#like he feels so light without being weighed down by his stutter aw

[olivierperrier]

( @resurrecticn​ surprised the bookkeeper -- << i did get spiderwebs in my hair.>> }

 ollie had been writing out a receipt log when the woman  approached, and so used to his ASL sign being ignored  he only realized she was signing to him part way through  her sentence. he looked up, a smile on his face as hands  moved quickly to reply to her.

       << sorry, again? i did not see you. something about spiderwebs? >>

[metaphysicalash17]

In a pulse of light, Steve found himself standing in an alley in London. One he knew all too well since he had a penchant for picking fights in alleys. His time travel suit dematerialized and he was left in his usual uniform, which seemed a little too much for the timeline he came back to. The real mission was to return the Infinity Stones and get back to 2019, but he figured his Bucky wouldn’t mind if he took a little detour. He wouldn’t be here long anyway.

The back door of the Whip and Fiddle pub to his right was proof that he landed in the right timeline—somewhere in the 40s. He remembered that the Howling Commandos were in there. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea going in there dressed like this.

Not to mention the absolute bizarreness if he met his past self.

But there was no turning back now. He opened the door slightly and peeked inside. The pub was more crowded than he expected. He felt completely out of place. And his new-found confidence fizzled out sooner than it came. Across the hall, he spotted his past self and a young Bucky seated near the bar, busy in drink and conversation.

Steve smiled at the sight of that bright-eyed, innocent Bucky who was willing to fight by his side till the end. This was the Bucky who didn’t know what was about to happen to him. And that was the Cap next to him who failed to protect him.

A pang of pain gripped Steve’s heart. But he brushed those thoughts aside and focused on what he came for. The future, seventy years from here, eventually turned out good, so he drew some reassurance from that.

He wondered if it was simply easier to just barge in there and talk to Barnes himself, but he didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. He had little time too.

Closing the door, he paced back and forth restlessly outside, trying to form a plan. A whole minute passed in that. The thought of his past self struck him. He didn’t stop to think how Bucky would be able to slip out without being noticed. Not to mention the fact that he would be subjected to two Steves.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Abort mission?

No. He came this far and wasn’t about to give up easily. He smoothed his hair, straightened his uniform, as though trying to impress a date. Steeling himself, he walked to the door and opened it.

And came face to face with James Buchanan Barnes.

Both froze, staring at each other for a moment. Bucky scanned him from head to toe, shooting a glance at the bar then back at him. “How...?”

Catching his arm, Steve pulled him into the alley and shut the door.

“How did you get out here so fast?” Bucky’s eyes darted to his uniform and his brows rose. “Am I missing something here? Did you change your hair?”

He couldn’t tell if it was his alcohol-addled brain playing tricks on him or Captain America’s uniform suddenly got an upgrade.

Steve couldn’t lie to him. He had to provide an explanation. Besides, he remembered Bucky’s fascination with the future. He remembered the sparkle in his eyes and his awe-struck face during their so-called date at the Stark Expo. At least, that was how Rogers saw it.

“Yeah, well... I’m not really Steve,” he stuttered. “I mean, I am, but not your Steve.” 

Your Steve. 

Sweet Jesus. 

“I’m from the future,” he added.

An awkward silence followed. So much so that he could imagine crickets chirping nearby.

Bucky gave him a blank stare. “Did you smoke something? Or did I drink too much?”

“No, it’s true. I—” Rogers was about to point to his to the time GPS when he realized it was better not to. “You know what, never mind. I came here because I wanted to tell you something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Bucky’s mind still struggled to grasp what was going on. Because a few minutes ago, he was sitting next to his best friend, who was in his military uniform, and who then headed to the loo shortly after.

“O-kay?” he said.

This is it. Steve couldn’t afford to mess this up. His stomach fluttered and his heart thudded in his chest. With a deep breath, he mustered every ounce of courage he had. He’d said these words before, in another time, and yet, it still managed to make him nervous.

“For as long as I remember,” he said. “You were all I had. You were there when I picked fights and when I got hurt.” He swallowed. “When my parents died. You were always there. When I had nothing, I had you.”

Bucky's heart melted. But he wouldn’t show it, so he merely smiled. “It’s no big deal, Stevie.”

“It is for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I wish I had told you sooner.”

The smile on Bucky’s face reduced when Steve came close. Too close. That golden hair swept back in a smooth quiff really did it for him. He sucked in a breath. His gaze involuntarily darted to his pink lips. Something about this Rogers was different. His fresh sky-blue eyes had the same glimmer and warmth that Barnes knew well, but something had changed in them. He couldn’t place a finger on what. Either way, they always seemed to stare right into his soul. Put him in a spell he couldn’t get out of.

He cleared his throat. “T-tell me what?”

He didn’t know his bright eyes cast the same magic on Steve.

“I love you, Buck. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

Those words had been weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now that he finally got it out, he felt exposed. 

Bucky’s brows eased, “What?”

“You heard me. You used to--I mean--you were jealous whenever you saw a woman too close to me and I never understood why, because I never felt anything for them. Not the way I do for you. It’s always been you.”

Bucky didn’t respond. His brain stopped functioning a long time ago, and he wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating. He simply stood there, gawking like an idiot. His best friend was in love with him. All this time, he thought his feelings were unrequited.

He didn’t realize how long he remained frozen like that until Steve’s voice snapped him out of the trance.

“Will you say something, please?”

“Huh?” he blurted.

Steve huffed. “Oh, for God’s sake—”

Holding Bucky’s face, he closed the gap between them. Bucky gasped as Cap’s lips crushed his with fervor, tasting his whiskey-tinged lips, and setting his soul on fire. He pushed back instinctively, tugging at Steve’s lips with his teeth. Grabbing the straps on his uniform, he pulled him closer. Their surroundings were a blur, like nothing mattered except them. Every other sound—people and vehicles, all drowned in the background.

Steve would’ve stood there, kissing him for hours, if only he had the time. Slowly and unwillingly, he pulled away.

Bucky’s mouth dropped open as he exhaled a short breath. He might’ve forgotten to breathe the entire time. “Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. He took one look at the alley, checking to see if anyone was looking. “So sorry about this but um, I have to go now.”

“What? Where?”

“It’s complicated. But don’t worry, you’ll get there.” In about seventy years, give or take. “I have to go. Maybe you need to ask that jackass what he feels? The other jackass who’s technically me...”

“O-okay.”

Happiness filled Steve’s heart, like the warmth of the sun on a cold day. “See you around, jerk.”

In the end, this detour was well worth it. He tapped his band and the time travel suit materialized before Bucky’s widening eyes. The latter stared, slack-jawed, at the magical transformation. And in a pulse of light, Rogers disappeared.

Barnes stood there for a moment, staring at the space where the man stood a millisecond earlier, trying to comprehend if all that was real. He cautiously reached a hand out, thinking he’d feel something, anything, but his hand simply waved in the air.

The guy literally just vanished.

“What the fuck...” Bucky breathed. What just happened?

He could still feel Steve’s lips on his. Like a damp, invisible imprint left behind. Dazed, he went back into the pub.

His Steve stood near the bar, raising his arms outwards. “Where did you go off to?”

I met your future self. Or at least, I think I did. “Just went out for some fresh air.” Bucky shrugged, trying to be as casual as he could.

“Well, come on, we’re gonna be late for the briefing. The team’s waiting outside.”

Bucky needed to convince himself that whatever happened in the alley was not some bizarre manifestation of his mind. “Wait. I need to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“Do you... you know...” Come on, Barnes. Get it together.

“Do I what?”

He bobbed on his feet. “... L-love me?”

Steve stared at him for a moment, mouth parting slowly. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The last thing he wanted was to ruin their friendship. It was the one precious thing he had.

But he had to know.

A smile crept onto Steve’s face. He blushed as he scratched his head. “I guess. Yeah.”

The relief Bucky felt was palpable. He shook his head, laughing a little under his breath. His heart did the Jitterbug in his chest. A part of him wanted to smack the blond idiot at the back of his head for not telling the truth sooner.

“Stupid punk,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I deserve that,” Rogers replied. “How did you find out anyway?”

“Well, you keep giving me these googly eyes all the time! I didn’t know if you really... felt that.”

“Of course I do. You are my whole life.”

Bucky scoffed and looked away, hiding the surging happiness inside. The volcanic eruption in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve. “I should’ve told you. I was waiting for the right time.”

“Yeah? When exactly is that? Your retirement party?”

Steve tilted his head, looking at his friend with those big, blue puppy eyes and a smile that said ‘please don’t be mad’. Bucky absolutely hated it because he could never resist that face.

“Fine, never mind it,” he said. “You wanna... have dinner or something?”

“I know the perfect place. We could go tonight. Eight o’clock.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of them left the pub, walking so close beside each other that their fingers brushed. Good thing the rest of the Howling Commandos were too drunk out of their wits to notice the love in the air.

-- The Words That Should’ve Been Said. (Read full on AO3)

[bcdwhcre]

could I request a jean x reader? The reader was in a relationship with Marco and after what happened to him, they were both always there for each other and eventually developed feelings for each other

“Fresh Starts,” Jean x Reader

Summary: After finding your dead boyfriend Marco, you and Jean cling onto each other for comfort and end up developing feelings.

Warnings: none

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The first few days after finding out about Marco was very difficult for you. You couldn’t even get out of bed and go to work without feeling this intense weight pin you down and drag you across the floor. The deep rooted depression had clung onto you and kept you bound to the bed.

You had cried too many times to even count. All of your tears were gone and there was nothing left to cry so you would just lay in bed, lights off and stared up at the ceiling as you held onto Marco’s jacket.

Jean had tried to be there at first but he decided that maybe space is what you needed for the first few days, that is until you continued to stay in bed and not come out to even eat or work with the other Scouts.

He felt the same as you but he had put on a fake face and pretended like nothing was bothering him. He was angry and sad but he knew he couldn’t let it hang over his head and prevent him from working.

As he walked down the hallway towards your bedroom, he was holding a full plate of food he had made for you just because he knew you weren’t doing too well. He knew you needed someone to come and push you and comfort you so you can move on and not let this drag you.

Jean had knocked on the door but when you wouldn’t get up to answer, he had decided to let himself in and looked at you on the bed in a daze. He sighed, setting the plate down on the small table and opened up the curtains in your room to let some sun in.

“I made you breakfast, I know you’re hungry.” He tried to put on a happy mood for you, tried to be of some help to show you that being in bed like this wasn’t going to solve anything.

“I just want to be left alone, Jean.” You mumbled, your eyes moving to look up at him and he shook his head while forcing you to sit up.

“Not an option.” He sat down on the bed, grabbing the plate and setting it down on your lap.

“I’ll feed you if I need to.” His eyes stared down at you, the heavy feeling he felt in his chest and the pain that was hovering over him.

The guilt had hit him as he looked over your current state, he could tell you haven’t left your room or even tried to take care of yourself. Your hair was a mess, still in pajamas and have been for days.

He hated to see you like this but he knew how much Marco meant to you, shit- he meant a lot to him too and it pained him to see his own best friend dead. It felt like a bad dream, a nightmare he was going to wake up from and he knew sitting there that maybe you felt the same- stuck in a endless loop of hoping you’ll wake up.

You hesitated before grabbing the plate from your lap, picking up the fork and started to eat. Jean felt relieved and felt like a weight has been lifted off of him but he still felt weighed down.

After you were done eating, it was silent and you both had sat there soaking in each other’s company. You had suddenly forgot about everything for just a few minutes while you were eating but sitting there deep into thought had brought everything back.

It made your eyes start to fill up with tears and you shook your head, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with your fingers and when he looked down at you, he seen the one stray tear rolling down your face and falling down on your lap.

“I got an idea.. to help with the grief.” He offered, standing up from your bed and grabbed your shoes.

You weren’t completely upset that he was still here but it did make you feel uneasy with the company when you just wanted to be alone but at the same time his company felt somewhat good, it took some pressure off of your shoulders.

Your eyes watched Jean as he slipped your shoes on your feet and tied the laces before dragging you out of bed. A dramatic groan had slipped passed your lips, following him down the hallway and even debated snatching your arm back and running to your room again.

“Jean..” You spoke up, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach the further you were away from your bedroom.

“C’mon, trust me on this.”

You closed your mouth, letting him lead you to one of the rooms where most of the weights were. It was basically one of the many training rooms that they had on the base including stuff outside to train with as well.

He had walked you over to the punching bag hanging off the hook and gestured towards it with a smile on his face, trying to ease up the mood and make you feel somewhat better.

“I think hitting the bag would help, get all your frustration out. Or you could punch me, that’s cool too.” He said, watching your eyebrows scrunch together as you stared at the punching bag.

Jean just wanted to help, he felt awful and he also felt obligated to take care of you after everything that had happened. He was close to Marco and now that he was gone, he felt like he needed to look after you for him.

After that day he had continued to stick by you and come in your room every morning with breakfast and stop by a few times to talk to you, help you in anyway he could and make sure you were taking care of yourself.

It was from that day that you two were soon inseparable. You both had helped each other in ways that you couldn’t explain. Jean was always helpful and caring, making sure your head was up right.

A few months had passed and everything started to feel lighter, everything started to lift off your shoulders and life started to get a little more easier to live through without Marco.

You were starting to feel a bit happier but of course you couldn’t just not think about Marco, he was always in your head but you were slowly accepting things for the way they were and living on just like how he would want you to.

Jean had started to make you happy, he made you laugh and always made you food to make you feel better. He always stayed in your room late at night just to make sure you weren’t sad or going to sleep crying like you used to.

And as time had flew by, you had found yourself developing feelings for Jean and at first you had beaten yourself up over it for days. The horrible memories of Marco’s death had flooded your head as you laid in bed late one night. Would he forgive you for liking his own best friend? Would you go to hell for this?

You really hated to admit that Jean was making you happier since Marco’s death.

You were terrified, you felt like you were betraying him and it just made you fall back into that depressing hole you were in before but Jean was quick to notice and worry once again.

His hand came up to knock on your door one random day after not hearing from you for almost a week. He had let himself in after a few minutes, seeing you in the state you were all those months ago- in bed and sulking.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” He asked, worried and all you did was just shrug your shoulders, how do you even tell him everything?

“You can talk to me, ya know. I don’t want you to feel like you’re battling stuff alone.” He said again, his feet making their way to your bed and sitting on the edge of it.

You sucked in a sharp breath, tilting your head to meet his gaze and the way his soft eyes had burned into yours, it made your heart race and it made the guilt shower down on you continuously.

“I feel like a terrible person..”

“What? Why?”

“Because I like my dead boyfriends best friend.” You abruptly said, watching his eyes grow wide and he began to stutter on his words.

Jean hated to admit that the last few months he had developed some feelings for you. You two hung out almost everyday, leaning on one another to help get through Marco’s death and it helped but it also pushed the two of you together.

He hated the fact that he let himself fall for you during the last six to seven months but it was nearly impossible not to fall for you. You two were always together and always cheering each other up, he started to see you in a better light and see that bright personality you had.

Of course he knew about it before, he was pretty close to you and Marco but now this was different, he’s seen it up close and personal and seen your beauty in many different ways and that made him start to develop feelings.

He thought about it a lot too, was this something good or was this stupid? Was he betraying his own friend for having these feelings? For thinking this way? He didn’t know and he leaned on Armin for advice and all he said was that maybe Marco would want the two of you to have each other.

“Feels wrong.” You mumbled after a while of silence, your eyes moving away from his as they began to water.

“It might feel wrong at first but.. if you continue to live your life feeling like you’re betraying Marco then you’ll just end up alone. It’s been over half a year, gotta move on eventually.” Jean said, not knowing exactly what was coming out of his mouth.. he sounded like Armin.

“Maybe you’re right..” You sat there in thought, wondering what would Marco think. You knew he wanted you to be happy, you both have had that talk numerous times because you both know that with this job, life isn’t guaranteed.

just promise me you’ll be happy afterwards, no sulking. His words had repeated in your head, breaking your heart all over again.

“Marco will always be here, Y/N but you can’t beat yourself up wondering if what you’re doing to be happy is wrong to him.” Jean trailed off, not really knowing what to say, he felt awkward.

“Do you feel the same?” You quietly said, your eyes meeting his again and suddenly it felt like his heart had stopped in place.

“Hate to admit that I do.”

“Then we’ll take it one day at a time.” You sighed, reaching over and grabbing onto his hand, holding onto it for dear life like the moment was going to be ripped away.

Jean had stared down at you, almost in complete shock. He loved Marco like a brother and he didn’t want to feel like he was betraying him but he also didn’t want to feel like he was pausing his life and pushing things away just because he felt that way.

You deserved to be happy, Jean wanted you to be more happy than him and he promised himself to do that for not only you but Marco.

Even if that meant the two of you were gravitated towards each other.

Even if that meant the two of you developed feelings.

And even if that meant the two of you end up together.

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• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[hammeredalcoholic]

my only friend

kira yoshikage / reader ;

rating: mature, no 18+ content yet ; kira & reader are portrayed as 18 years old ; tension at the end of chapter

here is chapter 2! link to chapter 1. hope you guys enjoy this, i am falling back in love with writing this thing. cross posted to ao3.

here is a spotify playlist to go with this fic.

“you've been riding two wheelers all your life it's not like i'm asking to be your wife i wanna make you mine, but that's hard to say is this coming off in a cheesy way?”

The skies were covered in clouds, smoldering and dark, threatening to spill rain at any time. The air was chilly, causing goosebumps to line your arms and make the hairs on your neck stand up. Fall was just upon you, the summer months had passed within seconds it seemed. Not that you really cared-- autumn was beautiful, bringing colored trees and pretty sunsets. 

Your shoes scuffed against the concrete you sat upon, your fingers barely holding onto a lit cigarette. You really ought to quit-- but the high of nicotine was just too much to give up. The taste of tobacco on your tongue was all you tried to focus on, but it was hard. 

Hard when you sat outside of a dingy apartment, of a person you didn’t know, waiting for your companion to take their miserable life. 

This was normal. You’d go a few days on the road, staying at whichever place you could, before Yoshikage started to feel the urges, as he called them. He had said it once before to you, and it was something that you hadn’t been able to quite let go. 

“I just-- can’t help it,” His words were soft, and small. His hands were fidgeting in his lap, ghosting over the frayed edges of his baby blue sweater. “I can’t control myself when I get this way. It’s just that it’s in my nature to kill.” 

Kira’s eyes were hidden behind his blond bangs, deep and dark and full of sorrow. He couldn’t help that he was this way, despite the fact that he wanted to live a quiet life. He didn’t want to be a bother on others, but it seemed like he had just dug himself in a hole. 

Your mind jumped from that memory to another. The phone call. The one that changed your life drastically. 

3:31 AM flashed on your alarm clock. The landline was ringing, practically jumping off your bedside table. Who the hell would need to call you right now? All of Morioh should be asleep-- your hand reached for it, gently picking it up off the receiver and holding it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

A shaky voice was on the other end. Distant and gravely-- barely speaking above a whisper. 

“D-Did I wake you up? I-I’m so sorry,” He sounded awful. Hiccups between every word, and you were positive he had been crying. “Yoshikage-- What happened? What’s going on?” 

Yoshikage Kira had never sounded like this. He sounded so broken-- like a glass vase shattered across a concrete floor. There was a small hiccup, and a breathy sigh on the other end. “I made-- I made a big mistake. I need your help.” 

A big mistake? What the hell did that mean? 

“Can you please meet me at Reimi Sugimoto’s house? You know where that is right?” He sounded even more desperate with each passing second. Yes, you did know where she lived-- it was on your walking path to and from school everyday. It should only take you about 5 minutes to get there, if you booked it. 

“Yes, yes, okay. I’ll be there soon. Whatever you do, don’t run away.” With those words being said, the line was cut off. Quickly, and being as quiet as possible, you got some pants and a sweatshirt on, stuffing a pillow under your blankets to make it seem like you were still sleeping. Thinking semi-clearly, you grabbed a backpack and put some extra clothes and your trusted pocket knife inside. 

Slinging the bag over your shoulders, you grabbed your keys from your desk and slipped out of your room. This wasn’t the first time you had snuck out, so you knew each creak and cranny in the wooden stairs leading to the main entrance of your house. As quickly as you could, you slipped out of the house without a sound. 

You quickly bolted to your car that was slightly down the street, thanking your past self for the distance. Your parents wouldn’t hear the car start, or you driving off to save your friend. Hopping in and starting the engine up, you quickly left in the direction of the Sugimoto residence.

Screams were faint in your ears. 

Deciding that another cigarette was inevitable, you quickly pulled it out of the pack and lit it. You could have waited in the car, but-- you didn’t want Yoshikage to get hurt. You wanted to be there for him until the very end, so there you sat, against the grimy brick wall, feeling all sorts of out of place. 

You let your mind drift again. 

Driving well over the speed limit, you made it there in less than 3 minutes. From the outside of the house, it didn’t look like much had happened. The lawn was normal, the house the same as when you had driven past yesterday. That was until you noticed him-- a figure, clad in a pale blue sweater, sitting on the front steps of the building. 

His hands, covered in his sleeves, were pressed firmly against his face. If it hadn’t been in the middle of the night, you would have been able to make out the bright red stains that coated his clothes. Quickly pulling the car to the side of the road, you got out without a second guess. 

Quickly rushing up to the boy, you stopped only feet away from him. 

“Yoshi… What-- What happened?” Blood. Blood on his sleeves-- his pants-- his hair. Fuck, his face was even coated in it. His hands dropped from his face, and he looked up at you with wide, cold-dead eyes. They were bright red and puffy, telling that he was sobbing his eyes out only moments previously. 

“I-- I made a mistake.” Kira’s voice was only a whisper. If you hadn’t been listening, you would have thought it to be the midnight wind. “What mistake?” You pressed, stepping closer to the seated boy. 

“I-- I,” Yoshikage stuttered, before tears lined his eyes. “I killed them.” He spoke so softly, before looking at his blood stained hands. “I killed them.” He stated, louder, looking up at you again. “I killed her parents. Her dog. And then-- her.” His voice was shaking, tears now freely flowing down his cheeks. “I don’t-- I don’t know what to do.” 

You stared at him in disbelief. He-- Yoshikage Kira, the boy that grew up with you, silent but friendly, playing with only you throughout elementary, hanging out with you during middle school and high school-- your best friend. He had killed someone. Not someone, multiple people. 

Fist shaking at your sides, chills running up your spine, sweat practically dripping from your temple. 

You had a choice to make. 

Leave him, let him get caught-- probably executed. Or--

“I’ll help you. Let’s go.” 

You’ve never seen Kira’s eyes light up like that before. Bright blue, even in the pale moonlight. They were so blue, you swore you could have gotten lost in them. That’s your favorite part of the memory, thinking back on the relief he must have felt. It sent warmth through your body, butterflies floating in your stomach. 

You knew, despite how much you question your own motives now and again, you wouldn’t be able to leave Kira. He’s been a staple in your life, much like you must have been to him. Why would he ask you for help if that wasn’t the case? 

The skies had grown dark as you were reminiscent, and your stomach growling had alerted you that it might not be a bad idea to get some food. Glancing at the door to the apartment, you briefly wondered if Yoshikage would even notice if you left. But, then again, he might be hungry too. You weighed your options, and decided it would be best to just ask him. 

Getting up to your feet, you flicked the butt of your cigarette over the railing of the complex. Your feet tingled with sleep, and your fists clenched as you stared at the awful wooden door. Your mind ran a million miles an hour, going through several thoughts about what he could possibly be doing behind that wretched piece of wood. 

Just as you were about to knock on the door, it opened. 

Kira stood there, eyes wide when he noticed you standing in front of him. He was absolutely drenched in blood-- his sweater was stained, khakis barely recognizable. His face and hair were also decently covered. His eyes quickly darted to his ruined chucks, and he spoke very softly. 

“I-- I’m done.” 

You let out a quick sigh of relief, and decided not to question him. “Well if that’s the case, how about we go get some food and find a place to clean you up?” Kira didn’t say anything, just nodded. With that, you both left the apartment complex. 

As the night went on, you both decided that getting some fast food and trying to find a laundromat was in order. You were rather thankful for the dark, as the person who took your measly ones at the burger joint didn’t even bat an eye at your companion’s appearance. 

Luckily, there was a laundromat just down the street. Pulling up and parking in the vacant lot, you both got out your burgers and ate in relative silence.

After downing your food in what felt like 3 bites, you looked over at your friend. He didn’t look like he was thinking about much-- his hands were steady, eyes somewhat glossed over from the food, and completely ignoring the fact that he was still very much covered in blood. 

“Do you feel better?” The words felt almost foreign on your tongue, despite feeling like you asked him this every single time. Kira looked over at you, swallowing the bite he was chewing before responding. “Yeah. I do,” He rolled up the remaining half of his sandwich in the wrapper, putting it back in the bag. “But I would like to clean up my clothes.” 

You snorted, grabbing your drink from the console and taking a few gulps. “I’m sure you would. It looks like it’s fairly empty in there, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.” You glanced at the clock in your car, and the bright red numbers informed you that it was well past midnight at this point. Kira must have noticed it too, and he began to get out of the vehicle. 

Doing the same, you pulled the bag of quarters you keep in the console out and stuffed them in your pocket. You followed Yoshikage inside, quickly turning and locking your car before entering the building. 

The place was very much run down-- old washing machines lined the dirty walls. Neon lights glimmered from outside, casting weird shadows across the floor. Kira kept walking to the back of the building, deciding to use the machines that were farthest from the windows. You followed him absentmindedly, hoping up on one of the machines and pulling out your little sack of change. 

Yoshikage’s eyes glanced at your before they went down to his feet, and he quickly shrugged off his baby blue sweater. You swore that thing had been through its life cycle already-- ever since he got it at the beginning of high school, it seemed to be the only article of clothing he wore. He threw it into the washing machine next to you, his hands going back up to unbutton his undershirt. 

At that point, you found it hard not to stare. 

Yoshikage Kira may have been your best friend from preschool to now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t attractive. Bright blonde curls and icy blue eyes-- along with a jawline that could surely cut glass. 

The coins in your hand quickly became your second priority, as your eyes lingered on each inch of skin he revealed. This wasn’t even your first time seeing him semi-nude-- he sleeps in the same bed as you most nights. But this-- this was different. 

Soon enough his button up was shrugged off and tossed in the washer, and you quickly averted your eyes to the coins you held in your palm. You were playing a very dangerous game, and you weren’t sure what Kira would do if he caught you looking at him like a piece of meat. 

As you tried to count the quarters that were needed for the machine to run, you heard your companion’s shoes be kicked off. Then, the sound of a button and fly being undone made your cheeks heat up within seconds. Your mind was doing mental backflips, going back and forth between looking, and keeping your eyes down. 

From the corner of your eyes, you saw his soiled khakis drop around his ankles, and he carefully stepped out of them, throwing them in the machine. 

“Hey. I need a dollar and twenty-five cents to start it.” His words practically made you jump, and you held out your palm with the money he needed. Kira easily noticed how flustered you were, and let his fingers linger in yours while he took the coins. Soon enough, the machine roared to life, and you heard Kira take a seat next to you. 

Swallowing your pride, you decided it wasn’t worth avoiding his gaze, so you looked over at him. 

His skin was almost glowing in the awful lighting of the building, collar bones prominent and his muscles were exceptionally toned. You felt your eyes linger on his hips, almost tracing the V shape that dipped into his boxer briefs. As soon as you realized what you were doing, your eyes immediately went up to meet his own. 

They had grown dark, silver pools watching your every move. A small smirk had formed on his lips, and you almost had to bite your lip from making any sort of noise. 

Your mind screamed at you to look away. Stop staring at him and just look at literally anything else. 

But then, something else happened that made your world turn upside down. 

Did he fucking wink?

[aeonghaseyo]

Your Trace, My Treasure

Summary: Marc and Nathaniel write and draw, respectively, on each others' notebooks because it's DEFINITELY a couple thing to do.

Word Count: 2105 AO3 link

Relationship/s: Nathaniel Kurtzberg/Marc Anciel Category: M/M Characters: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel, Alix Kubdel (mentioned), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (mentioned), Juleka Couffaine (mentioned), Rose Lavillant (mentioned), Alya Cesaire (mentioned) Language used: English Author's Note: The creators of MLB really need to give the side characters screen time. The love square isn't the only romantic set of ships in the show and there are much more cute ships to write about. And so in my first time of writing a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic, it's about a ship that's entirely not part of the love square. This is my final workshop output from a creative writing class I enrolled in during the summer to get units in advance. Special thanks to my professor and two of my classmates for their feedback; I couldn't have made this work even more wonderful without their help. For the non-love-square ship and this being a successful workshop output thus far, I think I'm gonna give myself a pat on the back and more fanfic ideas to write. :)

Compared to the courtyard at Françoise Dupont High School where the lively chattering of students can be heard and the scrambling of footsteps were a staple, the art room was its own entire world of silence.

It was supposed to be a calming silence in that same art room where Marc and Nathaniel were to work on art-related endeavors of their own, but the former found this unwelcoming and rather deafening. It weighed down on his being that the atmosphere was unbearably awkward, much like he was most of the time even before he met Nathaniel and became his partner in creating comic books about Ladybug, Chat Noir, and their akumatized alter-egos who turned good and served as part of the superhero duo’s akuma-fighting team. Despite a remarkable development from being acquaintances, to newfound partners, and now to a bloomed romantic couple, Marc Anciel, as awkward as ever and still testing the waters on this newfound relationship, couldn’t shake this nagging feeling of inadequacy as someone’s significant other.

It just goes to show him that even though his romantic feelings for Nathaniel had been reciprocated at Day 0, it does not remove the remaining unease that Marc currently feels at Day 1. It was his first time in a relationship, and it was with the boy whose drawings he admired so much from the school paper. Simply put, it was too good to be true.

Unfortunately, the awkwardness Marc felt wasn’t masked enough, and Nathaniel immediately noticed from his place by the table beside his raven-haired beau. How could he not? It was very obvious, from the way Marc’s hand shakily distorted his usually refined, elegant script while writing the next chapter of their comic to the way his expression was contorted as if he was constipated. Nathaniel thought to himself that it was still an adorable sight, but clearly, something was up, and it wouldn’t do well to just ignore whatever troubled his beloved partner. Attempting to break the ice, the redhead cleared his throat, then spoke to call Marc’s attention.

“Marc.”

The novelist jolted in surprise at the utterance of his name. “Y-yes, Nathaniel?”

Leaning in for a better view of the page Marc was writing on, Nathaniel replied, “Your handwriting’s different.”

“W-wait, really?” blurted out Marc, quickly covering the page with his gloved hand. “I d-didn’t know you were p-particular with handwriting.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle, caring hand on his boyfriend’s with a smile aimed directly at him as he clarified himself, “It’s not that, Marc. I’ve seen it and it’s great. Right now, it just looks… wobbly. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Even if Nathaniel was a recluse in his own class, he could very well read into the emotions of people, but he doesn’t show it that often. As endearing as it was as a show of concern towards shy Marc, it was also overwhelming for the raven-haired novelist to have been the subject of such deep perception, even from the boy his heart palpitates for.

It was then that Marc’s fight or flight response reminded him in a split-second that he needed some sort of diversion for Nathaniel not to remind him of his own awkwardness.

“Isn’t it weird that our art teacher didn’t come here?” Marc rapidly questioned as he struggled not to look at the red-haired boy beside him. Despite this attempt to keep Nathaniel’s focus off of his disposition, glancing towards the door and not at Nathaniel did not help stop the blood from rushing to the novelist’s fair cheeks. His partner might be tired of this, of him, already, but that light chuckle of pure amusement coming from Nathaniel disproved that thought.

“Hey, hey, settle down Marc,” chided Nathaniel, “he might be running late. It’s okay for us to use the art room so long as it’s reserved around this time. Good thing that he reserved it at an earlier time than usual.”

With innocent green eyes, the raven-haired boy looked his boyfriend in the eye and asked, “H-he can do that?”

“Of course, he can. Let’s just wait for him, okay?” reassured Nathaniel, his left hand making its way on Marc’s right shoulder discreetly. “I’m sure my other classmates will arrive here shortly too.”

A shy smile emerged from Marc’s face as he replied, “Okay, Nath.”

Suddenly, a ringtone from the phone which was in Nathaniel’s pocket sounded audibly enough to catch both the boys’ attention. The redhead immediately fished out the device from his pocket and unlocked it, revealing three unread text messages from his close friend Alix.

Hey Nath! Something came up and I couldn’t swing by the art room. Love troubles again with Marinette. Juleka and Rose are also helping out with me so they can’t come.

I can’t believe that Marinette got invited personally by Adrien to his photoshoot but she can’t even give him her handmade gift or ask him out. Because she’s such a wuss, I got dragged here in the park by Rose because Mari needs all of her girl friends to push her towards Golden Boy Agreste YET AGAIN.

And apparently Alya alone couldn’t do it. Sorry! You’ll have Marc to keep you company anyway. Have fun! ;)

So much for those girls coming over to the art room. Nathaniel let out a sigh as he muttered, just enough for Marc to hear, “I stand corrected. The others aren’t coming.”

Catching on his partner’s crest-fallen demeanor and gazing at his face with sympathetic green orbs, Marc replied, “Guess it’s just the two of us for now.”

The next minutes were spent in silence again, with Marc continuing to finish a paragraph while Nathaniel sketched a bird’s eye view of the Eiffel tower as the background in one panel of the comic storyboard in his notebook. After several minutes elapsed, however, curiosity got the best of Marc, and so, with the tip of his pen lingering on the period of his last sentence, he kept on glancing at Nathaniel and the storyboarding he was working on. Besides the sheer focus that was evident in Nathaniel’s turquoise orbs, the shy novelist couldn’t help but notice the fine, steady strokes his beau’s hand were making with his fine-pointed mechanical pencil. So neat, so pristine. It’s amazing how he didn’t need an eraser to erase certain portions of his drawings over and over.

Marc had seen artist sketches himself of both people and objects, mostly done by his friend Marinette. As someone aspiring to become a fashion designer, she would be engrossed in sketching designs day by day, passion ignited by the sparks of inspiration she draws from around her. However, since Marinette’s sketches had obvious hints of disorder, as it normally is with crude artist sketches, it clearly contrasted with the otherwise structured sketches Nathaniel makes for his comic books. Marc, fully in awe, couldn’t help but take a break from his writing and stare at the red-haired illustrator’s creative process right next to him.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel, thanks to the strong, overbearing feeling of being watched, was getting overly conscious of his work. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, he quickly turned to Marc and asked, “Do you need something Marc?”

Snapped out of his trance wide-eyed, Marc inwardly panicked. ‘Oh no, I must be staring at him too long! I hope I didn’t spook him too much.’

Scrambling for a sensible response, the novelist stuttered out, “I-i want to write something in your notebook.”

Setting down his pencil while his turquoise eyes were still on Marc, Nathaniel blinked inquisitively. “Oh, why would you want to do that?”

“B-because,” the shy writer reasoned, “I want to write something to remind you of me. T-that is, if y-you don’t mind.”

The red-haired teen averted his gaze from his partner as he remarked, “You know I don’t let anyone write on my notebook, Marc.”

This response triggered the disappointment that Marc had anticipated from the moment that they started continuing to develop the rest of the comic book they were working on together. It was even more daunting for the timid writer that their art teacher and the rest of Nathaniel’s classmates who were usually in the art room with them did not show up at that moment, or even at all. Marinette would tell Nathaniel that it’s a great idea for his newfound love to leave special traces on his personal notebook while Rose, somehow finding this romantic, would gush at this gesture with Juleka mumbling to herself in response. But what would have been the cherry on top for Marc at the moment is that if Alix was there to egg on Nathaniel, pressuring him to give in and let his boyfriend write something in his notebook. At least the comic relief from Alix’s teasing would help alleviate the collective awkwardness the couple felt at that moment. God, if only it wasn’t just the two of them in the art room at that moment.

But alas, he was alone, helpless and daunted, and he was facing the dragon which was Nathaniel, or whatever Nathaniel thought of him at that moment.

However, all of the fears and doubts that plagued Marc left him when Nathaniel continued with a small, endearing smile on his face, “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

The novelist beamed at his boyfriend, green eyes sparkling with delight. “R-really?”

“In one condition.”

Marc took and held in a quick breath. “Anything, Nath.”

The illustrator picked up his pencil once again and uttered, with an outstretched hand right by Marc’s notebook, “Let me draw in your notebook.”

It was at that moment when Marc could feel his heart flutter, accompanied by the butterflies in his stomach as he opened his own notebook to the very last page and laid it out right by his beau’s workspace.

“It would be my pleasure.”

In a span of 2 minutes while Nathaniel was drawing on the last page of his boyfriend’s notebook, Marc, fidgeting and tapping his pen softly on his chin, racked his brain for a simple yet memorable piece to write on the first page of the illustrator’s notebook, which was left empty out of personal preference by its owner. Hoping to obtain bit by bit of inspiration, he glanced at Nathaniel, then at the empty page, then at Nathaniel, and so on and so forth. This went on, albeit unnoticed by the redhead, until mere seconds after, he scribbled away on the page once he had gotten attuned with his creative writing flow.

After both of them finished leaving their traces on each other’s notebook pages, Nathaniel and Marc gave each other back their notebooks and instantly opened them to where they each left their special mark. Struck with awe, the novelist softly traced the outline of the drawing and his emerald eyes were drawn to Nathaniel’s signature which he left underneath the recently drawn portrait. A tinge of pink formed on Marc’s cheeks as he admired every stroke that constituted this drawing of him done by none other than the boy he once looked up to, now loved, and who loved him back.

“No one’s written me a poem before,” Nathaniel uttered as he perused every line written by Marc on that now extra special page in his notebook, eyes taking in every word written in that distinct elegant script that served as an epitome of beauty that the redhead beheld. One particular line at the end of the writing, however, caught him by surprise: the words ‘Je t’aime’ accompanied by Marc’s signature in that same fancy handwriting the illustrator adored dearly.

Having regained his composure, Marc turned to Nathaniel and asked, “Do you like the poem? I-i thought of it on the spot so it might not exactly be to your liking, but-”

“I love it,” interrupted the red-haired teen breathlessly, wrapping an arm around his significant other and squeezing his shoulder. “Really Marc, you make the most wonderful written pieces.”

An expression as bright as day graced Marc’s features as he replied, albeit with a bit of shyness in his voice, “Y-you really think so?”

Nathaniel threw any single hint of hesitation in his being out the window as he placed a tender, loving kiss on Marc’s forehead. “I do. We’re meant to be partnered together, after all.”

And just like that, the uncomfortable awkwardness that haunted Marc was instantly warded off, and in a flash, he enveloped Nathaniel in a tight, warm, loving embrace and leaned into him in newfound solace. The silence in the art room has never been this comforting as the couple relished in this seemingly endless embrace together.

[gentlemancrow]

Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

[ttttaehyungie]

secret santa | kth x reader

secret santa | kim taehyung x reader

genre | bff2l, fluff

summary | What you thought was an ingenious plan to figure out the perfect gift for your secret santee turns out to take a whole bunch of wrong turns, but with the best outcomes.

rating | NC-17

word count | 6.2k words

warnings | some profanities (it’s like... once LOL), mentioned breakups, it’s Christmas in the context of a pandemic

a/n | Merry Christmas everybuddy 🎄✨ here is a lighthearted (or at least it was until i hit the 6am point of the night while writing slkdjflkjd) lil christmas gift to everyone, but mostly to myself LOL bcos I’m finally posting a fic about the one who owns my heart in its entirety 😌

Christmas without you would just not be Christmas at all

Bright mistletoes up above us, it’s just you and me

-- V, Snow Flower

“C’mon, ____,” Taehyung whines. He plops down on the couch next to you and puts his big, round eyes to good use, giving you the puppy dog eyes treatment.

Well too bad for Taehyung, having known him for the last decade has granted you immunity against his pouty antics. There’s a couple of things that Taehyung employs in a bid to get what he wants. First, he’ll whine. Next, he’ll attempt to reason it out with you… or as much as he can convincingly reason with the pout still laced thick in his tone. If that fails, he’ll try bargaining. And finally, if none of the aforementioned has managed to sway you, he’ll just pout in silence.

“That’s the thing about Secret Santas, Tae, they’re supposed to be, y’know, secret.”

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who your santee is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

There it is. Stage two.

You ignore him and return to scrolling through Amazon in what you hope is a nonchalant manner.

“What if I guess who it is?” he tries.

When you don’t reply, he continues, “Is it Hoseok?” He runs a hand through his golden locks in thought. “No, buying for Yoongi is easy because all he ever wants is practical things like planners. You wouldn’t need help with that. Hm… Is it Seokjin?”

He rambles on about different kitchenware that could make a good present for Jin, a ramble that would have been really helpful if only Jin were actually your secret santee.

Taehyung gasps and falls silent, shocking you into finally looking up from your phone. His already round eyes are even rounder, wide as they are in shock. A hand hovers over his mouth as he goes still.

Then, as suddenly as he had gasped, he relaxes into a laugh.

“For a moment, I thought your secret santee was me,” he says, chuckling. A jolt runs through you, and your breath hitches in a way that you pray is unnoticeable. “But you’re too shitty a liar to do that.”

“Hey!” You jab his side playfully and he yelps. “What do you mean? I’m a great liar.”

“That’s a blatant and unconvincing lie right there.”

You fold your arms and turn away.

“I know you’re not actually mad, ____,” comes his sing-song voice, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining into the couch.

Letting out another huff, you turn further away. So when he grabs your hands and pulls you to face him, it startles you a little.

His eyes search yours, and you can’t help yourself from stumbling into their depths. The seriousness in his gaze holds yours intently.

But just as you think he’s about to apologize, his eyes melt into little crescent moons as he grins. “So. Who’s your secret santee?”

His cry comes out muffled under the cushion you hit him with.

An exasperated groan leaves you the moment you close the front door. Tipping your head back to rest against the solid wood, you shut your eyes. You hear footsteps pad closer.

“I take it your plan didn’t succeed?” Irene says, leaning against the wall as she takes in your defeated stance.

“Nope,” you say, picking yourself back up and hanging up your scarf and coat. Your roommate’s still in the same fuzzy pyjamas she was in when you’d left for Tae’s earlier in the day, and honestly, she’s got the right idea. You’re ready to get back into jammies too.

A Lifetime movie plays in the background, and you’d be willing to bet your life’s savings -- not that there’s much when you’re but a struggling student -- that she’s got a mug of hot chocolate to accompany her.

“Another Christmas movie?” you scoff in mock disgust. “How are you not sick of them yet?”

“What else are we supposed to do during a quarantined Christmas?”

“Don’t kid yourself. You’d be doing this even without the quarantine.”

“Hey. If you detest it so much, I heard that Taehyung’s place has many vacant rooms right now.”

You roll your eyes. She got that information from you. Both his roommates were gone from the apartment for the time being, one went back home for the holidays and another had chosen to attend the entire semester from home since everything was online anyway, leaving Taehyung with the luxury of the entire apartment to himself.

Meanwhile, Irene was making full use of the ongoing situation to evade going back home for the holidays. Too much family drama to allow her to binge-watch her holiday flicks in peace, she’d said.

And you? It’s kinda awful, but you’ve chosen to remain in your apartment just slightly off-campus so that you could get a head start on your research for your thesis, the campus library’s offerings much more vast than the local neighborhood library of your small town hometown.

Upon hearing this, Taehyung had offered to stay to keep you company over the holidays. “We’ve spent every Christmas together ever since we were kids, Christmas would just feel too weird without you,” he’d said. “And then we can join the gang’s Zoom Christmas celebration together too! I heard that’s what Namjoon and Jin will be doing since they’re both in the city over Christmas.”

How you’d managed to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of goo at his casual selflessness was a real feat. Taehyung had always been close to his family, and often missed them intensely while you guys were miles apart from home each college semester. So for him to give up a trip back home so you could still have a piece of home with you over Christmas was not a small sacrifice.

“Hellooo?” Irene waves a hand in your face. You jump, jolted out of your thoughts. “Are you actually daydreaming about it? Ooh, staying over at your crush’s place with no one else around… saucy things could happen, ____.”

Although that wasn’t what you were thinking about, you still feel the heat rise to your cheeks at being caught daydreaming about Taehyung. Instead, you give a feeble excuse to get Irene off your back, “I’m just thinking about secret santa gifts again. Ugh, why’d I have to draw him of all people?!”

“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking this because of your feelings? How difficult is it to think of a gift for a guy you’ve been friends with since you were kids? What about his interests?”

“That’s real tough. His hobbies are so whimsical and oftentimes just impulsive. Remember the phase with the film camera? And then the short-lived violin phase? And the piano phase? The only outcome of that phase is him playing the Chopstick Waltz every single time we pass by a piano.”

“Well, what about something that’s been a constant in his life then through all the phases?”

You purse your lips in thought, weighing the thought. It’s not a bad suggestion, but what has been a constant for him all this time?

Coming up with naught, you sigh and turn to head to your room. “I’ll think about it while I get changed back into my jammies.”

When you described Taehyung’s ideas and interests as being whimsical and oftentimes impulsive, this is exactly what you meant.

“Tae, I don’t think it’s gonna fit. Why’d you get such a big one?”

“You just have to believe, ____. We just need faith, trust, and- well actually, maybe just faith and a really good, hard thrust.”

“I feel like there’s so many that’s what she said jokes to be made here.”

“Wasting your energy on that line of thinking is the reason why we haven’t gotten this christmas tree through the door yet.”

With one more solid push, the widest part of the tree finally makes it through the narrow doorway of Taehyung’s apartment, and the two of you go stumbling forward with the extra momentum.

“We did it!” he exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug. “You believed!”

Internally cursing yourself for the way your heart has the audacity to stutter at his touch. The hug is nothing- the warmth that seeps from his body to yours is familiar because hugs are nothing special in your friendship. Even in your grade school memories, Taehyung had always been a tactile person, giving out hugs generously and demanding them in return by simply throwing himself at people to be received in an embrace, coerced or not. As you and your peers grew older, Taehyung became more aware and withheld himself from his sudden hug attacks, especially towards the other girls. But not you. He felt no need to skirt around things with you, and you found a quiet hum of satisfaction in knowing that Taehyung could be his tactile self with you. Hugs were just an expression of your friendship. Nothing more.

That is, until you wanted them to be more.

You shake the thought away. You’ve dealt with this successfully for more than a year now and you can continue on.

Taehyung loosens his hold but keeps his arms around you, leaning back to look at you. The soft puffs in his cheeks and the light creases around his eyes as they bunch up in happiness are just some of the little things you adore about him. The contentment practically radiates off of him. It’s just like him to get this excited over a christmas tree.

“Shall we get to setting it up?” you ask and he nods, releasing you completely then to get to work.

After the two of you find the perfect spot, situating the tree in the corner of the living room by the windows and in reach of a power socket, you grab the bag of decorations.

The oddly small and light bag of decorations.

“Tae?” you ask, pulling out the single box of baubles. “Is this all you got?”

Grinning sheepishly, he nods. “I didn’t have much left for decorations after I chose the tree.”

“Why’d you choose such a big tree then?”

“What’s the point of getting a tiny tree? It’s only nice and festive if it’s large!” he exclaims.

“Well, what’s the point of getting a big tree that will be bare except for six baubles, Tae?!”

“I was thinking we could improvise the decorations.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Improvise?”

“Yeah, like- wait,” he says, running to his bedroom. His voice floats over from the narrow corridor, “just hang on!”

After a little rustling and rummaging, Taehyung emerges with two shoeboxes and a few scarves thrown over his shoulders. Grabbing one of the shoeboxes from him, you open it to reveal a bunch of keychains. Souvenirs from his friends’ travels and some of his own too. In there, you recognize an eiffel tower keychain you gifted him after your family’s holiday to France.

“Here, look!” He grabs a few and begins hanging them on the tree. “Decorations!”

You laugh. It’s a classic Taehyung move, and honestly it doesn’t look half bad. Picking a few keychains of your own from the box, you join him in placing them around the tree.

“What are you going to do about the tree topper?” you ask.

He smirks. “I’ve already got that all figured out.” Unboxing the second shoebox to reveal his collection of polaroid photos, he rifles around till he finds the photo he wants. Brandishing the polaroid of Yeontan, he grins. “Both an angel and a star. Perfect.”

You can't argue with that logic, and you say as much before vacating the step stool so he can clip the polaroid to the top of the tree with a wooden peg. Eyeing the pile of scarves on the couch, you ask, “What about the scarves?”

“Scarves? You mean ribbons?” he says, and begins draping them across the tree. You giggle and reach for one. The soft material is plush, caressing your skin as you run your fingers over the material. It's much nicer than the other scarves, you notice, and way too nice to be stuck on a christmas tree.

“Hey,” you say, “isn’t this cashmere? Are you sure you want such a nice sweater on your tree?”

Taehyung shrugs. “It was a gift from my ex. It’s not like I’m going to wear it anymore.”

His ex. The words hit you like a punch to your gut.

Taehyung's ex, Samantha, was a pleasant person to be around, easygoing and bubbly with a sunny personality that matched him well. At least, from what you could tell based off the first two months of their relationship that you got to witness firsthand. You're not quite sure who exactly initiated the distance -- whether it was from your own courtesy that you gave them space, or whether Samantha had, directly or indirectly, requested for it -- the memories were all too foggy by now.

What you do remember is that one moment they were happy together, and the next they were broken up, the relationship lasting just a little over six months. Taehyung never spoke much about it and when you did probe, he would brush it off with scant excuses that they just figured they weren't compatible after all.

That had been some time in the spring. Briefly, you wonder how many wears the scarf had gotten, and how much sentimental value it held. The quality of the material hinted towards a relationship that had been going strong.

Yet, you muse over it as you drape the luxurious material over the prickly christmas tree, Taehyung brushed it off with such brashness that spoke otherwise.

“Hey,” Taehyung breaks the silence that has fallen between you, clearing his throat in a self-conscious manner as if he’s feeling guilty over the awkward turn that the conversation had taken. You look at him, half-hidden behind the tree pines, his eyes pensive. Maybe he’ll finally open up about the relationship -- it’s been eight months after all. But then he flashes his usual elfin grin. “Any luck with your secret santee gift yet?”

You groan, partly because no, you’re still clueless and stuck on what to get him, and partly because he’s once again evaded the topic of his ex.

The incessant buzzing of your phone gets ignored, vibrating almost violently in its spot on the tinyass coffee table next to your feet which you’ve kicked up ever so demurely. The consecutive, rapid-fire notifications can only be from an overly enthusiastic Taehyung.

Irene nudges foot with her own socked one. “Aren’t you gonna check your phone? I can pause the movie if you want.”

“Nah, I’ve watched Home Alone enough times to not care about missing anything. And it’s probably just Tae being all excited about secret santa gift suggestions.”

“Ooh, how’s that going? Finally got him to spill what he might want?”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “No, he’s sending me individualized suggestions for everyone that are so well thought out and personalized that I can’t get them for anyone else.”

Grabbing your still-buzzing phone, you flick through your texts. Just as you’d predicted, Tae’s sent you a bunch of Christmas socks he found on Amazon that he thinks would make a good addition to Jin’s collection of festive socks, a set of really nice paints that would pair well with Yoongi’s newfound interest in painting, and an anthology of time-travel short stories that he thinks would fascinate Namjoon.

“Hm, d’you think he’s called your bluff? Intentionally sending you suggestions that wouldn’t be helpful?”

You shake your head, frowning. “Tae’s not like that. Honestly, it was just a bad move on my part, hoping that he would give some generic gift suggestion that would let slip what he really wants. Tae is too thoughtful to get people generic gifts. He puts his heart and soul into the presents he buys for others.”

Reaching over, Irene pinches your cheek lightly as she coos at you, “Awww, you’re so in love with him. I can feel the cavities forming.”

“Pretty sure those are from the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows you love so much,” you say, tipping your chin in a gesture to the mug in her hands.

Irene sticks her tongue out and takes an extra large sip in typical defiance.

As much as you mock Irene for her love for Lifetime holiday movies and hot chocolate, you do have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to it. Curled up on the lumpy couch in Taehyung’s apartment, cupping the hot beverage in your hands, even the uneven lumpiness of the cheap piece of furniture begins to feel comfortable.

The entire room is dark, save for the glow of the television. Taehyung has always insisted that this is the best way to watch movies. Maybe it’s a good thing your makeshift decorations on the christmas tree -- still standing proudly in the corner of the room -- didn’t include christmas lights after all.

Outside, the snowfall has gotten pretty intense, the temperature dipping significantly compared to the previous few days. It is well and truly winter, the cold showing no mercy to anyone who wasn’t prepared for it. You’re thankful to be inside and with a nice hot drink.

But as the film runs on, you get so engrossed in the plot that you don’t even realize you’ve finished your drink till you drain the last of it. Oh.

Looking over at Taehyung, you could always request for more and you know he’d be more than happy to make you another cup. But the movie is at its climax and the way his eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth slightly agape with how invested he is in the film, you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him now. So you try to ignore the way the cold begins nipping at your fingertips.

Soon enough though, the once warm mug that was a pleasant source of heat became stiff cold ceramic between your equally stiff fingers. Scrunching your toes, you wish you’d thought to bring an extra pair of socks over, especially when you think about the pair of socks you’d stuffed into your boots, soggy and cold with melted ice. A shiver runs through you at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks, and you jump. You didn’t realize he’d noticed.

“Yeah, a little.”

He pouts. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? C’mere,” he says, and lifts the edge of his blanket, revealing his plaid pants and sweatshirt combination.

Crawling in quickly, you tell yourself that you’re only complying because you know he’ll put up a fight if you don’t, and you don’t want the cold air getting into the cocoon of warmth he’s created with his blanket. Not because you’re excited to snuggle up with Tae. Definitely not. But now that you’re here, you may as well make the most of it, you figure.

Taehyung yelps as you press your icy toes to his warm thigh. Your arms wind their way around him, desperately seeking out the warmth of his body heat. Nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck, you sigh, finally getting some relief from the cold.

The tiniest of groans escapes him. Then, a tight gasp. Stiffening, you peer up at Taehyung carefully.

He’s turned to look at you too, his attention that was once rapt by the movie now focused directly on you with equal intensity. Nervous energy accumulates within you and your heart rate skyrockets, now keenly aware of every hard plane of his body against yours. The logical part of you regrets the way you launched yourself at him and gave no regards for personal space. But you’re only dimly aware of that. The part of you that just wants Taehyung, the part that you’ve kept under lock and key, now fights against the restraints you’ve tied yourself into, unravelling you. You gnaw at your lip unsurely, and you watch as Taehyung’s gaze drops to your lips, heavy-lidded as they linger there, then darting back up to meet yours head-on.

The hand that he has on your hip grips you a little tighter, and you clutch the front of his sweatshirt in response. Your heart is pounding now, and the headiness of it all makes you feel swirly. Is he leaning clo-

Slam!

Both of you jump. The noise from the film startles you both, and you accidentally head butt Taehyung’s chin in the midst of it. He yelps in pain.

“I’m so sorry!” You frantically rub the spot to soothe it. “Are you ok?”

He laughs it off in his usual carefree manner. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It’ll be fine in a bit,” he says, pulling you into his chest, his warmth emanating from his chest to your back in a comforting manner. “Let’s continue watching the movie.”

With his arms wound around you, you wonder if he can feel the way your heartbeat continues to beat erratically. If he does, he says nothing about it. And underneath you, you can feel clearly how his heartbeat matches yours in its stuttering pace. But you say nothing about it. Not for the duration of the movie, not when it ends, not when you stand to leave, and not when he wishes you goodnight at the door.

The next day, you wake up with thoughts of yesterday sending your mind into a spiralling whirlpool. You decide it’s time to make an emergency call.

Also, it’s five days to Christmas and you still haven’t thought of a suitable gift for Taehyung.

“Hello?” comes a chirpy voice over the line.

“Jiminie!”

“____! What’s up?”

“Listen, I need your help. It’s about the secret santa thing.”

“What about it?”

“I need a suggestion for a gift for your best friend.”

Jimin chuckles. “Isn’t he also your best friend?”

“Well, yes, but…”

You take him through your original plan to covertly ask Taehyung what he would like by asking what would make a good gift, and how it got completely derailed, to which Jimin just laughed. And then your discussion with Irene on finding something that has been a constant in his life. Since you’re on the phone with Jimin, you take the chance to rant about your annoyance with yourself at not foreseeing Taehyung’s thoughtfulness and the personalized gift suggestions that he’s been giving you.

“____,” Jimin interrupts you mid-rant. “The answer is right in front of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your plan didn’t really fail. If Tae is suggesting personalized gifts, then…” he trails off meaningfully.

You gasp. “Oh. You’re absolutely right, Jimin, you genius!”

“This was your own plan, ____.” He chuckles. “Now as for what has been constant in his life… Do you really not realize?”

Oh.

“Jimin, you’re a genius, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Ok, I gotta go now,” you say, excitement zipping through you as your mind fills abuzz with different ideas now that Jimin has set you on the path.

“Seeya on the 25th, you dork.”

“See you!”

Belatedly, you realize you missed out on telling Jimin about what had happened the day prior. But you shrug it off, figuring that you could tell him about it another time.

---

But as it turns out, you don’t. The hectic rush of preparations for Christmas keep you and your friends so busy, you’re thankful everyone’s blocked out Christmas night for each other or you’d just miss each other completely otherwise.

Days on from the eventful movie night you had with Taehyung, the distance has already caused the memories of the night to go slightly fuzzy. You wonder if it had really even happened, or if you were just overthinking everything as per usual.

And since Taehyung never brought it up, your friendship carrying on in the easy status quo, it was simple enough to chalk it up to your own imagination.

The rush towards Christmas keeps itself up even till Christmas day itself. You’re huffing a little as you squeeze yourself and your grocery bags through the doorway of Taehyung’s apartment. The lopsided feeling of your beanie sitting askew on your head is just one part of your disheveled state right now.

“Tae!” You set the bags down and replace the spare key in its hiding place. “I’m here!”

He comes bursting out of his room and running over to help you with the bags. “Is it time to bake?” His tone is bright and shimmering with anticipation. Baking Christmas cookies with each other’s families was a tradition the two of you grew up with, and a tradition you both intended to keep even while away from your hometown.

Pulling the cookie cutters out of the bag, you wave them with a grin. “Shall we? We still have to prepare dinner after this and make sure we log onto Zoom on time too.”

The afternoon is filled with a flurry of flour and butter and sugar, cookie cutters and oven mitts, and a whole lot of messy icing. You pipe out a beautiful blue and white star, if you do say so yourself, taking pride in the baking skills you’ve honed over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, Taehyung scribbles Yeontan on a star-shaped cookie of his own. He adds this to his collection of alien cookies and rabbits on the moon.

When you’re both done decorating and the icing is left to set, you get to work on dinner. It’s a simple affair, just some mashed potatoes that you set Taehyung to work on, some lightly roasted veggies, and a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket in place of the usual Christmas turkey your families would normally have.

Grabbing plates to serve up your dinner, you can hear the chorus of hellos from the living room as Taehyung sets up his laptop to join the Zoom call. It fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing, the cacophony of noise from your friends still as familiar as it always is even though it’s filtered through the speakers on the laptop. If anything, it may even be more chaotic than ever, with everyone speaking over each other, the social cues becoming even harder to read over the virtual platform.

When you finally enter the room with your two plates, the noise only gets louder, everyone shouting to greet you. You say a quick hi and slip back into the kitchen to get the tray of cookies to show off to the rest over the webcam.

You take your place next to Taehyung, seating yourself next to him in a similar cross-legged position, your knees knocking together as you both squeeze to get into frame together. Memories of the movie night come back to you, but Taehyung seems unfazed. Feigning calmness, you try to focus on the ongoing exchange instead.

The conversation drives itself, years of friendship and months spent apart from each other fuelling the chatter. With small talk on how Christmas day was for everyone, quick catch-ups on how everyone’s doing, inside jokes and references to shared experiences of the past, the atmosphere feels just like that one year you all went on a camping trip together and sat around the bonfire on the final night, swapping stories and jokes in a breezy fashion.

Just as the conversation slips into an easy placidity, Hoseok suggests you all move on to the secret santa bit of the night.

That’s when you gasp. Amidst the manic pace of the day and its activities, you’d forgotten to retrieve your present from where you’d stowed it in your apartment. In the same way that you treated Taehyung’s apartment like your own, so was your apartment to him. Taehyung could walk into your apartment any moment, whether you were present or not, and you needed to find a good secret place for your present. Stashing your prepared present in an unused cupboard in the kitchen, you remember commending yourself for having found such a great hiding spot. Turns out, it was so excellently hidden that even you had forgotten about it till this very moment.

But your internal struggle and the guilt that plagued you went unbeknownst to the rest, each taking turns to open their presents. A whole range of reactions and sound effects went on, Hoseok thanking Taehyung for his gifted sunglasses with such sincerity that transcended the boundaries of the webcam and screen. Yoongi had bought Jin a new fishing reel, and the boys were in the midst of discussing their next fishing trip.

But it was Namjoon’s reaction and the chaos that ensued that truly had you relaxing a little from your anxious-frustrated-guilty state.

“Snacks? And wet wipes?” Namjoon’s expression is incredulous as he pulls the items out of the brown paper bag. “Who’s giving me all these freebies?!”

“FREEBIES?!” Next to Namjoon, Jin smacks the table, causing him to jump. “I’ll have you know that those snacks were selected after careful observation, and I even went so far as to scout out for the specific brand you like and some even required shipping from elsewhere because the grocery stores near us didn’t stock it, and I got you wet wipes because you’re always spilling things, or maybe you could use them after you’re done snacking while on the go, but you still have the AUDACITY to call it FREEBIES?!”

At the sight of Jin gone red in the face, the snickers that the rest of you had been holding in came bursting out.

“Ok, I think we’re the last two to open our gifts,” Taehyung says, reading the room and moving on quickly before Jin could get even more agitated. “____, this is yours from your secret santa.”

Ripping open the wrapping paper swiftly, you find a brown leather-bound journal with your initials embossed on them in gold.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” you gush. “And since we’re the last two, this must be from Jimin!”

Even through the screen, the sight of your friend’s smile, eyes all scrunched up with the sincerity of it, has your heart swelling.

“And that means… that I’m your secret santee!” Taehyung gasps. “No way. And this whole time I was calling you a bad liar.”

He rambles on, explaining to the rest about your sly method of attempting to discreetly ask him what he might like for Christmas. The whole time, you’re chewing on your lip, trying to find the right moment to interject and explain what’s happened.

“Ok! So,” Taehyung finally pauses, looking at you expectantly, “I’m ready for my present!” His hands are cupped and ready to receive the present… that will not make it to him tonight.

You place your hands in his, lowering them gently and taking in his obvious confusion. “I’m so sorry, Tae, I left your present back at home. I promise I’ll bring it over tomorrow! Or you can come over after this to grab it if you want.”

“Oh,” he says, puppy dog pout hitting you full-force with guilt. “But I still want a gift now, so…”

Grasping your hands that are still in his, he tugs you forward into his chest, and plants a soft kiss on your lips.

Silence. Both from your brain, and from everyone around.

It lasts for two seconds -- your group of friends has never found it easy to shut up after all -- and then it’s an eruption, pulling you back to the reality that the two of you are not alone.

You can hear Jungkook screaming, “GROSS!” and Namjoon yelling in confusion. But Jimin’s tinkling laughter, filled with unmistakable joy, cuts through the noise along with a raspily muttered, “It’s about fucking time.” from Yoongi.

In the background, you hear Jungkook asking, “Waaaait, so does this mean that Seokjin has to give Namjoon a kiss now too?” and Jin’s immediate, “NO!”

The noise jump starts your brain back into motion. You attempt to pull away from Taehyung, highly aware that your friends are subject to witnessing all of this, but he tugs you back, anchoring you to him with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. The laughter from the laptop speakers turns into cries of outrage and then an abrupt return to silence with a click, and you realize that Taehyung must have closed his laptop, ending the Zoom call.

Looping your arms around Taehyung’s shoulders, you begin to respond to his kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. It’s new, it’s electrifying. But it’s also like something deep inside has finally clicked, like you’ve finally arrived. You’re home.

“Did you know?” you ask. “About me having feelings for you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. Heat rises to your cheeks at that, and you hide your face in his chest. Now that you don’t have to be seated on the floor to be in frame for the Zoom call, the two of you opted to move to the lumpy but still much more comfortable couch.

The gentle strokes of his hand in your hair is familiar and comforting, reminding you of the infinite patience he’s always shown to you. It’s a reminder that this is Taehyung. The boy you grew up with through thick and thin. Your best friend. And that gives you the boldness to continue despite your embarrassment.

“How? And when?”

“Honestly,” he trails off slightly, in thought, “I think it was Samantha who made me realize it.”

A pang of jealousy hits you. But you’re immediately wondering if it’s even warranted, now that you guys are… Well, what exactly are you? You make a mental note to clarify that.

“She was jealous, y’know,” he continues. “Didn’t want to say it at first, and tried to put up with it because she understood that our friendship is not something she could just expect me to give up.

“But it got to a point where things just couldn’t go on any longer. What she initially saw as discomfort that she would learn to overcome with time, soon became an awareness that the two of us were crossing the line of just friends, even if we hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Taehyung sighs, causing you to look at him. He smiles down at you, and skims your cheek with his thumb affectionately. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been here by my side all my life, that it was such a gradual thing and neither of us really realized it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “It was only after you began dating her that I realized how not okay with that I was. I thought it was just me being the possessive best friend trying to get used to having to share you. But then I realized I didn’t just want my best friend back. I wanted what she had.”

Swallowing hard, you remember the bitterness of the jealousy you felt back then, and that still recurs from time to time.

“What about you then? How did you come to recognize your feelings?” you ask.

“Samantha made me face up to them.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “One day she laid it all out, about us being more than just friends. And when I denied it, she asked me, would I choose you over her if I were forced into making that decision. The answer very nearly rolled straight off my tongue. And that was when I knew.”

“Is that why you broke up?” you ask. Taehyung nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you silly girl.” He boops you on the nose. “I’m just thankful that Samantha was as understanding as she was about it. I think that’s why it took me a long time to get over it -- knowing that I’d hurt someone as wonderful as she is with my own blind ignorance.”

“And you too,” he says, leaning down to lay a soft peck on your lips. “I hated knowing that I’d hurt you because of my lack of awareness of my own feelings. That’s why I had to take my time this time around, to make sure that I know for sure.”

“Do you know for sure now?”

“Yes,” he says, holding your gaze with seriousness that has you swimming in its depths. “I’m yours now. Purely and fully.”

When you returned to your apartment the next morning, Irene was waiting to grill you on your whereabouts. It didn’t escape her notice that you hadn’t come back to the apartment the previous night, and she joked about how the vacant rooms in Taehyung’s apartment probably didn’t matter because you could always spend the night sharing his bed anyway.

And when you, blushing madly but holding your own nonetheless, informed her that she was right, well, you should have anticipated her squeals of excitement. “Tell me everything!” she had demanded.

You also should have anticipated the endless teasing that she would put the two of you through, especially in the Christmas season. After a trip out to the stores, finally taking a break from her Lifetime holiday movies marathon, she’d returned with copious amounts of mistletoe to hang all around the apartment, insisting the two of you make up for lost time.

But what Irene doesn’t need to know is just how much the two of you agree with her. Stealing a tiny sprig of mistletoe from around the house -- there’s so much that she wouldn’t even notice anyway -- you pack it into one of the clear baubles you’d bought for Taehyung’s Christmas present, nestling it into the box alongside the other clear baubles that were customized with pictures of the two of you.

[uwua3]

something more. (home for the summer)

🍁��� fushimi omi

summary: the mad wolf was nothing you expected, but everything you needed for the summer warnings: alcohol/drugs (mentions, no mc usage), angst, bruises, change, crying, death (mentions), graduations, kissing, motorcycles, omi's past, open ending, reunions, scars, separation, sneaking around author's note: bunnie is slowly realizing how old she's getting ;; but in all honesty, the summer of senior year is always a bittersweet feeling, knowing that everything is changing within two months or so. although it's a possibility bunnie may not write as much, or even anymore, once she enters college, she still has this time to do what she loves. i hope you may accept me for as long as you want before we eventually split. if you resonate with this feeling, please enjoy this one-shot! word count: 3,574 music: home for the summer - sara kays

WE STARTED GETTING CLOSE FRESHMEN YEAR, WHEN ALL OF OUR FRIENDS WERE SMOKING CIGARETTES AND WE COULDN’T STAND THAT SECONDHAND SMOKE SO WE’D LEAVE AND DRIVE AROUND UNTIL YOU HAD TO DROP ME OFF AT HOME They said that the big bad wolf of Sekichiku was nothing but bad news, but then why was he so warm in your arms? You couldn’t believe even when you opened your eyes. Fushimi Omi driving his motorcycle just a little slower this time, his leather jacket pressed against your cheek as the night waned. Everyone called him “Mad Wolf”, a title only fitting for the most ruthless of predators amongst the underground of your high school. Yet… how could be a wolf be so gentle? So kind? So lovely in every way?

It started with a party meant for anyone but you. You didn’t know why you decided this was the night to rebel, but it was a mistake. Instead of putting your head in the books and staying quiet in the front of the class, for once you decided to attend a gathering full of things you’ve only read about. Drinks and drugs were mixed in an unhealthy solution for failing tests, missing homework, and any other teenage problem associated with the academic system. When you found yourself outside for the chance of anything except breaking the law, the epitome of what you were avoiding showed up. Omi, in his scarred and bruised glory, quietly closed the door behind him after noticing your rigid state. When his loud boots thumped against the patio floorboards, you wondered what this looked like. A tall, strong wolf with a smile of sharp teeth and narrowed eyes staring down upon his next prey. But, when you turned to meet his amber eyes, you didn’t find a villain belonging to the fairytale of “Little Red Riding Hood”. Instead, Omi softly smiled with dull teeth and eyes that glowed underneath the golden street lamps. When he spoke, his voice healed you like a spoonful of honey, the words void of claws like you expected. “Are you okay? I noticed you’ve been outside for some time, is there anything I can do to help?” Before you shook your head, your gaze subconsciously fell upon the motorcycle chained to a fence, a helmet decorated in boyish stickers that referenced children T.V. shows made you falter. When Omi followed your line of sight, his expression gleamed with something of interest. “Ever driven on a motorcycle before?” This time, you shook your head, arms wrapped around you to keep warm before Omi offered his hand. “Let’s go then.” At your concerned expression at riding a motorcycle with one of the most infamous delinquents around, Omi exhaled through his nose, understanding your apprehension but disappointed nonetheless. It looked like he expected this sort of reaction, though it did nothing to comfort the “Mad Wolf”. “I promise, it’ll be okay. I’ll be extra careful, you have my word.” Omi had no reason to lie, not when his friends were just behind the walls doing everything that got a high schooler excited. You thought something would’ve deterred you from agreeing, like the secondhand smoke scent from Omi’s jacket or the manmade rips in his jeans. But, maybe there was something else that made you take his hand, like the worn leather bracelet you noticed Nachi also wore or the wallet of family photos peeking from his pocket. Either way, you took Omi’s hand, letting him lead you to his motorcycle. His hand was calloused and rough from the years of doing god knows what, his knuckles stained with remnants of a fight not too long ago. Yet, when he latched the spare helmet on your head, you noticed his hands smelt like flour and coffee. If you closed your eyes, it would’ve felt like a white knight leading you onto his horse despite it being the complete opposite. You sat behind Omi, unfamiliar with the position of such a vehicle. Omi checked in on you, looking over his shoulder as he searched for something in your face. Regret, embarrassment, shame, possibly. “I won’t go fast, don’t worry. But, you can still… um… hold on?” When Omi’s voice raised to a question at the end, you didn’t notice his stutter as you hid your face in his shoulder, hugging his waist. Omi’s abdomen tensed for a moment, before relaxing as he let out a deep breath. You would’ve given up anything to know what he was thinking in that moment. You didn’t have time to ask before Omi revved his engine, driving off down the pine-tree ridden road in your small town. True to his word, Omi didn’t drive like he normally did, with no regard for who saw him speeding past some rundown cop. But, Omi patiently cruised down the familiar roads, past the houses with blacked-out windows and everyone asleep. You should’ve felt scared, terrified even. But, you couldn’t. Not when the moon was bigger than ever, with a crown of stars gracing the night’s visage. Not when

this was the most daring thing you’ve ever done up until your junior year, not when the party was miles behind you, not when Omi was this caring of someone he’s never even officially met before. “Can we go a little faster?” After Omi got your confirmation you were serious, you lifted your head to watch the stars pass by in a blur. Yet, Omi’s golden gaze remained consistent, his sights drifting to your bright smile and exhilarating awe. Without realizing, your fists clenched the material of Omi’s jacket whenever a turn was made, your fingers passing over Omi’s stomach. He wondered if you could feel his heart leap whenever your breath ghosted over his already red ears. It was a hour of incoherent conversation and mumbles of nothings before you were outside of your home, your window still open from sneaking out a little while back. When Omi silently stopped, neither of you knew what to do. You didn’t want to let go, nor did you want to accept the best night of your life was suddenly over. Omi turned, both of you much closer than before. His eyes carried the aura of the stars, his smile as consistent as the moon. Fushimi Omi was made of whatever made the night worth staying up for. You never wanted to sleep again. “Can I see you again?” And again, and again, and again. Omi nodded, at a loss of words for some reason. When you gave back his helmet, your hands brushed and you nearly dropped it from the sheer feeling alone. Omi was too considerate to act like he noticed, so he bid you goodbye—I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?—as you disappeared inside. He didn’t leave until he saw you wave from your room, to which he waved back with a twinkle in his eye. When Omi drove away, both of you let out a breath, hands over your hearts at what could’ve been something more. Only time would tell what happened next. SWEAR THAT WAS YESTERDAY, BUT IN TWO WEEKS, I’LL BE MOVING SOUTH AND YOU’D BE MOVING TO A TOWN THAT I HAD NEVER HEARD OF I WISH WE HAD MORE TIME, WHY DID I EVER WANT TO GROW UP? It almost felt like yesterday that everything was so much more simple. When friends didn’t die, when the burden of college didn’t weigh you down, when change didn’t come in the form of extremities. At least one thing stayed the same: Omi and his starry eyes and his moonlit smile. Though, that’s dimmed ever since Nachi. Omi didn’t wear his leather jacket anymore, instead letting you keep it when the evenings got cold for the summertime. He must’ve washed it a thousand times over; you didn’t know if it was because of you or the memories attached to it. Either way, Omi was beginning to stop staring when you showed up in his jacket, the only thing left of his past he’s been trying to erase. A year had passed since the party, but it felt like nothing. It felt like all those nights of stargazing, constellation-finding, and moon-chasing became blurred together, a collage of being alive with someone you had just met. Now, Omi was more than a friend, he was your best friend, a soulmate, maybe something more. Omi’s loud steps remained the same, though he was more quiet this time on the roof. You two laid next to each other, hands getting closer and closer before someone pulled away last second. The summer days passed in a haze, nothing particularly exciting until the sunsets onward, where you two knew exactly what to do. Everything was quiet when it came to being with Omi past midnight, except the unsteady beats of your hearts when the possibility of something more shined. Despite that, it was quiet, something both of you longed for during the day. “Do you ever think about what the stars will look like at Yosei?” When you asked, Omi slightly frowned, as if he forgot he was moving to the heart of Veludo Way in just two weeks time. After careful consideration of your curiosity, Omi stretched his arms, resting his head upon them as he seemed to search for something. He always did that, Omi never thought anything was simple.

“No… they won’t look like they do now, I suppose. It won’t be the same.” Without you there by my side, both of you ignored the unsaid words that came with the statement. You nodded, knowing you felt the same way. Veludo Way was a distant world away, Yosei University was taking your Omi away. Light years away. “How have your brothers reacted to the news?” At that, the tension that was ebbing away at the conversation eroded, and Omi’s light came back as usual. Omi ran his free hand through his hair, smiling at some distant memory he wanted to share with you. “Not any good, that’s for sure. Kai & Gaku can’t imagine Pops waking them up since I always did. It’s gonna be a big adjustment for them to actually take responsibility of their own lives.” Although Omi rolled his eyes, he did so fondly whenever he thought about his two younger brothers. You knew he was immensely proud of the young men they’ve been growing into, it was a sense of pride that he had instilled inside him ever since you’ve met him. Ever since you saw those faded stickers still on his helmet, you knew who placed those. “Of course, a life without you isn’t worth imagining.” Shit. You meant to say it lightheartedly, but it came out heavier than expected. With that, a quietness settled between you two, both of you trying to find the right words for the occasion of leaving each other. “You’ll be fine without me, I know it.” But, I don’t like it like that, selfishly enough. I know you’ll be better than ever, but I wish… When a shooting star passed out of the corner of your eye, you pointed it out with the same junior-year awe as if this was your first life. Omi was glad to know the news was right; the meteor shower of the season was tonight, as if it was a last hurrah before both of you left this small town for good. “Make a wish!” I wish we had more time. Despite the wish pulling on his heart strings, Omi turned his head, your side profile greeting him with a smile. The stars were reflected in your eyes, and Omi wondered what a sunrise would look like. It was too late now. “Let’s see a sunrise together when summer comes around, okay?” You nodded, turning and seeing the moon. You didn’t make a wish, not when you had everything you wanted right in your sight. Omi took your hand again, and it was softer than last time he offered it. Omi brought your conjoined hands to his lips, murmuring something about a promise before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You missed the final shooting star of the night, instead you saw it pass in Omi’s gentle eyes as he leaned in. “Thank you for the summer, my lucky shooting star.” You thought of a wish as Omi kissed you. I wish we were something more. YOU SAID YOU’LL SEE ME WHEN WE’RE HOME FOR THE SUMMER WE WON’T HAVE TO WORK SO WE’RE GONNA DO WHATEVER THE HELL WE WANNA ‘CAUSE WE KNOW THAT ONE DAY, WE’LL BE GONE FROM EACH OTHER Despite only being a year away, your hometown almost felt unfamiliar. New employees manned the typical shops you used to frequent, a new graduating class was celebrating, and overall, people were now older. But, Omi didn’t change. Not with his singular scar on his cheek, his eyes lighting up when he sees you, his warm touch when he hugs you. You heard his bag drop at his front door first before feeling his arms hug you, his words comforting as you two embrace after so, so long. “Welcome home.” You greeted him back, the words sticking to your skin like a sheen layer of sweat that always came with the incoming summer heat. Home… was it your traditional suburb with kids playing in the street and a generation of the same mailmen home? Or, was it something else? You felt Omi wrap his arm around your shoulders, his muscle as present as ever as he guided you to visit his family, the brothers happily welcoming you both into the Fushimi household. Home was Omi, that was all. You exhaled, bending down to ruffle Kai’s hair and praise Gaku for how big he’s gotten. After you politely greeted Omi’s father, to which he harrumphed and insisted you had to call him by his name at this point, you knew this

was home as well. Home for Omi, and due to the open hearts of the Fushimi boys, home for you, too.

You found yourself in Omi’s bedroom, something you weren’t familiar with. It was still clean, organized, and full of warm tones upon black walls, surely something attempting to cover his past delinquent days. As the door clicked close, Omi gently tugged you onto his bed beside him, bringing out his gaze reserved only for you. You didn’t hesitate to lean your head on his shoulder, feeling at ease. Omi took your hand, his grip careful but verging onto desperation. As if being away from you for so long had taken everything in him. You knew that wasn’t true by any means, but Omi’s shuddering breath and hand squeeze tried to say otherwise. When you cupped Omi’s face, he relaxed in your touch, leaning into your hands as he looked down on you; you could tell Omi was a bit embarrassed to let you see how emotional he was getting at the reunion. You didn’t expect a man who’s life was rough around the edges to have the most sincere of hearts, but Omi was always like this. Always gentle, always kind, always gentle in every way. “I missed you, too.” When you said those words, Omi moved forward as if making up for lost time, both of you falling upon the bed in a heap of giggles and whispers. It was everything but I love you because that would change everything, something neither of you needed during this time. Instead, a combination of I hope summer lasts forever and I could only think of you when it was a full moon that filled the room of someone you wish you had knew sooner. WE’LL HAVE LIVES IN TWO DIFFERENT SUBURBS WE’LL HAVE FAMILIES WITH DIFFERENT LOVERS BUT FOR NOW, I KNOW I’LL SEE YOU WHEN WE’RE HOME FOR THE SUMMER It was the first night you had spent in your own bedroom before a knock sounded on your window. When you sleepily opened your eyes, Omi’s figure was illuminated by the moon, his eyes still warm of starlight despite being shadowed. You hurried to unlatch the window to let him in, not bothering to question how he managed to sneak to your room so silently. Although busting into each other’s room wasn’t an impossibility, it was only on rare occasions that you two ever encroached on such intimate territory. Though, neither of you were in high school anymore. Perhaps, it was different now. “What time is it?” You mumbled, your helping hand lingering longer than one would expect of a friend. Omi didn’t mind, he never did, as he looked around for something. When Omi located his jacket still hung around your desk chair, he wrapped it around your shoulders as the chilly breeze entered through the open window. “Time to fulfill our senior year promise. Ready?” You didn’t think twice and followed Omi outside of the window, knowing at this point you’d trust him with your life. Omi knew your backyard like the back of his hand as he avoided setting any sprinklers or devices off, not needing your guidance. You watched his broad back attempt to fit through small spaces, it took everything in you not to laugh at how ridiculous all of this was. Sneaking around like there was still curfew in place, as if both of you weren’t legally adults. By now, Omi had reserved his spare helmet only for you, meaning it was second nature for him to close the clasp snugly. Although this time, his eyes melted at the sight of you, as if in disbelief you were standing in front of him after all of this time. Tiredly, you rested your head against Omi’s shoulder as he made sure you were situated in the back of his motorcycle, something he had left at home. Omi drove off, the speed just right so that it’d blow your hair back the way you liked it. Despite being on the vehicle a countless number of times, it still took your breath every time of how fortunate you were. You tightly hugged his waist, wondering if he could feel the butterflies against your ribcage. Before you could ask why both of you were up so early, Omi parked in the same spot as always when things became a bit much.

It was off closer towards the woods, where a picnic area besides the lake still had the same paint from a decade ago. The grass tickled your ankles as you hopped off, admiring the calm waters before a bird chirped. At that, Omi walked up beside you, his footsteps always loud in your presence. A softer hand gently held onto your chin, forcing you to look up. You noticed the water reflecting the sky first as hues of orange and blue dominated your vision. It was the first sunrise you’ve been awake for, and you were sharing it with the man of the night himself. But, when you glanced at Omi, you realized he wasn’t just made of stars and moonlight. The sunrise emphasized the warmth of his eyes even more as a golden glow surrounded his happy smile. Omi was everything worth staying up for, everything from the sunrises to the sunsets and more. I love you, you wanted to say but didn’t. It would change everything, it would mean that the possibility of “something more” could become “nothing”. You couldn’t, neither could Omi. Perhaps… this was all it ever could be. YOU’VE BEEN BUSY, THAT’S OKAY I STILL CAN’T WAIT TO BE HOME FOR THE SUMMER When you had driven off back to your college, the first text from Omi was reminiscent of a simpler time, where kissing on rooftops was the most thrilling thing you’ve ever done. “I’ll see you next summer, okay?” It made you pull over and rest your forehead against the wheel, keeping your eyes closed as you felt like the sun was too bright. It was still too hot, the clouds were too big, the sky too blue. It was too much, too far away from Omi who was heading the other direction. You wished your head was resting against Omi’s shoulder as he drove a little more over the speed limit underneath the moon and stars. You wished the sun was beaming onto both of you after witnessing its earliest hours. You wished you were with Omi for every moment in between the best memories of your life. Summer was such a cruel concept, a promise that could be taken away at any time. I wish we had more time, you thought, knowing there was nothing else you could do. Omi put his phone in his pocket, knowing it was time to leave after seeing you off. Life was so uncertain, it’s as if both of you knew this was the last summer you two would share before even more things changed. But, despite only having three or so years, it didn’t feel like enough. If only he told you he loved you at that sunrise, if only he didn’t just kiss you without explaining what it meant, if only he could drive you around for just a day longer. If only… I wish we were something more, Omi thought, but it was for nothing. I love you, you typed but put your phone in your pocket. The possibility of something more became nothing.

[flowesona]

picture perfect - yandere! kihyun x f! reader

a/n: i know i don’t normally post monsta x content on this blog, but i enjoyed writing this fic and wanted to share it here without the feeling of guilt that comes with posting a non-request on the joint blog! please let me know if you like it :>

warning: stalking, abuse and suicidal allusions

The strap of his camera bag weighed on his shoulder, but not nearly as heavily as it did on his conscience. Yet he had no choice but to comply - with the threat of losing his scholarship on the line, he was putty in the hands of his psychotic professor, who’d sent him on the ‘mission’ to stalk his ex-wife. 

His musings on the morality of what he was doing were cut short as he heard the front door of the house he was observing open and close. There she was. 

Kihyun raised the camera and snapped a few pictures, capturing the flush faced woman as she walked out onto the drive. A young girl was in her arms, swaddled in a warm coat as her mother opened the car and tucked her into a car seat. 

She had a child. As if she was dead-set on making Kihyun feel awful. Still, he persisted in taking the photograph from his hiding spot, hoping the camera wasn’t too loud. Luckily, the woman was too occupied with taking care of her daughter to pay attention and soon enough she was climbing into the driver’s side of the car and leaving. 

He gazed after her, still rooted to the spot even though his job was done. When he snapped out of his daze he pulled out his phone and texted his boss of sorts, who immediately asked to meet him in the red room for a ‘friendly chat’. 

“There wasn’t anyone else there, right?” Junho asked, having snatched the camera out of Kihyun’s hands the second he arrived.

“No sir, just the woman and her child.” Kihyun confirmed, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

“I’d prefer a clearer angle next time. This feels a bit distant.” His professor commented. “I’ll give your camera back once I have these printed.”

“Wait, n-next time?” 

“Yes. You need to do this until we’re back together, understood?” Junho snapped.

“Sir, I can’t do that!” Kihyun protested, only for Junho to approach him in such an intimidating manner that he found himself backing up.

“I guess this scholarship really doesn’t matter to you, then. A shame.” The professor tutted. “And how disappointed your parents will be when they find out the reason you were kicked out of photography school was stalking a poor innocent woman.”

Kihyun felt his heart drop to his stomach as Junho gave him a seemingly friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“I’ll see you this afternoon for my lecture, correct?”

The student just nodded numbly. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The neighbourhood was quiet at night, only the occasional hooting of owls breaking the silence. The blackened streets only lit by a few street lamps provided a cover for Kihyun, dressed in all black with a key clutched between his fingers.

‘She’ll be asleep by 10PM, she has to work late on a thursday so she can never stay up late.’ The words of Junho lingered in his mind as he slipped the key into the keyhole and the front door creaked open. ‘Besides, she never remembers to lock the door. That’s always my responsibility.’ 

The first thing he noticed was that the house clearly needed an extra pair of hands. There were cobwebs in the corners, and the floor was littered with unorganised toys and shoes.

But that wasn’t his purpose. He was there with a mission: a sick, illegal one at that, but something he had to do nonetheless to preserve his chances of success in the future. He found his target quickly and quietly, pushing open the bedroom door cautiously to see the sleeping woman.

Kihyun could almost understand how Junho was so obsessed with her. She looked simply ethereal splayed out, fast asleep. 

He raised his camera up and snapped a picture of her from the doorway, before advancing into the room. Every step closer only made his heart race more, from dread of what could happen if he was caught but also the minor crush he was developing on the older woman.

It was just as he was getting a close up that there was a small knock at the door, just barely audible. Then, before Kihyun could even think to hide, it was pushed open to reveal a small figure silhouetted by the light from the hallway that had inexplicably turned on.

“Mommy?”

The woman in question groaned, creeping open her eyes. The figure dressed in all black standing over her was unmissable. She let out a shrill shriek, falling out of the bed and scrambling to the doorway to grab her daughter.

“Who the hell are you?” She screamed. “Get out of my house!”

“I-I-I…” Kihyun struggled to come up with an answer, his brain clouded. He’d planned an answer beforehand in case this happened - he’d simply gaslight her into thinking it was a dream - but at that moment his mind was fuzzy.

“Get out, before I call the police!” The woman screamed again.

“Please… you have to understand…” He stuttered. “Can I just explain?”

“What could you possibly have to explain?” She snarled back, holding her daughter closer to her chest.

“I’m not here of my own accord. Please, don’t call the police and I’ll explain everything. I swear on my life I would never hurt either of you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Get talking.”

Kihyun gulped, before taking a breath in and explaining it all.

“Your ex-husband is my photography professor. He’s blackmailing me to essentially stalk you, to take photos of you for his “collection”. If I don’t do it, he says I’m going to lose my scholarship, and I can’t just let that happen. I’m really sorry for all the distress I’ve caused, but please don’t ruin my life because of it.” 

The woman sighed, but visibly relaxed. 

“Almost sounds believable.”

She put her daughter down. 

“Go to your room honey. Go back to sleep, okay?”

The young girl nodded and plodded off. 

“We should talk.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

A half empty glass of sherry was nursed between (Y/N)’s fingers, but Kihyun’s remained untouched. 

“I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of my relationship.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s all because of that power-abusing bastard.” Kihyun attempted to comfort her. They’d spent the last half hour giving a brief recounting of their lives, a mellowing experience for the both of them.

“I mean, clearly you’ve got talent, and I would hate to see that go to waste because of me.” (Y/N) sighed, taking another sip of the alcohol to soothe her woes. “I guess you can just continue doing this. He’s just way too smart to break his restraining order and get arrested.”

“Are you sure? I hate invading your privacy, especially now that I know you.” It made Kihyun’s heart ache to even think of being such a creep to the kind-hearted woman.

(Y/N) out and took one of his hands into her own. 

“You’re such a sweet guy, Kihyun. Do you have a girlfriend?”

He felt his face heat up, not quite wanting to admit how the only woman who he was remotely interested in was her.

She chuckled seeing his expression.

“Well, you’re always free to get a drink with me. Or we can have something more, if you’re interested.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Minji loved Kihyun. Whenever he visited after his work for the day was done, she would be waiting by the door with a puzzle she’d picked out for them to do together. (Y/N) would always make them tea as Kihyun entertained her daughter by helping her sort out the puzzle pieces so that they could do the edges. Then they would sit together, the perfect picture of domesticity as Minji talked excitedly about nothing in particular and (Y/N) rested her head on his shoulder and slowly drifted to sleep. He’d leave the dozing (Y/N) and energetic Minji alone as he cooked them supper, often with Minji by his side asking questions about everything he was doing.

There hadn’t been one moment when he’d asked (Y/N) out, or vice versa. Things just fell into place, and there was such a warm feeling Kihyun got as a new part of the family that he almost forgot about his responsibilities. Having to take photos of (Y/N) as if she was a stranger jarred him, when he’d taken to capturing more intimate photos on his phone, saved for the mornings where he didn’t want to get out of bed. 

Kihyun knew he was falling for (Y/N), deeply. It was dangerous knowing his scholarship was on the line and one fuck up could ruin his career permenantly. 

One day, as Kihyun was helping Minji with her homework as (Y/N) was doing the laundry, the phone rang. 

“I’ll get it.” (Y/N) sighed, letting the iron rest as she reached for the landline. “Hello?”

There was a pause as Kihyun paid no mind to it, quietly pointing out where Minji had made a mistake.

“Junho?” Kihyun froze. Surely he wasn’t going to make a move, surely he wasn’t going to win over (Y/N).

“I’m busy actually, so if you could leave me be-”

Minji smacked the arm of the out-of-focus Kihyun.

“Kihyun, what does this word mean?” She whined loudly, giving him her biggest puppy dog eyes to try and draw him back.

It stayed silent as Junho spoke to (Y/N) down the phone.

“No, you must be hearing things. She’s just reading to herself.” (Y/N) stuttered, and it was like someone had poured a bucket of ice down Kihyun’s back.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She finally snapped back. “Go to hell, and stay away from my family.�� 

(Y/N) slammed the phone down and let out a huge sigh, her breathing having quickened. Kihyun quickly abandoned the english homework and took the shaking mother into his arms, letting her sob into his chest. 

“He knows, he knows. This is a nightmare, he’s going to ruin your career, he’s going to-” 

“Shhhh.” Kihyun held her just a bit tighter, feeling the same fear dwelling in his stomach but quashing it so that he could be strong for her.

“I’m so sorry, I should have never initiated anything between us.” (Y/N) continued to cry, but Kihyun shook his head.

“I wouldn’t exchange you for anything, not even my career.” He smiled. “I’ll sort this all out, don’t you worry.”

The young man saw over (Y/N)’s shoulder the crestfallen face of Minji staring at the couple, and he removed one of his hands from his partner’s back to beckon the young girl, who squealed in delight as she attached herself to his legs.

“No one will take this away from us. I swear”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Processing photos was a relaxing process. Whilst his professor preferred to use digital cameras, Kihyun liked watching the developing film, the quiet that enveloped the room save for the buzz of the LED lights. 

His peace was interrupted with the arrival of Junho, who dropped his bag rather loudly on the floor.

“Yoo Kihyun. I trust you’ve been keeping up with your work?” His voice possessed such animosity it made the student shiver.

“I’m sorry sir, I was busy yesterday. I wasn’t able to take any pictures of your wife for you.” 

“But you visited her, no?”

 Silence spread throughout the darkroom.

“I didn’t. I’m very sorry, I hope you can forgive me.” 

Junho let out a deep, irritated sigh.

“That’s a shame. But also, I know you’re lying to me Kihyun, and I want the truth.” He snarled, grabbing the student’s wrist in his iron grip. “Why did I hear my daughter say your name yesterday?”

“You must have misheard her.” Kihyun replied smoothly, his heart racing nonetheless.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” His superior snapped back, twisting the young man’s wrist until he cried out in pain. “You think you’re so smart, you think you’ve got the world in your hands. But just you wait. First, I’m making sure you lose your scholarship for severe misconduct. Then, I’ll phone all the contacts I have and make sure you can never get into another school like this, no matter where you go, Finally, I’m going to make sure (Y/N) doesn’t even remember your name, so that you have nothing left after your useless escapade.” 

“Fuck you.” The student hissed, tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t let this happen, let himself lose everything he worked for and (Y/N). He finally snatched his wrist away. “I’ll kill you before anything of that happens, you rotten bastard.”

“What will that achieve? You’ll still lose your career, your life, and (Y/N) and Minji will hate you for the rest of their lives.”

No, that wasn’t true. Kihyun had been woken up too many times by (Y/N) crying out in her sleep, wrecked with the emotional damage Junho had done to her. He’d always go and make her a cup of camomile tea, and rub her back when she cried to him about how she wished that she’d never met Junho. She’d be much better off if he was dead.

His swiss army knife was in his pocket. Maybe he could end all their troubles here.

“Now get out of my site, rat. No point doing any more work when you’re going to be kicked out by the end of the day, right?” Junho’s triumphant smirk only served to piss off Kihyun even more.

He found the knife in his pocket, flicking the blade out and letting it rest in his hand.

It was when Junho gave him a shove towards the door that he snapped and pulled it out, brandishing it in front of his face.

“Nice tool you have there, little rat. What are you going to do with it? You haven’t got the guts.” It was to Junho's surprise that he found himself pinned down to the floor, Kihyun’s weight on his chest keeping him from moving as the blade was dragged up his wrists. One of the student’s hands was clasped over the professor’s mouth to keep him from screaming out as he finished his work. The light was leaving the villain’s eyes, and it was sickeningly satisfying to see as Kihyun cleaned off the knife before leaving it in the dying man’s hands. Even if his victim tossed the blade away, it would still have the prints and Kihyun would be cleared nonetheless. He cleaned off his hands, shrugged on his jacket and left the bastard in a pool of his own blood.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It was just after three o’clock, with Kihyun having spent the afternoon in the library studying his theory textbooks, that he got a text from (Y/N).

‘Can you pick up Minji from school as soon as possible please? I can’t leave the house right, I’ll explain it later.’

His heart thudded. He was more than ready to do it for (Y/N), to be the rock of stability in her life. If she ever needed him, he would be there.

Minji was chipper as always, not questioning why she’d been asked to leave classes early although Kihyun did have some difficulty proving to the receptionist that he had permission to pick her up despite not being her father.

She chattered to Kihyun all throughout the journey home, practically bouncing in the seat even after he gently scolded her for distracting him. He could never be mad at her, she was too cute. 

Minji was ready to jump into her mother’s arms the second the front door opened, but the sight of (Y/N)’s reddened eyes as she pulled the two inside before quickly shutting it behind them was enough to concern her. 

And as soon as the three were hidden from the eyes of the public, (Y/N) broke down into tears. 

“M-m-minji… your daddy…” She choked out. “He’s…”

Kihyun rushed to comfort her, letting her sob into his chest.

“We’ll explain to you later, Minji. Do you want to go to your room and play with your dolls?”

The little girl bit her lip, trusting Kihyun but also concerned about the state of her mother. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder with his spare hand, and it was enough to sway her and run off. 

“Honey, we need to sit down.” Kihyun muttered, gently leading her over to the armchair. The mother sniffed and detached herself from him, wiping at her eyes.

“It’s Junho. I got a call from the police. They found him dead, and they think he killed himself.” Kihyun couldn’t care less, but seeing the state (Y/N) was in he knew it was best to fake sympathy and coo apologies.

“It’s all my fault, I told him to go to hell, I told him I hate him. It’s all my fault, I killed him!” She wasn’t exactly wrong, she had been the cause of his death, but Kihyun didn’t want that weight on her shoulders.

“No, it’s not. You’re not to blame for whatever he did.” He whispered. 

“I shouldn't have ever fought him. If I’d been a bit more tolerant, he w-w-wouldn’t be dead!” A new wave of tears dripped down (Y/N)’s cheeks.

“Don’t blame yourself, you did the right thing.” Kihyun repeated, like a mantra. (Y/N) just shook her head at the response. 

“Please, Kihyun. I love you, but this should have never happened.” There was a pit in Kihyun’s stomach as the love of his life spoke. “I think… I think we need some time apart. This doesn’t feel right.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. 

Surely Junho hadn’t been right. Surely (Y/N) didn’t hate him?

“We’re meant to be together, (Y/N). I’m here for you, no matter what. I’d do anything for your love.” He clasped her hands in his. 

“I know. I just can’t do this, the guilt would eat me alive.” She continued, her eyes still watery. “What would I look like, Minji’s father dying and me staying with my new man without a care in the world?!” 

“He was a rotten bastard!” Kihyun raised his voice, standing up. “Why should you care if he’s dead? He hurt you, he deserved everything he got!”

(Y/N) was stunned.

“How could you be so heartless? I never wanted him dead!” She snapped.

“And what if I did?” Kihyun replied heatedly. “He had it coming!”

There was silence, although Kihyun’s blood was boiling so hot he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears.

“Dear lord, Kihyun. What did you do?” (Y/N)’s voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” Kihyun said simply.

“Get out of my house right now.” 

He didn’t move.

“I’m calling the police.”

Her empty threats meant nothing to the lovesick man.

“I’d do anything for you.” He affirmed. “Don’t test that.”

(Y/N) was shaking. She was out of the grasp of one obsessed man, only to fall into the arms of one much worse.

He sat down next to her again, taking her hands into his own.

“No one could ever take me away from you. I swear.”

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

I’ll Tell You My Sins (So You Can Sharpen Your Knife)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst! A lot! (ends in fluff tho), canon typical violence, briefly mentioned and very vaguely descried torture, blackmailing.

Word Count: eight fucking thousand words what the fuck

Summary: Reader hides important information about her past from both Steve and Bucky, causing serious damage to their relationships with her. When Bucky’s severely (likely fatally) hurt, the Reader tries to finally do what’s right.

Beta: @walkingaline​ and I genuinely couldn’t have done it without her. She’s the sweetest fuckin person.

A/N: I’ve dedicated my life to this for two weeks, and it’s positively the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. I’m rather proud of how it turned out, and the feelings I got to explore. Would really love to know what you think!

It’s- vines, climbing up her organs, endless, crawling, and overflowing, thorns stuck inside her skin, digging in, and the breaths come shorter, clipped, chest weighted. There’s no alleviating this pressure, this overwhelming whirlwind of emotions, chaotic, heavy and filthy, slimy and awful.

The rumble of her engine, a loud interruption to her vicious thoughts, digging their claws inside her eyes, filling them with tears. The world is blurry, but the vibration- it's a welcome distraction. Familiar and strong, her motorcycle drives her at this point, muscle memory leading to the Compound, tears flying off her face by the whipping wind.

She’s booking it. Time barely registers. It’s somewhere between lashing thoughts and trembling fingers that the off-white building rises between the trees, overwhelming and tall, glinting lights always on, no matter the time of night. Somewhere between gasping, fast breaths and stuttering heartbeats that she throws the bike to park and runs, fast passes every lock with her ID and forgoes the elevator, knowing full well that the adrenaline thrumming in her veins will carry her up the stairs faster.

Shoes as if weighed by rocks, she feels slow, stuck in mud almost, liquid cement, sinking, drowning in quicksand as she rounds the corner and- Steve’s there, arms crossed over his chest, busted bottom lip pursed with his top one, a deep sigh swelling his chest. His hair is longer than the last time she saw him, he looks battered and bruised, and she’s known him for years- she can read his face clear as day. And as situations like this always have him, she knows, in the clench of his jaw, the statue-still set of his eyebrows, in his stony posture; he’s as worried as he is determined.

The phone call had been rushed.

She shouldn’t have heard it, about to jump in her shower, had she not forgotten her towel on her bed. Naked, feet padding on her plush rug, she digs in her bedside table for her usually silent device. It’s Steve, and she hasn’t heard from him in nearly a month and a half. Instantly she knows something isn’t right.

There’s only so many seconds it takes for the words to sink in, words like “mission went wrong”, and “hurt”, and “won’t make it”, and “Bucky”. Soon she’s pulling on clothes at lightning speed like the universe depends on it, shower be damned. Keys, jacket, helmet forgone, tears stream down her face as if she’s already lost him, bike kick-started because what else is there to do but be there.

And now? She’s here. And she feels foreign and bizarre, stepping in a space that she barely belongs in anymore. It’s sorta how she imagines entering an old house that’s now inhabited by new residents feels like- it feels the same, but in the same way it feels all too different, strange and foreign; revisiting an old life that’s been made into a new one for someone else.

It really doesn’t matter though, does it? Because she’s not here for herself- not for Fury, not Steve, not for the Avengers, or the missions. She’s here- she’s here for him.

Steps even slower now, approaching the Captain himself, very much aware of her knotted shoulders, her shaking hands. It’s evident, suddenly, in his posture that he knows she’s there. His shoulders stiffen just this bit more, and with a breath with which his chin raises a notch, he turns to see her. One foot behind the other, and he moves out the way, letting her in his spot in front of the window of the room Bucky is in-

A gasp.

Time finally stops.

Unrecognizable. Buried under wounds and bruises, endless tubes- her lost boy, James, Bucky. Tears fall at a new speed, and she allows this moment of vulnerability in front of Steve, allows herself to cover her mouth, her expression crumples, her tears flow freely, and- despite being mad at her, despite having patches to mend (if they can even be mended anymore), Steve is there, solid as always, with a hand on her shoulder, urging her in his arms. Old friendships die slowly, she thinks bitterly, and sinks in the comfort, eyes unable to be torn from the sight before her.

It takes some time, a good chunk of it, to compose herself, to part from Steve’s warmth and wipe the wetness off her cheeks. She wraps her arms around her front and shakes.

“We got ambushed,” he murmurs, and the statement is heavy. There’s guilt, sorrow, she’s sure it’s not fun to recall. “My fault. Didn’t know they were that many, must’ve had false info. Barely got to get him out of there.” She shudders. The image is loud and clear in her mind; Steve limping with the leg he’s currently not leaning on, busted and bleeding, carrying an unconscious Bucky, blood dripping from his mouth. She flinches.

“Can I-“ hesitation. A deep breath, shoulders squaring, remembering she no longer asks, she states. “I want to go in.” Steve stares for a second, calculating, thinking, looks back at Bucky, limp on the bed. He nods.

“Go.”

Before she knows it, the door shuts behind her slowly, an industrial, metal click, signifying a sealed door, nearly impenetrable if it was locked. She tries to be calm, but there’s no way, no reason to look composed either, so she flings herself to Bucky’s side, fingers twitching, hands hovering over him, afraid to touch him in case he frails like a burnt paper, in case he turns to dust and disappears before her very eyes.

Tears, once again, fall freely on her cheeks, tracing paths already carved by the previous breakdown, and the prospect of never seeing his wonderful crystal eyes, blue and loving, tears her apart. Worse so, the idea that the last time she saw them, they were red, hateful, betrayed, staring at her as if she was a monster, nothing more than the true scum of the earth, and he was right, and she will likely never be able to make everything right again.

It feels like  claws are tearing at her chest like it’s low quality linen, destroying every tiny piece of her into infinitesimal other pieces and then tearing those too. There she is, now, nothing but rubble and ash, on the floor, limp and bleeding. Heart far too heavy for her chest, breaking again and again, her temples feel like they’re about to burst from the pressure.

Sitting on the chair next to his hospital bed, her fingers tremble, carefully sliding under Bucky’s still ones, holding his hand between hers gently, like a lifeline, leaning her forehead on it. She sits there, folded, crumpled, and she cries.

~

Y/n’s palms are red and kind of stingy, but she pulls her sleeves over them and keeps holding the scalding cup of coffee between her hands anyways. Eyes closed, she lets the steam warm her nose, lets the scent comfort her, and she imagines, with her headphones plugged in her ears, that she is elsewhere, in her apartment with Bucky, on the fire escape, watching the sun descend beneath the skyline of New York City. She imagines his arms around her waist, sitting between his legs with her own dangling off the metal landing and over the street. His voice, vibrating through his chest, onto her back, murmuring teasingly in her ear, nose buried in her hair and his warmth all around her. It’s peaceful, it’s soft and warm and everything she has ever wanted.

When her eyes open, she’s met with sky blue ones, not the ones she was just dreaming of, and she flinches, suddenly very happy her coffee cup has a lid over it.

Steve.

With a sigh, she takes a calming breath, and pulls her headphones out of her ears, tugged by the wire pinched between her fingers. She places them gently on the table in the cafeteria for guests and low-level agents in the compound. It’s nighttime, and the lights in the cafe make Steve’s hair look golden and glimmering.

“How’re you holding up?” She’s not sure how much he means that, and she knows he’s still very much mad at her for everything that’s happened between them. She knows, however, he’s also the one that called her to let her know about Bucky. She feels heavy.

“I can’t stop fuckin’ crying, if that’s what you’re asking,” she tells him, no care to maintain a strong persona, not in front of the person she used to consider her best friend until not so long ago. She flicks the edge of the lid of her beverage with the tip of her nail and looks up at him. Steve looks better than she does for sure. Not because he cares less, or because he’s slept at all, but because the serum gives him more stamina than her. He’s not as tired as she is, despite the hours he’s been awake for. Still, despite his enhanced powers, there’s purple bags under his eyes. “You?”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with a small shake of his head, sighing deeply. She takes that as her answer. Despite wanting to fiddle with something, a way to prevent her hands from shaking, a nervous habit, she pushes her coffee cup towards him, a peace offering, something to hopefully bring him the comfort it brings her. Steve doesn’t touch it. She fiddles with her sleeves instead.

The cafeteria, despite being open twenty-four seven, is quiet. A blanket of silence falls over them and Y/n crosses one leg under the other just to have something to do, something instead of opening her mouth and ruining the temporary civility between them. The words bubble, climb over one another like beasts, up her throat, and threaten to spill- and there’s just so much of them. So many apologies to make, so many explanations to offer, so many please let’s just go back to how we were ’s, so many this is killing me ’s, so many I can’t bear the thought of losing him without at least saying I’m sorry one last time. I don’t want that to happen with you too ’s. It’s all clogging the back of her throat like a spoonful of thick syrup that just won’t go down.

The idea that this might happen with Steve one day too overwhelms her. Two of the people she had found family in now hate her. She can’t let this happen with him, can’t lose him without telling him all of it. The realization; it’s the drop that makes the glass overflow. What if- what if tomorrow, or a month from now it’s Steve on that bed, Steve dying, what if she doesn’t get to tell him all of it? Never gets to apologize? How will she ever forgive herself for the things she didn’t say?

Her eyes well again. Her tongue feels like lead. It’s time.

“I…” She can’t bear to look at him. “Steve, I’m…” a shiver runs violently through her spine. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not Bucky, Y/n.” It’s like a kick in the stomach. She hears what he’s saying. I can’t forgive you for both of us. It almost sounds like your apology is useless.

“Well it’s not just Bucky I need to apologize to.” She looks up at him, and she wills the tears to be held at bay, matching his intensity with her gaze. She clenches her fists, fingernails digging in her skin just to distract part of her brain, to feel less numb. “Do you want to hear the truth?” Steve watches her. His irises bounce between hers, they do a once over of her stance, and she knows how small she looks in her seat, in contrast to him, who, despite his frame of mind, always makes a room smaller just by being in it.

His expression is grim, as he nods seriously. She takes a deep breath.

“This is the truth.”

~~

The older she grows, Y/n keeps thinking that she’s experienced everything there is to. But it truly feels to her like she’s never experienced this kind of cold before. And it’s not- it’s not just external temperature. It’s icicles, lodged under her skin, brutally freezing, causing her to endlessly shudder, tremble like a leaf out in the winter, causing her jaw to lock, her limbs to knot up.

She walks and walks, a woman with a purpose, head held high, as high as a prisoner can hold it and- something really isn’t right with this morning. Something isn’t right, and she can tell because this morning she- she felt something she hasn’t felt in years, something she thought she’d never again feel, a bubble of emotion she truly believed they had snuffed out in her. But it becomes an itch, an itch she can’t seem to scratch, something she can’t exactly put words to, can’t name.

The more she walks, the more the feeling of dread climbs up her throat. This she’s familiar with; fear. Cold and fear, clouding her senses, paralyzing her, as Müller’s door raises in front of her, and she struggles to remind herself to keep walking, keep breathing, one foot in front of the other, inhale, exhale, calm down. There’s no way to escape this anyways.

Director Müller was as tall as his voice was shrill and loud. His features were sharp, glass-cutting cheekbones and dimples that showed far too often. His hair was strawberry blonde and his eyes sunken, as if he was seventy years old with one foot in his grave. His skin looked taught over his bones. Always sharply dressed and always hiding about a dozen knives and pistols somewhere in his office. He liked Japanese jazz, had an affinity for yelling, and drank his whiskey straight. The only affection he’d ever had was reserved for his two small birds, Friedrich and Brigitta, whose singing he adored and who roamed in his office freely.

When he’d first kidnapped her and her older brother, Y/n sat doe eyed and watched as they beat her only sibling, her last relative left alive, to a pulp right in front of her. They didn’t know she had things to offer then. They did it for fun, a show of their capabilities, power play. They did it to break her into submission. When they found out, though, about her knowledge of science, her love for technology… That’s when her life truly ended.

She walks, now, down the freezing corridors, and knocks on Müller’s door three times. Status report straight to me every four days, he’d muttered in sharp German way back when he’d first assigned her missions, back in the beginning, and true to his word, every four days, Y/n was forced to see the skin around his bony face tighten and stretch with another chilling smile.

“Come in,” he yells, and his awful voice bounces in the empty, concrete walls of the corridor. She hears his birds. The door creaks open loudly, metal as it is, and she quickly closes it behind her so that Friedrich and Brigitta won’t escape, something she’s learned to do over the years, after one particular incident no one likes to remember, never mind speak of. He calls her last name with lewd, slimy confidence, supposedly happy to see her, his rotten dimples making an appearance. She sits on one of his chairs, upon his prompting “How’s your assignment progressing?”

“Nicely, sir. I’ve reprogrammed the Chair and fixed previous faults.”

“See, Y/n…” He sits on the plush leather chair behind his desk, hands wringing together and as he says her name, he sits up, elbows on the arm rests. His long lashes and abyssal brown eyes examine her. “I think you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Uh…” Stance maintained, but lips pursed and hands just slightly trembling, she keeps his gaze. She can’t displease him. There’s no room for her failure. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir. There’s… surely ways to improve, b-but the chair- it works well.”

“Ah, but that is not what I hear.” Müller stands up dramatically, rounds his desk with slow steps, and Friedrich starts chirping consistently, sensing the sudden tension in the room, loud, high pitch hurting her ears. She dares not flinch. The cold returns fiercely, heart climbing up to her throat, choking her. This won’t end well. “As a matter of fact,” he leans, rests on his desk, right in front of her, loving his height difference and accentuating it by standing while she sits, a reminder to both of them that he’s superior. Y/n wants to melt into a puddle on the floor, never to be seen again. “I hear that Smith, your test subject… he has almost already recovered.”

Referring, of course, to the poor boy whom they snatched and have provided her as a sick guinea pig, a way for her to test the torture chair they have forced her to make. It’s a requirement, of course, that she tests it on him herself.

“Sir, I don’t think-“

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” In the flash of a blink, he’s pulled a knife from his belt and he’s pushing her back in her seat, by pressing his blade on her throat. “You know what HAPPENS,” a tilt of his head, “when you LIE.” Friedrich is joined by Brigitta, as well as the echo of Müller’s voice, and Y/n’s heartbeat accelerates, her breath is caught in her throat. She feels like her ears are about to burst.

“He was unconscious when-“

“What did I just say?” Lips purse, scared of making any sound that’ll piss him off further. “Seems to me like you’ve forgotten,” he murmurs, flicking his knife shut and narrowing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, straightens up and she doesn’t dare to move an inch, but it feels like her heart has plummeted to the center of the earth, and she wishes it could drag her too, as far away from this as possible. She’s well aware of what’s to come.

 A chilling half hour later she finds herself sucking up tears that’ll only make her situation worse if someone were to see them. The cold, plastic, remote controller is in her hands, and it’s heavy as it’s ever been. She deems herself desensitized of the emotional toll forcefully inflicting torture on innocent people used to take. However, nothing, nothing, could possibly prepare her for what it feels like watching two HYDRA soldiers dragging her bleeding, thrashing brother from his armpits, and forcefully shoving him into the chair Y/n’s made. Director Müller watches her press the appropriate buttons with a sickly smile on his face.

She begs. For the first time in years, she begs God, the universe, something, to save her, to make her disappear. When this doesn’t work, when pleading for somebody to take mercy goes unheard, when the remote feels like the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted, her eyes draw to Müller, who’s watching her intently, waiting for her to carry on with her new assignment.

The millimeters her thumb has to cross feel endless. The process takes eons. The button is nearly unmoving.

Y/n will never forget her brother’s screams.

~~

In the hours that follow, she’s trapped inside her chamber, a tiny room of blank four walls with a hard bed and an open toilet, looking more like a prison cell than anything, the only difference being that in the daytime she’s allowed to come and go as she pleases within the unrestricted areas.

Tears streak her cheeks for yet another night, and the despair has never felt like this before. She thought she’d escape it one day, the guilt, the weight, but it seems she’s trapped, like an ant under a boot, seconds before she bursts to pieces, with the pressure of the entire world on her chest.

The itch grows louder. It’s right there, in the bottom of her heart, something to pay attention to, in her state of absolute isolation and despair. She’s alone, has been alone for so many years, and she wonders, still, why she hasn’t killed herself yet, but the idea that if she does, they’ll probably also kill her brother comes and slaps her in the face. However, what else is there to do? How much torture can she make her brother go through because of her mistakes, how much guilt can she shoulder?

She sits on the bed, counts the bolts that are screwing the vent door on the ceiling, listens to footsteps pass by every so often, and ponders. Silent tears crawl down the curves of her face. She’s lost so much. She hasn’t spoken her native language in years, and sometimes she wonders if she’s forgotten how to.

A pair of heavy duty boots leisurely walk down the hallway, and she recognizes the voices of two guards. Conversation easily flows between them, and Y/n has no choice but to listen.

“Did you hear about the new chair the American has made?” one of them says. Her ears perk.

“The American? No, what about it?”

“They say it’s one of the most painful things they’ve ever used in HYDRA.” Y/n winces.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s what I heard. Wouldn’t wanna find out myself.” The soldiers share a chuckle. “Müller made the American do it on her brother. I hear he died about twenty minutes later.”

Y/n’s heart drops.

He- he’s- he’s dead?

“No kidding. The bastard survived six years. ‘S a wonder he’s lived this long” And as the soldiers pass by, Y/n’s left in her chamber. The silence grows deafening, but the echo of her heart splitting and falling apart, shattering on the hard concrete floor is ear-splittingly loud. All that she’s done, all the sacrifices, all the sheer, iron will she’s had to muster to maintain her sanity, all the awful things she’s done, the blood on her hands, the guilt, the pain she’s caused and- and in the end… he died by her own hand.

Chaos and confusion, an ocean of lashing thoughts violently crashing and pulling her under. It feels like the crescendo of the longest song that’s ever been written, six years of constant playing, and the orchestra’s hands are bleeding on the strings and buttons, coating everything with their own pain, worked down to the bone, and this is it- the minutes before it’s finally over. The roof is about to be blown off its hinges.

The itch is no longer underlying. It consumes her, and she knows, finally. She recognizes it. Escapism. Revenge.

~

Steve’s silent. He hasn’t looked away from her, hasn’t changed stance, still with his arms crossed over his chest and bulging underneath his dark green sweater. He’s staring at her, patiently as ever, with a set to his jaw that she knows isn’t there out of anger, but because he, too, is overwhelmed with emotion. His shoulders are no longer stiff, and he now has a cup of coffee too, finished in front of him. The bags under both their eyes are darker. 

“I didn’t get to kill Müller. But I managed to run away. Barely. I disappeared, travelled to the States. I found Fury and sold all the information I knew about HYDRA and the department I had been held in, in return for protection. Fury took me in.” It’s a lifeless shrug, weighted and tired, and it’s then that Steve glances at his feet, then back at her. “I trained, learned how to fight properly. Used my knowledge for good. Made it to the Avengers in a desperate attempt to make up for all that I had done. ‘S when I met you.”

Steve seems to remember. He recognizes himself entering the story. It’s almost like he’s reliving the time they first met, back on that Helicarrier. A good memory, all things considered.

“There’s little excuse for me lying to you. I know. But please, you have to understand. The burden of getting to know the best friend of the person you’d been forced to help torture for years… becoming close friends with you? How could I ever say anything about anything and have you actually trust me?” She shook her head.

“What do you mean…?”

“They forced me to make weapons, new torture methods, even tried to make me refine Zola’s formula. A way to get a better grip on Bucky’s mind. I didn’t know much about all of it, nor who it was for, wasn’t my field anyways, and Zola’s formula was successful as it was, there wasn’t much for me to add. They later left me to the torture part, not the brainwashing. Even if I had known, though, I wouldn’t really have had a choice in the matter. I did anything I had to do to protect the only family I had left.” He nods seriously.

“We grew closer and closer and I wanted to tell you, to share my guilt with someone finally, but… the prospect of losing you was… too much. I didn’t want to lose the person that had reminded me for the first time in decades what it was like to be cared for. You were-“  a gulp “are like a brother to me.” Steve looks down. “I couldn’t see the betrayal on your face. It- it paralyzed me.

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out, honestly, how was I supposed to know you’d find my file? But don’t think I never felt guilty. It was always there, like everything could crumble at any moment, like a cloud looming over my head, but… I guess I kind of learnt to ignore it. I had found a family, Steve. After years of pain, pain received and pain caused, after so much darkness, I had finally found people who understood what guilt felt like, what it meant to be composed on surface level. I found people that loved me for what I was then and there. The idea of losing that crushed me.

“I know I can’t take it back, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Steve.”  

Steve stays tight-lipped, pondering, staring at the table, then at her, then at the table again. He’s carefully controlling his expressions, clearly analyzing the information he’s been given, and she holds her breath. Whatever his reaction is, she thinks, nothing compares to the breath of fresh air she can allow herself to take, free of this awful, lengthy story. Finally, clear honesty, a sort of vulnerability with her best friend that’s different and new. True, down to its core.

It’s the sigh that does it for her. Resigned. Her eyes snap up at him. “You should’ve told me” He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at her, and shaking his head. “I would’ve understood. Nothing would’ve changed.” He looks right at her, very much like a discouraged parent. “What am I gonna do with you?”

And it’s- it’s the way he says it, as if everything makes sense now, shoulders dropping all the way down. The way he just- like he says you absolute moron, but in their own, loving, sibling-like way. As if  he can’t stay mad for too long. Looking at her with the tiniest sympathetic curl of his lip.

It’s relief, because it’s in that half a smile that she sees it all. She sees the forgiveness, the understanding. She sees the love. It’s as if he’s looking at her, saying family, am I right? Despite her situation, for the first time in years, so, so many years, she breathes deeply, breathes oxygen that feels nurturing to her lungs, that makes her think she’s floating, and smiles, apologetically, trying to telepathically communicate I’m sorry for being an idiot. Sorry for not trusting you. Sorry for fucking up this badly. I promise to be better.

She knows, he’ll always be there to give her another chance.

~

It’s moments, a handful of them, in which time and space seem to stop existing, to warp into something else entirely, a world that’s so confused, nobody knows how to put it back. It seems, in those moments, one forgets where they are, how they got there, their brain has not yet escaped from the liquefied dreamland it’s manifested, can’t seem to fit in the strict, square rigidness of reality.

Bucky finds himself in that place. His eyelids seem to weigh about twelve tons, barely feeling his fingertips. It takes a great deal of effort to have thoughts, to- to maintain them, and as his mind slowly starts running a little faster, he remembers faintly, cloudy memories barely registering, that the last thing he saw was three soldiers, that had sneaked up on him, he remembers the gun being aimed at him, instinctively moving and getting nailed in the stomach multiple times.

Wherever he is now, it’s quiet. He worries for a second that he’s been left for dead in the HYDRA base, worries that he’s either dying on the floor or a vague prison cell, resembling something he’s been in already, but he’s comforted by the fact that the surface he’s on seems soft, the lights behind his eyes bright. Whatever the case, he should wake up now, he might need to get up and defend himself.

And as his eyes open, heavy and tired, he meets another pair of gorgeous ones, familiar and soft, and he feels warm all over. He’s- he’s safe. He’s safe because she’s here, and he loves her, with all of his being he loves her, and she’s holding his right hand close to her chest, he feels everything, her warmth, and he knows it’ll all be okay, it’ll all fix itself. He doesn’t have to try.

There’s something lingering just beneath his skin though, a need to recoil. Like a small bucket of icy water thrown over him, because, yes, he loves her, but she betrayed him. She could be out to get him right now, could be working with HYDRA still, and he might be trapped somewhere, and his heartbeat accelerates, because he has to escape and he can’t trust her anymore- until he sees the tears. The tears streaking her cheeks, over old salty marks, and a smile, broken but whole. This isn’t the behavior of a captor, he decides, deems himself, if not safe, then entirely incapable of fighting back, should he need to anyways. Why worry now? Let his future self do the work.

His eyes move around the room, blue-ish gray walls vaguely familiar, and- there’s another figure, another pair of eyes- blue, happy. It’s Steve.

Bucky feels safe. He knows he’s alive. He knows he’s home.

~

Like any other free afternoon, Y/n finds herself on her couch, curled up as much as she can with a book in her lap. There’s a short lamp on the side table, and she leans on the armrest comfortably with her toes curled, flying through pages and pages of words. Her hair is down, she wears comfortable clothes, and has a blanket over her legs. The weather’s been getting colder lately.

A warm sound, four soft knocks on her wooden door, are enough to pull her out of her novel, enough to make her eyebrows stitch together. She’s not expecting anyone.

Her feet are bare and she’s well aware of how close her knives are to the front door, just in case she has to fling herself over and grab one. She presses her eye against the little peephole, but it’s old and foggy and the workers who had once repainted the building managed to cover part of it with small drops of paint and she hasn’t gotten around to trying cleaning it. Doorknob cold under her palm, she tilts and-

Oh.

The first thing she notices is his shirt, a maroon Henley, buried under two more layers of clothes, a brown hoodie and a darker brown leather winter jacket. The buttons on the collar of his Henley are open, giving her a cheeky peak of the skin of his chest. She loves this shirt on him. It feels like someone tugged at her heart from every direction. Longing.

The second thing she notices is that this- it’s Bucky. Bucky standing in front of her door with an expression she’s rarely, if ever, seen on his face before. Her favorite, gorgeous light blue eyes staring straight at her after briefly scanning her down, as if he, too, is making sure she’s actually there.  She is. And so is he. Here. Now. In front of her. Looking at her. Her feet are on the floor, she’s not dreaming, the world is round and Bucky is here.

Oh God. He’s really at her door.

“James…”

He seems to shiver. A shake of his head, something she recognizes as him convincing himself this is happening, then eyes meeting hers again. He shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. She holds the door less tensely.

“I think…” squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, looking at the floor. “Steve said to talk to you.” A heavy breath. Shoulders awkwardly, tensely shrugging, sorta like a kid forced to apologize by their parent. She doesn’t know how, but her head manages a nod, gulping. She pulls away from the doorframe, makes way for him to pass.

“Come in.”

 New York sounds as alive as it ever does, even at eleven at night, and Y/n wishes she was sitting, because her legs are unsteady. It makes tears well in her eyes, seeing him here again, in her kitchen, looking around absently. The world feels different, much like it did in the Compound when she’d gone to visit him, even if nothing has changed in it apart from them.

Despite the passing cars outside, and people yelling, heard through the open window, it feels quiet. As if they’re the only ones in the world, being here with him feels like a cosmic event. She remembers what it was like sitting here and being so overwhelmed by the love in her heart, remembers what it was like to be surrounded by his arms and held so impossibly close to his chest. She remembers what it was like to look in his eyes and see them so affectionately looking at her, as if she’s everything he could ever ask for, as if she’s the light in his world. The cold of the night and of the space between them feels very much like a slap in the face.

“I know you no longer work for them,” and it truly breaks her heart how part of that statement feels like he’s trying to convince himself, or as if it’s difficult for him to process. How awful, the shift between being someone’s favorite person and being someone who’s trustworthiness is little over questionable. The weight of being responsible for fucking up the most important relationships in her life suffocates her. “Steve told me.” 

There’s nothing to do but nod numbly. She looks at him, watches the warm, glimmering lights of her kitchen fall on the curves and edges of his face, admires the yellow-ish hue outlining his features, making his eyes look iridescent.

She mustn’t cry.

“He told me everything, actually.”

She must not cry.

Bucky doesn’t say a lot of words, but they’re there, at the tip of his tongue, floating in the air like dust particles. In this, there’s a lingering question, a large Why. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you hide all this from me? Why did it have to be this way?

Y/n looks down. What to say, really?

“I just- I can’t believe-“ she jumps at his loud tone, Bucky never one to have vocal outbursts. She sees the tears in his eyes, gaze lingering away from her, towards the living room for a second before looking up at the ceiling momentarily, then straight at her. His hands are shaking, and she sees it all then. The betrayal, the hurt, despair, the- the loss. There’s no alleviating this pain that overwhelms both of them. She hates herself for this, can’t believe she caused all of it.

“I- I did what I thought would be best for us-“

“No, don’t pull that shit with me.” He glares now and points at her, and she never, ever wanted to be in the receiving end of such an intimidating look. Venom is laced in his tone, harsh and biting, and it feels like the temperature in the room dropped below zero, her spine rigid. “You did what you thought was best for you,” said as calmly as the tears that slowly leak from the corners of his eyes and over the apples of his cheeks are. “In fact, I doubt you thought at all”

That’s not true though. The amount of times she’d sit in her bed, with his arms around her while he slept, weighed down by the lies and the guilt; the guilt of all the terrible things she’d done, and the guilt of hiding them from the most important people in her life. She’d scale the pros and cons of confessing everything, for hours she’d make lists in her head, extensively long, but the cons were always destructively larger and would always win. She’d choose to stay as she was, with them oblivious and happy, until they would finally see her for what she truly was, and she’d convince herself, it would all be worth it for the time spent with them.

“I couldn’t tell you- I couldn’t face the idea of losing you I-“

“So you’d rather lie to me? You’d rather hide your past from me? I trusted you, Y/n.” He hasn’t called her by her first name in so long, and it feels like he just took one of her knives on her kitchen counter and stabbed her straight in her chest with it. “I gave you all of me, I told you every single little thing about myself, everything I hated, everything I’ve done, and I trusted you to have it and- and you couldn’t even trust me to listen to you? To- to understand you?”

She deserves this, she does, but she can’t- can’t deal with him yelling at her and, reflexively, she lashes out- “I was scared, Buck,” –and it’s a pitiful excuse, she knows, but it’s the bitter truth and the reason behind everything. “You have to understand- this isn’t some black and white situation, I thought you’d hate me for everything, I didn’t wanna lose you, or Steve!”

“Scared?” he seethes, walking towards her with angry steps, and she starts stepping back too, entering the living room. She realizes how large he looks, how his anger fills every corner of the room. “You were scared?!” She can practically taste the condescension on her tongue. “And you think I wasn’t?! You think I wasn’t paralyzed you’d run away after everything I’d done? You think I wasn’t terrified of my feelings for you and how fast they came to be?” She wishes she could answer that, but part of her is terrified to know what he used to feel for her and how much of it she actually ruined.

“But I’m a fucking adult, and I dealt with it. You… you lied about everything. Did you even give a shit about how badly you were gonna fuck me over, if I ever found out?”

“Does it look like I fucking like it? You know how sorry I am, how much I hate myself for everything I’ve done to ruin both yours and Steve’s trust in me!”

“I don’t know shit,” her legs bump on the back of her navy couch. “You hurt me- hurt us. We gave you everything, I put my heart on the line for you, and you couldn’t even have a little faith in me to believe in you, and what you truly are.”  A monster rings in Y/n’s brain. Nothing but a monster.

“Please, stop.” Submission. That’s all she has left, by now, because his words ring nothing but true. Because she can’t bear to hear everything she feels about herself being told back to her in his voice, it would literally be a nightmare come true. Everything drains in her body, and it all comes down to this. She just wants all of this to stop, the pain in both of them to stop.

“No,” he hisses, and she can’t really blame him. He’s close to her, about two feet away, and she’s trapped between him and the couch. “I’m not gonna stop just because things got uncomfortable for you, just because you had to come back because I was dying in a gurney. You barely tried to make everything right before that. Do you even care?”

“Don’t you see that I did everything because I love you?!”

Silence. Bucky nearly staggers back, as if the words that have never, before, been said came out and punched him in the face.

“Why the fuck do you think I didn’t tell you anything? Because I wanted to break your heart? No, you clueless asshole, I’m in fucking love with you!” His expression is stunned, eyes wide at her outburst, watching as she takes the steps she needs to close the gap between them. Her finger is jabbing at his chest, which is raising and falling with panted breaths. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, couldn’t take to watch your trust break, couldn’t bear the thought of you finally seeing I’m a monster!” And she breaks down, a sobbing mess now, the tears that once trailed down her face, now endless. She covers her mouth, face crumpled and red.

“I j-j-just wanted us t-to be okay, bec-cause I love you t-too much to fuck-king lose y-you”, As her eyes shut, crying relentlessly in her hand, throat feeling like it’s gonna burst, she feels so eternally cold, as if showered by a bucket of icy water. The idea that she might once again be left alone in the world while someone she loves is taken away, all because of her actions- it’s too much. It takes her back to the worst day of her life, brings back a kind of cold so furious, it knots her joints and sends shudders down her spine- her hands tremble at the thought. She can’t believe how colossally she’s managed to screw things up with him, how much he hates her and genuinely believes she did anything less than care about him. .

Like a tidal wave, the emotions overwhelm her, the self-hate like a boulder that smacked her in the face and threw her down a cliff and now everything hurts, and her stomach feels like it’s climbing up her throat. Her heart tears through her chest, painful and slow, and it’s all her fault, everything, and there’s nothing there to fix it all, to make it better- except, all of a sudden, warm, strong arms curl around her. She breaks down harder, curling in his chest because she fucking missed this, missed his affection, his protective embrace, his comforting smell.

Fists clutching his shirt, she sobs, acutely aware of her tears wetting the material of that maroon Henley she loves so much. The arms around her curl tighter, one hand dipping under her hair to hold the nape of her neck gingerly, keeping her against him, thumb rubbing gentle circles. And it’s then that she hears it, his own sniffling, his chest shaking. He’s crying too. The need to provide the comfort she seeks is overwhelming, and she lets his shirt go, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him together too. “I’m so sorry,” she cries, shoulders shaking, and Bucky shushes her, shaking his head slightly. His arms tighten briefly.

In her crying, she vaguely registers him moving them to the couch, both sitting down, and her curling up into him instinctively. For a while, until she calms down slightly, she lets herself be held and holds him back just as fiercely. It feels like she’s finally letting go, an outburst that frees her of part of the weight she’d been shouldering for years on end. It feels like release, a dam that broke and is spilling every last drop of water that’s been pushing at it for so long.

When she quiets down, when her sobs no longer hurt, no longer feel like they’ll split her ribcage to splinters, when her breathing sort of evens out, she pulls one of her hands to rest on Bucky’s chest, and pulls away to look at him. Bucky’s arms tighten to keep her close.

She’s well aware she must look like a mess, what with all the crying, but this is Bucky after all, her James, the love of her life. He’s seen her under all kinds of light now, and there’s no need to hide. Like he wants, if he is to care for her, after all this, he should care for her for all the things she is, not the things she pretends to be.

Bucky’s eyes are a little less bloodshot than hers. She cups his chin gently and watches his eyelashes flutter, his eyelids softly shut. With her thumb she gently strokes his cheek and notices the way he seems to lean into her palm, lips parting with heavy breaths. He missed her too.

He opens his eyes again to look at her and leans his forehead down to touch hers, holds her closely and brushes the tip of his nose on the bridge of hers so lightly she almost misses it. She sighs. “You have every right to be angry at me,” she whispers to him, pulling her hand back and tucking it in her chest. “I lied, and I didn’t trust you, and I acted the complete opposite way of how I should have. For all of that,” a breath sucked, almost clogged at the center of her chest, “for all of that, I’m sorry.”

Bucky, still infinitely close to her, shakes his head gently. He takes one arm from around her, and she thinks this is it; this is where he says goodbye-

But, gentle as always, he places his right hand on the side of her neck, softly nudges her head up to his and drops his lips on her own, a ghost of a kiss, short and unexpected, before he pulls back and looks at her. “I love you.” He whispers, breath hitting her lips, and her eyes well with tears once again, as she looks up at him. She never thought she’d hear those words, not after everything. Bucky kisses her single fallen tear away, noses at her temple.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, the same way you didn’t think I am one. You helped me heal, helped me learn that those things I did, they weren’t me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“B-but-“

“No, you listen to me.” He tells her, his grip around her body tightening, giving emphasis to his words. “You did what you had to do to protect your brother. What you did… The blood isn’t on your hands.” He has not let her gaze go for a second, and she’s transfixed, tears still overflowing- she wonders when she’ll finally run out of them. “I love you.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I love you more than I thought I was ever capable of. Thinking you betrayed me completely incapacitated me, but I understand you. I see you. I forgive you.”

She gasps, shudders, and in the spur of a single waking moment, lunges at him, kisses him fiercely, holds him tightly. Their lips mold together, and the last pieces of the universal puzzle of the cosmos click to place. Everything settles, mouths moving in sync, desperate, hungry, all the emotions tumbling out all at once, and it’s like the slingshot snapped, and the missile hit the target. She bites his bottom lip, and the groan he lets out comes from deep within his chest, tongues tangling together. His metal arm crushes her against him, hand buries in his hair, their noses smush together, breaths strangled, air shared, and…This- this feels like belonging. No- more like, this feels like coming home.

Inevitably, they part, trying to suck in much needed air, foreheads knocking together gently and chests heaving. It seems like they feed off each other’s personal space, like they hold each other in one piece, while also completing one another. To Y/n it feels like a breath of fresh air.

“This doesn’t mean we’re perfect yet,” Bucky utters gently, not in a menacing way, but as a soft clarification, a request even. “I- I’m gonna need some time.” She’s grateful he even chose to give her a chance at all. Y/n smiles up at him affectionately and nods.

“Of course, Buck. All the time you need.” She caresses the side of his face with gentle fingers, traces his features with a feather-light touch, then cups his jaw. “Thank you.” And it’s weighted, hangs low in the air. She looks at him intensely to make sure he knows she means it. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into her touch, then blinks them open, brilliant, sky blue irises staring right at her. “I love you so much.” He breathes out heavily.

“Say that again,” he whispers. She grins at him as if he’s all good things in the world, because he is.

“I love you, Sergeant Barnes.” A kiss pressed to his cheek. “I love you with all of my being.” A kiss gently tucked on each of his eyelids. “I love you for all that you are.” And she kisses him on his lips sweetly, and he responds like she’s made out of glass, like she’s fragile. He sighs out. They breathe close to each other for a while.

“I know you said you need some time. Do you… wanna go out with me? Coffee? At Michelle’s?” Bucky grins. Their spot. He nods.

“I’d really love that.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. An olive branch. The first step to gain his trust back. There’s nothing Y/n deems more important. With a deep  breath, she knows. She’s ready to do anything, to work her hardest to earn a place in his life, the one he’s so graciously offered her. To get to build a future with him, on steady foundation this time.

Their life begins now. Y/n can’t wait to live it. With him.

~~

A/N 2: please tell me what you thought!

[kikis-writing-world]

Fireflies

Summary: Your own mind is your own worst enemy. Jack wants to help you through your depressive episode.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating/Warnings: Reader has depression/depressive thoughts. Reader wants to disappear (not quite suicidal thoughts, but it gets close. I want you all to be warned.) Reader is pushing people away, neglecting themselves through their episode. It’s a heavy one, and I wrote it when I was pretty deep - please let me know if I missed anything and take care of yourselves loves <3

A/N: This is extremely self-indulgent, and absolutely a self-insert. I wrote it to cope with a bad low, and I kinda like the way it turned out. I thought some of y’all might like it too. The memory of the train in my grandparent’s backyard is 100% true, and to this day I love the sound of a train.

Your brain was at war with itself, only adding to the exhaustion that seeped into your very soul. Days seemed never ending and nights seemed even longer. Gravity felt stronger and even the things you used to enjoy felt like they were now weighing you down, pulling you closer and closer to the earth until you would just disappear. Maybe that's what you wanted - to disappear. To melt into the ground, or float away on the wind.

You knew you were pulling away. Pulling away from your friends, from work, from Jack. You just didn’t have the energy for any of it. Socializing, working, moving, taking care of yourself. If it wasn’t for Jack practically force feeding you, you probably wouldn’t have eaten in days. It didn’t matter if he brought you toast or made a beautiful meal. Nothing had taste anymore. It was bland, and the energy to chew was too much.

You tried to move to the guest room but he wouldn’t allow it. You were sure you stank, and that your lack of sleep was keeping him awake too. You didn’t want to be a bother, didn’t want him to have to look after you like you were an invalid. When he’d found you in the guest bed, he’d picked you up and carried you back to bed without a word.

You didn’t deserve him. You knew that early on in the relationship and you knew it even more now. He could charm anyone, could have anyone he wanted you were sure. Somehow he’d gotten stuck with you. Stuck taking care of you. You knew what happened to his first wife, and you would have gladly taken her place if it meant he could have her now.

You didn’t want to die. Not really. It just hurt so much to be. If there was a way to not be for a little while, so you could finally rest and rid yourself of this existential exhaustion, you’d probably feel better. You didn’t want to stop living - just pause it. And feeling so ungrateful for the wonderful life you knew you had, made you wish you could have switched places with someone who wouldn’t be taking it for granted. Not the house, or the health, or the friends and family you had.

You were so guilty. You hated yourself for feeling this way. Knowing that you had no real reason to be like this made it worse. Jack was the one who had been through so much. If anything, he should be the one deep in depression as you tried to show him there was still so much good in the world. Instead, it was left to him to prove it to you. It made you cry. Not loudly. You couldn’t have Jack hear your sobs, rushing to your side, asking what was wrong. You cried silently. Not moving, barely breathing. Tears rolling down your face in the dark as he laid beside you.

He deserved so much more than you, and you knew it, but you didn’t have the energy to leave. You didn’t have the energy for anything.

Jack hadn’t come home from work that night. The war in your head grew louder.

What if he left you? It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted him to leave you and your pathetic issues behind so he could have a more fulfilling life. He could move on, find someone to be happy with - maybe he already had. Maybe that’s where he was now, instead of in your home.

But if that’s what you had wanted, why did it hurt so much? Why did the silence in the house feel more ominous than before? You felt so small in the big bed, in the big house, in the big world. Surely, no one would notice you disappear. You buried your head under the blankets, hoping that if you made yourself small enough, you’d shrink until you were just gone.

Someone shook your shoulder, waking you from a dreamless sleep. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep.

“Hey darlin’,” Jack greeted, his voice low and sweet like honey. Your heart stuttered when you realized he was here. He hadn’t left you after all. “I need ya to wake up for me.”

You opened your eyes, but the room was dark. You could only make out the silhouette of Jack against the light coming in through the open door. The light was dim - the hallway light wasn’t on, but the living room light must be. The blackout curtains that had stayed closed for days couldn’t give you any hint of what time it was. Had you slept all night, or was it only evening?

“C’mon.” Jack prompted, trying to get you to sit up.

“What’s going on?” Your voice cracked from disuse. You rolled over, Jack taking that to mean you were trying to sit up. He took your hands in his, gently pulling you to sitting.

“It’s a surprise. Just wrap your arms around my neck.” He instructed, one arm resting behind your back as the other scooped up your legs at the knees. He waited patiently for you to grab on before he lifted you from the bed, still wrapped in your blanket.

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice shook. Was he getting rid of you? Was he literally carrying you out of the house to dump you on your ass outside? You deserved it…

“We’re going on an adventure.” He must have heard the fear in your voice as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Jack,” you whined, burying your head in his shoulder. You didn’t want to leave the bed, let alone go outside. You were sure you looked absolutely awful. Sweat and oil and tears, hair matted every which way-

He stopped walking and nuzzled his nose against you. If his arms weren’t full of you, he’d probably be lifting your chin to make you look him in the eyes. “Do you trust me, June Bug?” He asked, adding in his favorite pet name for you.

You took a deep, shaky breath. Of course you did. God, you didn’t want him to think that you didn’t. You reluctantly nodded.

His steps continued, out the front door that he had left open. He paused and asked you to close it behind the two of you, which you did. It was dark out. Not quite pitch black yet. The streetlights had come on, but the sky still held a midnight shade of blue as the sun dipped further below the horizon. That helped answer your question about what time it was. It was late evening.

Jack carried you to the Bronco, which was still running from whenever he’d left it to come collect you. He had you open the passenger door before setting you in the seat. It was cool in the Bronco, the A/C having been running while he was gone. It made you shiver and burrow deeper into the blanket. Jack chuckled, leaning across you to buckle your seat-belt. He kissed your cheek before closing the door and jogging around the front of the truck to hop in on his side. He started driving before he asked you if it was too cold.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s nice.” It was a little chilly, especially against your flushed, sweat damp skin from falling asleep with your head tucked under the blanket, but buried it was the perfect temperature to snuggle into your blanket.

“Good.” Jack hummed, resting a hand against your leg as he focussed on the road.

You curled up, half-sideways in the seat, looking in his direction as you laid your head against the back of the seat. You watched the scenery pass, the streetlamps illuminating Jack’s features as he drove. His strong nose and his neat mustache. His pouty bottom lip. The bags under his eyes caused by you-

You forced yourself to look past him, to the passing houses as you fought the urge to cry. You weren’t sure when your eyes drifted closed.

You woke when you felt Jack lifting you out of the truck. You groaned softly, wrapping your arms around him as you dropped your head on his shoulder. The blanket was still around you.

“I got’cha.” He soothed, his voice vibrating against you. You heard the door slam shut as he started moving you. Gravel crunched under his feet as crickets chirped. How long had you been driving? Where were you?

You were about to look up when he sat you down. You opened your eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them as you took in your surroundings. You were sitting in the back of the Bronco, the tailgate open in front of you. The sun had fully set in the time you’d been sleeping, the stars shining in the sky matched by the twinkling of fireflies across the field of darkness in front of you. Your eyes widened as you watched the hundreds of little bugs dancing, their lights flickering on and off.

“Wow,” you breathed, leaning forward to see them better.

Jack joined you after a moment, sitting next to you with two travel mugs in his hands. He offered you one and you wiggled your arms out of your blanket to take it. It was warm in your hands and you could smell your favorite spiced hot chocolate.

The interior light of the truck clicked off, giving you an even better view of the stars and the fireflies as Jack threw his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“What are we doing?” You asked, curiously.

“Just this.” Jack answered obviously, taking a sip from his own mug. “And waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?”

“You’ll see.” He promised. You couldn’t see his face just yet, your eyes still adjusting to the dimness, but you were sure he was smirking. The mischievous tone to his voice all but confirmed it.

You sipped your own hot chocolate, the warmth being the most noticeable trait. You could smell the spices, but your palate was still nothing but bland. You appreciated the effort and the warmth though.

A few minutes of sitting there, your eyes adjusting enough to see the edge of the grassy field Jack had parked you near, and you heard the clanging of a railway crossing. You perked up minimally, eyebrows raising as you looked for what direction it was coming from.

The train whistle blew in the distance, the sound mesmerizing. Jack rubbed your arm as you watched for the train. It’s bright headlight appeared, far past the field of fireflies. The clickety-clack of the wheels, the slight squealing of metal, the deep vibrations - the sound all sent you back to your childhood, watching in wonder as the train rolled just past the fence of your grandparent’s backyard. You couldn’t see the train other than it’s lights, but you didn’t care.

As the sound consumed you, you leaned further into Jack, feeling the tears welling in your eyes. You let them go, letting yourself shake, your shoulders heave as you cried. Jack pulled you closer, rubbing your back as the train masked the sound of your sobbing. You weren’t sure if Jack was shaking too, or if it was just from the train. You didn’t have your answer until the train was gone, leaving you with the quiet sounds of the outdoors once more. Crickets, grass waving in the wind, and Jack sniffling.

“I’m sorry.” You cried into his chest. You weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for. For being worthless. For him having to deal with you. For crying when he was trying to do something amazing for you. For ruining his shirt with the crying. For not being able to be better. For making him worry over you. For making him upset in turn.

“Shh, just let it out, darlin’.” Jack shushed you, rocking the two of you back and forth. “You ain’t always gotta hide away from me.”

He held you as you cried for what felt like hours. The tears didn’t stop until your throat was sore and your voice hoarse. Tears and snot covered your face and soaked into Jack’s shirt. You started to apologize but he ignored you, wiping your face with a corner of the blanket.

“Feel a little better?” He asked hopefully. Even in the dark night, you could see the hope in his eyes.

“A little.” You admitted, feeling happy that you didn’t have to lie to him. It didn’t feel like you had quite so much weight pulling you down anymore. It wasn’t gone, but it was lighter.

“Good.” He kissed you chastely. Your lips were chapped, scratchy against his soft, plush lips. You appreciated that he didn’t push it further, dreading your breath after neglecting your hygiene.

You curled back into his side, looking out into the darkness again. The fireflies were still there, still flitting around as they blinked. You watched them, sipping your hot chocolate as the night cooled around the two of you.

You wouldn’t call it happy… but you wouldn’t call it sad either. And that was a start.

Tagging @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @vonschweetz​ @insideafictionaluniverse​ @driedgreentomatoes​ @computeringturtle​ @thottiewinemom

[poormeowmeowcollector]

The Sweetness Of Wine

Relationship: Loki/reader

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: It's hard to make Loki go to any party, but he gets softer with this one after Thor brings a small suprise

Notes: it's inspired from this post by @imagine-loki and it's basically just a small fluff bomb. Hope you enjoy it.

Read on AO3

"Love, are you ready? We have to leave in ten minutes," You ask from the bathroom while finishing some details on your hair and makeup. The only answer you get is a low groan.

You spot the source of the noise in the living room, and specifically on the couch. Where a pale and drained Loki, still on the linen pyjamas, is laying and rubbing his temples.

"Darling, I feel awful… Maybe you should go without me," He hums, his voice so hoarse and guttural it sounds like purring.

But the issue is, he was perfectly fine ten minutes ago.

"Loki, my love, light of my life, this is the worst lie I've been told," You smile. He groans again, but this time out of frustration.

"Fine, I want to stay home…" He admits, big green eyes staring at you. No, you won't let his puppy eyes win.

"But you can't stay alone on Christmas night," You whine, playing with his hair on an attempt to lure him into agreeing.

"I'm a pagan," He counters, breaking the puppy eyes.

"Well, will you leave me alone?" I deploy the second attack.

"You're a grown up, I trust you into being alone for a night,"

"What about the food?"

"We have a fridge," He grins, knowing he's winning. You sigh, it's time for the big weapons.

"What would a big bowl of dark chocolate gelato from your favourite shop say?" You ask, watching the pleasure filling his eyes.

"Three bowls,"

"Two bowls,"

"Deal," He snaps and jumps up, shaking your hand before he storms in the bedroom to change. In less than two minutes, he's in a black suit and ready for the party.

Damn, gelato deals really do the job…

~~~

Whatever energy the gelato deal gave Loki vanished after he sees how many people are in the party. He is still not used to being surrounded by people, so he clenches his hand into yours. As if you are used to being around too many people.

Not that you plan to spot Wanda in the crowd and follow her like a lost puppy…

"Brother, you came!" Thor yells and walks closer, making several heads turn. Loki tries to ignore them and focuses on Thor.

He makes a low growly noise, coming from the back of his throat, before he nods and kisses you, his hands holding you steady as yours are clenching on his shoulders.

"Are you that glad to see me?" He smiles, his hand still holding mine.

"You know, I brought some wine from Asgard, since we can't get drunk from Midgardian drinks," Thor informs. And you see Loki forming an actual smile.

"Just, don't get completely wasted, ok?" You ask and let go of him, smiling when you see the excitement in his eyes. He nods and disappears in the crowd with Thor. They will get shit-faced…

You sigh and spot Wanda talking to Natasha and Pepper. You take a glass of champagne from the table nearby (since you have the chance of drinking champagne tonight) and walk to them, joining the conversation.

You get lost in the talk, you always have interesting things to say with them, and you barely notice how time passes. The only sign that you are talking for longer than two hours comes when two long and freezing cold hands touch your waist.

"How's drinking with Thor going? You got bored of him already?" You ask, tracing your hands above Loki's. He lets a small hum against your ear.

You turn around to see him. It's the first time you see Loki drunk, and you have to admit that he looks at least cute. His hair is somewhat messy, his cheeks pinkish and he has this small grin on his face. You can't help but smile at him.

"He got bored f-first," He answers, failing to control his Old Norse accent and stutter. But after years of trying to communicate with him while exhausted, half asleep and/or on whatever pain spell he casts after a mission, you have learned how to decode it.

"Fine, you can stay if you want to," You shrug, seeing his smile widen before you turn back to the girls.

As Natasha is talking, you feel Loki's hands tangling your waist and bringing you closer. You know that he's a cuddler when it's the two of you but he doesn't do the same when more people are around, and you don't like public cuddling either. So, you try to push his hands back but he's too strong, always has been.

Alright, maybe he's a cuddly drunk… and you can't exactly fight back, or want to…

"Maybe we should sit somewhere," Wanda suggests and points at a couch in the corner of the room with her eyes, noticing how uneasy you are with the public cuddle. Everyone agrees and Loki releases you as you head there. Your freedom doesn't last long, since Loki thinks it's a good idea to rely on you— while you are already tipsy and wearing heels—to hide his staggering, as if he doesn't weigh over five hundred pounds.

You somehow manage not to drag both of you on the ground and you all sit on the couch, Loki dragging you on his lap and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Damn, how many drinks did you have?" You ask, turning to look at him.

"Somewhere b-between s-six and seven…" He slurs. You sigh in relief. It's not too much and he hadn't gotten drunk in a long time, maybe he lost some of his tolerance.

"That's not so much," Natasha comments.

"B-bottles," He finishes his answer. All four of you turn to stare at him.

"Love, that's enough for this century, ok?" You smile and pet his head. He lets some low purrs and relaxes against your shoulder, his nose rubbing your neck.

"But at least he's calm. Not like Tony," Pepper sighs. And distant explosions echo as Tony blows something up with his suit.

Loki flinches and lets a yelp, you can feel his heart pounding against your back. No, the last thing you want is a hammered god with a panic attack. "Love, it's just Tony, ok? You're safe," You smile and play with his hair, something you know never fails to relax him. He lets a small sigh and nods against your neck, smiling just so. You blow a small kiss on his cheek, watching it getting more pink.

"Awww," Wanda grins.

"Shut up," You try to hide your own blush, and Natasha laughs at it.

You return to your previous topic, but this time Loki will mutter some comments against your neck, the mix of his drunken speech, accent and stutter making him almost speak another language. But he somehow still manages to take part, at least for the next hour.

While Wanda is saying something, you feel Loki yawning softly against your shoulder, his head relaxing there. "Love, don't fall asleep, it's too early," You whisper in his ear.

"B-but I'm s-s-s-so t-tired," He whines. Wanda stops talking and stares at him.

"Let him rest his eyes a bit, it won't kill him," She shrugs. You sigh and nod, petting his head after he brushes his nose against your neck. You still massage his scalp as Wanda continues with her story.

And five minutes afterwards, you can feel Loki's breath becoming slow and stable. "Should I wake him up?" You whisper, trying to escape from his hands but they are locked around you.

"Nah, it's ok. He's not hurting someone," Natasha brushes off before she answers to one of Pepper's questions. This time, you aren't paying much attention to the conversation.

And the last bit of focus vanishes when you feel him going cold and tense, and his breathing becomes rapid and shallow.

"No, love. Please, don't have a nightmare right now," You whisper. The girls notice.

"I can teleport him to his bed, would it help?" Wanda asks. You see his lips moving as he mumbles, his face in a pained expression and his fingers glowing. He's too drunk to even control his magic.

"Yes, do it, please," You ask, big eyes on Wanda. She makes her red strings of glow dance in her fingers, the same scarlet magic covering Loki before he vanishes.

He's an adult, he gets those all the time and you are not always up after he wakes up, he can take care of himself if he wakes up… But your mind is still on him, even though hours pass and the day changes.

Natasha mutters a goodnight and leaves, trying to mask her drunkenness. Pepper follows, with a semi conscious Tony begging her to stay for ten more minutes. Steve and Bucky carry Thor back to his room, and the other guests have gone already. You say a farewell to the few people that are left and go back to your room. You just want to take off those heels, the makeup and crush on the bed.

You're lucky to find that Loki is still sleeping like the dead, so you put on a cotton shirt of his and slither in the bed beside him. He turns around and lays his head on your stomach, his cold hands and feet covering you. And he gazes at you with sleepy eyes.

"Did I wake you up? I'm sorry," You whisper.

"I've b-been t-t-tr…." He breathes out, failing to mask his frustration. "St-t-tr… attempting t-to sleep f-f-for a while…" He manages to speak, his cheeks getting more and more red. You kiss him on the forehead and pet his upper back, smiling softly.

"But, how d-did you b-br-bring me here?" He asks.

"Wanda's magic,"

He makes a low sound, breaking eye contact to get comfortable. You smile and start playing with his hair, watching as his face relaxes and he falls asleep again.

And even though you have about five hundred pounds crushing your ribs, you somehow manage to fall asleep too.

~~~

The room is still dark when you wake up, so you check on your phone. 11am. You sigh and get up before you put pants on and open the curtains to let some sun in.

Loki hisses from the bed.

"Good morning too, love," You grin, reaching back to the bed.

"Turn the lights down," He groans, covering his eyes. You nod and do as he said.

"I'm making tea right?" You ask. He makes a growly noise. "Alright, I'll be in the kitchen."

You get dressed and let him wake up on his own, hoping the smell of tea will stop him from falling back asleep. And you're right, since what looks like the zombie version of Loki drags his feet on the kitchen and takes his cup before settling on a chair.

"Remind me to never stay alone with Thor and alcohol for more than a minute…" He groans—because apparently animal sounds are the only accepted way of communication on Asgard.

"Bold of you to assume that I will let you unsupervised with Thor again…" You smile but second guess your answer the moment it slips out of your mouth.

But Loki lets a small chuckle. "Smart girl," He comments before taking a sip of his tea. "Norns, what did you put on it?"

"Honey,"

"Yes, love?"

You short-circuit, blinking as you are trying to think what he answered.

"No… I put honey on the tea…" You explain. Loki lets a small oh sound before he starts chuckling again.

"And, by the way, did I do something stupid while intoxicated?"

You shrug. "I don't know if you did something while with Thor, but when you came to me you were just cuddly the whole time," You answer, getting up from the chair when the coffee machine stopped buzzing. When you sit back down, you notice a slight blush in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I must have made a fool out of both of us…" He mutters, covering his face with his hands.

"Actually, you were quite cute. And, the calmest drunk avenger. So, no, not so much," You smile. He does smile back but his cheeks go more red. God, he's always so cute when he blushes!

You take your coffee and, without a warning, you sit on his lap. He doesn't grimace from the smell of your drink, a thing both he and Thor do whenever feeling not good, so you take it as a good sign. "Feeling cuddly, huh?" He purrs, his hands wandering in your waist.

"You stole too many hugs last night and we have to balance things out," You explain.

[clownao]

Rereading Korosuu Chapter 4 (the ChibaHaya chapter) from the perspective that Hayami has feelings for Chiba

And boy, is it a ride.

Check out the previous post

Listen, I’m a big ChibaHaya shipper but I never believed they liked each other romantically in canon. One of things I like the most about their dynamic is how great they are even without the typical shippy stuff like blushing, stammering etc. They work well both platonically and romantically.

So I never tried to go MiDDLe ScHOoL cHiBaHaYa is CanOn but then I read the Chinese translation Ch4 of Korosuu. And boy oh boy did it make me think Hayami has ✨feelings✨ for Chiba. (And he doesn’t.) I literally did not expect that, but once I saw things from that perspective, I can’t stop lol.

Keep in mind I’m analysing a Japanese -> Chinese translation in English, and I don’t have the Japanese raws, so the word choices may be off. And I am probably overanalysing but yes, I will eat these ChibaHaya crumbs for the tiniest bit of information.

Also keep in mind manga Chiba is more social than Hayami (you can check Fumiko’s posts for more information, she’s the Chiba expert haha). So while these two may have the same responses (eg. smiling because of what the other said), it weighs differently.

So Hayami was originally going home, but stopped when she saw Chiba trying to figure out a problem. And so she helped him pump the balloons to act as Chiba’s targets. They discussed for a bit, then they both said they were surely getting closer to their “answer”.

And then they both smiled. The translation is “速水露齒而笑。千葉也回以微笑。” which is “Hayami grinned, and Chiba returned with a smile”. But notably, the translator used “露齒而笑” (literally: grinning with teeth) for Hayami and just “笑” (smile) for Chiba. “笑” and “微笑” (which also means smile, but a little softer) are used five times in total, and considering they’re interchangeable in Chinese, the translator probably used them to add variety. But “露齒而笑”? That’s different. That’s the only time the translator used this term to describe someone smiling. And “grinning (with teeth)” feels more joyful than “smiling”. And it’s used to describe Hayami’s reaction.

Hmm.

By the way, let’s count how many times they smiled in this chapter. Hayami smiled 3 times, Chiba also 3. And literally every time they smile it’s in response to something the other did/said. Chiba smiles more than Hayami in the manga, so the fact that Hayami is smiling so much in front of Chiba... hmmm...

As mentioned before, Hayami stuttered when Chiba praised her. In the translation, she barely stuttered anywhere else. Hmm.

After a very long time, Chiba lifted his head and turned to Hayami.

“Hayami, you’re brilliant! So it was like this all along! Why have I never noticed something so simple?”

“Wh-what?”

Yeah. She stuttered after Chiba called her brilliant/amazing.

And then, of course, the most telling paragraph follows.

Hayami felt bewildered upon seeing the suddenly agitated Chiba. Even though she had always been looking at him in E class, she hardly recalled seeing him so delighted.

She had always been looking at him. Whoa.

The Chinese translation is “雖然一直在E班看著他”, special focus on “一直” (always) and “看” (look). Like, okay, it could mean “from her daily observations, she didn’t recall seeing such an expression” or “looking after him” or “knowing him from school” but this phrasing just makes me think she’s staring at him in class. And you know what, Chiba actually sits behind Hayami in another row. So she has to turn around to “look” at him, which is a deliberate action. Of course the translation used “E class”, which also means training and other misc stuff and not just conventional lessons.

Either way, she’s been observing him. She’s ALWAYS been observing him. Continuously. And she knows she’s never seen him so joyful. And the translator (and maybe Matsui?) felt the urge to point it out.

After complimenting Hayami, Chiba proceeds to explain his new theory. And thus the passage:

“So what do you think?”

Chiba turned to Hayami, a smile quirking on his lips. He lightly prodded the pages of his notebook with his mechanical pencil.

“That’s brilliant!” Hayami also used an excited tone to reply as she looked down at the diagram.

“If you weren’t there, I probably wouldn’t have thought of it. Even though it’s really simple once you notice it...”

Hayami used a smile to respond to his words.

The word “也” (also) is used in Hayami’s happy response to China. Granted, it may be a translator thing, to add word variety and connectives, but the sentence makes perfect sense without the 也.

From this we can infer Hayami’s mood is affected by Chiba’s, and probably vice versa, but Hayami’s case is specifically mentioned.

Next day, Chiba stays behind to practice again. And he looks sad because he’s failing.

Hayami thinks “I suppose even people like Chiba will feel uneasy when thinking about official operations” (一旦設想正式行動，即使是千葉這樣的人類也會感到不安吧。) This makes me !!!! because it sort of implies Hayami thought Chiba won’t be nervous. She thought of him in a positive light, only for him to disprove it. Also, the use of “吧”. “吧” is commonly used in dialogue, so here it implies Hayami is thinking the whole line despite the lack of speech bubbles, not some omniscient narrator saying it.

Then Hayami tries to encourage him.

“Relax. If you think it’s right, then it has to be.”

“Even though hearing you say that makes me happy...”

^ this is one of the most mutual shippy moments in my opinion. Hayami has total faith and trust in Chiba, and Chiba literally told her that her trust in him makes him happy. It just feels... kinda shipbaity. The sentence structure “雖然你這麼說讓我很開心啊……” (Even though hearing you say that makes me happy...) feels like something out of a romance novel (especially in Chinese), even though the words don’t exactly have a romantic meaning.

Chiba says Hayami’s words makes him “happy”, but he’s still troubled by the shooting problem. Hayami trusting Chiba despite Chiba not trusting himself makes him happy. Oho. That... can be interpreted in a shippy way.

When Hayami sees that Chiba is still troubled, she “nonchalantly” says “to fill in the gaps using intuition” (看著無法消除不安情緒的千葉，速水若無其事地說。”無法確定的地方，用直覺填補就好了喲。”)

I believe there’s a typo here, since the next line is “千葉帶著的表情抬頭看著速水”, which is “Chiba lifted his head to look at Hayami with a xxx expression”. So the translator accidentally left out his expression (the sentence doesn’t make sense otherwise), but we can easily infer Chiba’s feelings from the following lines.

Chiba basically thinks “Intuition? What? She’s talking about things unrelated to this shooting problem again.” He doesn’t say it out loud (no speech bubbles), but he probably shows his doubt through his facial expression that the translator unfortunately left out.

And Hayami wants to prove him wrong.

So Hayami roughly glanced around the classroom, and quietly uttered, “Vase, tape, Korosensei.”

Before Chiba could ask “what are you talking about?”, Hayami swiftly pulled out a pistol from her thigh and shot three bullets with surprising speed.

Hayami hits all three targets without aiming precisely. Naturally, Chiba is in awe, calling it a “miracle”. Chiba says even though he, out of everyone in 3-E. can shoot the furthest target using calculations, he can’t imitate Hayami’s perceptual(?) type of shooting.

And then:

Hayami shot a stunned Chiba a smile.

The word for “stunned” (目瞪口呆) literally means “eyes wide, mouth frozen”, but that’s just a Chinese phrase for being stunned.

Honestly, to me, I feel:

Hayami wants to help Chiba -> Chiba is in doubt -> Hayami wants to prove him wrong and show off -> she quickly shoots her targets based on intuition/emotion, not even waiting to hear what Chiba has to ask -> (she wants to show off lol) -> when she sees he’s in awe, she smiles (smugly?)

ALSO, Hayami may have gained confidence after Chiba praised her by saying she’s brilliant, and that may be why she shot so quickly (since the adrenaline rush or something.)

Hayami then says something:

“And if at that time, you’re not confident in your theories, in the end, I’ll still shoot according to my gut feelings. (Basically saying if you can’t do it, I can do it for you.) We can do what the other cannot do. If we team up and become partners, there’s no target we cannot hit.”

Chiba gazed at Hayami’s face for a moment, then smiled and said, “Thanks.”

Wow. What surprised me is that Hayami’s the one with the speech— she’s the more serious and reserved out of the two. For her to say something so “sentimental” when she’s usually like “I respect you”, wow...

By the way, “凝視” (gaze) is used. It can mean stare, but it usually means gaze. Also he gazed at her face (臉). This is specifically mentioned. Mmmmm.

And I can’t get over “將兩者合為一體的話一定能順利地進行”. It means “if we combine two into one, it’ll definitely proceed smoothly”. They’re... MERGING lmao. It’s so shipbaity.

There’s also more stuff, like how they agree on something without speaking, but that’s... typical ChibaHaya stuff. And that’s it.

SO:

Possible hints of Hayami’s feelings towards Chiba:

1. Hayami immediately helped Chiba with practice even though she was intending to go home

2. SHE LOOKS AT HIM IN CLASS. Bro. I can’t make this up.

3. Hayami is happy when Chiba is

4. SHE STUTTERED WHEN HE SAID SHE’S BRILLIANT

5. She wanted to prove him wrong by showing off (this is a stretch)

6. She low-key put him on a pedestal (?) because she thought he won’t be nervous (this is also a stretch)

Possible hints of Chiba’s feelings towards Hayami:

1. He was very noticeably happy, perhaps a side he only shows to people close to him

2. Chiba says Hayami praising him makes him happy

3. He gazed at her face. Yes, her face.

But I don’t think Chiba likes Hayami that way. Like, he didn’t stutter when she praised him, he just said he’s happy. Hayami is usually very chill and calm, and even quieter than Chiba, so when she stutters because of Chiba, hmm...

Of course all of this is immediately disproven by the mini comic, with Ritsu claiming they reply to their emails a day late and their heart rates don’t go up when next to each other. Psssh. Okay, Ritsu. I mean, we can always hc Ritsu is protecting her friends’ privacy by lying about them. And of course Chiba and Hayami can stay as purely friends. I like their dynamic either way.

This concludes my rambling overanalysis of them. If you read till this point, I congratulate you <3 also reblogs appreciated :DD

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-24)

Word count: 3.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, angst, the usual

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Thank you for all the love, guys <3

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​. I love you <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

You stumbled on to the sofa in a bit of a daze, drawing the rug over you to keep the chill at bay. Your mind was screaming out in a dissonance of voices, all telling you different things at the same time, pushing you to go back to him, to ask him why didn’t he rid himself of a relationship that must have brought him nothing but hurt and pain? Why had he dragged this marriage all by himself for so long?

It was clear as day now- there was no other girl in Sam’s life. Only you. For all your incessant speculation, it had only ever been you. 

“Y/N, you okay?”

Meg was next to you, her hand on your arm. “What happened?”

“I’m still married to him,” you whispered. “I’m still married to Sam. Meg-” you turned to her- “I thought he would’ve annulled the marriage. He had no reason to be bound to it. I left him high and dry. It’s the first thing he should’ve done- free himself… but… I saw his wedding ring. I can’t believe…”

Meg got up and walked to the fridge. You watched as she pulled out two beer bottles, opened them with her teeth and handed you one. She took a seat next to you, swinging her arm around your shoulder.

Slowly, you brought the bottle to your lips and took a swig. The cold bitterness of the beer was strangely comforting next to the warmth of your friend’s body. Meg didn’t utter a word. She drank from her own bottle, not easing the grip on your shoulder.

It was going to be a whole new challenge to face Sam now. Up until today you were simply happy that in Sam’s friendship, you were getting back crumbs of what you used to have. To know that he was still very much yours and yet not yours at all was very very painful. Wouldn’t you want to fling yourself at him the next time you saw him? 

You wanted to ask Sam why he hadn’t severed the ties legally, but you didn’t think you had it in you. What would you say? So hey, Sam… remember when you loved me so much, but I left you anyway? Yeah, so why are we still married?

 He’d kept his every promise, been faithful to you all along. You realised with a shock that you and Sam had been looking at the whole situation from two completely different angles. When you’d seen him in the lecture hall, a part of your past- one which you’d tried to bury very deep had resurfaced again. For him, he’d stepped into a generic lecture and found his wife staring down at him. It explained so much- Why he’d never been as lost to himself as you had been to yourself. You had resented his ability to smile, to be himself while you’d been a wreck all these years. Only now did you understand that the reason he had held on to himself was because he had never let go of you.

Silent tears rolled down cheeks as anger and disgust for yourself weighed you down. 

“It’ll be alright,” Meg said in a low voice.

You took another swig, wondering if Sam will ever stop surprising you and knowing once again that you never deserved him.

*********************

“Bad night?” Madison was sympathetic. 

You answered honestly, “It was my doing, I had it coming.”

“We’re almost to the end. You can sleep the exhaustion off.”

The two of you were sitting in the front row, waiting to be called up on the stage for the vote of thanks. It was relieving that the Induction fair had come to an end without any incidence- everything had gone as smoothly as you had planned and a lot of the alumni had come up to you to congratulate you for planning and managing it so well. You even had a couple of contact cards tucked in the pocket of your jacket, asking you to give them a call for the summer internship.

Madison was really impressed that you had offers. Summer internships were rare for first years, especially so without recommendations. She was sad for herself that Acton Griswold never broke the first year rule. You encouraged her to use her dad’s influence if it helped. It wasn’t like she would be taking someone else's place. She would only be creating one for herself. To be a good lawyer, one had to be pragmatic, you understood that very well and didn’t judge Madison for wanting to use all the resources at her disposal.

When it was time for the vote of thanks, you made it a point to thank all the speakers and hosts and then your team- each of the members individually for having your back. There had been some wonderful lectures and discussions. You might have been biased, but Sam’s had been the best- it was hopeful and inspiring. He’d looked great on the stage.

Afterwards, the committee had arranged a small lunch for the alumni still left, in one of the campus eateries. There was expensive alcohol and enticing music. A lot of people made their way to the center of the room and began dancing again, trying to revive the mood from last night. On your part, you were simply trying to avoid Sam. You could sense that he was trying to catch your eyes- probably to ask you why you had left so suddenly last evening. Luckily, he was a popular target and people kept going up to him to strike conversations.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, then another at your waist, making you jump back a step.

“Hey, it’s me!” Brad said with his usual arrogant grin. 

“What’re you doing?”

“You promised me a dance, remember?”

You wanted to slap yourself for agreeing to it. “I didn’t promise anything.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he smirked. “You said one dance. Yesterday your guy didn’t leave you for a second and then you disappeared. At least, let me have one dance now?”

You knew from experience that he wouldn’t budge, so as annoying as it was, you put your hand on his shoulder- not to draw yourself closer to him, but to maintain a firm distance. If you were going to dance, it would be at your terms.

“Gee, I’m feeling very lucky today!” 

“I can’t even dance.”

“That’s fine.” There it was again, the overconfidence. “Hey, listen. Me and the guys and some people from class are having a pool party this weekend. I’ll see you there, right?”

“I can’t. I’ll be working this weekend.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know you aren’t working. I checked the schedule at the library. So don’t even try to wiggle out of this one.”

“I don’t know why you won’t give up, Brad,” you sighed as you moved from side to side. 

“Because I know one day you’ll say yes. No one’s ever said no to me… except you.”

“So this is about your ego?”

He snorted. “It’s because I really like you. At least, give it a shot. What’s stopping you?”

The fact that I don’t like you. At all. And oh, apparently, I’m married.

“I’m not interested in dating anyone,” you told him flatly. 

Something in his eyes changed, they became darker, his jaw tensed. “Let me change your mind.” His hand pressed against the small of your back, bunching up in the fabric of your dress. The fingers resting against your shoulders dug into the skin. He leaned in quickly- before you could react- far too quickly.

Just as you braced yourself to push him away, another hand landed on your shoulder, right above Brad’s, yanking his fingers away none too gently.

“Y/N!” A cheerful voice exclaimed, pulling you right from Brad’s arms into his own. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Chase Lincoln, with the sort of jovial outrage that comes only after years and years of friendship. “How dare you evade me like this, you frivolous wench!”

You were absolutely baffled; next to you, so was Brad.

Chase turned to give him a dismissive look. “I’m sorry, mate,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I have some business to settle with this girl, here. If you’ll excuse us.”

Without waiting for Brad to react, Chase whirled you away, single handedly managing to keep the both of you upright. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” you stuttered, as he spun you. His hands were light on your waist and in your hand- very respectable.

“Don’t say sorry,” he grinned. “I thought you were in a bit of a tight spot over there.” 

“I was,” you breathed, still trying to keep up with his pace of dancing. You wanted to thank him for saving you from that, at the same time you didn't want to utter the words because you barely knew the man.

“Look-”

“Don’t thank me,” he cut you off. “It was the decent thing to do. Besides, my friend over there would have snapped a tendon or two, if I hadn’t.”

Chase jerked his head in the direction and you followed with your gaze to see Sam standing ramrod straight, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. Even from this far away you could see he was coiled like a tight wire about to snap.

“He couldn’t intercede,” Chase said in a low voice. “And I couldn’t help but. Then there’s also the matter that I’ve been dying to get in a word with the lovely Mrs. Winchester. It’s not like Sam can come break us up either.” 

Mrs. Winchester. The name resonated in your ears. If you hadn’t had all of the last miserable night to accept that fact, your legs might have just given out now.”

Chase laughed all of a sudden, the sound apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. You can ask me to get the hell lost and that would be that.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

At least, Chase wasn’t hurling abuses at her for ditching Sam. 

“It’s nothing to do with Sam, actually,” he said. You noticed for the first time just how sharp his green eyes were. They gave you the feeling of being Xrayed. Not many people must be able to lie to him. “I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“Yep. How would you like to come and work at Acton Griswold? It’s a great place to work in.”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“I know Acton Gris doesn’t take first year interns.” Not even with recommendations.

Chase grinned. “Who’s talking about internships? Hell, no. You’ll be left with photo-copying and standing in café lines all day. I’m talking about actual work. I had the chance to go through your CV for the committee selection. Come work there as a part-time paralegal.”

“I wouldn’t fit in,” you mumbled. Chase’s words did not make any sense. You had no backing, neither were you naïve. You knew jobs like that had hundreds and hundreds of applications every week.

His eyes twinkled. “Trust me, you would. I could recommend you. I’m sure after more than two years of working there, I have enough pull.”

“Please, don’t.” Despite having asked Madison to use all the pull, you couldn’t bear the idea of someone doing it for you. 

“Look, Sam told me that you helped him out with James’s case. I feel terrible about being swamped that day and not being there for him. Even his assistant, Stacey was on a leave. You saved that poor kid from jail.”

You hadn’t really done anything, and you told Chase that. His answering smile looked peaceful, like you had cleared some unknown test.

“Will you, at least, apply? I swear I won’t do anything to further your application. If you get in, it’ll be all you.” He hesitated before adding. “I won’t tell Sam if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, no… it’s nothing like that. I don’t want to keep anything from him.” Not anymore.

Chase smiled. “Don’t worry, he’s too high up to be involved with the paralegals anyway. Word around the block is, they’re considering him for senior partner. He’d be the youngest in their history.”

You dropped your hands from around his shoulder, clapping them. “My God, that’s wonderful!” The grin spreading on your lips threatened to split your face. “I can’t think of anyone who would deserve it more.”

“That makes two of us.” Chase let go of you completely. “I’m glad he has someone who would be happy about his successes.”

That wiped the grin off of your face completely.

“He’s not the sort of guy who leaves people behind. When he left Johnson’s, he didn’t ditch Stacey, he brought her along… and me. I don’t think he has the ability to move on.”

The words felt heavy in the air between the two of you, and with Chase’s eyes boring into yours it was impossible to look away. He was imploring you to believe him. 

He gave you his patented grin, one that said he was up to no good. “And unlike your college here, Acton Gris has no policy against fraternizing. I’ll see you around, Y/N!” Chase nodded and backed away, leaving you standing there wondering what the hell had just happened. 

*********************

Sam hurriedly cleared his desk, in an effort to get out soon. Sundays were strictly reserved for Max… It’s a rule he didn’t break, Induction fairs notwithstanding. Those were mandatory for him as a faculty member.

So much for him dreading the Induction fair because it would be boring. Sam should have known nothing with Y/N could be even remotely disinteresting. In the past weekend, he’d oscillated from the nervousness of a teenager to a piercing hope. Today, he’d almost had a coronary.

Sam knew it was wrong. God, he knew it was wrong to want to punch a guy- especially a student! But he’d been touching Y/N… when she didn’t want to be touched. Sam could have sworn, that guy had leaned in with the intention of kissing her. He was almost sure. God bless Chase’s soul for jumping in when he did.

Chase had drawn her in his arms gently, and then turned to throw Sam a wink. Chase was the best wingman when he wanted to be one.

Then there was the new anxiety of having Chase with her. Y/N- she wasn’t like other people. She felt things too deeply and Chase didn’t know that. What if he said anything that unconsciously hurt her… or accidentally mentioned Max or something from Sam’s past? As it is the way she’d left yesterday had Sam on edge.

Abruptly Y/N grinned and Chased bowed just a bit. Sam’s whole body relaxed. 

He turned around and headed back to his office in the Law building. Standing there, watching Y/N was only drawing him thin. There were still a few papers he needed to grade and then get back to Max as soon as possible.

Not for the first time, Sam was grateful for Max. In all this mess, his kid kept him tethered. Sam would have gone off the orbit and done something stupid regarding Y/N. But one thought of Max and he was grounded back to reality. Max was his first priority… not that the kid was making it any easy for him lately.

Sam had seen him looking at Y/N’s photo again last night. The picture, one of her standing by the balcony, was taken a few days after her first acceptance. She was smiling down at Dean who was mowing the lawn and Sam had clicked the moment unbeknownst to her. She looked gorgeous. Sam couldn’t bear to see it everyday, so the picture had remained in the first drawer of his bedside table. In his moments of weakness, he could hold on to it and remind himself, something that pure had been his once.

A flimsy material caught Sam’s attention as he shut his desk drawer. Y/N’s scarf from last night. He hadn’t taken it home with him, choosing to leave it. 

Maybe he could drop it at her place on his way home. That would be an innocent reason, right? He could ask her what was up with her yesterday. Y/N had been miffed at Sam for not seeing her in the library often. That meant not meeting him must be a bad thing for her. Sam was more excited about the prospect of returning her scarf than he was about most things in his life.

The door to Sam’s office sprang open, making him look up in surprise.

Y/N’s roommate, Meg, was standing at the door, her face a mask of contempt. 

“Meg,” he said, surprised.

“Didn’t expect me, did you?”

Her hostile sneer would have tipped him off, had Sam not been riding the high if getting to see Y/N.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”

“Cut out your bullshit, Winchester,” she spat, coming up to him. “What do you think you’re doing making Y/N’s life miserable like that?”

Sam couldn’t understand. “What… what do you mean?”

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know anything. Every time she meets you, Y/N’s a wreck. When she found out you were the one who got her home that night… she was besides herself. I’ve never seen her so terrified or more out of her element. And I don’t know what the fuck you did to her last night, but she couldn’t stop crying.”

Meg took another step forward. “You think it’s so cool dragging her along with you like this? Why don’t you set her free? Or are you that much of a sadist to see her suffer day in and day out?”

“Suffer?” He repeated dully.

“When I first saw her, Y/N looked dead,” Meg said, fury in each word. “Her eyes were sunken and her cheeks were hollowed. When she laughed for the first time, it sounded hysterical, like she’d forgotten how to do it. Hell, her skin stretched over her bones even when she smiled. I’ve seen her struggle day after day trying to get a hold on herself, learn how to be happy again… and if you mess that up, Winchester, I swear I’ll smash your face in.”

Sam knew he should say something back, anything, but the picture that Meg had painted was too painful… a hollow Y/N, the one that had left him in the hospital. If she’d been the same when she moved in with Meg, how many years had she suffered at the stake of such mind numbing agony? And yet, he had seen life behind her eyes… he’d seen her happy, smiling…

“I don’t know what you did to her all those years ago,” she continued, her voice like ice. “Y/N wouldn’t say, but I know it was enough to kill a part of her. And I know somehow it was your fault.”

“Did she say that? Did Y/N say it was because of me?” 

“No!” She spat, frustrated. “I don’t know why she can’t see what you’re doing to her. I can. You’re a slow seeping poison. Just leave her alone. Y/N was happy before you decided to come back and wreck her life again. Set her free.”

Something was choking Sam’s breath, words just wouldn’t come out. Was he keeping her from happiness? Was that why she had fled last night?

Meg jabbed a finger in his direction. “Remember.”

She turned on her heel and was almost out of the door when Sam managed to croak, “Meg-”

Meg looked over her shoulder. 

With numb legs Sam made his way to her. “Take this with you,” he said, handing her the scarf with shaking hands. “It’s Y/N’s. She gave it to me yesterday. It would be best if you give it back to her.”

Meg snatched the scarf from him and then with one last look of derision, stormed out.

All Sam could do was fall in his chair, hands raking through his hair. What had he been thinking? What had been playing at? As if there was any chance in the world that he wouldn’t remind Y/N of what she had lost. Of course she was hurting and it was his damn fault, because he thought they could be friends again, because he hoped it could ever lead to anything more.

And there was always Max to think of. Right in front of his eyes the flimsy dream he had brought to life collapsed in a heap of shattered glass. Maybe in a parallel reality somewhere, Y/N would be in his life, Max would be their son and everything would be perfect. This was not that world. Here, Sam was sentenced to live out his life by himself and he’d be damned if let Y/N get hurt because of him again.

*********************

A/N 2: Okay... I’m sorry? *hides face* At least the reader has a playdate with Max!

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[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter 7]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: Apparently one o’clock in the morning is when my brain wants to write and actually do stuff now. Hooray. 

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

Read on: AO3 

---

The window's open.

Louis slips in and out of darkness, stuck between a dreamless calm and a waking reality. Cool air drifts in through the cracked window, brushing against the bare skin of his arm. A grumble bubbles up his throat as he pulls the blanket closer to his chin. 

It's not the morning chill or the golden glow flowing in through the parted curtains that wakes him up, though. 

A gentle hand shakes his shoulder.

A familiar presence looms over-- he can feel it even in his drowsy state.

Nothing dangerous, of course. Otherwise, he'd be bolting out of bed in a blind search for Chairles. 

He rolls over onto his side, eyes too heavy to open.

"Louis?"

The hand grasps his shoulder again, this time shaking a little harder. His grogginess worsens. It’s as if someone poured wet cement into his bones. He reaches out over the empty spot next to him in search of Clementine’s warmth, inhaling the morning air and letting it out with a groan.

The hand shakes him again, harder this time, so he grabs and holds it.

"U-uh-"

Louis buries his face in his pillow, his voice coming out muffled, groggy, "Darling, come back to bed."

"Louis!"

His nose smashes against the mattress.

"Ow! Hey!"

He's ready to complain about such a rude awakening until he realizes whose hand he's still holding.

The room is awkwardly silent until Louis mumbles, "You're not Clementine."

"No," Aasim pulls free and hits Louis with the pillow, "no, I'm not."

Louis snatches the pillow back, fluffing and tucking it under his head with a heavy sigh. "How long have you been watching me sleep?" he yawns. "I didn't take you for the creeper type."

"I wasn't watching you sleep," Aasim rolls his eyes. "I came to wake you up. We're going hunting."

"Hunting?"

Well, that’s the first he's heard of this. 

He and Aasim usually go hunting every few days, and they just went the day before. Louis props himself on his elbows to peer up at him with a dull expression. Another yawn builds in his throat.

"You must have your days mixed up," he says. "Mitch and Willy go today. We're not supposed to go ‘til tomorrow, so we can all go back to bed now. Goodnight."

"No, it’s our turn," Aasim says quickly. "We gotta go now. James was out there earlier and he saw a deer."

A...

A what?

"A deer?" Louis perks a brow. "Sure it wasn't just a big possum? Or a walker on all fours? Maybe even a bunch of bunnies standing on each other's shoulders?"

"He's pretty damn sure it was a deer," Aasim insists, spreading the window curtains farther apart. More light floods in, causing Louis to wince as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He yanks the blanket fully over his head, curling up. 

"He's already out there tracking it,” Aasim grabs Louis’ coat from off the desk chair and tosses it to him, “so we gotta move fast if we want any chance of hunting it. We also have to check the traps and make sure the fishing shack is still secure."

"A deer?" Louis presses again from beneath the blanket. "Like, a real deer? Like Bambi?”

“Bambi was a cartoon.”

Aasim jerks the blanket off, dropping it to the floor far from Louis’s reach. 

“You know what I mean,” Louis sighs, squinting back up at him. “We've never seen a deer out there, like, ever. Not even at the beginning."

"Well, James just saw one, so... Get up and get ready. We're leaving soon.”

Aasim scratches at his chin, turning to gaze about the room, searching for something. 

Louis swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches out his arms, groaning in satisfaction as the muscles loosen.

“How soon is ‘soon’?”

“As soon as you put your boots on.”

Louis lets out an exaggerated groan. 

This definitely isn’t what he had planned for this morning.

He planned on waking up to Clementine sleeping peacefully beside him, happier and more content than she was last night. 

It’s been a long time since he’s seen her so physically upset.

He knows Clementine well enough by now. He knows that she still holds in most of those awful feelings. Whenever something upsets her, or even after she has a nightmare of her own, her face defaults to a stoic expression. Whether she does it out of habit, or because she doesn’t want him or anyone else to worry, or some concoction of both, he’s not entirely sure.

She has enough room within her to bottle it up. She has the strength to hold it in.

Hee wishes he was more like that.

Sometimes, he felt he was bursting at the seams.

And there she always was, trying to sew him back together.

Seeing her like that… shit, it’s one of the most hopeless feelings when all you can do is hold someone without the power to heal their pain.  

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I talked to Violet…”

Violet.

Shit, what could’ve possibly brought that on?

He hadn’t asked, even though he wanted to. God, he really wanted to. He’s so desperate to know... why now? Did it just happen, or has it been weighing heavier in her mind again? What was it about? Why didn’t she tell him?

He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was, though, so he left it alone. She would tell him when she was ready.

And, Violet…

He can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now.

He watches Aasim as he paces over to AJ’s desk, stopping to look over the several drawings hanging on the wall.

Louis really doesn’t want to go hunting.

He already had his morning planned out.

First, he’d wake up and kiss Clementine before her watch. Or, if she already left, go find her and then kiss her.

It’s sort of a rule he has. While Louis was never one for strict rules or planning, he does have certain things that have to be done. Kissing Clementine every day is one of those rules.

Okay, maybe it’s not considered a rule, per se.

But, he made sure to kiss her every morning, and whenever one of them left to go hunting or scavenging or on watch without the other, and every night before bed. It didn’t have to be a crazy, passionate kiss. Sometimes, just a little peck on the cheek was enough.

It made him feel better, even if he knows it’s his subconscious telling him, “Kiss her! It might be your last chance! Death is always watching you, Louis!”

A lovely thought, as usual. 

After he kissed her, he’d ask her if she was feeling any better, or if she wanted to talk about it. Whether she would or not, he didn’t know.

Next, he’d grab two plates of breakfast and head over to Violet’s room. If she answered, they’d eat together. If she didn’t answer or let him in, she’d at least have food waiting for her. Then, he’d find Tenn to keep an eye on her, make sure she ate.

However, it seems that Aasim’s determined to foil those plans all in the name of some deer James supposedly saw.

Seriously, a deer?

Louis tries to rub the drowsiness from his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. Aasim might as well have said, “Hey! Leprechauns are frolicking in the woods! Quick! Let’s go get their gold!”

Well, okay, maybe a deer is more plausible than a leprechaun.

But, still.

When Aasim notices Louis’s lack of movement and vacant stare, he crosses his arms and shoots him a stern look.

“Now, dude.”

Louis scratches the back of his neck as he hangs his head. “Do you really need me to go?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not like we need three people tracking a deer that may or may not be a figment of James’ imagination.”

“It’s not a figment of his imagination,” Aasim insists. “Will you just put your boots on? We’re wasting daylight.”

“You’re awfully pushy this morning.”

“No, I just-” Aasim stops, looking away. "I want that deer, okay?"

Louis studies him for a moment as he pulls on his jacket, trying to understand the stress prominent in his features.

"Dude, if you're so worried about the deer, just go without me-"

"No! No, you- I-uh, " Aasim presses his mouth into a thin line. His eyes dart around at the floor. He wears a taut expression that Louis recognizes. It's one that Aasim usually has when he's jotting down the day's events and he can't figure out how to word something.

Louis gets off the bed, hands on his hips and head cocked curiously.  

"You okay?"

"You have to come with me," Aasim says slowly. He scratches at his scruffy chin and looks towards to door, saying, “We need three people to carry it back when we get it.”

“I doubt it. Two people’s enough.”

“No, three people are needed to safely carry it.”

“James’ strong. Honestly, the dude could probably drag it back here himself. You don’t need me there.”

Then, Aasim blurts out, "I-I don't want to be alone with James.”

Louis almost laughs. 

"What?"

"Uh-” Aasim stutters, “Yeah, he makes me nervous, okay? You guys are friends. If you go, he'll have someone to talk to and I won't have to worry about him."

“Are you serious? I thought you two got along. You talk to him every time he’s here. Hell, don’t you always eat together, too?”

“That- that doesn’t mean anything. Will you just put your damn boots on, already?” Aasim finds his boots on the floor and kicks them towards him. “Why do you always have to be so damn difficult? Just once, can you do what I ask with no questions asked?”

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but then promptly shuts it.

Something’s weird.

Aasim’s being weird.

He never argues this much. Usually, by now he would’ve thrown his hands up, stomped out and left him behind, grumbling about what a pain in the ass he is.

But, there Aasim stood, moving about the room impatiently, still waiting for him.

Louis slips on his boots, keeping an eye on the other boy, and begins slowly lacing them up.

Aasim picks up the small venus fly trap on the desk and pokes it, causing it to steadily close its mouth. He’s so forcefully fixated on the plant that Louis is convinced something’s up.  

Louis has known him for a long time, and he knows that Aasim avoids eye contact and becomes defensive due to three things: when someone brings up the delta, when he’s lying about something, or when someone confronts him about his crush on-

Louis’ mouth falls agape.

Oh.

“He makes you nervous, huh?” Louis asks, hopping to his feet.

Aasim almost drops the plant, but luckily, he catches it. “Yeah, so what?”

“Why?”

“Uh?”

“Why does he make you nervous?” Louis repeats, drawing out each word. “I mean, aside from the whole wearing another dude’s face and hanging out with his walker friends.”

Aasim’s lips part as though he’s ready to speak, but it seems he’s stuck. He moves his hands about as if somehow that’ll help him articulate the words he’s looking for. In the end, he gives an agitated sigh and heads towards the exit, saying, “Just drop it and let’s go.”

However, Louis is quick to stride ahead and shut the door, pressing his back against it and raising his brow suggestively at him. 

“Not so fast!”

“Dude, really?”

Louis smirks. 

“I see you, Aasim.”

“What?” Aasim scowls. “Get out of the way. Clem’s gonna be pissed we haven’t left yet.”

Louis grins brightly. He ignores Aasim’s protests, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, saying, “It’s finally happened. Our poor Aasim, the fool forever trapped within the realms of unrequited love-”

“Uh, what?”

“-has finally moved on from dear, sweet Ruby-”

“No-”

“-and onto the ever so mysterious-”

“No, no-”

“-handsome James!”

“Oh my god…” Aasim rubs his eyes, fingers curling over his face in irritation. “Oh my god, you’re so stupid.”

“Ah, James,” Louis disregards the insult, continuing, “Gotta say, I did not see that one coming. Never thought I’d see the day you give up on sweet Ruby. She’ll be devastated. Oh Ruby, don’t know what you got until it’s gone. ”

“I don’t have a crush on James, you idiot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I never had a crush on Ruby.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t-didn’t!”

“Uh-huh.”

Aasim inhales sharply through his nose. “I swear, it’s like you strive to piss me off!”

Louis holds his hands up defensively, saying, “No, I hear you, dude. I just don’t believe you. You can’t look me in the eye and say with a straight face that you never had a crush on Ruby.”

Aasim rubs his palms over his jacket before crossing his arms, not saying a word.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Louis continues, “Ruby’s a sweet girl- well, sweet until pushed otherwise. And James is really cool underneath that walker getup. In fact, I dare say you two would be pretty damn adorable--”

Aasim holds up his hand inches away from Louis’ face. “I’m gonna stop you right there before you say any more stupid shit,” he says sternly. “I don’t like James.”

“If that’s true, then why’re you being so weird?” asks Louis. “Hmmm?”

“Look,” Aasim sighs. “We could stand here all day arguing about this stupid shit, but the longer we do that, the farther that deer gets, and the longer James is stuck out there waiting for us by himself. Clementine is counting on both of us to go out there and track it, so can you please just take this seriously for once?”

“Who says I’m not being serious?”

Aasim shoots him a look.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs. He pushes away from the door. “You really believe he saw a deer out there?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And so does Clem?”

“Why else would she send me to wake your ass up?” Aasim asks, glancing back down at the floor.

Well, so much for morning plans. He’d have to shorten his list and make it quick.

“Just answer me this last question,” Louis says with a wide grin. “How long have you liked James?”

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

“What game? You wanted me to be serious, so here I am! Being serious! How long? Details, my friend!”

“I don’t-” Aasim groans, rubbing his hands harshly over his face and through his hair.

Alright, that’s enough teasing, he thinks. Louis would ask him about it again later when Aasim isn’t so flustered or preoccupied with thoughts of a prancing deer.

“Okay, okay, let’s go get Bambi. But before that, can I at least do my morning business first?” he asks. “Or am I gonna have to hold it the whole time?”

“Fine,” Aasim sighs, relieved, “just hurry up. Meet you at the gates.”

And with that, Aasim rushes out the door.

Louis shakes his head with a small smile. What an interesting development, he thinks. Aasim and James… Louis frowns. Now that he thinks about it, that might make things complicated if his theory about Mitch and James is-- … It’s probably nothing. He’s thinking about it too much. 

With Chairles in his possession and a set determination, Louis leaves the bedroom, ready to complete his morning plans in the short amount of time given.

---

From down the hall, Louis can hear the sound of glass shards scraping against the wooden floors. His gut tightens.

Violet’s door is wide open.  

Uneasy, apprehensive to continue, he comes to a stop.

Violet never leaves her door open, not even a crack. Whether she’s alone or not, she always makes sure her door is shut and locked. There’s been plenty of times where he’d gone to see her and after she let him in, she’d almost push him out of the way to slam the lock shut.

He’d asked her about it the first time it happened. She hadn’t answered him. She was too ashamed to, so she pretended not to hear the question.

He didn’t say any more about it. If it made her feel better- safer, more secure- then he wouldn’t argue. He’s gotten in the habit of locking it himself every time he comes to visit just so she doesn’t panic.

Eventually, he does peek into the room.

But, he doesn’t find Violet.

No, he’s alarmed to find Mitch bent down on the floor with a dustpan and a small, broken broom, cautiously sweeping up shattered glass bits. There’s a small bag next to him with a wooden frame protruding from it. Clear concentration knits his brows and his lips move as if silently mumbling to himself.

Louis’ eyes narrow. He tries to wrap his head around just what he’s seeing.

Think of the devil, and the devil will appear... Or something to that effect. 

When he moves closer, right into the door frame, Mitch doesn’t seem to notice, even when he clears his throat.

So, he speaks.

“Hey, Mitch,” he says, loud and flat.

Mitch jerks back, losing his balance, hissing out, “Jesus motherfucking-!” He drops the dustpan to help steady himself, letting glass slip out onto the floor again. He scrambles to his feet, cheeks flushing a furious red, but his glare dies when he sees it’s Louis standing there. He grows tense, unmoving, with eyes wide like a small child just caught sneaking around where they weren’t supposed to.

The two stare at each other for many seconds before Mitch points at him.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Funny,” Louis scoffs, pushing his jacket back to place his hands on his hips firmly, “I was about to say the same thing.”

“I, uh-” Mitch straightens out, looking down at the broom in his hand and the glass on the floor before peering back up at him. “Shouldn’t you be out hunting?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Louis frowns. He approaches the other boy, asking, “What are you doing here? Where’s Vi?”

“She’s with Tenn,” Mitch says. “Spent the night in his room after she, uh,” he motions down to the broken glass, “flipped out.”

Concern tightens in his throat. The panic must be clear on his face, because Mitch shakes his head and explains, “She did it after their talk.” He kneels back down and starts sweeping again. “Clem told’ja about that, I assume?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “And, how do you know about it, exactly?”

“I was keeping watch. Made sure Violet didn’t do anything.” Mitch dumps the glass bits into the small bag before motioning towards the desk. “She didn’t, at least not while Clem was here. She smashed this after we were leaving. I left the picture over there.”

Louis hesitates, but steps around Mitch, wary of the remaining glass bits. As he approaches the desk, he notices that her water bottle is tipped over onto its side, empty. What’s worse, is he can see it’s completely dry, like it hasn’t been used in a long time. He stands it up, moving it right next to her journal.

He remembers when Aasim gave that to her. It wasn’t bound like a real book, but Aasim had gathered some thicker paper from the basement and had Ruby sew it together into a makeshift book. It even had a cover, drawn by Tenn.

Aasim gave it to her after the delta, said that writing was easier than talking. He gave her a bunch of pencils and pens, too, but he can’t spot any lying around. Louis doesn’t know if she really writes in it, though he hopes she does. Anything to help, anything to release a little bit of that pain.

Louis considered it once. But trying to write down his feelings only frustrated him. Instead, he turned to Clementine and music for solace.

He glances away from the journal and to the photo laying at the bottom corner of the desk.

Violet, Minerva, and Sophie, all together, all smiling.

He can’t help but grin, even if there’s no joy in it.

The photo’s covered in scratches, from the glass, no doubt. But, the faces are still clear.

Minerva.

The real Minnie.

Not the husk that pointed her crossbow at him, who tried to kill Clementine and take them all away to that sick hellhole.

As he stares at her face, her long hair and sincere eyes, he wishes that’s the only way he could remember her; happy, radiant, beautiful.

Fuck, he couldn’t even remember her laugh, or how charming her singing was.

She used to always laugh at his stupid jokes, at his silly voices and silly songs. Even when no one else would, she’d take pity on him and laugh.

They’d sing together in their downtime, too. They’d sing until Violet threw her head back, groaning out that he was ruining the song. So, he’d shut up and just play the piano, and Minerva would sing.

Louis thinks that’s when it happened.

When Violet first fell in love.

That’s why she always told him to shut up. Something in Minerva’s voice brought her comfort, gave her some sense of purpose.  

He can remember Violet sitting there, watching both of them, and when Minerva sang to her, it was like he didn’t exist anymore. He was just there for background noise, a mere puppet to set the mood and a witness to what was blossoming.

It was beautiful.

Violet was beautiful.

He’d told her that shortly after she and Minerva became official, told her how happy he was for her. She punched him in the shoulder and called him stupid.

Minerva had agreed with him, though.

God, the way they looked at each other.

“I killed her.”

But, the memories of her glazed over expression, her washed out, gaunt face overshadow those fond times now.

Minerva...

“I killed her.”

Sophie.

“I killed her.”

Poor, poor Sophie.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip to stop his quivering chin. He’s not about to cry here, especially not in front of Mitch. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and breathes in, and out. He places the picture in the desk drawer.

“She wasn’t hurt, right?” Louis asks, attempting to hide the tremble in his voice. “By the glass?”

“Not that I could see. Didn’t see any blood anywhere.”

Well, at least she’s physically still intact. That doesn’t make him any less worried, though.

Mitch’s eyes dart all around the floor, looking for any shards he might’ve missed. He turns on his heels to grab his bag again.

“Clem told you?” Louis asks. “That she was gonna talk to her?”

“Yeah.”

Louis knows Clementine and Mitch had some sort of understanding with each other, but of all the people he thought she would’ve turned to when it came to talking to Violet, he didn’t put Mitch too high on the list.

“Why?”

“Uh,” Mitch stops sweeping. “Why what?”

“Why’d she tell you?” Louis asks. “She could’ve come to me.”

Mitch tenses. “I-I don’t fucking know, dude!” he exclaims far too loudly. As he continues, his speech becomes quicker, more defensive, “She just said it and I told her it was a shit idea but no, she just had to come and poke the bear right in the fucking eye and when you do that you get your hand bitten off and so I said I’d come with her and make sure her hand doesn’t get bitten off- shit I didn’t actually say it like that but I said, ‘don’t do it,’ and she was all, ‘I’m doing it,’ and-”

“Okay, okay,” Louis interrupts,  overwhelmed by the outburst. “I get the idea. But why are you here now?”

Straightens himself out again, leaving the broom and dustpan on the floor to tie up the bag. “She wasn’t gonna clean it up,” he mumbles. “Hey, shouldn’t you be hunting? Aasim’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t get moving. We need that deer.”

Again, with the hunting thing.

“Yeah, yeah, the deer,” he sighs. “I’m going. I just wanted to check up on Vi first.”

“Doubt she wants to see anybody. Better off going straight to Aasim. Like right now.”

“I will,” Louis crosses his arms, “as soon as I see you out.”

Mitch eyes him questioningly before it dawns on him. 

“Oh, right. Fair enough.” 

He leaves the broken broom and dustpan in the corner of the room and scopes out the floor one last time. “Tell her not to break any glass shit next time. It’s a pain in the ass to clean up.”

Louis doesn’t bother responding. Mitch is already out the door anyway, leaving him alone in the emptiness of Violet’s room.

---

It’s chillier this morning. While the sun is still bright in the sky, there are more clouds floating about, all various shades of gray. Maybe not dark enough to worry about rain at the moment, but they still pass over the sun and bring a coolness over the school.

Louis tugs on the collar of his jacket, covering up a bit. Upon looking around, he’s a little surprised to only see Tenn sitting at his usual table, holding a board with a piece of paper taped on it in his lap, and Aasim pacing in front of the gates. He can faintly see Clementine and AJ up on watch.

No Ruby, no Willy, no Omar.

Even Rosie isn’t outside.

Odd.

But, he shrugs it off. He didn’t think he was late enough to miss breakfast, but that does bring up another concern.

Ignoring Aasim for a moment, figuring he can wait just a little bit longer, Louis makes his way towards Tenn.

There’s a line up of old bottles, some broken, some filled with a gross looking grey liquid. The board rests comfortably in Tenn’s lap. He’s focused on his drawing, his eyes constantly darting up to stare at the bottles before going back to copy it onto paper.

“Hey, Tenn,” Louis greets.

The boy looks back at him, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “Oh, hi, Louis,” he says.

“What’cha drawing today?” Louis asks enthusiastically, peering over his shoulder.

Tenn sheepishly sets the board on the table, careful not to knock anything over. Several drawings of bottles fill up the page, all a little wobbly or disproportionate.

“James said I need practice drawing from life more, but,” Tenn sighs, “bottles are hard.”

“Yeah, but it looks like you’re getting the hang of it.” Louis points to a sketch in the right corner. “I like this one. It looks real enough to drink out of!”

A small, timid smile spreads across the young boy’s face. “Really?”

“Totally,” Louis gives an encouraging grin. “Wait until James sees these. He’s gonna be floored at how good you’re getting. Oh!” Louis pats his shoulder. “By the way, that one you did of me looks amazing on our wall.”

“You-you hung it up?”

“Of course I did!”

Tenn looks away to hide his diffident smile. “Thanks, Louis…”

“Of course,” Louis grins. He moves around and takes a seat next to him with a sigh, his usual grin replaced with a more serious look. “Hey,” he lowers his voice, “how’s Vi doing?”

Tenn sets his pencil down, keeping his eyes locked on his hands. “She’s okay. She slept in my room last night.”

“I heard,” Louis scratches at his chin thoughtfully, “but, she’s okay? Well, as okay as she can be?”

“I think so,” Tenn says. “She-...she cried a lot, but she’s stopped, so...”

Shit.

“Did she get any sleep?”

“A little. She’s still in bed. She told me I didn’t have to wait for her.”

“Did she eat anything?”

“I brought her some breakfast,” he nods, “and she ate a little.”

Relief washes over him.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good. Keep an eye on her, okay? I would go check on her myself but it seems I’m needed elsewhere.”

Tenn goes back to his drawing, pulling the board back into his lap, saying, “Uhm, aren’t you and Aasim-”

“Going hunting, yes, to capture that magical deer prancing in the woods.” Louis stands up again, giving Tenn one last pat on the back. “Her water bottle’s in her room. When you take a break, would you fill it up and bring it to her?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Louis smiles warmly. “Keep up the good work.”

He waves good-bye to the young boy, but still strays away from the gates. He knows Aasim can see him, and it’s only a matter of time before he stomps over and drags him out by his ear.

There’s just one more thing he has to do.

Approaching the post where they take turns on watch, Louis calls up, “Clementine?”

At first, he doesn’t get a response. Then, AJ leans over and smiles down at him, excitedly waving. “Hi, Louis!”

“Hey, little man!” he laughs. “Clem up there?”

“Yeah!”

Clementine appears beside him, giving AJ a set of binoculars. Louis steps back, watching her climb down.

He’s pleased to see her smiling.

In fact, he dare say she’s glowing this morning.

She hurries over to him and slips into his open arms. Her cold nose brushes his skin when she leans up and pecks him on the lips.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he grins. He opens his jacket up more, pulling her close and wrapping it around her as much as possible. “You’re freezing.”

“Been out here a few hours,” she sighs, melting into his touch, soaking up his warmth. “I expected to see you a lot sooner. Aasim’s been waiting.”

“Ah, yes, so we can hunt this famous deer everyone’s so obsessed with,” he says, “He was ready to drag me out of bed by my feet this morning. I think I can actually feel him glaring at us right now.” He peeks over Clementine’s head nonchalantly, and sure enough, Aasim is staring at the couple, exasperated.

“Believe me, I heard all about it,” Clementine pulls back with a stern look. “You shouldn’t give him such a hard time.”

“Yeah, I know. He just makes it too easy sometimes. Anyway,” Louis leans forward to kiss her cheek. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay before I took off.”

She hums against his chest, mumbling, “I’m a lot better, actually. All things considered. It’s… a good day.”

“It’s a cold day.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Your nose is about to fall off.”

“So dramatic.”

Louis chuckles, pulling back to rub warmth into her arms before stopping to hold her hands.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Later,” she says. “You have a deer to hunt.”

“I’d happily cancel to make time for you.”

“Nice try, but no.”

“Ugh.”

He’s getting pretty tired of hearing about this deer.

“Don’t pout. Think about how much a whole deer could feed us.”

“Not much, because I’m, like, eighty percent sure Bambi doesn’t really exist.”

“Louis.”

“Okay, ninety percent.”

She shakes her head, trying to hide her smile. She playfully smacks his chest. “Just go. You two have kept James waiting long enough. We’ll talk later, okay? I promise.”

Louis doesn’t let her hands go.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He studies her face for any sign of unease but finds that she’s still smiling up at him.

When she notices his hesitation, she tugs on his hand.

“Are you okay?”

He’s quiet as he says, “I went to check on her. She wasn’t in her room.”

Clementine doesn’t say anything, but her grip on his hands tightens.

“I did find Mitch cleaning up glass. That was pretty weird.”

Her eyes flutter shut as she lowers her head. “The picture…”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Tenn promised to keep an eye on her today. Try not to think about it too much. And if she does come out, well... ”

“I know.”

He doesn’t say any more about it. Her promise to talk about it when he gets back is enough assurance for him.

“Louis!” Aasim calls from the gates. “Let’s go!”

Louis shakes his head and forces a cheerful smile. “Best not keep poor Aasim waiting. He’s gonna need a shoulder to cry on when we don’t find that deer.”

Clementine rolls his eyes. “And here I thought you were the optimist.”

“Optimist, sure. Delusional? Not as much as you’d think.��

“Just don’t give Aasim such a hard time,” she says, quirking a knowing brow. “I hear he’s had a rough morning already.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “I have a feeling that he won’t hesitate to shoot at me today if I push the wrong button.”

Clementine’s fingers brush against his cheek before she pulls him down. Their lips press comfortably together as a pleased sigh escapes her. They savor the moment, reluctant to pull away. It takes him a second to recover, a second before he can open his eyes again.

God, she is glowing today.

And he’s just standing there, smiling and chuckling like a fool.

She turns away to hide the pretty blush blossoming on her cheeks, hitting his chest again. 

“Go.”

“Fine.”

Louis goes to the gates, turning to wave good-bye to her. He’s still grinning when he meets Aasim, who shakes his head and gives an exaggerated eye roll before pushing through the gates. 

Louis isn’t too far behind.

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value

In Hindsight: Chapter 5: In the Present... At Face Value by C_R_Scott

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: When Tim was a child, his father Jack had told him and his mother that his beloved grandmother had passed away while she was in the hospital due to pneumonia. But eight years later, a trusted family friend is telling him something very different.

"Is that what Jack told you and your mother? He told you both your Nana was dead?"

Out of all of Bruce's Robins, past and present, Tim was proud of having the distinction of being known as the best detective out of all of them. His mind was as nimble as Nightwing was agile. He had figured out Batman's true identity at age nine. He discovered his father was lost in time when everyone else thought he was dead. He successfully routed Ra's al Ghul and prevented him from stealing Wayne Enterprises out from under the family.

Unfortunately, having such a nimble mind meant that the moment Lucius Fox's words left his mouth, Tim was already more than halfway to formulating a theory based on the statement he heard and the context of the conversation that immediately preceded it.  However, it was the horrified tone of Lucius's voice, the appalled expression he saw on the elder man's face, and something deeper in his subconscious that slammed the brakes on his thought processes and caused his brain to short circuit before it could reach the conclusion they had been barreling towards.

Tim froze. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. Outwardly, he clamped down on his composure before daring to add his voice to the air.  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

"I'm fine," he thought to himself. "This is all just a misunderstanding."

Everything Jack told him that awful day was burned into his memory. It was the very first death of a loved one in his life and his first experience with grief. However, it endured it. He accepted it. He moved on.

"Everything is fine."

"Of course he did," Tim said matter-of-factly with a slight tilt of his head. "Nana was sick. She passed away in the hospital. Dad told us the day he got the call."

However, Tim felt a churning start low in his stomach as he observed Lucius's reaction to his words. The sensation was faint at first, but grew slowly in intensity as he watched the man on the other side of the desk. Lucius's expression was stricken as he shook his head.  "No. Timber..." he started tentatively, as if trying to speak to a spooked animal. "That's not... Your grandmother isn't--"

"She had pneumonia," Tim interrupted with a shake of his head as he turned away from his old family friend, from the man who had been like an uncle to him once upon a time. "And she never got better." He closed his eyes as he clung to his faded memories from that horrible time so many years ago. "Mom was so depressed because we couldn't go to the funeral. She and Dad had a job in Cairo the same--"

"Timothy--"

He felt Lucius's hand settle on his shoulder. It should have been a comforting gesture, along with the elder man's gentle but firm expression of his full name. Instead, it caused of army of goosebumps to race across his skin and seemed to disconnect his brain from his voice box. Lucius waited until Tim hesitantly turned to meet and hold his gaze before continuing.

"--There was no funeral." 

The muscles beneath Lucius's hand tensed immediately. 

"It took a few months, but she recovered. She went home. She's alive."

Tim shook his head again before finally finding his voice. When he spoke, his tone was strained and brittle. 

"No. That can't be right," he said. "Dad said... He told us she died. Why would he tell us that if it wasn't true?" 

"I'm sorry Tim, but Jack lied to you and your mother."

The faded memories in Tim's mind began to crack. The aborted theory his brain had been processing earlier suddenly re-asserted itself and reached its logical conclusion. However, it was not a conclusion that Tim was in any frame of mind to accept.

Not in that moment.

"I'm sorry Lucius. I... I need to go."

Before Lucius could say anything more, Tim shrugged himself out from under the older man's hand and slipped out of the office, shutting the door quickly behind him.

As soon as he was in the relative privacy and safety of the elevator, he used his security clearance to make sure it would go straight to the garage where his car was parked without stopping on any other floor. As the elevator descended, Tim backed himself into the corner and buried his face in his hand while his mind ran a mile a minute. 

"Nana can't be alive. Dad said she died...

"But Lucius would never say something like this if it wasn't true...

"But it can't be true...

"If Nana's alive, then that mean...

"No! That makes no sense... 

"Dad wouldn't have lied to me about Nana...

"He wouldn't have lied to Mom...

"He couldn't have...

"He didn't...

Tim lifted his head from his hand and stared at hand, which was trembling slightly.

"Did he?"

   It was a little nearly ten in the morning when Bruce's cell phone started ringing, the light from the screen illuminating the nightstand that rested next to his bed in the otherwise pitch black room. A weary arm snaked its way out from beneath the thick comforter on the bed. It took several tries, but finally the hand landed on the phone and pulled it toward the head still lying on the pillow.

Bleary eyes squinted as they peered at name on the too-bright screen before reluctantly pressing the "Accept" button. 

"Yes Lucius?" Bruce mumbled, his deep voice weighed down by the bone-deep fatigue trying to drag him back into slumber.

"Is Tim at the manor?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. There was an edge of distress in his old friend's voice that managed to shove some of the lethargy out of his mind with a small spike of adrenaline. He pushed himself up into a seated position. "He shouldn't be? Last I saw him was around five am in the Cave before I went to bed. Did he not make it to the office?"

"He did," Lucius confirmed as Bruce put on his bluetooth headset so he could pull on his housecoat. "But something happened in the office that upset him, and now he won't answer my calls and the tracker in his work cell has been shut off."

It didn't take long for Bruce to leave his bedroom and go a few doors down the hall to Tim's bedroom. As he expected, the room was empty. The bed itself was still perfectly made with Alfred's usual attention to detail, but his closet door was open and there was a notable gap where one of his spare business suits was missing. His bathroom door was also ajar. Tim may not have slept at the manor, but he did shower and change there before heading to work. 

"What happened at the office?" Bruce asked as he left Tim's room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

It took longer than it should have for Lucius to answer. "It's complicated."

Bruce frowned. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. "One moment Lucius." He'd just entered the kitchen and zeroed in on Alfred, who was sitting at the breakfast nook sipping a cup of tea. 

The old butler was startled at the sight of the Wayne patriarch awake and out of bed before noon. "Master Bruce? What on earth--" 

"Has Tim come back from the office this morning?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. I haven't seen him since he left the manor around eight am." He set down his teacup and immediately got to his feet.

"Can you check the Cave and make sure he didn't return when no one was looking? Also, if he's not there, can you activate the tracker in his personal cell and find out where he is right now?"

"Of course sir." With a crisp nod, Alfred went to the library where the entrance to the Cave was hidden.

Finally, Bruce turned his attention back to Lucius. "I'm back, so explain. What happened at the office?"

"It actually started last night when Tim got hit with Crane's new fear toxin..." Lucius told Bruce about the encounter Tim had with Tam after crashing into her apartment, and quickly explained how Bruce's adopted son was actually the same boy who used to live next door to him for several years as he was raised by his grandmother.

Bruce absorbed the new information with confusion. "Ok... That's definitely surprising, but doesn't sound bad at all. Why would that upset Tim?"

On the other end of the phone, Bruce could hear Lucius groan in frustration. "When Tim was eight, his grandmother got sick and ended up hospitalized so he had to go back to living with his parents. Then Jack told him and his mom that his Nana had died."

"I remember. Before I adopted Tim, he told me all his grandparents had passed away, and he had no other living relatives."

"Jack lied."

Bruce's blood ran ice cold in his veins. "What?"

"Tim's grandmother never died. Her name is Susan Klein and she still lives next door to my family. I tried to tell Tim his Nana was alive, and that's when he ran off. I think he's in denial."

Bruce had to sit down as he processed this information. For years, he'd cared for Tim while his parents were out of the country, and then after his mother died and his father was in a coma. And then when Jack died, he adopted the boy he'd grown to love as his own son... But it was all under the assumption that Tim had no one else in his life. Tim had believed he had no one else.

And it was all a lie?

"Why?" Bruce asked, confused. "Why would Jack lie about that?"

Before Lucius could offer any explanation, Bruce saw Alfred emerge from the library. "Timothy is not in the Cave, but I did track his phone. Right now he's stationary in his new house in Gotham. He's logged into his workstation in the Nest." The old man's brow furrowed. "I've tried reaching out to him both by phone and computer, but he's not responding to anything."

Bruce got to his feet. "We can talk more about this later, Lucius. Tim's at his new place in the city, so I'm going to check on him now."

"I'll have Tam meet you there."

"That's not necess--"

"Do either you or Alfred have a key to the front door, and have your biometrics been programed into the house security system yet?"

Bruce and Alfred shared a glance, but said nothing, much to both of their mutual surprises.

Lucius apparently took their joint silence as a negative. "Tam was present while the theater renovations were in their early planning stages, and her biometrics were preinstalled into the security matrix while Tim was programming it. She can get you in without the Nest locking itself down." Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius's computer shutting down as well as the rustling of an overcoat being pulled on. "I'll call Tam on my way home."

"You're leaving the office?" Bruce asked as he went to his bedroom so he could change out of his nightclothes.

"This is a family emergency, and Susan has been like a grandmother to my own kids for nearly twenty-five years now. She needs to know her grandson is alive and well."

Bruce had just gotten back to his room, though he paused at the door. That feeling of ice in his veins had reasserted itself. "Did she think Tim was dead?"

In the background, Bruce could hear the sound of Lucius taking the elevator. "Honestly... we didn't know what had happened to him," Lucius admitted in a low tone. "We weren't sure exactly what Jack was capable of back then."

Once inside his bedroom, Bruce immediately began to quickly gather his clothes to change. "Please Lucius. I want to help my son, but I need more information. Tell me what you know about Tim's parents and grandmother."

Author's Notes:

At first, I was going to make this a much longer chapter. However, midway through writing it, I decided to split this chapter into two parts, with another chapter taking place in the past splitting the differences. I really hope everyone is enjoying this tale so far. If anyone has any questions or comments, please feel free to post them. I'll do my best to answer them.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne