going unnoticed but tonight not one person had recognised him because for the night he was just a normal person with another normal person having a good time. 

After abandoning the Boris bikes at the nearest drop off point you both headed towards the apartment. It belonged to Charles' mother and was often used by you and Arthur whenever he'd come to visit and couldn't stay with you.

"You seem happier than when I last saw you." His comment made you smile. It was all he could think about as you wondered through the dark streets. The last time you'd seen him you'd just broken up with your ex. Your relationship had been on and off for years but you'd finally called it quits for good. It didn't take a genius to see the relationship was making you unhappy, the anxiety, tears and sleepless nights were picked up on by everyone albeit your efforts to hide it. Arthur was the only person who truly knew what was going on and it hurt him to see his best friend in so much pain when she thought she was in love.

"Thank you, I'm in a much better place now. I've had time to focus on myself." You'd completely lost yourself throughout the time you were together, focusing so much on what he'd wanted and expected rather than what made you happy. The situation had increased your maturity and for that reason you were grateful your first heartbreak had come at such a young age. You'd correctly assumed that Arthur had made Charles aware of your sensitiveness to the situation to some extent as he made no further comments. 

He had approached Arthur with concern after your last meeting. Despite a fun grand prix weekend you'd been blinking back tears and spent most of the time with a blank expression on your face. He hated it. He could see you trying to compose yourself, when he came to thank you for coming you'd done your best to smile, your voice was laced with excitement, but your eyes were empty, drained of emotion. He was grateful to see it had made its way back.

"Did you know I've never been to Harrods?" His random fact was a relief as he quickly changed the subject, allowing your mind to be brought back to the present rather than the dark times from the past.

"Even I've been to Harrods Charles. We should go tomorrow, you'd have a field day in the clothes section." As a part time student most of your spare money went into savings, a fund you'd created for your planned travels when you were done with your studies. It wasn't very often that you brought yourself nice things so despite your multiple trips to Harrods, you'd never actually purchased anything. You could see him deliberating your suggestion in his head. 

"You can wear sunglasses and a hat with your mask, just don't wear a bright red Ferrari top and I'm sure we'll be able to keep ourselves to ourselves."

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" His question brought you back to reality slightly.

"I'll call in sick?" you offered. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the longest time you and Charles had ever been alone together and the idea of leaving wasn't something that you wanted to think about just yet. 

Charles opened the apartment door with caution, neither of you wanted to interrupt your friend’s spontaneous night, nor hear any of the antics they were getting up to. You frowned at each other as you stepped into the entrance corridor. There were no faint voices, no mumbling or laughs, just the hum of the city that echoed through the slightly open window.

“Maybe they didn’t come back here,” your judgement became increasingly more likely as you followed Charles towards the kitchen and stood around the island.

“I’ll send him a text.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped away before placing it on the marble countertop. It lit up with Pierre's reply not long after he'd set it down. “They went to some hotel, apparently he’s dropping her home in a second.”

“He’s not the type to bring girls back to his home turf then,” you took the bag off your shoulder and placed in on the counter, grabbing a hair tie from inside and gathering your locks into a low ponytail. “Smart move.” Charles shrugged his shoulders at your observation.

He’d never really thought about it before, but he was the same. The few casual hook ups that he’d had over the years had never been in places he spent a lot of time like his house in Monaco, or his favourite holiday home in Mykonos, and never this apartment. Sure, he’d slept with people in those cities, but never in his space. You were right though; it was easier to forget about the crime if you never returned to the scene.

"Do you have anything I can change into?" 

“There’s a top on the end of my bed.” You thanked him as you made your way towards his room. “I’ll grab some of my things so I can crash on the sofa once you’ve changed.” You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him as you stood in the doorway.

“I’m not kicking an f1 driver out of their own bed Charles, especially not post race weekend.” You crossed your arms as you lent against the door frame. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.” He argued.

“It’s one night Charles, I really don’t mind.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.” He repeated.

“Well then it looks like we’re sharing the bed.” Your words not only surprised you, but also Charles. Neither of you were sure where this increased confidence had come from, but you didn’t want it to become awkward, so you tried to justify your statement. “Me and Arthur used to share a bed all the time!”

The look on his face as your eyes met with his across the room was one you’d so desperately been seeking without realising it. His head cocked, eyebrows raised and small smirk tugging its way onto his lips provided reassurance, giving you the confidence to confirm that this relationship was very different to your one with Arthur. You already knew it, you had felt it every time you’d looked at him since you were about 16, but this was the first time you could say with certainty that it was reciprocated.

Charles was dying to climb into bed with you. To wrap his arms around you and stay like it all night. He didn’t care about the fact that your hair would be in his face or that his arm would most likely be dead within the first half an hour. He just wanted you there with him, so he could learn things about you that he didn’t already know and fall asleep with the scent of your faded perfume beneath his nose. He suggested that he’d sleep on the sofa because he knew that wasn’t what you were implying. 

“I’ll stay on my side,” you offered. “Promise.”

That’s what he was afraid of. Charles was a respectful man, he wouldn’t cross boundaries without permission, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without your touch. The thought of your body lying so tantalisingly close to his while dressed in nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts was driving him crazy.

“I’m a very good sleeper, you won’t even know I’m there.”

You couldn’t stop listing reasons for Charles to join you. He wished you would stop; his head was already full of so many.

“Well go and get comfy and I’ll join you in a minute,” In that moment he made the decision to give in knowing that if this was the only chance he got to lay in bed with you he'd take the opportunity, whether your bodies were intertwined or not. “Do you need a drink or anything?”

“A water would be great!” You smiled as you turned around and headed to the bedroom. Charles spent the next few minutes alone in the kitchen trying to convince himself that this was a bad idea. That it was wrong. You were his brother’s best friend and he shouldn't be this nervous or excited to lay next to you, but no matter how hard he tried to dislike the situation he couldn’t because it just felt right.

By the time he joined you in bed you’d already made yourself incredibly comfortable. He chuckled at the site of you tangled in the duvet before climbing in next to you. You laid facing each other and remained that way as you chatted about memories from the past. Childhood holidays and his earliest racing days to you latest life plans and hopes for the future. That's how you drifted to sleep, listening to his voice was more comforting than you'd like to admit. When you awoke in the morning you were unsure what terrified you more, the feeling of one of you completely reducing the few centimetres of space left between you or never knowing what Charles’ touch felt like.

*****

Maybe that’s why you were so unimpressed when Charles and Pierre joined the several of you seated around the long table on the patio with two unknown girls. The number of cocktails you’d consumed weren’t providing you with a great amount of rationality but then again it was difficult to justify being annoyed when you had no reason to be in the soberest of situations. The only person to blame was yourself, you’d had the chance to experience a night with Charles and a combination of your stubbornness, maturity and (let’s face it) fear of what could happen had meant that you’d missed out.

It was only as she threw her head back at one of his comments that it hit you, you were jealous. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in years. Ever since your last relationship you had lacked almost every kind of emotion. You’d dated people since but that connection was never really there which is why you were full of confusion at the situation presenting itself to you. The feelings felt foreign to your body and you weren’t sure how to deal with them, so you did the one think that you were too young to do back then. Get drunk and try to forget about them for a night.

"Are you listening? Drink up, we're leaving in a second!" Arthurs voice provided a distraction from your thoughts whilst encouraging them. You tilted your head back as you finished the remainder of your champagne, your arm was already reaching out for the nearest bottle to see if you could sneak in a quick refill. You didn’t even like champagne but after having run out of cocktails about an hour ago you didn’t really have much choice. In any other situation you would’ve declined and waited until you were at the club but you weren’t really in the mood to sober up right now. You got up to follow everyone to the taxis, deciding that the bottle had too much in to be left at the table to waste, but not enough in that you couldn't finish it before you reached you destination. Putting the bottle to your lips this time, you took another gulp.

He noticed. He noticed the vast amount of alcohol you had consumed thus far. The unbothered façade you'd displayed during dinner was picked up by him the second he’d glanced in your direction. Your eyes often met his across rooms, at events, in the paddock, even at family dinners and it was always followed by a shared smile, but tonight you hadn't even looked at him and he couldn't stand it. Although he couldn’t be certain, he had a good idea what the cause was. Guilt was slowly consuming his thoughts. He shouldn’t have felt guilty, there was no real reason to, yet he did.

He knew if he had come alone you would've had a couple of drinks with dinner, just enough to prepare yourself for the club afterwards, allowing the sweaty people and sticky floor to become slightly bearable. He also knew that you weren't a huge drinker and that the lack of food you had consumed at dinner would only worsen the matter which was evident as he watched you fall into a taxi with Arthur and Carla as he climbed into a separate one with Pierre and, what they appeared to be to everyone else, their ‘dates’.

The club was busy, everyone excited to be back on the dance floor after its absence over the past year or two. Although it would've been nice to spend some more time with him, you were thankful that the crowds had engulfed you so you'd lose sight of Charles and her. You'd found your way to the middle of the dance floor and you remained there for hours losing track of time and somehow your friends too.

Unbeknown to you, Charles had lost his 'date' at the first chance he had. He'd met her on a boat during the day with Pierre and when his best friend had invited her best friend for dinner he felt bad for not doing the same. He was sitting at the bar with Pierre who'd picked up on the amount of attention he was paying you as you danced along with random strangers. The Frenchman questioned what he was doing when he noticed Charles tighten his jaw. Charles nodded his head in your direction and the pair watched as a man approached you.

The guy in front of you was only offering to buy you a drink but you knew you were way over your limit. You'd politely declined, naively assuming that he'd disappear back into the sea of faces but that wasn't the case. Your refusal  clearly not accepted as he insisted. grabbing onto your arm in an attempt to pull you in the direction of the bar. Yanking your arm out of his grip you instantly managed to sober up as you came to the realisation you were going to have to fight this battle alone.

Charles knew you were a big girl, that you could handle yourself in almost any situation thrown your way, but as the guy reached out to touch you he could've sworn he moved quicker than his Ferrari. His presence shocked you as you flinched slightly at the unfamiliar grip on your waist.

"It's just me ma belle." Charles whispered calmly into your ear, placing a feather light kiss onto your cheek. Relief instantly washed over your body. You wished you could focus on the conversation that Charles was now having with the strange man in front of you but you couldn't. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of your skin heating beneath Charles' fingertips and the tingling sensation that lingered where he'd planted the kiss. He'd never touched you before, the brief hugs being the most contact you'd ever shared, and now he was standing in a club with his hand around your waist as he fended off a random guy who'd taken an interest in you. "I think we should head home." When Charles spoke it felt as though each word was coated in sex as it left his lips. He hadn't meant it in a sexy way, you knew that. He wanted to take you home so you were safe. However his intense grip on your waist and his stubble lightly grazing your cheek when he leaned in to speak to you was putting thoughts into your mind that you knew shouldn't be there.

You looked up at him, your eyes locking for the first time that night. Your eyes always showed a lot of emotion. Your body language was often hard to read but you always made eye contact when you spoke. He frequently used it to determine what mood you were in but this time he was met with one he'd never seen before. Despite them having a drunken glaze, your dilated pupils held a look of lust. He could've sworn you were mentally undressing him. You weren't. Instead you were thinking of how much you wanted him to undress you.

"I think that's a good idea." He could hear the smirk in your voice over the sound of the music as you let your lips gently brush his ear lobe while you spoke. He shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath in an attempt to pull himself together. You were disappointed when his hand left your side but satisfied when it quickly intertwined itself with yours. His skin was softer than you were expecting, the rough patches slowly disappearing over the summer break. Your hands remained that way as you walked through the streets of Mykonos. Neither of you spoke, you just remained in a comfortable silence. As the villa came into view Charles was basically marching down the street, his strides increasing as your little legs tried to keep up. He dropped your hand when he reached the door, searching his pockets for the key to unlock it.

The villa was colder than you were expecting, a shiver ran down your spine as the air con hit you. You headed towards the kitchen and grabbed your sweater off one of the bar stools, sliding it on over your outfit.

“So you’d let Carla drive your car huh?” his face instantly broke out in a smile as you relieved some of the tension between you both. “You know that’s not true.” Charles followed you to the kitchen and watched as you perched yourself on the edge of the counter. He poured a glass of water and took a sip before handing it to you which you gratefully accepted.

“You’d let your date drive it instead?” He rolled his eyes as he chuckled at your sarcasm, hoping that you’d forgotten about the girl he’d sat next to during dinner as quickly as he had. “How many girls get a turn before me?” Although he didn't let it show, your question had offended him slightly. Despite his popularity with women he was never one to disrespect them, especially not you. He took a step closer to you, standing directly in front of your legs that were pressed firmly together.

“You’re the only one I want to see in that seat mon Cherie,” That was one nickname that he’d never called you, yet it rolled off his tongue so effortlessly. He leaned against your legs and you slowly parted them so he could stand in between, closing the distance between you both. “I’d let you drive it again in a heartbeat.” Your eyes were fluttering between his eyes and lips, your stare only breaking when he leaned in to speak in your ear just like he’d done in the club. He placed a kiss on your cheekbone and slowly worked his way up to your ear.

“You looked very sexy behind the wheel of my car.” You locked your hands with his while he continued to speak, closing your eyes in a desperate attempt to try and calm your heart rate down. You wanted to say something back, engage more in the conversation, but for the first time in a long time you were at a loss for words. You loved driving, you'd often join the boys go karting growing up and learned to drive as soon as you could, so when Charles asked if you wanted to drive his Ferrari back to your home after your Harrods shopping trip you were more than excited. It was a nice change from the train ride you were expecting.

He'd watched your eyes light up when you realised he was being serious. It was the closest you'd ever been to driving something even remotely similar to an f1 car despite it being different in so many ways. Your smile was infectious as you put your foot down on the motorway, leaving London behind. You'd never even driven an automatic car so this was a completely new experience. He'd taught you how to use the paddles to manually change gears if you wanted to and how to shift through its different modes as you drove around. The only disappointing part of the journey was reaching your destination, your trip home considerably quicker than you would've wanted. After spending the whole time focused on going fast and not crashing, you'd selfishly not noticed how Charles was feeling throughout the drive.

He'd been trying to keep his eyes trained on the road in front of him but couldn't help steal a glance in your direction every now and then. He was always surrounded by fast cars, something he realised after seeing you sat in his driving seat he'd begun to take for granted. He felt overwhelmed with pride, he was the one who was making you this happy. He felt privileged seeing you this free as your hair flew around in the wind while you rested a hand out the side of the car, trying to resist the force of the air pushing it back. It was his turn to be selfish as he realised that he always wanted to keep that moment for himself. He didn't want anyone else to make you feel like this, give you this experience. He wanted to be the one to make you smile.

“Don’t go quiet now mon Cherie.” That nickname. Again. “I think we still need to discuss what happened in the shower.” You instantly snapped back into reality at the mention of the shower. His hand fell from yours and toyed with the bracelet on your wrist. The one that you nervously played with in situations like these. The one that he’d gifted you last year. The one with his name etched into it.

The morning that you'd woke up in Charles' bed you were alone. An empty bed was something you'd become accustomed to over the past couple of years but in this instance it made you awaken quicker. The note left on his pillow stopped you from worrying, he was out on a run.

You respected his commitment to his career and took the opportunity to go for a shower. The warm water felt refreshing against your skin, goose bumps slowly appearing across your skin at the sudden change in temperature. Rubbing Charles shower gel into your skin you closed eyes and lent your head against the tiled shower wall. It wasn't clear at what point you'd become so aroused, but  the steam from the shower and the smell of Charles covering you definitely had something to do with it. You allowed your hands to roam your body, his name unexpectedly falling from your mouth as you brushed past your breasts. The careless use of his name had caused your eyes to widen and your hand to clamp over your mouth. It had left you lips so naturally but felt inappropriate to say aloud.

It wasn't until a few days later that you realised he'd heard. He almost hadn’t. If he’d unlocked the apartment a mere three seconds later your words wouldn’t have reached his ears. His run had been sweaty and he was still out of breath but his panting soon stopped. His eyes widened as he heard his name leave your lips and he froze. He didn’t want to announce his presence, he knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it and didn’t want you to feel embarrassed that he had. He didn’t know what to do. He felt as though he was invading your privacy but knew that if he shut the door you’d hear it close and know he was there. So instead he stuck his foot between the door and the doorframe to keep it slightly open as he waited for the sound of the shower to finish running. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, but he failed. All he could think about was you, in his shower, without him and how badly he wanted to join you, just so he could make his name fall from your mouth the way it just did over and over again.

You thought you'd gotten away with it. He'd entered the apartment just as you were stepping out the bathroom and he'd acted as cool as ever. The weekend was slowly becoming a distant memory that you were trying hard not to dwell on, hating that you were missing his presence so much already. It wasn't until you were at work the following week that it became apparent your secret crush was no longer a secret. You were in the office early, earlier than everyone else. That wasn’t unusual, you liked to be in early as it often meant you could leave earlier too. What was unusual was the box placed neatly on your desk.

Although the small parcel was addressed to you, you opened it with hesitation. A small gasp left your lips as your unwrapping revealed a red box, the golden engraving of the word ‘Cartier’ on top. Confused, you gently opened to box revealing a bracelet.

You placed it on your desk as you searched for a note. Despite it being awfully obvious who it was from, you wanted some kind of confirmation or, better yet, a reason as to why someone had put this into your possession. You'd spotted it in Harrods with Charles. You hadn't mentioned it, just spent a few minutes mindlessly staring at its beauty. There was no point even considering buying it for yourself, the price tag was close to your yearly salary. Eventually you found the note. 

'I've heard you like to moan it'

You picked up the bracelet once more, analysing it as you did so. It was so discreet, discreet enough that if the note wasn’t a big enough hint you might never have realised. His name. Etched into the inside of the band in the same font as the word ‘Cartier'. Any other name and he wouldn’t have been able to get away with it. No one had picked up on its personalisation in the past year. It had remained your little secret.

You gulped loudly, unsure of what to say next. The dull lighting hid your cheeks as they flushed red with embarrassment, just like they'd done when you'd read his note. Luckily it was situations like these you considered your stubbornness a strength. "All I could thing about was how much I wanted you to touch me Charles." With your lips dangerously close to Charles' ear you'd somehow managed to complete your sentence with confidence. The conviction in your voice had satisfied Charles although it was obvious that he hadn't expected it as he pulled his head back slightly to look you in the eyes. It was the first time you'd seen them so dark out of his crash helmet. They didn't have the same teasing smile paired with them as they did only a few moments ago. For a brief moment your heart dropped. What if he was just teasing you and you'd taken it too far? 

"Say something." Your voice was barely audible despite the eerie silence that had settled in the kitchen as Charles picked up on your nervousness. His expression softened but he remained silent, placing his forehead against yours and gently brushing your noses. You both very quickly realised there was no longer the need for words. The last thing either of you wanted to do right now was have a conversation about what was going on because quite honestly neither of you were sure. All you knew was that as soon as the space between your lips closed, there was no going back. You were craving each other's touch and it was as though the kiss you were yet to share would be the seal of approval you both needed to explore each other in a way you hadn't before.

You'd had enough of the teasing, enough of the wondering and what ifs, enough of wasting time without knowing how his lips felt against yours. You moved your head up slightly brushing your lips with his before releasing one of your hands from his grasp and placing it on the back of his head, pulling it down slightly. As soon as your lips pressed against his you became overwhelmed with emotions. You relaxed into it, it felt so right. His hands began to explore your body, one placed on your thigh and the other tracing lines up and down your back, sitting on the counter top had worked in your favour as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn't long before his tongue found yours as you let your hands snake beneath his shirt feeling his back and arms tense beneath you as he lifted you up from the side and placed you on the dining table which was at a slighter lower level. 

His mouth left yours and you let out a small groan of frustration, he smiled at the sound as you realised he was only doing it to strip you of the sweater you'd not long ago put on, allowing him to rid you of it, not caring how cold it was anymore. In between the kisses he was placing down your neck you pulled his top over his head. Your eyes were trained to his shoulders as you admired him, only shutting when he re-joined your lips. 

The sound of a key turning the lock at the front door caught Charles' attention. There was a high chance he'd consumed less alcohol than you tonight which is why he giggled slightly when you chose to ignore the sound and bring him back in for another kiss. 

“WE’RE HOME” Arthur voice echoed round the villa. The sound of his brothers voice was enough for you to release him from your grip.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh, it’s 3am people will be sleeping.” Carla tried to whisper but the tiled walls carried the sound throughout the villa. You didn’t know if anyone else was home, you hadn’t checked and to be honest you hadn’t even thought about it. The only thing on your mind was Charles.

“Y/N and I are in the kitchen,” Charles called back. His eyes never left yours as he grabbed his shirt you'd thrown across the kitchen and redressed himself, not until Arthur stumbled through the door way knocking into chairs and making them squeal as the legs glided across the floor. You both watched as he regained balance and muttered a drunken apology before sitting himself on the floor.

"Good night Arthur?" you laughed slightly at the sight of him on the floor, he'd never been the most elegant drunk but at least he was entertaining.

"Great night." He confirmed as he laid himself down, a laugh leaving Carla's lips as she stared at the state of him. If someone had spoken to you a couple of hours ago you would've probably had a different opinion but as it turned out, you were starting to agree with him.

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