#the bee is now camping out at my door and I can’t get out onto my patio

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[blazewatergem]

Sweet Story - Trick or Treat

“Just a little longer, Bella baby, I gotta get it right.”

Cleona chuckles at the whine Bella gives out, and patiently waits until the toddler is no longer puffing her cheeks to continue putting on her makeup.

It’s Halloween night, and already the camp has done all the greatest hits - pumpkin carving, decorating, and baking Eleanor’s famous pumpkin swirl cinnamon rolls.

They even had breakfast outside by the lakeshore, enjoying the crisp air as Fall’s last stronghold fell to winter’s army.

Now, though, it was time to go out and get some candy. Which is why Cleona was currently doing Bella’s makeup, listening as the others got ready outside the bathroom.

“Kitty, why can’t you come with us?” Bella asks, and while she still has a pout on her face the rest of the makeup goes on smoothly.

“I can’t wear my Glamore for that long, little queen.” Cleona is careful when planting a kiss on her forehead, before setting the tiara on it, “It doesn’t work as well at night, and only in emergencies. Besides, you’ll be out with Charlie, Alex, Phil and the Marksman.”

That sure is a deeply dramatic sigh from a six year old, and Bella is happy to demonstrate such an act.

“Oooookkkkkkk.” She drones out, but is back to smiling soon enough.

“Think I’ll fill up my pail?”

“Totally, bumblebee.”

🎃

Cleona wanted to laugh at seeing everyone’s costumes. As much as she has always wanted to go out trick or treating - her body wouldn’t let her, she couldn’t fake anything, not like the others - there was something nice about staying home.

Bella was dressed up as a Queen Bee - a frilly, Victorian dress and crown on her brow with swiped Tinker Bell wings - while Alex was her Valkyrie guardian, complete with an armored dress, because Alex never does things in halves.

Sabella had instead decided to turn in early - the drop in heat was making her more and more tired, draining her energy like a slow leak in a boat.

Charlie…

There was no easy way to describe what Charlie was dressed up as. He was wearing his human disguise, which looked so fake he could pass off as wearing a costume. Tonight was one of the few nights he could pass it off instead of freaking others out.

Cleona always thought he looked like he was wearing someone’s skin - a mannequin styled creature, puppeteering itself - but hey, that works on Halloween.

The Marksman - an adult who no one has ever seen or properly heard - was wearing his cloak and mask like always. No big surprise.

Finally, Phil was dressed up as a game show host. He was a middle aged, kindly blond man with a sweet smile.

Everyone called him Old Man. No exceptions.

As she waved the group off, watching them head into the truck and off to neighborhoods beyond…

Cleona walks back into the camp boundaries, out into the forest, and runs.

🎃

Later, when she returns picking leaves out of her hair and burrs in her fur, Cleona sees the truck pulling in and smiles. No, grins. She loves a lot of stuff about Halloween —

But this has to be the best part.

Bella barely pauses when the truck door swings open, jumping out and sprinting for the front door, even tugging on it a couple of times before turning back and shouting wordlessly for Phil. He has to shut off the truck before joining her, letting Alex and Charlie out of the back seat.

They join Cleona in watching, Charlie slowly letting his human-suit plop off and Alex with his arms crossed, smirking.

“Old man is about to lose so much.”

“Oh, yeah? Good trick or treat night then, huh?”

“Hell yeah. You got a stick in your hair by the way.”

“Oh, dammit.”

🎃

The Halloween ritual between Phil and Bella goes as follows; After a long night of trick or treating, Bella brings her bag into the kitchen to be checked out. The candy is dumped onto the countertop, and Phil helps her sort through it.

The candy goes into three piles. One pile is for anything labeled King Size, or is considerably large enough to count as - Phil likes to eyeball it, Bella’s the stickler on these rules.

The second pile is any candy that is sugar free. This candy will be set off to the side, and not be counted.

The third pile is…everything else. The Reese’s, the Hershey’s, the Kit-Kats and Snickers. The gumdrops, the lollipops, the knock-offs and strangers.

Anything with sugar, really. Which, for the most part, Bella couldn’t eat without getting sick. It used to be such an awful thing, especially around holidays like Halloween. It wasn’t her fault, just part of her bee-like biology.

So, he came up with an idea. Which leads to the next part of the ritual, where Phil kindly puts all the pile three candy back into Bella’s bag, and sets it on a kitchen scale bought just for this.

He laughs, “Oh, dear, Bella, how’d you get this to…roughly ten pounds, love?”

She crosses her arms and smirks, a look he recognizes from none other than the golden-winged teen outside, “I got it myself!”

He dutifully doesn’t admit to seeing Alex and Charlie trying to shove their candy into Bella’s bag, or hearing her giggle at their exaggerated acting the entire way home.

“Well, then. That’s ten pounds of regular candy, plus…oh, look at that, five king sized candy bars. Look at that, buzzy baby, I think that’s more than last year!”

And thus, as Phil pats the girl on the head, he realizes with a sigh that - Yep.

She definitely likes this system just a bit more than she should.

🎃

The three teens look up, seeing the triumphant look on Bella’s face, and laugh when she holds one tiny child fist up with glee.

“I GOT TWENTY DOLLARS!”

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 12

A/N: Hello! Are you all ready for some of the softest Frankie and Bee? Because yeah...it got soft! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: language, references to sex, one punch

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

1 Year Later

“Hi Honey!” an exhausted sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your book bag by the door and kicked off your shoes. The smell of something delicious cooking immediately reached your nose as you the sound of two feet and four paws met your ears. A grin spread across your face as you spied Daisy and Frankie rushing towards you. 

“Hi Bee,” he beamed as he wrapped you up in his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “you’re just in time - I just finished dinner. How was school?”

“Good,” you pressed a kiss to his lips before reaching down and giving Daisy a handful of pets, “long though. I’m exhausted! Oh, but we learned about lemurs and their evolutionary history and it was just so...interesting. They’re so cute and there’s so many species. For one of our assignments we need to go and observe primates at the zoo and I thought I could watch the lemurs! But - oops, I don’t want to bore you. How was your day, Frankie?”

“You will never bore me,” he quickly cut off any negative thoughts or ideas you had. You couldn’t help but grin at him, as he reached up and gently cradled your face in his hands, “whatever you want to tell me, you know you can. I want to hear about it all. Yes?”

“Yes,” you agreed, knowing that if this was anyone but Frankie, the outcome would have been a very different result. Especially if you’d gotten...no. You weren’t even going to let your mind go to that place. Not when your whole world was in front of you, “I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too,” a gentle brush of noses as the two of you grinned at each other. You opened your mouth to say something but were quickly cut off by the loud rumbling of your stomach, “dinner time. Come on, let’s eat and you can tell me all about your lemurs.”

“Only if you tell me all about your day,” you took his outstretched hand and let him lead you to the kitchen. To your delighted surprise, you found a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies on the counter, “those are beautiful!”

“They’re for you,” he said simply as he pulled two plates from the cabinet. Your brows knitted together in surprise as you quickly wracked your brain as you tried to figure out if you’d missed some sort of holiday or anniversary, “they’re a just because I felt like it surprise. I saw them when I took Daisy for a walk after work. I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you touched some of the soft petals, “and you - very, very much.”

“I know,” he winked as he plated up some of the pasta and sauce and you took a seat at the counter. You liked this - this simple, wonderful domesticity of getting to come home with and live with your lover. Not just your lover - but your love. The man that had had your heart forever it had seemed. You couldn’t help but spot the pictures of the two of you on the fridge, beaming and grinning from ear to ear. They’d been taken on a camping trip the two of you’d gone on earlier in the year. Frankie caught your far off look and chuckled softly, “what’s wrong, sweet Bee?”

“Nothing,” you reassured him, “I just...I like this a whole lot. Us, being together, everything. It feels so...right, natural.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he promised as he set a plate in front of you, “you were always the one, Bee.”

“Just like you, Francisco,” you leaned into his side as he brought his plate next to you. Just before sitting down, he reached into the giant glass canister that was filled with treats for Daisy. She looked at him with wide, shining eyes as he gently handed her a few treats; you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, “I imagine she’s had dinner and cannot be starving.”

“That may be, but we’re eating now and I don’t want her to feel left out,” he insisted as you broke into a fit of giggles at his silly insistence. He scoffed playfully before taking his spot next to you, “you laugh, but you know she’s very perceptive.”

“I do know,” you agreed as you nudged his side, “what a caring, considerate boyfriend I have indeed.”

You couldn’t help but kiss his cheek as you looked at him fondly. There was so much light and life behind his eyes now, so much happiness. They crinkled into the corners whenever he smiled and his one dimple made a spectacular appearance. His hair had grown out more, chocolate tinged with caramel and curling deliciously at the ends. He looked so happy and healthy, so much better than he had when you’d first reunited. It hadn’t always been easy for him, and some days were harder, but he’d never had a set back once, despite the darkest days. In the end, it had been you. You’d been the shining beacon, the light of his life, and had gotten him to have the courage and strength to get through it all. Just like on your bad days, he was there for you. 

“It’s been a year, you know,” he whispered after you’d eaten in silence, using a piece of bread to scoop up that last bit of sauce. You looked at him in confusion for a moment before you realized what he was speaking about, “since we’ve been together...again.”

“It feels like it’s been no time at all,” you said softly, “and yet it feels like its always been like this.”

“I agree,” he grinned as he swallowed his last bite, causing you to giggle as some sauce clung to the corner of his mouth. His brows knitted in confusion as you leaned over and swiped your thumb over the sauce and wiped it away. Frankie grabbed your hand and licked your thumb clean before holding it against his scruffy cheek. You felt flushed at the gesture, both intimate and sweet in its own way, “I love you, Bee.”

“I love you too, you silly man,” you sighed in content.

“Now - tell me all about your day,” he insisted as he walked to the fridge to get a couple of beers, “no details spared. Hit me with them!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is beautiful,” you made quick work of unzipping your light sweater and tossing it onto the large, plush blanket Frankie had laid out for your little picnic. Despite having seen you in countless variations of clothing, Frankie still managed to be astounded by your beauty; he felt his heart thump wildly as he looked at you in only your sports bra and leggings. You turned and gave him a curious smile, “what? Do I have something on my face?”

"No, it's nothing," he promised with a shy smile as you walked over to him and played a lock of his hair, "you're beautiful."

"Oh my gosh," you snorted with laughter as you gently pushed his chest, "such a fool, Francisco! You've known me for how long? You can't possibly still feel that way."

"I'll always feel that way about you," he insisted with a cheeky grin, "especially when you look like that. Nice ass."

"Haha," you flipped him the bird before strolling over to the water. Stopping at the edge, you made a quick show of pulling off your leggings and bra. Luckily, you were in a very secluded area and no one was likely to stumble upon you, "have you seen yours? Nice ass! Now come on and get in the water!"

"Why?" he groaned lightly at the enticing sight as he pulled off his shirt and shorts, and came over to you. You both knew he would give in to you. He would be a fool to turn you done.

"Its a perfect day for a swim," you insisted before diving into the cool, gentle water, "come on in, Frankie! The water is wonderful!"

“It’s cold,” he huffed lightly, watching as you swam back up and broke through the surface, grinning at him. He reminded you so much of the boy you had convinced to swim with you when you were just kids. You splashed some water at him, causing him to give a jokingly stern look before he swam over to you, “I’m going to get you!”

“No!” you grinned like mad before trying to swim away, but he was quick to catch up and wrap his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest, “you’re a cheater!”

“How am I a cheater?” he laughed as he rested his chin on your shoulder, “all I did was swim!”

“I don’t know,” you insisted, but I know you did. He laughed as you quit struggling against him and let him hold you. As his grip loosened, you turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck before pressing a kiss to his plush lips, “hi.”

“Hi,” naturally Frankie took every opportunity to steal a kiss from you. You studied his face, bringing a hand to his cheek as you used a few fingers to trace over his features and breathe in him. How he was still the same boy underneath the years that had aged him to the man you now loved, “what?”

“Nothing,” you repeated his words from earlier, “I just love you a lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

“Well that’s good,” his grin stretched from ear to ear, “or else this would have been really awkward, because I happen to love you a lot, a lot too.”

You only made a small sound in your throat before you grabbed his face and pulled him towards you and crashed your lips again his, “fuck - I love you so much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

"This was a good idea," you popped a few berries into your mouth before turning your head back to soak up some soon, "what caused this spur of the moment decision?"

Except it wasn’t spur of the moment at all. But you didn't know that yet.

“Nothing really,” he insisted with a small grin, “just wanted to spend the afternoon with my favorite girl.”

“Favorite, huh? What about Daisy? I see those eyes you two pull at each other,” you grabbed the glass champagne and downed it all in one, hiccuping at the bubbly taste. He wasted no time in refilling your glass and his, trying to summon up the courage for what he really wanted to say.

“Okay, you got me - one of my favorite girls,” he laughed before clinking his glass against yours. You let out a small sigh before lying on your back and resting your head on Frankie’s thigh, “tired?”

“A little,” your yawn gave you away, “it was a long night and someone insisted I get up early and go hiking and everything. Plus the warm sun and food isn’t helping. I promise I won’t fall asleep...for long.”

“Mhmm,” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

It was silent for some time, only the gentle ebb of the lake and the sounds of birds in the trees and creatures on the ground meeting your ears. You could have dozed off, but didn’t quite yet...instead you soaked up Frankie’s warmth and played with his hand in yours.

“Frankie…?” you asked softly after a while. He was leaning up against a large tree, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was asleep. Frankie made a small sound, encouraging you to go on, “have you ever...you know what? Never mind, it’s silly.”

“You know you can ask me anything, Bee. If it matters to you, it’s not silly.”

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” you swallowed the lump in your throat and you were suddenly glad your eyes were closed against the sun and he had his sunglasses on, “I-I mean specifically us having kids. I know we joked about it as kids but...what about now?”

Frankie’s breath hitched in his throat and he almost dropped your hand in surprise. He was so choked up, he almost couldn’t get the words out, “I-I...ummm…”

“It’s weird, huh?” you hoped this wasn’t him easily rejecting you, “right before I was going to marry Chad, he thought I was pregnant for a moment and he just seemed so….I dunno. He told me I shouldn’t be pregnant before we get married and then we should have a kid and get it over with. Can you believe it - just get it over? I never...I would never want to have a child with someone that was only having one to be able to say they have one. It’s horrid.”

“He really was the worst.”

“In every way,” you agreed with a tense laugh, “I’m sorry for just springing this on you...it’s just been on my mind, I guess.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted as he shifted you, so you were perched in his lap and facing him. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and studied you intently, “yes, I have thought about it. Many times...there’s no one else I’d want children with besides you, Bee. I-I...I would be lucky to have you as the mother of my child...or children. I’ve often thought about a little baby bee running around.”

“Baby bee,” your eyes stung lightly with tears as you repeated the words back to him; your throat constricted with emotion at the mere thought, “I love that...what about a baby fish? I like the sound of that too. What a lucky child they would be to call you their father.”

“I would never want to have a child just because that’s what society wants,” he swiped his thumb over your cheek to brush away the single tear, “I want a child because we’re in love and that’s what we decide to do. If and when you’re ready, I-I’ll be ready too.”

“Yeah?” you asked softly as his large hand rested on your neck, and he nodded, “because I’d very much like if you knocked me up, Francisco Morales.”

You raised an eyebrow at him before the two of you broke into fits of laughter. That was one of the many beautiful things about your relationship; no matter how serious and important it was, you both were able to find a laugh and look on the bright side. 

“I wouldn’t mind knocking you up,” he mused playfully, “we might have to try a lot though...I don’t know if you can handle it.”

“Oh, I think I can handle it,” you insisted, “can you?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he grinned as you laid against his chest and let him wrap his arms around you, “there’s one more thing I want to do first…well not necessarily first, but I-I want to ask.”

“What is it?” you asked as you placed gentle kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder. He shifted lightly and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Francisco?”

“I…" without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and fumbled around for a moment as you watched him with a mixture of amusement and confusion. When he appeared to be satisfied, he paused for a moment before inhaling and deeply, "there's something important I want to ask - that I've been meaning to ask you for so long now. I think now is the perfect time."

"Francisco," your hand was on his chest as he held his hand up and displayed a small, velvet pouch. You raised an eyebrow in question, instinctively reaching for it but stopping yourself at the last moment, "baby-"

"Take it," he whispered softly as you obliged him and delicately procured the black pouch from him. Curiously opening it up, your heart almost stood still as you pulled out the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. Your mouth dropped open as you looked between him and the ring a couple of times, "do you like it, Honey Bee? I-I helped design it and I hope you like it...but if you don't-"

You quickly cut him off with a kiss, pulling him as tightly against your body as you could, only pulling back when you were left breathless, "I love it - it's beautiful. I love you, so much Francisco. Are you...asking me-"

"Will you marry me, Bee?" he gently took the ring from your shaking hands as you offered him your left hand.

"Yes," you whispered as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You took his hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze, "yes, a million times yes. Of course I'll marry you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Me too," he grinned as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He knew, deep down, that the chances that you'd say were slim, but still, there was always that little bit of doubt, "you were always the one. Always."

"Yeah," you agreed with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, "you're the one, my love. It was always you."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"You didn't have to do all of this," Frankie's eyes were with wonder and excitement as he looked around the exquisite restaurant. It was fancy, definitely more so than anything you'd normally consider, but you'd wanted to do this for Frankie. The man had been complaining about wanting a good steak for so long, you'd taken it upon yourself to find the best steak restaurant in town.

"I know," you promised him as you pulled out his chair for him and motioned for him to sit down, "but I wanted to, my love. You always take such good care of me, I figured we - you - deserve it. Plus, think of it as a way of celebrating our engagement!"

"I can't argue with that," he smiled lightly as he reached across the table and put his hand over yours. He knew that while excited about your engagement and wanting to tell the world, part of it had been hard on you. Your family still wasn't on speaking terms with you, by their choice and despite efforts from both of you. It wasn't something that plagued you constantly, but times like this made you wish things were different. 

The silver lining in all of this was that through your reunion with Frankie, you'd gained his friends as yours as well - the infamous bee they always called you. You still had Allie and Anna, who were absolutely more than thrilled to know Frankie was your person. Plus with starting school again, you'd made friends with several people that you enjoyed spending time in and out of class with. At the end of the day, however, there was nothing better than getting to come to Frankie. He was your everything, as you were his.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as you took a sip of wine as the two of you waited for your meals, “you have your thinking face on.”

“You always knew me too well,” you teased lightly, “I was thinking about how much I love you. How lucky I am to be with you, and get to call you mine. That no matter how much we’ve been through, we get to be together in the end. That no matter what happens with my family or whatever, that I’ll have you, and so many others. That you are my family.” 

“Always,” he promised with a small smile, “I’ll always be here for you. I’m not going anywhere, you know that. You are my family, my home, and my heart, Bee. You always have been.”

“I know that,” you beamed, lighting up his whole world, “I always have too...I love you.”

“I love you too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I think I’ve got room for dessert, don’t you?” you teased as you stood up and reached for his hand. Frankie’s eyes grew wide as he realized exactly what you meant, “the pie we baked yesterday, and I think there’s ice cream in the freezer.” 

“Baby-” he was somewhere between a laugh and a groan as trailed at your side, “you’re killing me.”

“Oops,” you teased, completely amused by his reaction. 

"Well, well, well," your blood ran cold at the sound of the eerily familiar voice. Frankie kept walking, unaware that anything was wrong until he noticed you weren't following him. Turning on your hell, you slowly came face to face with Chad, "look what the cat dragged in. Didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"And that still would have been too soon," you lightly rolled your eyes, "and while I feel like I'd love to stay and argue and rehash everything, I'm going to be the better person here and just walk away."

"Because you have nothing to say," he chided as you tried to blow him off. But then you saw who he was with, "pity."

"Yes," you sighed, "what a pity indeed. Clarissa! I didn't think I'd see you again either. Are you together? I didn't think you liked Chad- all the time you spent talking shit about him, must not have been real, huh?"

Your friend, former friend anyway, looked at you with a scowl as pursed her lips but remained silent. It might have been pathetic and petty, but in the moment you couldn't help it.

"And just who are you here with? That pathetic looking man over there? The one that's watching you with concern...ahh, yes, an engagement ring," his eyes flicked to your left hand as you felt your blood boil. He could taunt and make fun of you all he wanted, but he would never say a word about Frankie, "its...precious. He must have spent his whole life savings on that. I don't get it...you had everything - I gave you everything - wealth, status, luxury and you left all of that...and for what?"

"Don't you dare," you held up your finger and jammed in front of his face, "don't you dare talk about him. He is a far better person than you will ever be. He is everything to me. I left you because I couldn't commit to a loveless marriage and society and people I don't care about. You never loved me, let's be honest. You loved my name, my family's wealth, their status. That's all that ever mattered to you. And yet I am the one who sounds pathetic?"

"What can he offer you?" Chad smirked as he leaned back in his chair.

"Bee-" Frankie could easily sense the tension flowing between the two of you and had come over and reached for your hand, "come on, let's go home."

"Bee," Chad almost howled with laughter as you glared at him, "how perfectly adorable. What a cute couple - the failed socialite and the...what? Some sort of kitchen boy?"

"That is enough," you almost shouted at him as seemingly half the restaurant turned to look at you, "stop this. What is the point?"

"Does there have to be a point?" there was nothing but a smug grin on his face, "you could have had it all and now you've got...him. You could have so many other choices and now what? You're going to be-"

But before he could say anything else, you swung your arm back and landed a punch, right in the middle of face. The action shocked you so much, and Frankie and Clarissa - and the rest of the establishment that you were all awestruck for a moment. The crack of his nose had surprised you most and you’d immediately recoiled and clutched your aching hand. Frankie’s hand found your shoulders as he pulled you against his chest.

"Stupid bitch!" Chad jumped to his feet and clutched his bleeding nose, “who do you think you are?”

“Come on,” Frankie’s voice was low and gentle in your ear as he pulled you back from the scene, “we have to go.”

Nodding lightly, you let him usher you away, but not before you turned around to speak your last bit of peace, “I hope I never see you again. But I do hope you find someone you love, truly love, and someone that loves you. Because there is nothing better, and even though you are horrid, you deserve it too. There is one thing I learned from you - how to be truly loved by someone and let them love you back, and for that I thank you.”

You turned around before he, or anyone else, could say anything, grabbing Frankie’s hand with your own and pulling him out of the restaurant amid quiet murmurs. 

Only stopping once you were outside, you let go of his hand and sighed heavily. Frankie looked at you with something akin to a mix of awe and love as he took your injured hand and studied it. You winced slightly as pain had already settled in the joints, “that was...impressive. Where did you learn to throw a punch like that, Bee?”

“You,” you admitted with a laugh, “back when we were kids! You said it was important to always know how to throw a good punch and you taught me. I guess I must have remembered it after all these years.”

“I guess I taught you well,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a gentle to the already prominent bruising, “so that was him, huh?”

“Unfortunately,” you agreed with a bitter huff, “could you have imagined if I’d married him? How absolutely terrible that would have been. I made the right choice, I know, and I’ve known that for a long time now. It was always you.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly, tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d had with dinner, “let’s go home, sweet Bee. We have to tend to your hand and not let it get worse.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Frankie?” you were laid on top of him on the small bed in your dorm, fighting off sleep as he continued to read. You’d insisted on stopping for a nap, and he’d insisted he needed to finish his book that day - he was deeply invested. He made a small sound, urging you to continue you on as he played with a lock of your hair, “I have a request - it’s silly…”

“Tell me,” he insisted softly as he set his book down, “come on, Bee, tell me.”

“When we’re old and married,” you wrapped your arms around his middle as you rested your head on his chest, “I want a dog, and a house with a big yard where we can grow lots of flowers. And two kids - at least. I-I know it’s silly, to think about the future so far ahead, but I like to dream.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” he promised softly, a flush of warmth rising in his chest and face, “I-I like the sound of that, Bee. Does that include a white picket fence? I was thinking more about like..shrubs...or lots of flowers, like an open concept.”

“It includes whatever you want,” you turned and grinned at him, pressing a kiss to his lips, “as long as you’re there, it doesn’t matter. None of it does, as long as you’re there. I love you so much, Francisco.”

“Of course I will be,” he promised softly, “I’m not going anywhere. I love you too, Bee.”

“Read to me?” you asked as you handed his book back to him, “I can’t think of a better thing than falling asleep to the sound of your voice.”

“Anything for you, Bee…my Bee.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[water-writings]

I’m so glad my predicament gave you a meme opportunity 😂

When your friend is having bee problems

You meme to make her feel better....until you get ambushed. Thank you @water-writings for giving me an excellent meme opportunity. This is gold.

[tobesolonely]

never have i ever

summary: y/n and harry go on a camping trip, but things don’t go according to plan

a/n: thank u for reading! please reblog/leave feedback if you enjoy! its very encouraging to me :’)

warnings: smut <33 18+ please! mentions of alcohol/drinking as well

word count: ~4k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

Never in your life did you think you'd ever agree to do something as outdoorsy as camping, yet all it took was Harry asking you very sweetly one time, and you immediately agreed. You'd never been one to spend an excessive amount of time with nature. You loved a good sunrise and sunset, just like most people. Sometimes you'd even wake up early and go on a sunrise hike with Harry if he promised to make you breakfast once you were finished. Occasionally, you'd go on walks and runs with him, and spend some time down at the beach. That was the extent of the outdoor activities you'd partake in, though. However, Harry had the grand idea to go camping for the weekend as he had a bit of time off, and this was something he'd been talking about wanting to do for a while.

"Don't you wanna be one with nature? Help me pitch a tent? Get your hands a lil' dirty?" He asked you when you started having second thoughts about going with him, the idea of sleeping on the hard ground inside a small tent a major turn off.

"I mean, I can think of better ways to spend my weekend," you tell him, stirring the pot of soup you were making on the stove. It's the night before you were supposed to leave, and Harry already had the car packed, way too excited to wait any longer. "You know I always get the worst bug bites."

"That's what bug spray is for!" he tells you cheerily, snaking his arms around your waist and placing a wet kiss to your neck. "C'mon, Y/N. I promise it'll be worth it."

You sink into Harry's kisses, feeling wobbly in your knees as it was one of your most sensitive spots— and he knew that. "I suppose it'd be nice to get out of the city for a bit. Jus' me and you, yeah?" You didn't want anyone else to see how out of your element you were in the outdoors as you found it to be a little embarrassing. Harry hums, placing more open mouth kisses on your skin.

"Just me," he pauses to kiss you. "You," another kiss. "And the birds ‘n the bees." You blush, choosing to ignore his sexual innuendo.

"I guess it's too late to back out now, especially since you already took it upon yourself to pack a suitcase for me," you tell him, rolling your eyes and turning off the stove. "I'll give it a try, Harry. Besides, it's only a weekend, yeah? What could possibly go wrong?"

⋆⋆⋆

As it turns out, many, many things could go wrong during a weekend-long camping trip.

Harry told you that you didn't need to pull up directions because he knew where he was going, but you quickly realized that your stubborn boyfriend was hopelessly lost. "I don't think we're heading in the right direction, darling," you informed him from the passenger seat, opening up the Maps app on your phone. "You're positive you don't want me to give you directions? No shame in admitting you're lost."

Harry mutters under his breath, squinting his eyes to look at the freeway signs. He sighs, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Think I missed m'bloody exit," he tells you, clearly growing frustrated. "Can yeh tell me where 'm supposed to be, love? I think once I figure out the exit, we'll be good."

You and Harry were choosing to not venture too far out of Los Angeles, but far enough so you would be able to enjoy your time together without prying paparazzi. For this reason, he settled on a spot known to be a little more remote, about 50 miles north of downtown. Once you pull up the directions on your phone, your suspicions are confirmed. Harry was headed in the complete opposite direction, and he missed the exit nearly ten miles back. "Yeah, you're gonna need to take the next exit you see, and then we have to go back in the opposite direction. Just about ten miles too far."

"Ten miles? Lemme see tha'," he holds his hand out for your phone and pulls the car over on the freeway's side, turning on his hazards. "Huh, you're right. How'd we miss that, babe?"

"We missed it because you insisted you didn't need directions," you remind him, exasperated. "I'm from here, and I don't even know how we're supposed to get there!" Harry laughs, re-emerging onto the freeway.

"I guess I should've just let you read me the directions, huh? Don't worry, we'll be there soon. S'what? Ten miles? We'll be there in twenty minutes."

However, twenty minutes quickly turned into forty when you found yourselves stuck in the morning commute traffic. Harry fiddles with the radio as you go 5 miles per hour (on the freeway!), trying not to let the infamous Los Angeles traffic get him down. Although you were a bit behind the schedule he'd created, it was still only 7:30 am. You had the whole day ahead of you, and he couldn't wait to get you out in the wilderness and teach you how to pitch a tent and make the perfect s'more."

Eventually, you make it to the campgrounds. You had to admit that it was absolutely beautiful— tall, looming pine trees, snow-capped mountains, picnic tables, patches of even ground you figured would be perfect to set up the tent on, and even a couple outhouses. Harry gives you a smug look when he sees your awestruck face, glad that he was the first to show you something from your own city.

"It's beautiful up here, innit? So peaceful. Looks like we're here by ourselves too," he gestures towards the empty campgrounds. "Nice and private."

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt as Harry puts the car in park. "I'm already feelin' more relaxed," you joke, opening the door and stepping out to stretch your stiff limbs. "Should we walk around and take a peek at everything before we get ourselves set up?"

"Yeah, s'good idea," he gets out of the car himself and walks around to you, grabbing your hand. "Maybe we can go hiking later? Hear there's a nice little waterfall somewhere around here. Would love to see that." You hum in agreement, walking along the dry ground, leaves crunching under your feet.

"That sounds nice. I can't believe I've never been here," you tell him incredulously, swinging your hands. "It's so gorgeous. And is it just me, or is the air here like, super crisp?" Harry chuckles, nodding in agreement.

"I don't think it's just you, poppet. We're finally away from all that L.A. smog, can take some nice, deep breaths. This will be great for m'asthma." You laugh, and a comfortable silence falls between you. Occasionally, Harry will say, "Look at tha' bird!" or "That's the biggest tree 've seen in my life!" but you walk in silence, for the most part, enjoying each other's company.

"Do you think we should turn back?" you ask your boyfriend, stopping to look back in the direction you came from. "We've been walkin' for a minute. I don't think we should venture too far from the car." You were starting to grow tired and weren't in the right shoes for walking much longer.

"Yeah, let's get back and get that tent set up. Also gettin' kind of hungry," Harry tells you, turning you back around in the direction you'd come from. "How's tea and eggs sound?"

⋆⋆⋆

"Harry, you've got to be fuckin' kidding me!"

"Y/N, I swear I packed it! It has to be somewhere in here!"

"We've emptied out the entire car, Harry!"

Upon returning to the campsite, your boyfriend was excited to get the tent out of the car, so you could "really get this camping trip started," as he said. Yet, when he went in the trunk of his car to retrieve the tent, it was nowhere to be found. Neither one of you panicked at first, figuring he might've squeezed it in the backseat instead, as the trunk was pretty full. It wasn't there, either. Now, your suitcases and cooler was laid out around the car, but the tent was nowhere to be found. He runs his fingers in frustration through his hair, tapping his foot while he contemplates calling one of his assistants and asking her to bring it to him.

"Harry, don't make her do that. You already told her she could have the weekend off. It's not her fault you forgot it," you scold, digging your shoe's toe into the dirt. "We can just sleep in the car."

"That's so uncomfortable," he mewls, placing your suitcases back into the car. "Maybe we should just go home. We're not off to a very good start, maybe it's a sign?"

"No way, H. I've already called off work to come here with you, we're staying," you insist, reaching back into the car to grab the electric tea kettle you've bought. "Let's get a little breakfast in our stomachs and then go see that waterfall, how's that sound?" Harry gives you a reluctant look but agrees, reaching in the cooler to grab the carton of eggs you've brought along. He grabs the small skillet, albeit your favorite one that you told him not to bring here, and grabs a small charcoal bag to light the grill.

"Have yeh got a lighter on ya?" Harry asks, walking over to the small grill beside the picnic table. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Me? You didn't ask me to bring it! Are you telling me we can't even light the grill now?" You couldn't believe everything that could go wrong on your camping trip was going wrong, but now it seemed like you wouldn't even be able to prepare hot meals for the next two days.

"Yes, I did, Y/N," Harry argues back calmly, not wanting to raise his voice. "Remember? I bought that long one so it would be easier to use. Said, 'Babe, make sure yeh grab the lighter off the counter.'" You think for a moment and then shake your head, sure Harry did, in fact, not tell you to grab the lighter, and he was just trying to push the blame to you.

"Now what? We can't cook the meat or vegetables all because you couldn't remember to bring the lighter," you tell him sharply, feeling yourself growing more annoyed by the second. You were incredibly frustrated because you weren't keen on the idea of camping in the first place, but you came along anyway, not expecting so many things to go wrong.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, a thing he does every time things start getting heated between the two of you because he hates fighting. "Well, it's at home, and there's not much we can do about it, so 'm sorry for pointin' fingers at you. Did we bring anything we can snack on that doesn't require cooking?" You rummage around in the cooler and find a box of cheese, some cold cuts, a loaf of french bread, and a couple bottles of wine.

"Hows some cheese, bread, and meat sound? We can make little sandwiches," you tell him, pulling out the food. "Maybe some wine?"

Harry chuckles, walking over to you. "Y/N, it's not even 10 am."

"We're on vacation, aren't we?"

He shrugs, walking over to you to grab the bottle of wine. You grab plates, napkins, and a sheet you bought to double as a tablecloth, laying it out atop the picnic table. "'M actually starving," he calls to you from beside the car, reaching to grab two wine glasses. "Can't wait to eat this."

You cut into the loaf of french bread and cheese and add slices of salami and ham, quickly assembling mini sandwiches for you and Harry. "These look good, don't they?" you ask him, half teasing, half-serious. You hand him his sandwich, and he grins, grabbing it from you.

"Looks delicious, Y/N, thank you. Cheers," he gently taps his sandwich against yours, and you both take big bites, moaning at your first taste of food all day. "Want some wine now?" He asks, pouring you each full glasses. He slides the glass in front of you and you grab it, taking a long sip.

"S'good. Where'd you get this one from?" you question, taking another bite from your sandwich.

"Italy," he responds sheepishly, tasting it himself. "I know how to pick a bottle of wine, don't I?"

You giggle at your boyfriend's subtle bragging, continuing to eat your breakfast. You realized that there was no way you and Harry could comfortably spend the whole weekend here camping. You'd most likely have to call it quits before it got dark. However, you were still glad you'd get to spend time with your boyfriend outdoors, eating "emergency sandwiches" and sipping on a 500 dollar bottle of wine.

⋆⋆⋆

"Never have I ever had a one night stand," you say loudly, giggling in the process. You and Harry were both absolutely plastered, having already finished one bottle of wine and working on the second. You've decided to play a good old fashioned game of Never Have I Ever, and it was getting more raunchy the drunker the two of you became. Harry narrows his eyes at you and takes a swig out of the bottle of wine, shaking his head.

"You already know 've had one because I've told yeh about it before, yeh lil' cheater," he exclaims, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Here's one. Never have I ever shagged in the backseat of a car." You choke on your wine, widening your eyes at him.

"You actually think I've done that? How kinky do you think I am?" you smack him on his arm, laughing at his ridiculous statement. Harry doesn't say anything, running his finger along the rim of his wine glass.

"Here's a more specific one," he leans closer to you, and you can smell the wine on his warm breath. "Never have I ever shagged in the back of my car, in the middle of the woods, while on a camping trip with my girlfriend." His hand goes to rest on your thigh, and you swallow thickly.

"Thought you wanted to go see that waterfall?" you ask him, your words jumbling together slightly. Harry turns to face you, so his legs are on either side of the bench, and he pulls you closer to him by your waist.

"Don't care much for the waterfall when 've got a beautiful woman sat in front of me," he blurts, sucking on the underside of your jaw.

"What d'you want then?" you challenge, tilting your head slightly, so Harry is better positioned to place kisses to your jaw.

"Want you," he responds simply, grabbing your hand and placing it over his growing bulge. "Y'know how wine gets me goin', love." You hum in agreement, palming him through his trousers.

"I know," you respond breathlessly, pulling away from him to down the rest of your wine. "Why don't we go to the car then?" Harry gives you a surprised look, a dopey smile on his face.

"So we're really doin' this then?" He asks, standing up from the picnic table and holding his hand out for you to grab.

"No one's around, why not?" You knew that your sexual boldness came from all the wine you'd consumed, but at that moment, you didn't think there was anything you wanted more in the world than your boyfriend's cock down your throat. "Need to taste you." Harry groans, leading you hastily toward the car. You both stumble to get there in your intoxicated stupor but make it in one piece, giggling and clinging onto one another.

"After you, m' lady," he opens the backseat and curtsies, causing you to both erupt into a fit of giggles. You clamber into the backseat, scooting all the way to the other side so Harry could climb in after you. He shuts the door, and you sit in silence for a minute, catching your breaths. "Tight squeeze back here, yeah?"

"Yeah," you readjust your body, so your back is against the door, and your legs are over Harry's lap. "How are we gonna do this?"

Harry's quirks an eyebrow at you, undoing the button on his pants. "Yeh really wanna just straight into it, don't yeh, minx?" You nod, readjusting your position, so you're now on your knees, having to crane your neck slightly, so you're not hitting the car's roof.

"Let me taste you," you offer, seeing his hard cock straining to get out the confines of his tight clothing. He wordlessly nods and lifts his hips, tugging his pants down to his mid-thigh. He's not as hard as he can get, maybe due to the amount of wine he's consumed, but you know he's nearly there. You reach over to grab him, hands shaking slightly. "Can't believe we're doing this in the middle of the woods. Makes it even hotter, though."

Harry's head falls against the back seat's headrest as you flick your tongue out to capture the drop of pre-cum that was beginning to run down the side of his head. "Take me in y' mouth, Y/N. What are yeh waiting for?"

You place your hands on his thighs and lower your mouth onto his cock, taking him almost entirely in your warm mouth. Harry lets out a loud groan, not even bothering to quiet his sounds of pleasure since he knew no one was anywhere nearby. You come back up for air and lick your lips, giving him a sultry look. "You mean like that?" Harry grips the back of your head and roughly pushes you back down onto him, not in the mood for your teasing.

"Don't be cheeky now, lovie," he warns, bucking his hips up roughly to fuck your mouth. "Yeh want me to help you cum later, don't yeh?" You moan around his cock, not wanting to answer him, so you don't break the rhythm you were going at. As your sex life with Harry grew more adventurous throughout your relationship, you've only gotten better at deepthroating him, able to get him close to his orgasm in minutes. You always joked between the two of you that giving him head was one of your greatest talents, and of course, he never disagreed with that sentiment. You come up from his cock to take another breath, inhaling deeply through your nostrils. Harry immediately pushes you back down onto him without saying anything. He begins thrusting into you with even more vigor than before, and you know he's almost there. "Y/N, 'm gonna cum—"

You pull off Harry's mouth with a loud plop!, lifting up your dress and shoving your underwear to the side. "Can I ride you?" you ask sweetly, already situating yourself over him. Your boyfriend nods, completely flustered from being pushed so close to his orgasm, and then denied the opportunity to cum.

"S'course," he answers with a shaky breath. "C'mere." He grabs your waist and guides you onto his length, helping you sink down slowly. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him deep within you. Every ridge, every pulse, the warmth— it makes you feel completely feral. "That's a good girl, Y/N. Takin' my cock like it's nothing, aren't yeh? This is easy for you, hmm?"

You nod against his shoulder, starting to bounce around slowly on him. "So easy, H. Fit inside me so well," you moan, squeezing your eyes shut. "Feels fuckin' incredible, stretchin' me out like this." Harry squeezes onto your sides, leaving bruises in the shapes of his fingers. Harry places a kiss against his lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

"You like tha', Y/N? Such a dirty girl, lettin' me fuck ya in the back of my car like this. Kinky lil' thing, you are, pet," he mutters, thrusting his hips up as you slam yourself down to meet him. You nod, moving your hips in a gyrating motion.

"Love it, H. Fuckin' into me so well, fuck," you let out a particularly loud cry when Harry repositions you slightly, hitting your g-spot int he new position he has you in. "Don't stop please, keep going." You urge your boyfriend, throwing your head back. It's incredibly hot in the car, and you realize that maybe you should've cracked open a few windows before starting, but there was no way you're going to stop now to tell him that, not when you were this close.

"Y/N, I'm gonna cum," he cries out, his breathing becoming labored. "Let me have yeh in another position, please, 'm so fuckin' close."

"There's no room," you choke out, squeezing down on him. Harry moans loudly, muttering a quiet "shit" under his breath. He lifts you off of him and lays you down across the backseat, bending your knees up to your chest while he situates himself in between your legs. It's cramped and uncomfortable and hot, but you're so close, just a few thrusts away from reaching your high.

"Put your legs over my shoulders," he demands, resting on hand on the car's headrest while the other grips your breast. You nod and place your legs on either side of his shoulders, now being able to feel him in a completely different way. He re-enters you, so much deeper than before, and you swear you see stars. "Fuckin' hell, Y/N. Love your tight pussy, babe. All fo' me, yeah?"

"All for you, baby," you cry, gripping onto his broad shoulders. "'M gonna cum now, let me cum." You're a begging, writhing mess beneath him, squeezing down on his cock.

"Do tha' again," he asks, his rhythm becoming sloppy and hurried, just wanting to get the two of you off. "I'm almost there too, babe, squeeze 'round my cock again like you just did."

You clench around Harry and he lets his head hang, squeezing onto your breast even harder. "'M cummin', Y/N," he announces immediately before releasing inside you, his warm load coating your spongy walls. Your bite your lip and squeeze around him again, the coil in your abdomen becoming tighter as you quickly approach your peak shortly after he reaches his. You know Harry is exhausted, but he doesn't stop, never wanting to leave you hanging. He reaches in between your bodies and rubs quick circles on your clit with the hand that's gripping the headrest and flicks your nipples with the other hand. "Come on, love. Can feel how close you are, I know you're nearly there."

Harry spanks your clit while increasing his speed, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your vision going hazy. You feel like you're underwater— his voice sounds muffled and a little far away, and that's how you know the orgasm was good. Your eyes are still shut, and you feel him slowly pull out, trying not to get his seed all over the backseat of his car. After coming down from your high, you open your eyes, a blissed-out smile on your face. "That was incredible." You let out a quiet chuckle, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. "Can you open the door? I can hardly breathe in here."

Harry laughs and slowly sits up, opening the door and inhaling the cold morning air. The car's windows were completely fogged up, and you're happy no one was walking by because if they did, they'd definitely know what the two of you had gotten into. "Guess you can't say you've never fucked in the backseat of a car before anymore."

[local-spoon-does-a-thing]

Found (Part 2/2)

[(Bayverse) Optimus Prime x Reader]

A/N: Woooo it’s finished! This part is going to mostly be about Optimus and Reader interacting. Hope you enjoy!

You can find the first part here!

Summary: You and Optimus Prime have a conversation under the starry night sky.

Soon enough, it was time to sleep and recharge. As the Autobots went into their alternate forms to recharge, your footsteps automatically led you to Bumblebee’s vehicle form as you had slept inside there for the past few years. Just as you opened the car door and sat down on the front seat, you were suddenly ejected out and had landed against the hard, rocky ground. You let out a small growl and turned around, only to witness Bee letting Cade, Tessa, and Shane entering inside. Oh, so they were allowed to sleep there but not you? Your eye twitched with annoyance but before you could call him out, Bee’s radio suddenly turned on.

“Turn around, bright eyes~” You knew the song all too well as it was the classic song, Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler.

You listened to the lyric that was played and whipped your head behind you. Optimus was in his truck form, his door open for you. Ohhh, right. You’ve forgotten that he was going to speak with you later. Seems like “later” was right now. Letting out a tired sigh, you were hesitating to walk to him. The nervousness drowned you once more like it had earlier. You still couldn’t figure out why you were nervous. Were you worried that you had lost your place in his spark? No, that was ridiculous. Why would he? It seemed like you were waiting for too long since Bumblebee turned on the radio once more and another old classic song played.

“Listen to your heart

When he’s calling for you.

Listen to your heart

There’s nothing else you can do.

I don’t know where you’re going

And I don’t know why,

But listen to your heart

Before you tell him goodbye.”

You looked back and glared at the sneaky little car, narrowing your eyes at him before walking to Optimus. As you got inside, a strong sense of nostalgia hit you like a truck. You remembered all the times that you would sleep, talk, and drive in here. Like the gentlebot he was, Optimus gently shut the door for you while you made yourself comfortable for one last time. Neither of you said a word. What were you supposed to say to someone you haven’t seen for a long while? A generic “hey” or “hello” was too lame and awkward. Damn it all, why did this have to be more complicated than it needed to be?

“[Y/N],” The old Bot spoke, “There are many things I wish to talk to you about, but it would take time, and unfortunately for us; time is the one thing we no longer have.” You remained silent, not knowing how to respond to that. Optimus was expecting something to be said from you but after a moment, he continued. “You are silent. That is unlike you. Is there nothing you would like to tell me?”

That was far from the truth. Like he wished to, you as well wanted to talk about many, many things. But you had a feeling that if you were to even try to get a word out, everything would just spill and flow out like a waterfall. Overwhelming emotions would just be thrown back and forth, incoherent words would spit out. You wouldn’t know how to deal with it and you doubted that Optimus would know.

“That...that’s not true. That’s not true and you know that.” You felt your throat start to clog up and tighten. Your eyes stung as tears threatened to fall. Damn it, now wasn’t the time to break down. It wasn’t your fault for feeling this way, you knew that. But if this was going to be your last time together with him, you didn’t spend the whole time crying your eyes out. The night could only go for so long and you hated it.

“I...I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say first. I’ve always dreamed and imagined what I would do if I ever get to see you again. I thought that I would be excited and we would just talk about what’s been happening and what changed. But now, I’m...nervous? Scared?” You sighed. This wasn’t going like how you wanted it to plan. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. But I do know that I don’t want to lose you again. The last 5 years were torture to me. We...we lost Sam to the damn corrupt organization. I was forced to leave my home since Bee and the others weren’t the only ones being hunted down. I missed you, Ratchet, ‘Hide, Sam- and I don’t even know if my parents are still alive! I don’t- I don’t understand! I can’t understand anything!”

By now, the tears were pouring out. Each word took your breath away and you began rambling about how everything had broken you. Your sharp inhales turned into shaky sobs. You buried your face into the palms of your hands as you just couldn’t stop crying. Your whole world was spinning and turning upside down and you couldn’t take it-

“[Y/N], stop. Breathe. You need to breathe.” His voice was finally heard. Optimus had tried calling out to your name multiple times, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t hear him. Once your rambling had discontinued, he took a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“I understand that you have gone through a lot, I truly do, and you are not the only one who has felt this way. There has not been a single day gone by where I do not worry about you. If I had only known that this would happen...I wouldn’t have run away. I would’ve done everything in my power to protect you.” He told you. His soothing voice managed to help you calm your breathing and you continued to listen to what he had to say. “When this is over, I can't promise that your life will be able to go back to normal. But I can promise that I do not plan on leaving you any time soon. And if for some reason that does happen, I will find my way back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

And you knew that whenever Optimus makes a promise, he never breaks it. Every word that he said held meaning in them. You lifted your head and looked at the radio. Your eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, which you still had yet to stop, your face was slightly pink, and your hands were soaked from the tears. You haven’t even noticed that you’ve been repressing your emotions until the flood gates had opened.  Goddamn, it felt good to get everything off of your chest. With your breathing being much more stable, you laid your forehead against the steering wheel and closed your eyes as more tears were shed.

“I missed you, Boss Bot.”

“And so have I, Tiny Girl.”

The two of you remained there in comfortable silence, along with your occasional sniffs from your stuffy nose. A couple of minutes have passed by and neither of you said anything. Instead, Optimus adjusted his side-view mirrors slightly upwards towards the sky. It was a clear night sky, no clouds to be seen. The stars have been revealed and they were as clear as daylight. Whenever you had your sleepless nights in the past, you would usually come to him and he would tell you about his home planet, Cybertron. He told you about his glorious moments during the war but made sure not to get too into detail. Perhaps, stargazing one more time shouldn’t hurt.

“I recommend looking out the window, [Y/N]. The stars are clearer than ever.” Optimus said as he rolled down the window.

You opened your eyes and as you looked and poked your head out of the open window. When you turned your head upwards, your eyes widened in astonishment. It had been too long since you looked at the stars since you were too busy trying not to get yourself killed. A graceful smile slowly formed onto your lips and your whole face lit up. At that moment, Optimus saw the bratty little teenager he knew and loved.

“Hey, Optimus? Um, is it ok if you change out of your alternate form? Just for a bit. I want to see you…” Your voice quieted down when your sentence started to drift away.

Optimus didn’t want to accidentally awake the others from their recharge, but the puppy dog eyes he received from you told him to do it. Without another word, he transformed back to his original form as you steadily held onto him, trying not to fall. He kept you sitting on the palm of his hand and looked behind him. Good, no one was awake. Or so he thought. Hound had been awake for most of the time, briefly listening to the conversation between you and the Autobot leader. From what Bumblebee had told him, he knew that you two were close. But actually witnessing the bond you two had from his own eyes; it gave him a warm feeling in his spark. Sure, he displays himself as a bickering wrecker, but he deeply cares for his comrades. And seeing you finally enjoying yourself and being happy made him happy. With peace in mind, he slowly fell into recharge, awaiting for the next day.

Optimus slowly walked away from the camp so he was able to get a bit more privacy with you. He perched you on top of his shoulder and you balanced yourself. As he walked further away, you looked up as the bright moonlight shines upon the two of you. It felt like you were back in your teen years and damn it felt good. Once you two were far enough, he slowly sat down on the dirt floor with a bit of a grunt. He was getting old but not old enough. The weight of everything that had happened, spanning from the war to being hunted down by humans, was starting to take a toll on his body. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve told him that he was starting to act like a tired dad.

You sat down on his shoulder when suddenly, you felt something uncomfortably poking your back. Wincing a bit, you grabbed whatever was making you feel uncomfortable and to your surprise, it was your emergency gun. Throughout the whole day, you’ve forgotten that you kept one. Optimus turned his head towards you and once his optics landed on the gun, he almost flinched away. Let’s just say, despite his massive size, he didn’t like any weapons too close to his head. Also, the image of you holding a gun was something that was too strange for him and he did not like it whatsoever. To him, it was equivalent to giving a 5-year-old a rifle.

“[Y/N]...why do you have a gun?”

You turned to him as your eyes met with his glowing blue ones and a mischievous smile slowly crept onto your face.

“Oh, this old thing? Well, I did manage to steal it from one of the Cemetery Wind soldiers during one of our encounters. I’m pretty much a pro at using guns now.” You boldly said as you twirled it around your finger. 

There goes your inner arrogant self. Unfortunately for you, your little twirling trick almost led to you dropping your gun. You caught in time just as it flew out of your hand. Optimus deadpanned at you and had the urge to roll his optics. Yeap, even when you were in your twenties, you were still somewhat a brat.

“Well then, little pro, I’ll have you know that the safety is off.”

He smirked when he saw the semi-panicked look on your face and went to immediately check it, only to find out that the safety was, in fact, not off and he just wanted to mess around with you. To his amusement, you groaned and whined, almost like you were having a tantrum. A quiet burst of laughter erupted from him and his body slightly shook.

“I know that it is not my business to pry in, but aren’t you too young to be using a weapon as dangerous as that one?” He asked once he had calmed.

“Eh, I’ve grown. I mean, I’m already in my twenties and honestly, I did not expect to spend my early adult life as a fugitive with giant alien mech robots. I guess you can say that I’m no longer little.”

“Perhaps. But you will always be my little one.”

The both of you smiled at each other as you both wished for the night to never end. Then, a recollection of what he said earlier popped into your mind and your sincere smile faded. 

But when I found out who’s behind this, he’s going to die.

“Optimus? Do you really plan on killing the person behind all this chaos? The person who organized Cemetery Wind and KSI...are you really going to kill them? Does that mean you hate humans now?”

Oh no, has he frightened you? Once his face fell, he averted his gaze from you and stared at the dark horizon. Suddenly, he became serious. He had never wanted this; he doubted anyone did. But the humans had forced him into this twisted game and it was either he finally made his move or watched all the people he most cared about die.

“Both Autobots and Decepticons are Cybertronians. Both came from the planet, Cybertron. I fight the Decepticons for a reason, but that does not mean that I hate all Cybertronians. The same goes for your species. I do not hate all humans, but I do hate the humans who forced us to play their little game. If we do not do something about it, you will not be able to return to your parents and we will not be able to gain the peace that we deserve. There can be no winners or losers without a fight. I’m sorry, [Y/N], but this is just the way how things work. If there were any other options, I would’ve taken them.”

You stared at him in awe. He was right. This was a fight for survival, a fight they never wanted to be in. What kind of leader doesn’t lead their team to victory or even try to? The look on your face softened and you slowly stood up. Optimus looked back at you to watch what you were doing, but he was only met with surprise when you pressed your forehead against his. He closed his optics and did his best to reciprocate the kind gesture.

“Well, I’ll have you know that no matter what happens, you’ll always be my favorite Bot. Uh- don’t tell Bee I said that, by the way. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Duly noted.”

The two of you spent a bit more time together under the stars before he went back to the campsite to recharge, much to your dismay. You protested multiple times even though he kept reminding you that the team had a big mission day tomorrow and that they were leaving early in the morning. He did not want to see you with low energy tomorrow just because you were being stubborn with sleeping. As he gracefully transformed into his vehicle form, you had a not so graceful landing with the seat cushions. Your betraying body forced a yawn to escape and you (badly) covered it up with a fake cough. Of course, that didn’t stop Optimus from saying “told you so.”

“But Optimuuuuussss! I don’t wanna go to sleep!” You whined. “What if I wake up and see that you’re not here? What if you get taken by Cemetery Wind? Or-”

“[Y/N], I assure you that I will very much still be here when you wake up tomorrow. And if by some chance Cemetery Wind does manage to find us, I will wake you up. We have a long day tomorrow. Please get some rest.”

You didn’t say anything else and continued to sit there, staring down at your lap. The night had gone by too soon for your liking. Despite Optimus’s reassurance, that didn’t dull down the worries that filled your head. Just when you were about to complain once more, the radio turned on and played a tune you knew all too well.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine.

You make me happy

When skies are grey.

You’ll never know dear,

How much I love you.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

It was a tune your mother would always sing to you when you were still a little kid. You didn’t know how he knew that was one of your favorite songs, but you weren’t complaining at all. In comforting defeat, you lied down on the cushions and stared at the ceiling above you.

“Goodnight, my little sunshine.”

“Night, Papa Bot.”

Checkmate. The truck then slightly rumbled and shook out of shock and surprise. You guessed that you managed to catch him off-guard, something that you’ve well mastered. He sputtered through the radio, trying to get words out. Now, this was better than any reaction you’ve seen from him. You laughed and laughed and laughed to the point where you were holding your stomach. Once your laughter died down, you patted the seat and waited to be whisked away.

“ ‘Papa Bot’? Really?”

“I love you~”

A tired sigh came from him. You were such a confusing child.

“I love you too.”

[platypanthewriter]

Hook Possum 3/4

Art by @monsdasarah​ for Harringrove Big Bang!

PART ONE | TWO

The next morning, Steve did the First Aid class.  “Hook Possum here has offered to help—” he began.

“What?!” Hook Possum hissed, as the kids shoved him forward, laughing, and Steve paced around like a drill sergeant.  

He’d always liked teaching first aid.  “Attention up here, everybody!” he shouted, grinning.  “Who knows when to yell for help?  You?” he pointed to a wide-eyed kid who shook his head.  “We call ‘em the Big Bs,” Steve told the kids, crossing his arms.  “Bleeding, breathing, barf, burns, bones, and bites.”

“Barf,” giggled a little girl.

“If anything is happening like that—bleeding, anything wrong with someone’s breathing, you see barf—” Steve paused, gratified to see Hook Possum miming a gouting wound, gasping for air, and puking his guts up.  “—if anybody gets burned—” Hook Possum grasped his hooked paw, frowned at it, and yelled “My paw got burned off!”, and everybody laughed uproariously.  

“If anything happens to anyone’s bones—” Steve went on, and got to see Hook Possum clutching at his leg, “—or if anyone or anything’s teeth breath somebody's skin—” he ignored Hook Possum yelling about vampires, trying to keep a straight face.  “If any of the Big Bs happen, you need an adult, okay?  We’re gonna need to take a look at it, and maybe take that kid to the doctor.”

“Okaaaaay,” the kids chorused, most of them looking faintly rebellious.  

“A lot of it we can handle here, though,” Steve told them, and several brightened.  “Lemme show you all your way around a first aid kit.”  

Steve demonstrated how to bandage a possum, diagnose a possum with heatstroke, splint a possum’s tail, and he pretended to give him a shot with the new epi-pen, in case of bee allergies.  At the end, he let all the kids play with the gauze bandages he’d used, and a box of band-aids.

Hook Possum didn’t look any less uncanny with his face covered in Scooby Doo and Sesame Street band-aids.  It almost made him worse, somehow, because your eyes caught on the cartoony band-aids first, and then processed the mangy, vacant-eyed, toothy head.  

The possum did look hilarious all trussed up in bandages, and one little girl tried so hard to make a sling, she wrapped the bandage around his neck and pulled, and Hook Possum gagged, twitched, and slumped onto the picnic table Steve had been using for demonstrations.  

“If you can’t help them, you gotta at least hide the body,” Steve told everyone, his cheeks hurting with how wide he was grinning.  “What’s the campsite rule?”

“Leave it cleaner than you found it,” they chorused, watching Hook Possum’s twitching legs in the air.  

“We could tie some rocks to him and dump him in the lake,” a very small girl in pink ruffled overalls suggested, and the kids around her edged away.

“Now, hang on,” Steve told them.  “Remember a possum is actually unconscious if it’s ‘playing dead’.  It makes an awful smell, but if you leave it alone, sometimes they’ll wake up and wander off.  We should probably leave Hook Possum alone for a while.”

Around then, Robin called for lunch, and the kids started to wander off.

“Don’t you dare leave me tied up,” Hook Possum hissed, and Steve patted his shoulder, and told him to stay there.  While the kids were straggling into the mess tent, Steve ran and got the old camp camera, and took about five pictures of Hook Possum trussed like a turkey.  “You utter asshole,” he hissed flatly, but he was laughing, Steve could tell.

After lunch, there was a mud flats exploration party, and the kids all ran off with buckets.  Steve got Hook Possum some cool water, and closed his eyes politely as the mask was removed.  

“When you gonna let me look?” he asked, laughing.  “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anybody.  You gonna keep this up for weeks?”

“...I need the bonus,” Hook Possum muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve told him, “—but you’ve got the mask off already, what difference does it make if I see you?  There’s nobody else around!”

“Leave it alone, Harrington,” Hook Possum growled, and Steve felt the picnic bench shift.  When he called out, and then dared open his eyes, several minutes later, Hook Possum was gone.

After that, Steve didn’t ask.  He encountered Hook Possum a few times in the showers—late in the Indiana night, when it felt like every breath was clingingly hot, and only the shower stalls were cool.  

“Don’t turn the light on,” Hook Possum always hissed, and Steve snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

“I won’t, dude,” he always said, and they’d talk, some, in neighboring stalls, just letting the water wash away the sweaty heat of the night.  

Hook Possum was moving to the west coast, he said, and Steve felt a pang at that, the same as he’d seen in Max.  “It cools off at night there,” he said dryly, and Steve just bit his lips together, nodding.

“Hard to argue with,” he admitted.  “Uh, when...when are you leaving?”

“As soon as I pack after camp,” Hook Possum said, a little muffled, like he was washing his face.  “Why stick around Hawkins.”

“Oh,” Steve said, nodding again.  He couldn’t really think of anything to say, so he focused on scrubbing the sap off his toes from the conifer right by their cabin.  

 Every night, the Hook Possum stories got more in-depth.  “One full moon, a girl and her boyfriend drove out to this very campground and parked,” Robin began, as some of the kids said ‘why?’ and others said ‘ew!’.  “He was driving,” she said, leaning in, so the light of the campfire lit her face from underneath, “—and even though it was past midnight, and she asked and asked to go home, he wouldn’t start the car.”

Some of the kids looked unimpressed, but some of them were listening avidly.  

“He looked at her,” Robin said, “—and he smiled, and he said ‘Nobody knows I brought you here.’”

“He’s gonna sink her in the lake, with rocks,” said the tiny girl in the ruffled pink overalls.

Robin high-fived her, and then leaned in again.  “The boyfriend grabbed her arm and twisted it around, and whispered, ‘Nobody knows where you are’, and the girl screamed, because her arm felt like it would break.  ‘You know what I want,’ he said.”

Steve knew his cue, and he reached down behind the log he was sitting on to scrape the fire poker along the hatchet they’d used to cut kindling, making a long, metallic scrape.  A couple of kids shrieked, looking around.  

“Just then!” Robin shouted, standing up, and more kids yelled, “—the two heard a ripping, metallic noise on the roof of the car.  The boyfriend was so angry he shook the girl, and then yelled ‘What the hell is that?!’, but she didn’t know.” 

Steve scraped the poker on the hatchet again, angling it for a sharper, higher-pitched noise.  

“Something scraped along the door, and the girl screamed again, because she was already so afraid.  She’d been thinking of opening the door and running into the woods, but as something scraped the door again—”

Steve scraped them together as loud as he could, having practiced with Robin beforehand, and everyone yelped and winced.  Even Robin’s eye twitched at the awful noise.  

“—the girl begged her boyfriend not to get out of the car.”

“But he did,” whispered one of the kids, eyes wide.

“He did.  He left her there.  Once he got out, though, the noise didn’t come again, and she sat, listening, and crying.  She heard him scream, the way she had, when the bones of her arm creaked in his grip.”

The kids were rapt, and El met her cue with a branch-shuddering wind, making the whole clearing full of campers shriek.  

“Did she get out of the car?!” Pink Overalls asked, urgently, and Robin shook her head.  

“She heard branches break, and then, crashing through the underbrush.  It might have been more screams, or it might have been the wind.  The girl curled in her coat, staring at the blackness through the windows, and when she felt another thud against the car, and—” Steve scraped the hatchet with the poker again, long and grating, and a kid moaned.  Robin lowered her voice, and the kids leaned closer to hear.  “Heard another noise, like something scratching to get in, the girl locked the doors.”

Robin waited several beats, her face darker and more red as the fire burned down to coals.  “In the morning, the girl woke to find her boyfriend pinned to the driver’s side door with a massive hook through his hand.  He was whimpering, staring into the forest, and he didn’t respond to her voice.  His hair was white.”

“Hook Possum,” gasped Pink Overalls, and everyone turned to stare.

“Hey, he got what was coming,” Hook Possum said.

 That night, predictably, a bunch of kids came looking for Hook Possum.  “There are floating lights,” one squeaked, pointing, and Steve bit back a laugh, remembering seeing the marsh gas and fireflies as a kid.  “It’s Hook Possum,” he whispered, but the kid shook his head, pointing.  

“No, he’s right here.”

Steve considered.  “It’s weird telling stories about you when you’re around,” he told the furry bulk at his elbow, glaring.

“Well, sorry,” Hook Possum shot back.  “There aren’t a lot of jobs a possum can get, Harrington.”

“We always said the lights were Hook Possum,” Steve said, shrugging.  “Searching for the one who wronged him.  The reason he can’t move on.  He never sleeps.”

“Euuugh,” said one of the kids, shuddering.  “He does sleep, though!  I’ve seen his bunk.”

“Yeah, we know he’s really a...person,” said a small voice in the dark, shakily.  “In-in a costume.”

“Mostly a person,” said another little voice.

“Yeah, we know you’re mostly a person,” said another one.  “E-except at night.”

“Hang on, now,” Hook Possum hissed, but Steve elbowed him.  

“Hook Possum won’t let anything happen to you,” he told them.

 One evening when the sunset was particularly fine, and Steve was for once off dish duty, Hook Possum was down sitting on the dock, his legs splashing in the lake.  The back of the costume was untied—except for the neck, since it hadn’t fallen off—and through the long slit in the back, Steve could see skin.  In the golden light of sunset, Hook Possum didn’t even look too terrifying, from the back, his plastic fur shining 

Steve pressed down a nearly-overwhelming urge to slide his fingers between the folds of polyester fur and let his fingertips brush over Hook Possum’s shoulder blades.  

“You’re getting all wet,” Steve said, dropping to sit on his hands, and Hook Possum snorted.

“Possums dry,” he said, kicking his feet in the water, and Steve realized, seeing a pale flash, that he didn’t have shoes on, and stared down, his heart thumping at every flash of ankle.

“...hey,” Steve said, like a genius, leaning to thump their shoulders together, and Hook Possum laughed.  Off in the woods, there was another grinding noise, a mechanical roar, and a horrible high-pitched whinny that made Steve’s teeth clench.

“...sounds like somebody needs a new fan belt,” Hook Possum said, leaning against his side, and Steve stretched, yawning, and reached an arm around his shoulders, feeling Hook Possum laugh.  “...what’s over that way?” Hook Possum asked, letting himself slump a little into Steve’s side.

“What?” Steve breathed, thinking about the little line of Hook Possum’s back showing through the back, and how it would feel to slide his thumb in there, up and down, feeling the bumps along Hook Possum’s spine.

Hook Possum laughed.  He sounded a little breathless.  “Uh, I just—what—what’s over there, where the um, where the engine noises?  Are coming from?”

“Oh,” Steve said, blinking.  “Uh, nothing.”  He frowned, thinking about it.  “Nothing’s supposed to be that direction, there’s no road.  It’s prairie, y’know, park lands.”  

“How come I keep hearing shit from over there, then,” Hook Possum mumbled, without lifting his masked head from Steve’s shoulder.

“...dunno,” Steve sighed, giving in to temptation, and sliding his thumb inside the gap at the back of the Hook Possum costume.  Hook Possum shivered, tensing, and Steve just rubbed a slow circle with his thumb until Hook Possum relaxed with a sigh.  They sat, splashing their feet, until Steve sighed.  “...I should probably go check it out, huh.”

“...mmmn,” Hook Possum said.  “...probably.  Since you kinda...own the damn park.”  He pulled away, sitting up straight, and Steve let his arm fall away.  “Keep forgetting your dad owns the damn place,” Hook Possum muttered.

“I mean, it doesn’t really matter,” Steve told him, hoping it didn’t.

“Yeah, like you couldn’t talk to him and get us all fired,” Hook Possum laughed, touching his mask, and Steve grimaced.

“I wouldn’t get you fired,” he groaned.  “Why in the hell would I get you fired?”  

“How the hell should I know,” Hook Possum growled, clambering back up onto the dock.  

 The next day, Steve led friendship bracelet making.  He always did, because he’d been going to camp so long he was really, really good at friendship bracelets.  

“What color you want yours?” he called over to Hook Possum, as a matter of course, and Hook Possum stared at him, smoke swirling from his eyeholes.  “...you’re gonna set yourself on fire,” Steve told him, laying out the embroidery thread.  “Pick out some colors.”

“...you’re making me a friendship bracelet?” Hook Possum asked, warily.

“Well, yeah,” Steve told him, shrugging.  “What colors you want?”

“...uh,” Hook Possum said.  “Possum colors?”

“The hell are those,” Steve asked, snorting a laugh.  “I’m not stomping it in the dirt.”

Hook Possum swung a leg over the bench opposite Steve, and leaned his horrible mask in his hands to pore over the color selection.  “...how many should I pick?” he muttered, his voice deeper than his usual fake squeaky hiss, and Steve bit back a smile.  

“Probably, uh, three to like...five,” he said, shrugging.  He’d started a pink, green, and orange candy-striped one for Pink Overalls, and he pinned it to the knee of his jeans to work on while Hook Possum considered.  

Finally, he reached his plastic-clawed paw and pushed a grayish blue forward towards Steve, and then a darker blue, and then hesitated between the other colors, and pulled back.  

“...white?” Steve suggested.  “It’d still be a blue bracelet, but it’d show up.”

“White,” Hook Possum said, nodding.  “Possum colors,” he announced.

Steve found himself grinning, again, the way he always was lately.  His cheeks were tired and it was only eleven in the morning.  

He got distracted helping the kids with theirs—Pink Overalls wanted to make one for Bell Witch Mirror kid, and so on—so it wasn’t until after dinner, when he snuck back to their cabin with a tray of spaghetti, that he managed to work on it.  He slid the tray onto Hook Possum’s bunk, hitching up the flag curtain so the guy wouldn’t sit on it by accident, and then dropped into his bunk.  He looped the cut embroidery thread around his toe, frowning up intently at the ceiling of his bunk as he wove the strands.  

Hook Possum wandered in shortly after.  “Where’d you go?” he asked, leaning in.  “You okay?”  He stared for a long second, and then asked, “...is that my bracelet?”

“Yep,” Steve told him, his fingers dextrous after the long day of reminding himself of the patterns.  

“...it’s almost dark in here,” Hook Possum said, nearly a whisper, and Steve laughed.  

“I been making these so long I could do it in the dark,” he said.  “You better eat, if you’re gonna go sit around the fire.”

“I think I can miss a night of Hook Possum stories,” Hook Possum said.  “I’m gonna grab a shower first.”

Steve nodded, only half paying attention, because it was getting dark, and he had to keep up the rhythm or turn on the light to find it again.  

When Hook Possum returned, Steve was half done, carefully not looking over as the human who wore the possum suit sat just out of sight, leaning against Steve’s bunk, and ate the spaghetti Steve had brought him.  The dim battery lantern Steve had set behind his bunk lit them both yellowy from the back, so even if he’d looked over, he couldn’t have seen much of Hook Possum’s face.

“How are you even doing that,” Hook Possum asked, and the bunk creaked as he sat next to Steve, warm and damp from the shower, smelling of soap and the pine trail back to the cabin.  His curls—he had curls, Steve thought dazedly—tickled Steve’s shoulder, as he reached up to run his fingers over the dimly-lit, smooth-woven thread in Steve’s fingers.  

“...practice,” Steve said, his throat weirdly tight.

The head against his nodded, and Steve could feel stubble against his cheek.  Hook Possum’s body was heavy against his, his hairy legs a little itchy, and Steve wanted to roll over and explore, slide his fingers all over Hook Possum’s body.

“What do I do with it,” Hook Possum said, and Steve’s fingers paused.  “I just mean, uh,” the guy said quickly, “—there are rules, right?  Like I’m not supposed to...take it off?”

“...what, you’ve never had a friendship bracelet?” Steve asked, laughing, and felt the head against his shake.

“Nah,” he said, dryly.  “Never been to a summer camp before, either.  I was the kinda kid that’d get in trouble.”

“There’s always one every year and you think ‘I’m gonna have to pull that kid out of a toilet or something’,” Steve told him, sighing.  “We figure it out.  Haven’t lost a camper yet.”

“I wear it until it falls off?” Hook Possum asked, his voice rumbling against Steve’s shoulder.  Steve could barely move his right arm, but he didn’t ask Hook Possum to move.

“Yeah.  It’ll just wash with you in the shower,” Steve told him, grinning.  “Some kids take theirs off to make them last longer, though.”

“What about when it does fall off?” Hook Possum breathed in his ear.  “You gonna make me another one?”

Steve felt his face heat, because Hook Possum was being weird and intense about a friendship bracelet, of all things.  “...you saying I make a faulty product?”

“I’m asking if you’ll...work here next year,” Hook Possum muttered, sighing into Steve’s shoulder.  “If it falls off.”

“The hell do you care,” Steve laughed, his stomach twisting.  “You’re moving to Oregon or somewhere.”

“...California,” Hook Possum sighed.

“You saying you’ll give me your address?” Steve asked, nearly forgetting himself and sitting up to look over.  He shut his eyes tightly, his heart pounding.  “So—so I can mail you a friendship bracelet?”  Hook Possum was quiet, his fingers tight on Steve’s wrist.  “...you saying you’d...come back to see me?” Steve ventured, and Hook Possum snorted a laugh, so Steve tried to backtrack.  “Yeah, no, not for a friendship bracelet,” Steve laughed.  It felt forced.  “That’d be pretty dumb.”

Hook Possum’s hand ran slowly up Steve’s arm to his face, and Steve waited, his blood thudding through his veins, his eyes clenched so tight shut he saw lights, feeling Hook Possum’s fingers touch his cheek.  

Hook Possum’s thumb stroked over his jaw, and Steve trembled with the effort of holding still.  He wanted to yank Hook Possum closer, or—or roll on top of him, or something, and the gentle sensation of Hook Possum’s hesitant breath on his lips made him want to scream.

After endless seconds, Hook Possum shoved away, thudding to the floor of the cabin and stomping over to prop the little shuttered window open and lean out.  He gasped for air, taking ragged breaths, and Steve felt just the same, like he’d been running.  

He opened his eyes and stared up at his foot on the roof of the bunk, and the inches of bracelet dangling between his toes.  “You can tell Max when it falls to pieces,” he said, with a weird rasp in his voice.  “If you want another one.  I can—I can get you another one.”

“You’re gonna keep making me friendship bracelets,” Hook Possum said, half a groan, and Steve could just see the dark shapes of him leaning his head into his arms.

“Well, you seemed worried about it,” Steve told him, grinning.  “Don’t want my possum getting lonely.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Hook Possum muttered.

 Hook Possum actually tried not to smoke too much around the kids, but every night, he’d wander out and have a cigarette on the steps of the cabin when the air inside was hot and close.  Steve awakened vaguely to the sound of his voice talking to one of the kids, and then fell back asleep.  

When the pounding at the door started, he jerked awake with the other counselors, mumbling and smacking their heads on the wooden bunk frames.  The cabin door opened, and Steve recognized the voice of Pink Overalls.  “Hook Possum went off in the woods to see what the lights were,” she sobbed.  “He hasn’t come back.  It’s been four hours!”  

She thrust a glow-in-the-dark watch face into Steve’s face, and he blinked blearily at it.  It was a quarter after five in the morning.  

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

“He could be in the lake,” she sobbed.  “With rocks.”

“I’ll go get him,” Steve told her, stumbling out of bed.

“We’ll all go get him,” Robin said, clicking something in the dark, then smacking it.  Her flashlight lit up the cabin.  “Wake up the other counselors, tell them they’re on breakfast duty.”

“Oh-okay,” Pink Overalls sniffled, and slammed out.  

Steve found another flashlight, and he and the other counselors tromped through the grasslands, squinting through the occasional tree cover until Steve was pretty sure they were in the right area.  His foot caught on a low patch of smooth mud and then grass, and he frowned down at what looked like tire tracks.

“Holy fuck,” Robin whispered, grabbing him, and waving her flashlight around.  “Jesus.”  

“Wait,” Steve said, holding his own flashlight still on the plants they’d been tromping through.  “Is—is that—”

“Marijuana,” Robin snickered.  “Somebody’s got a good crop back here.  I need to find some really big trash bags, stat.”

“Hook Possum first,” Steve reminded her, shuddering at the thought that he’d stumbled into drug dealers out here.  The thought of their faces as Hook Possum lurched out of the darkness was hilarious, but they could have hit him with anything, Steve thought, walking along the tire tracks, and then jogging.  They might have had guns, even.

There was a loud crash and yelling ahead, and he ran.  

“He’s in the shed!” yelled one of the other counselors, brandishing her heavy flashlight at an unfamiliar guy in a t-shirt who looked stoned as hell, and Steve ran by, looking for a shed.  His flashlight slid over it, and he stumbled to a stop, trying to remember the place.  An old fire season ranger hut, he thought, yanking on the locked door, and then pressing his face to the glass.  

“Hook Possum!” he yelled, and got back an “I’m fine, jesus.”  Steve threw his shoulder against the door and it gave instantly, dropping him on his hands and knees inside.

“My hero,” Hook Possum said, as Steve scrambled to his feet, swinging the flashlight around until it caught on the furry shape.  His hands and feet were tied, then handcuffed to a rolling office chair.  

Steve yanked at the cuffs, tugging at the ropes around Hook Possum’s ankles, and being generally ineffective, when Robin stormed in.  “There’s a phone,” she panted.  “I’m calling the police.  Get him out of here, they’re trying to fight us, or something.  I had to brain one with my flashlight.”

The sound of a sputtering engine came up the road, and Robin yelled “Fuck, more of them?!” before running to the phone.  

Steve gave up on the cuffs and ropes, and rolled Billy out of the shed and along the muddy tire tracks in the office chair.  They trundled quickly away from the noise, and then the chair nearly overbalanced, and Steve nearly tripped over Hook Possum’s tail and took them both down, so he slowed.  His heart was pounding.  “Are you okay,” he panted.

“I’m fine,” Hook Possum grunted, squirming in the cuffs.

“Lemme get your mask off,” Steve said, stopping.  “Did they hit you?”

“I’m okay!” Hook Possum yelped, nearly overbalancing as he tried to duck away.  “Leave it on!”

“Look, if you need money that much, I can give you some, lemme check your head—” Steve offered, checking the mask for cracks.  “Did they—”

“They threw a goddamn tarp over me and I couldn’t find my way out in this thing,” Hook Possum said bitterly.  “I’m fine.”

“O-okay,” Steve said.  “...okay, okay, okay…”  He took a slow, shuddery breath, squeezing Hook Possum’s shoulders as he pushed him along in the chair.  It rattled across the uneven ground.  “What were you even doing?!  Wandering off alone in that thing?!”

“Had to see who was trespassing on your grounds, lord and master.”

“Fuck you,” Steve hissed.

“This might be the most undignified thing I’ve ever done,” Hook Possum growled.  “Trussed up in a rolling office chair.”  

“It’s handy,” Steve told him, catching the guy’s weight again as the ground tilted the chair.  

“We’re never talking about this again,” Hook Possum said.  “Ever.”

“I’m rescuing you,” Steve told him, grinning, as his heart rate started to slow.  “Like a princess.”

“Shut up,” Hook Possum growled.

“Princess Possum,” Steve sighed happily.  

“So you’re my Prince Charming?” Hook Possum snarled.  “You gonna kiss me and uncurse me, or what?!”

Steve opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “...uh,” he said.

“A real Prince Charming doesn’t just grab random possums,” said Hook Possum, his voice entertainingly uneven from the bouncing of the chair.  “Help!  Help!  I’m being oppressed!”

“Shut up,” Steve laughed, giggly with relief that his...his Hook Possum wasn’t bleeding out from a head wound, or tied to rocks, sinking in the lake.  “Just a little longer.  I’ll get you back safe.”

Pink Overalls threw her arms around Hook Possum when Steve pushed him back into camp, muddier even than usual.  She sobbed about ropes and murder victims, and Steve sawed at the ropes with the bread knife, until they frayed, and cut, and Hook Possum was free to stand—one paw still handcuffed to the office chair.  

When Robin got back, exhausted but elated, and carrying three mysterious trash bags, she got the hatchet.  Steve held the chair across from Hook Possum’s wrist over the wood chopping stump, and Robin smashed the chain between the two cuffs until one came loose, and the chair fell away.  “The police will have to talk to you,” Steve told him, sliding his finger inside the cuff, and along Hook Possum’s human wrist.  “They can take it off.”

“...yeah,” Hook Possum whispered, holding very still.

“I knew he’d save you,” said Pink Overalls, crying with relief. 

PART ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

[themetaphorgirl]

in which Emily makes a poor choice

HEY Y’ALL I AM BACK!!! WITH A PATRON SAINT DRABBLE!!

Y’all can thank @linguinereid for this one!! Sweet Bee suggested this and I ended up writing part of it while I was in line for rides at Epcot. 

I’m excited to be writing and posting again!! Please tell me what y’all think of this one, and tell me what I’ve missed in the past couple of weeks!!

---------

Emily poked at her ear, trying to twist around to get a better look in the mirror. “Shit,” she mumbled, wincing as she prodded a sore spot. She leaned across the bathroom counter, almost sitting in the sink. “I think I fucked up. Shit.”

“That looks infected.”

She jumped in surprise and fell off the counter, hitting the faucet on her way down and splashing water across her shirt. “What the fuck!” she exclaimed. Spencer stood in the bathroom doorway, head tilted and eyes wide like a very small owl. “You little gremlin, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing in here?”

“You left the door open,” Spencer said. “What’s wrong with your ear?”

She fumbled to turn off the faucet and pick up Hotch’s knocked-over toothbrush. “Nothing.”

“It’s red and swollen,” he said. “That’s a sign of infection. What did you do?” His eyes went wide. “Did you get that piercing after Hotch told you it was a bad idea?”

She smoothed her hair down over her ear. “Nope,” she said. “Why would you think that?”

“I heard you guys arguing about it,” he said. “Hotch said it was against dress code, and you said you didn’t give two fucks about dress code, and he said you were shit at cleaning the piercings you already have and you’d fuck up your ears, and you said-”

“Okay, okay, you and your eidetic memory can stop at literally any time,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that big a deal. There was a girl at the party last weekend who said she’d pierced like everybody’s ears at camp last summer, and she’d always wanted to try an industrial, and-” She paused. “Why am I explaining myself to you? You’re ten.”

“Nine.”

“Close enough. Why are you here, anyway?”

Spencer shifted his weight. “I have to pee,” he said.

“All right, I’ll get out,” Emily said. “But not a word to Hotch, understand? Not a single word. He cannot know about this. You know how smug he gets when he right about something.”

“Is he right, though?” Spencer said. “Did you fuck up your ear?”

“Okay, no swearing either, Alex will murder me if you pick up on me swearing,” Emily said. She stepped out of the bathroom and gave Spencer a little push inside. “Seriously, though. Don’t tell Alex either. You know she’ll be pissed at me too. I’ll- I’ll buy you that Star Wars lego set you want as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Spencer brightened. “The Millennium Falcon?” he said.

“Sure, sure, why not, just keep your mouth shut!”

She closed the bathroom door and went back down the hall to the common room. It was Derek’s week to pick for movie night; he was having a great time with whatever Will Ferrell comedy he’d chosen, but Hotch was focused on his homework and Alex was reading a book. Emily sat down in her usual spot, tucking her legs underneath her. Her ear was still burning, but she brushed her hair over it surreptitiously. She could keep it a secret, as long as Spencer did. It would be fine.

By Tuesday, she realized it was not fine.

Her ear continued to swell and throb, the skin red and stretched tight around the barbell in the cartilage. She’d had to actually style her hair every morning instead of throwing it up in a messy ponytail or bun, or asking JJ or Alex to braid it for her. It wouldn’t take long for Alex to catch if she kept this up- she was famous for rolling out of bed at the last minute, getting up early to do her hair was drastically out of character. But she wasn’t sure who to be more afraid of catching her, Hotch or Alex.

She sat down at their usual table in the dining hall and pulled her hair back behind her ear, hissing when her nails brushed the irritated skin. “Oh, fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. It wasn’t good. It really wasn’t good. 

Spencer climbed up on the chair beside her. “Are you doing okay?” he asked. 

She sighed heavily. “How bad does it look?” she asked. 

Spencer knelt on the chair so he could lean his elbows on the table. “Pretty bad,” he said. “Ew, is it oozing? I think it’s oozing.” He wrinkled his nose. “You should tell somebody.”

“Like hell I will,” she said, pulling her hair back into place. “This is a hill I will die on.” She paused. “This...this won’t kill me, will it? I won’t actually die on this hill?”

“Probably not, but infection was one of the leading causes of death during the Civil War,” he shrugged. “Try rinsing with saltwater, that might help.”

“Really?”

“Couldn’t hurt. I mean, in a manner of speaking. It’ll probably hurt a lot.”

Emily blinked. “That wasn’t reassuring, babe,” she said.

Hotch walked over to them and set his tray down. “What are you two talking about?” he asked as he sat down and cracked the top of his yellow Red Bull.

“Nothing,” Emily said quickly, dropping her fork in an effort to pick it up fast.

Alex set a glass of milk down on Spencer’s tray. “Sit on your butt or you’re going to fall on the floor again,” she said. 

Spencer tilted his head back to look up at her. “I wanted chocolate milk,” he objected. 

“Plain first, darling,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead. “Now sit down before you fall out of your chair.” Spencer obeyed, sliding down from his knees to sit down. 

Emily poked her fork around in her scrambled eggs. They were way too yellow and a little watery around the edges, and her stomach turned. “Emily, are you okay?” Hotch asked. 

“Yeah, fine, why do you ask?”

He gestured towards her tray with his Red Bull can. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything since you came back from the party on Friday night,” he said. “Are you still sulking because I told you not to pierce your ear?”

“I don’t sulk,” Emily scoffed.

“Yes, you do,” Hotch said. “You’re pissed because you know I’m right, and it would be a terrible idea to get an industrial. Especially since you don’t have a guardian over eighteen to sign off on it, so it’d be illegal.”

Emily stabbed her fork into the eggs. “I’m fine and I’m not sulking,” she said. “But you’re wrong. I’ll be fine if I get my ear pierced.”

She met Spencer’s gaze. His hazel eyes were wide, glancing over first at Hotch and then at Alex, but he kept his mouth shut. Her ear throbbed, but she wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they were right. 

By Friday, she knew they were right, and she hated it, but damn, her ear hurt. 

She huddled in the corner of the library sofa, her history textbook open on her lap but long forgotten. Her ear was an ever-present pain now, too sensitive to touch, and oozing something disgusting. 

The library was quiet and peaceful, rain tapping steadily on the window. James was sorting through his anatomy flashcards while Dave pretended to write a paper while he was really working on the novel he claimed he wasn’t writing. Spencer was lying on his tummy on the floor, absorbed in a book far above his grade level. The rest of the kids were at clubs or practices, and Alex passed by in her own paths as she shelved books and answered questions.

She glanced up to see Spencer watching her poke at her ear; she dropped her hand and glared at him. “Don’t say anything,” she said to him sharply in Russian. “Remember the Millennium Falcon.”

He sighed heavily. “Your ear looks really bad,” he said. His Russian wasn’t as strong as his Italian, and his accent was terrible, but at least James and Dave wouldn’t understand them.

“Not a word!” she said.

Alex plunked down on the opposite side of the couch, jostling Emily and making her scowl. “I’m taking a break,” she sighed. “The sophomores are working on their poetry projects and I don’t want to discuss Ezra Pound anymore.”

Spencer pushed himself up from the floor. “Alex?” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dearest,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “What’s up?”

“If I told you I wanted to do something and you said no, and I did it anyway, would you be mad at me?” he asked.

Emily shot him a dirty look, but he ignored her. “Well, I might be a bit disappointed, but I don’t think I’d be mad,” Alex said, squeezing his hands. 

“If I did the thing anyway, and I ended up getting hurt, would you be mad at me?” he asked. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Alex said, drawing him onto her lap.

“And you wouldn’t tell me you told me so? And you’d help me?” he continued. 

She frowned, clearly concerned over this line of conversation, and hugged him. “Of course I’d help you, baby,” she said. She stroked his hair away from his forehead. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer leaned around Alex’s shoulder to make direct eye contact with Emily. She sighed heavily. “So...you know how I wanted to get an industrial piercing, and you and Hotch said it would be a bad idea?” she said hesitantly.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she said. “Why?” Emily tucked her hair slowly behind her ear. “Emily, holy shit!”

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Emily said glumly.

Alex moved Spencer hastily off her lap and leaned over Emily to take a better look at her ear. “Oh my god,” she said. “James, can you come take a look at this?”

James pulled his headphones off. “Hm?” he said. “Oh shit! Emily, what did you do?”

She submitted reluctantly to his poking and prodding. “So a girl at the party last week offered to pierce my ear,” she said. “And it...kind of went wrong.”

“That looks like it hurts,” Alex said, smoothing her hair. “It looks super infected.”

“Yeah, that’s the medical term for it,” James said. “Holy shit, Prentiss, I can’t believe you pulled a Parent Trap.”

“A Parent Trap?”

“Yeah, when Hallie pierces Annie’s ear with a sewing needle, an apple, and...you know what, never mind.”

Emily winced as the earring shifted. “Can you just...make Hotch promise that he won’t say I told you so?” she said. 

“I think he’ll agree that you’ve suffered enough,” Alex reassured her. 

Spencer hovered at her elbow. “I would have said something sooner, but Emily said she’d buy me the Millennium Falcon set,” he said.

“Please don’t scold me for bribing the baby, either,” Emily said. 

“Okay, I might scold you about that one.”

[forevercaroline]

For @iamcarito, @misssophiachase, @karinanic, @missmystic-vampirebarbie, @crazychicke, @infernal-panda, @austennerdita2533, @vampsandchill

Forbes chapter 3

Everyone is settled in the living room of the sorority house, they are in their pajamas, there’s popcorn, candy, chips, fruits, granola bars, there’s something for everyone. Before the movie Melissa stands in front of the fireplace which the tv is mounted above. “Instead of Aspen we will be going to Palm Springs or Montecito for our retreat.”

There are murmurs through out the girls while the movie is going through the opening credits. Lexi leans forward to address the girls in front of the couch she, Erica and Lydia are sitting on. Malia, Allison and Kira are sitting on the other couch. “Since it’s my generosity lending one of the Forbes homes to this retreat I don’t think anyone should be murmuring about anything. Now I can take my generosity back and we can all stay in a hotel and not even a Forbes hotel. Now which would you rather stay in a mansion with a movie theater, and a private pool or a four star hotel with a public pool. I know which one I would prefer but I’m not the one murmuring about location change.”

She sits back and Erica snickers at the girls while Lydia’s phone vibrates alerting her she has a text and it’s from Parrish asking if she is going to come over tonight.

Xxx

“There’s paparazzi camped out at the gate asking us about the Salvatore’s.”

Her father is in his office at the hotel he has Lexi on speaker phone as he goes through papers. While Lexi is in her room trying on the new outfit she got for her date tonight with Isaac. “Do they realize the Forbes live in California and the Salvatore’s live in New York City. We’re family but we don’t talk every day.”

Lexi looks at herself in her mirror, she looks like she is going to a business meeting for the hotel not a dinner and movie date with a cute guy. She turns around quickly and lets out a little yell.

“What’s wrong?” Her fathers voice showing all concern he picks up the phone and is ready to leave at a moments notice of Lexi is in danger.

She closes her eyes and puts a hand over her chest as she answers her father. “I thought I saw someone it’s nothing it’s probably the light playing tricks or a member of the staff.” As she is taking off the outfit and throwing it on a chair in her closet someone moves in her bedroom.

When her mother died the paparazzi hounded them just wanting to take pictures of them grieving. They had a private viewing at the estate and one photographer jumped over the gate and came in the house to get a picture of their grieving. Ever since then Lexi is a little jumpy when paparazzi are at their gate, she knows they are a way of life well her life anyway but she doesn’t have to like that part.

“Should we bring up the topic of private security again?”

“Dad I’ve told you I don’t need a bodyguard, the bodyguard would be bored by my life the estate, school, one of our other homes and shopping, and sometimes a nightclub.”

As Lexi is looking in her closet for another outfit her dad tells her. “Who could be bored by your life your a Forbes.”

The blonde picks out a pair of jeans, black tank top and grey sweater with black ankle boots as she is coming out of her closet she is spooked by someone entering her room she lets out another little yell, it’s only the chef coming to finalize the menu for the date. As she leave Lexi puts her phone to her ear and tells her father. “Ok on the private security but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Xxx

As everything is being prepared in the pool house Isaac is let into the main house. Lexi meets him at the front door. “We’ll be dinning in the back in the pool house.”

They go out into the backyard and Isaac has never seen such opulence everything is so fancy from the perfectly manicured bushes, to the statues, and the outdoor pool the little bit of the main house he saw.

When they enter someone from the staff asks Isaac for his coat. At first he is still stunned by the luxury of this estate and the Normalcy of the pool house it looks just like a dining room. With the circular bar off to the side opposite of the curved couch in the nook underneath the window the couch is decked out in red white and blue pillows. In the middle of the room there is a tan medium size table with matching tan changed.

Noises are coming from the kitchen across the hall from the changing rooms. Isaac is looking around taking everything in, not really carrying on a conversation with Lexi. She sighs all this effort and she is forgotten for the glamour of the house and he only saw a tiny bit of the main house then some of the greenery. She sits down on the couch in the corner and pulls out her phone she first texts Erica then Aiden, Ethan has been with Jackson and Danny all day.

“This is all part of your home?”

“Yes if your impressed by this floor wait until we go upstairs to the watch the movie or if you want we can go downstairs for a swim although I don’t think you brought a swimsuit.”

He looks back at her. “You don’t have extra swimsuits?”

She puts her phone down and looks at him. “This is a home not a mall.”

Their food comes out, Lexi decided to just have a easy menu chicken and salad. Through out the whole meal Lexi is just picking at her meal her head leaning against her hand while Isaac drones on about how magnificent this estate is. Lexi knows her home is beautiful but hearing someone talk about nothing else but how beautiful her home is not entertaining. She thought Isaac was different but just because he has a accent doesn’t mean he’s any different then the other guys she goes on dates with always blown away and forgotten when they see the luxury of her life. At least she knows being this far away from the gate she knows there is no way of paparazzi getting to the pool house. They really should hand out maps of the estate to guests. She smiles at that thought it would be funny if they actually did that.

“Want to go watch the movie?”

He nods and they go up the spiral staircase and through the double doors into the home theater. Lexi sits down in one of the corners of the long curved custom made red couch one of the many seating in the room. Issac sits in the middle and they watch a movie.

After the movie ended and Lexi walked him back to his car. He kissed her on the cheek. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Maybe.”

He leaves and she bee lines for the guest house hoping at least one twin is there. When she lets herself in she is in luck both twins are there. She falls onto the couch and her feet are in Ethan’s lap.“Isaac Lahey hot, but that was a terrible date. He spent the whole time going on about how lovely the estate was. I know how lovely it is I live here.”

Aiden lifts her head so he can sit underneath her head. “Aww hon we’re sorry you had a terrible date.”

“After spending the whole day with Danny and Jackson I still can’t decide I like them both.”

“Are they coming with us to Paris tomorrow?”

“No I told them would be out of the country for a couple days.”

Lexi smiles up at both of her best friends, she can not imagine her life without Ethan or Aiden. Not only are they her best friends they are like her brothers. “Are you guys ready for full fashion emersion with both Forbes and Salvatore families coming together.”

Ethan and Aiden have went on vacations with the Forbes family but they haven’t met the other members of the family IE: their cousins the Salvatore’s. They have read all about them in the magazines and heard about them from Lexi.

Xxx

When Peter comes home that night Genevieve the head of the staff at the estate comes up to him. “Mr. Forbes there was an issue while you were gone.”

Click on the link for the rest of the chapter.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13726612/3/Forbes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185111/chapters/78081137

[mattmurdocksscars]

Miscommunication Ch. 10

I'm gonna fight 'em all/A seven nation army couldn't hold me back

Warnings: Violence. Seriously, we get into it folks. Death, implied torture.

Word Count: 2402

Pairing: FO!Poe Dameron x Reader

Tag List:  @himbopoes​, @writefightandflightclub​, @mellow-f1​, @imaginecrushes​, @ladyflyer20​, @kiaralein​, @oakleyves, @nacida-en-la-luna​, @morgannope​​ @thegirlwiththebook​ @twomoonstwosuns @awesomefandomsunited @thesoftdumbass @kittyofalltrades​ @struggling-bee​ @amarvelousmandalorian @seeking-a-great–perhaps @sheerfreesia007 @firstordermariposa @darksideofclarke @damndamer0n @criminal-cookies​ @damnyoudameron​ @huliabitch​

A week and a half passes and you haven’t returned. Poe keeps himself busy, running drills with his pilots and working with the council. He’s in the middle of a meeting with them, standing beside Hux when Kylo sweeps into the room. He locks gazes with Poe and immediately approaches him, a dark look on his face.

“General Hux, it’s imperative that I borrow Captain Dameron.” Hux scowls at Kylo, already shaking his head.

“Absolutely not. In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of a meeting. What could possibly be so important-“

“She’s been taken.” Immediately the room falls silent, both Hux and Poe staring at Kylo in shock. Poe’s hands clench into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. Hux snaps at everyone to get out and the council rushes from the rooms. The ginger-haired man turns back to Kylo and starts asking questions.

“What do you mean she’s been taken? How do you know?”

“She keeps in contact with me on her missions, we have a rule that she checks in every three days. She hasn’t checked in since 5 days ago. I also…received a holovid. It’s hard to tell, but I’m certain it’s her.”

“Show us.” Kylo hesitates briefly, looking between Hux and Poe. He seems to weigh his options for a moment before he turned and gestured for them to follow him. Kylo led the two to his office, where he pulled the video up and projected it onto the wall.

The video is dark and there is the sound of shuffling before an overhead light is clicked on. It still doesn’t offer much visibility, but they can see someone on their knees on the ground. The person’s hands are tied behind their back and hair obscures their face. There are two men standing behind the figure, holding them up. Another male steps into the camera’s view and claps his hands together, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, well. It would appear we’ve got our hands on quite the prize, boys. It would seem we’ve found some First Order scum, and not just any First Order scum. Supposedly, she’s Kylo Ren’s favorite agent.” The men laugh at the leader’s words and he smirks. “Let’s see what she has to say about that.”

One of the men standing beside the woman yanks her head up by her hair and Poe feels his stomach plummet. It’s you, gagged and seemingly unconscious. Even with the terrible quality of the video, there’s no denying it. Kylo stops it there and the room is quiet, the only noise the humming of the ship.

“Play the rest.” Poe’s voice is hard, stoic and his gaze is fixed to your face on the video. Hux nods from beside him and Kylo does as told. The video plays and it shows the leader reaching forward and ripping a gag from your mouth before smacking your cheek a few times to rouse you. You come to groggily, eyes blinking open sluggishly, and the men laugh again.

“Aw, look at her boys. Think that blow to her head messed her up some. Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.” This time, the leader slaps you so hard your head turns. You gasp against the pain, fighting against the hands holding you, but they’re too strong. Your head is pulled back again, and this time your face shows nothing but anger.

“Oh ho ho, look at that, boys. If looks could kill, I would be buried by now. But they don’t, and you’re at my mercy, so why don’t you at least look the part.” The leader hits you again, this time punching you in the gut. It forces all of the air out of your lungs but when you look back up, the anger is still on your face.

“Go fuck yourself.” You spit out and they see the way the leader angers at your words. He steps out of focus for a moment before coming back in, a blade gripped in his hand. He drags it along your skin before slowly burying it into your shoulder. You never make a sound as he does, jaw clenched to keep quiet. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Well, I’ll give you credit, Kylo. Your little bitch is feisty, but she won’t be for long. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll wish she’d never worked for you.” The video rolls for a few moments longer, showing you being dragged off by the men, but ends before they can see anything else. Poe is vibrating with his anger and Hux looks a little green. Kylo doesn’t spare the ginger haired man a glance, locking his gaze with Poe instead.

“Get what you need, meet me in the hangar in 10.” Poe nods, storming from the room.

“Wait just a second! You can’t just go after her; we have to make a plan.” Hux snapped.

“You make a plan. I’m taking Captain Dameron and getting her back.” Kylo’s tone brokered no argument and he left Hux standing in his office. Hux cursed and took off as well, heading for his own office to get to work on making a plan that wouldn’t get everyone killed. Hux didn’t care for Kylo by any means but even he couldn’t deny your importance and he certainly wasn’t going to lose his best Captain.

Poe met Kylo in the hangar, and the two men swiftly boarded an Upsilon-class command shuttle along with a few high-class troopers. Kylo swiftly set coordinates for your last known location and easily guided the ship out of the hangar and into space, punching it into hyperspace as soon as they cleared the bay doors. The troopers were all in the internal passenger compartment which left Kylo and Poe alone in the control room. Kylo spent the time catching Poe up on your mission details, where you had been going, who you were meeting with, and any potential enemies that could have taken you. Both agreed that they did not think it was the Resistance, the blatant violence displayed not something they would approve. This left either a third party or the person who had been sabotaging your missions previously. Whoever it was, the two of them wouldn’t stop until you were brought back safe.

~

It took three more days for them to find you. They wreaked havoc across the galaxy as they followed every lead. Kylo with his saber and Poe with his blaster, they cut through anyone who impeded their search. Both men were getting more and more irritable. The longer it took to find you, the more likely it was that whoever had you would kill you. So, when Hux commed them to let them know that he had a lead, both men jumped on it. It led them to a mining planet out in the unknown regions and after a scan of the planet, they located a camp away from all the hustle and bustle of the mines. They set course for there and as soon as they got close enough, they were met with a show of force they were not expecting. This group was organized and had numbers to back them up but neither man would be deterred. Kylo could sense you, knew you were close, so they commed back to Hux to let him know before landing and storming the makeshift base.

With only the small group of storm troopers, it takes them hours to clear the base. The win finally happens when more troops arrive thanks to Hux. The few survivors are rounded up to be interrogated but there are three kept aside specifically for Kylo and Poe. It was the three men from the video, and they were kneeled in front of the two men, hands cuffed behind their backs. All of them looked worse for wear and if Ren or Dameron had their way, they would all be dead by now. But no one had been able to find you yet and they needed these men to tell them where you were.

“Where. Is. She.” Kylo’s voice is menacing as it comes through his mask, each word causing one of the men in front of them to flinch while the others simply stare at the ground. Poe stands beside Kylo, hands clenched at his sides as he glares the men down, his gaze staying mostly focused on the leader of the three. None of them spoke up and Poe find himself pulling his knife from where he kept it on his belt, stepping forward. Before he could reach them, Kylo stopped him. Poe bristled but when Kylo himself stepped forward and brought a hand up in front of the leader’s face, he relaxed. Kylo wasted no time, surging into the man’s mind and ripping the information from him. The man screamed as Kylo assaulted his mind, but Poe felt no remorse.

As soon as Kylo pulled away from the man, he turned and stormed off. Poe watched him go before turning back to the men in front of him. He still had his blade clutched in his hand and he twirled it in thought. The leader was panting, bent over with his head pressed to the ground and Poe approached him first. Fisting his hand in the man’s hair, he forced him upright and brought his knife up to sink into the man’s torso. He cried out at the sudden pain but Poe simply smirked.

“Taking her was your first mistake. Hurting her is what sealed your fate.” Poe ripped his knife from the man, shoving him back. The wound was made to hurt, to slowly bleed the man out and he did the same to the second man before approaching the third. This was the timid one who had flinched against Kylo’s rage and he whimpered when Poe’s hand grabbed him by the back of his neck.

“Please, please, I swear I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t even want to take her. Please.” Pleas fell from the man’s lips as he shook like a leaf. Before Poe could question the truth of it, the leader spat at the other man.

“You weak ass! Shut up.” With a flick of his gaze, one of the troopers kicked the leader and Poe focused back on the man in front of him. For the first time, Poe really took him in. He was young, an adult but barely.

“Is this true?”

“Yes, I swear.” At this, Poe nodded. He sheathed his blade, bringing both hands to cup the man’s face.

“You had a part in this and that I cannot forgive, but for not hurting her I will show you some mercy.” With a swift movement, Poe snapped the man’s neck. He let the body fall and stepped away, turning his back to the other two who cursed him for making them suffer. He walked out of the building they had taken the three into and followed the directions of the troopers for where Kylo had gone. The directions led him to a building on the outskirts of the small camp and he moved quickly towards it. He was just reaching the door and entering the building, when he saw Kylo come up a set of stairs.

“You need to come with me now.” Poe feels his stomach drop at the Commander’s words and follows him down the stairs quickly. What he sees doesn’t assuage the feeling, but he also feels confusion rise. There are dead camp members and storm troopers alike in the room. It doesn’t look like anyone has left this room alive aside from Kylo. Poe’s gaze travels the length of the room before finally settling on a figure curled in the corner. He could recognize you anywhere and his heart breaks at how battered and broken you look. Your hair is in a knotted curtain around you, your clothes are torn, and you are shaking.

Poe steps forward to move to you without even thinking about it but Kylo’s arm shoots out to stop him. Poe looks to him, about to argue before he notices the sudden lack of movement from you. You’ve completely frozen at the noise of him moving and he realizes then that you have a blaster in your clutches.  Poe’s gaze travels the room again and he realizes that every single person in this room was killed by a blaster shot and realization settles over him. Whatever has happened to you has forced you into the mindset of protecting yourself at all costs. He wonders though if it’s because you’ve yet to see a face you recognize. With his helmet on, Kylo cuts an imposing figure, especially to someone who has just spent the past several days being tortured. Lowly, so quietly it barely sounds out in the room, Poe speaks.

“Let me try.” Kylo’s head snaps around to face him but Poe is already removing his blade from his belt and setting down his blaster. You still haven’t moved from your place, body still and breathing barely there. Poe slowly begins to step closer to you, weaving around bodies. He sees your grip tighten on the blaster and immediately begins speaking.

“It’s me, sweetness. It’s Poe.” He sees your grip loosen a little and continues on, moving closer to you all the while. “You’re safe, sweetness. You’re with me.”

At the familiar words, you slowly turn to face him, and Poe feels his blood boil at the sight of you. One of your eyes is swollen shut, your face is bruised, your lip busted. He’s sure the rest of you looks even worse, but he still can’t get a good look at you with the way you’re curled in on yourself. He sees the way you look him over, taking a moment almost as if you have to decide if this is real.

“Poe?” Stars. Your voice is wrecked. Poe swallows his anger down and holds his hand out to you, just like that night weeks ago.

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” The blaster in your hand clatters to the floor as you launch yourself at him. Poe catches you easily, holding you carefully. You have no such reservations, holding on to Poe as if your life depended on it. Poe sighs but his relief is cut short when your grip begins to relax, your body going limp in his arms.

“Sweetness?!”

[petri808]

Oblivious be Thy Name

Inspired by this post  @todorokitops 

For some reason that baffled those around him, Bakugou always gravitated towards Midoriya no matter how many times he denied it was happening.  Eventually his friends grow tired of it and present him with evidence...

Bakudeku *spoiler warning Heroes Rising is mentioned

As he stands in front of UA’s front door on the first day of classes, the sight up ahead just blows Katsuki’s mind. ‘Tch.  I swear God hates me…’  He still couldn’t understand how the fuck did that damn quirkless bastard get in here?!  But it was no denying it, as they walked into the hero course, that Midoriya Izuka had somehow passed the entrance exam.  

Trailing behind towards the same classroom, a string of curses loops in his head as he walks up the aisle of desks.  Of course, the gods would throw him this loop!  The nerd flashes him a smile, but Bakugou turns his nose up with a sneer, ignoring him and drops into the chair in front of the guy.  Same school, same class, now seat mates!  Ugh!  He could feel Midoriya’s eyes on the back of his head.  Three more years of being around this loser, what were the odds.

Everyone around him were just sidekicks to Bakugou.  The only true rivals were Icy Hot and maybe Deku based on his own bitter realization.  But despite his grumpy attitude, a few of his classmates gravitated towards the hot-headed blonde, immediately trying to befriend him.  Maybe he could use them later, well as long as they didn’t get in his way that is.  

“Hey Bakugou!”

Just as he’s about to put his tray of food down, he sees the spiky red head waving at him from one of the cafeteria tables.  He looks around and notices Midoriya sitting at the end of the one he was about to sit on and sneers.  Damn, he needed to pay attention more!  Bakugou quickly grabs his tray and heads over to the sidekicks table to join them.

Kirishima smiles, his shark-grin flashing wide.  “So, how’d you like the first day?”  

Without looking at the red head, Bakugou grabs his fork.  “Aizawa’s a dick,” was his only reply before digging into his food.  

Undeterred, the man continues.  “I heard you and Midoriya come from the same middle school.”

“So.”

“You guys friends?  You were about to sit…”

“Fuck no!” he slams his fist onto the table, bending his fork in the process.  “Goddamn broccoli head is not my friend!”    

Kirishima flinches, “Oh damn, my bad I just assumed…”

“Keep your pea brain out of my affairs.  Fuck!” he realizes the fork is bent and tosses it onto the tray.  So much for lunch.  Just the mere mention of Midoriya as his friend had sent his appetite packing.  Bakugou shoves his way off the table, grabs his tray and dumps it in the trash before stomping back to the classroom, leaving a stunned table behind.  This year was starting off on such an amazing foot!  If it got any better, the blonde was gonna burn it to the ground.  

Despite the attitude, Kirishima and a few others still stuck around Bakugou.    They’d long stopped asking him questions about the nerd, for fear of setting him off.  But it was fine, since they provided him with a source of comic relief.  Plus, the red head’s hardening quirk made for a great sparring buddy.  He’d feared that Midoriya would follow the same trend as their former school days, but it seemed the guy was making friends of his own.  The nerdy bunch, he called them with gravity chick and the four-eyed control freak rounding out the trio.  Good.  The last thing he wanted was a repeat of their formative years.

The weeks and months pass by at school and there was barely any time for him to focus on his rivalry with Midoriya.  Of course, when something did happen, their fights were a mini world war.  But usually they stuck to their own groups of friends and it was mostly during class training sessions that somehow, he would end up paired with or in a group with the nerd.  Bakugou wondered if Aizawa or All Might was doing it on purpose to piss him off.  

“What are you doing here Deku?!”

Midoriya looks up and smiles, ignoring the man’s tone, “oh, hi Kaachan, didn’t see you walk up.”

It was the second Sports Event for UA since they’d entered the school.  The first-year students were currently in competitions and the older students are in the stands watching to see the new blood in action.  There are a lot of promising quirks to be seen, though so far, nothing as spectacular as their class.  That could change with training, and they’d yet to see the individual competitions, so maybe one of the Freshman will surprise them.    

“Hey guys,” Midoriya acknowledges the rest of the Bakusquad as the group had become known as. Kirishima, Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero stood behind their leader, each saying hi back to the green haired man as well to Iida and Uraraka who sat next to him.

“Tch.”  Bakugou turns and walks away further along the bleachers to find a seat with the rest of the group following behind.  With so many people around, he didn’t want to be seen anywhere near Midoriya.  

When he settles on an area far enough away, everyone grabs a spot next to or behind the blonde.  They were excited to see the action, and Ashido was already talking their ear off about a girl she knew from their old middle school who was a UA student now.  

“Oh look, see, there she is!”  she points to the field.

“Right!  Now I remember her!” Kirishima pipes up.  “She’s changed her hair since then.”

“Oi!  Could you guys shut it!” Bakugou snaps at them.  “If I wanted noise, I’d’ve stayed by Deku!”

“Speaking of that,” the pink haired girl taps her chin, “I was surprised we didn’t sit by them.”

“What?!  Why the fuck would I sit by the nerd brigade?!”

“Cause you usually sit near Midoriya,” Kaminari chimes in.

“No, I fucking don’t!”

“Yeah, you do bakubro,” Kirishima adds into the word affray.  “When you’re not with us, you’re near him.”

Bakugou turns away refusing to acknowledge what they were saying.  “I think the hair dye got in your eyes or maybe you should borrow four-eye’s glasses.”

Seros eyebrow raises from the blatant denial.  He taps on Ashido’s shoulder, “you should show him the pics.  Maybe then he’ll believe it.”

‘Pictures?!’  The blonde stiffens briefly but pushes away any fears.  He has no idea what they were talking about.  Sure, there are bound to be some pictures of him near Deku, they’re in the same class, are forced to train together, and have had to deal with villains together.  But that didn’t mean he was always around the nerd!  At least not by choice!  “Tch.  I don’t believe you guys.”

Ashido opens a file in her phone to reveal well over a hundred photos spanning their UA career.  She turns the screen to face Bakugou but keeps the phone at a slight distance and out of the blonde’s reach.  “See?” she slowly scrolls through the library of photos, letting a grin morph onto her face.  “Busted.”

The longer he scans, the more the scowl on his face grows.  There were pictures in the cafeteria, in the gym, in the dorms common room, and other places on campus.  Off campus during training sessions there he was again, sitting next to or within arm’s reach of none other than Deku!  What the fuck?!  How did he not realize he’d been doing that all this time?!  

“Remember that first day of school?” Kirishima questions his friend.  “If I hadn’t waved you over, you were walking straight to Midoriya’s table.”

“And today,” Sero adds, “you did it again, just ended up walking straight to where Midoriya was.  It’s like you bee-line it to him.”

“Like a moth to a flame,” Ashido sing songs.

“You do it a lot man,” Kaminari laughs, “I can’t believe you didn’t realize it.”

“We were starting to think you had a crush on the guy or something,” Ashido giggles louder, “well a weird ass crush considering how much you say you hate the guy.”

“WHAT!!!” he jumps to his feet in a rage.  “FUCK NO!!  I-I…”  Bakugou storms away furious that they would even insinuate such a notion!  “Fuck all of you!”  There was no way in hell or heaven he’d willingly sit next to Deku!  It had to be lies!

He needed somewhere to cool off, and with the entire school focused on the games, the blonde walks the grounds in search of a place to sit down and clear his head.  Eventually he makes it to the grassy knoll near their dorm building and drops into a cross-legged position under a tree.  Bakugou closes his eyes.  Fuck those pictures!  So, what if they showed him sitting near that nerd?  If he analyzed them, he’d bet there were normal explanations for every single one of them.

Like that first day of school, it was the first open seat he had noticed, and he’d been starving.  The training camp, well he ended up next to Deku because it was the only spot available to sleep.  In the common room, there are only a few areas to sit!  As he replayed scene after scene as far as he was concerned, they were all just coincidences!  ‘And why the hell was Ashido taking pictures of him anyways?!’  Most of the photos were so randomly taken, that it was obvious she was snapping the photos just to point them out.  In fact, the file on her phone was named ‘Oblivious.’  Well Fuck her, fuck shitty hair, fuck all of them!  He wasn’t…

“WHAT THE FUCK DEKU WHO SAID YOU COULD SIT BY ME!”

Midoriya leans back in his chair confused, “But Kacchan, you-you’re the one who sat next to me…  I was here 10 minutes before you.”  He didn’t understand what the man was upset about.  How had it taken the blonde 15 minutes to realize he was sitting next to him.  

Even the police officers in the briefing room had stopped talking to see what the shouting was about.

With all eyes trained on them, Katsuki sees their teacher and All Might motioning for him to be quiet.  He scoffs and rolls his eyes, then stands up in a huff to finds another seat further away next to his buddy Kirishima.

“You okay?” the red head queries, “looked like you were zoning out on Midoriya’s head for a while, I assumed you were just ignoring the briefing.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, “Fuck no!  Now shut up so they can finish this damn briefing.”  He wasn’t staring at Midoriya!  

Or was he?  The hot head lets out a loud growl that sends a few birds from the surrounding area to take flight.  Panic sets in as his eyes pop open from the memory, hands shaking, and heart thudding loudly in his chest.  But his mind had snapped.  A flash of green in his periphery causes him to whip his head towards it in fear that the nerd had followed him… but it was just a green hedge.  Sweat beads along his forehead.  What was going on?!  Why was he being so paranoid all of a sudden?  ‘Oh, hell no!’  Had he chosen this spot because of the green colored hedge?!  

All this time was his subconscious pulling him towards the nerd and he’d never realized it?  But why?!  They’d patched up a lot in their relationship, starting when Deku had told him the truth about his quirk.  Regardless of his feelings, the guy was someone he’s known for most of their lives, so he was bound to feel some small comfort around him...  This man who reminded him of their childhood and all the carefree times spent playing near their school or apartment building.  Just a hanger-on that would follow them around but was the first to lend him a hand.  Or whose sunny disposition could piss him off and yet… make him feel relaxed in unfamiliar surroundings….  Then there was the incident on Nabu.

“No, No, No!”  Bakugou covers his face with his hands as the same warm feelings he’d ignored around Midoriya blatantly reveals itself.  Fear was not something he would ever admit to feeling but having that damn nerd around to watch his back could calm his nerves like no other, or even better, boost his drive and confidence.  “Fuck!”  He was so screwed!

“This… isn’t… possible…” he mumbles.

“What isn’t possible?”

“What the fuck?!”  Bakugou quickly looks up, reacting to the sound of Midoriya’s voice.  But after scanning all around him, there’s no one there, just the light whooshing of the breeze funneling through the leaves or the birds warbling.  Holy shit now he was hallucinating!  Damn his mind for playing tricks on him!

He couldn’t deny it any longer.  The unseen force, the subconscious pull that drew him towards the nerd who offered a guaranteed safe haven.  A man that has always had his back.  ‘Damn racoon eyes,’ he would have been happier to be oblivious because now that the truth was settling in, he was forced to face the emotions Midoriya stirred inside him. The blonde pulls his knees up and rests his arms and head to shut out the world.  In the distance, the Sports Festival beckons for him to return, but he didn’t want to see anyone right now.  At least in this way, he could feign taking a nap.  

On the outside, Bakugou showed no emotion, just a man calmly resting beside a tree, but inside his heart was still raging.  No matter how long he’d been sitting there, it refused to calm down.  His body was warm, much hotter than it should be under the shade of a tree as hues of green dance in his mind.  

Okay so fine, he and Midoriya were a great compliment for each other and when they sync up, their efforts were explosive.  He couldn’t remember it all, but vague memories of their battle with Nine, plus what he’d been told about the incident were a perfect example of it.  

‘Kacchan, you’re the only one I would have trusted with it, you know that, right?  We’re really great together…’

The one thing he was sure of were the emotions he had felt watching his oldest friend almost die.  It had lingered, memoryless until the gaps were filled in by others.    

Heat once again rises, coloring his cheeks at the memory.  Working with Midoriya certainly had been an adrenaline rush… then again, every time they teamed up brought those same rushes and sparks of energy, like the green lightning that snakes around his friend or the explosions he could unleash.  What a powerful force they were… together.  Bakugou shudders and wraps his arms tighter around his knees.  For a man obsessed with power, who better a partner than one on par with him?  

“Kacchan, are you okay?”

Bakugou stiffens, was his mind playing tricks on him again?  He raises his head just enough to see the tips of Midoriya’s red shoes.  “I’m fine,” he grumps without looking up for fear the blush on his cheeks were still visible.  There were definitely sparks of something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge brewing.

Suddenly, he feels a warm weight rested against his back.  He raises his head, turning it, and out of his periphery catches the tell-tale green hair.  The nerd was sitting with his back against his!  “What do you want damn it?!  Isn’t it obvious I wanted to be alone!”

“I know,” Midoriya whispers under his breath.  “I’m just gonna sit here quietly.”

The blonde rolls his eyes.  Normally he’d snap, but for some reason the words refused to come out.  “Fuck it, I should’a just went back to my room and…”

“Kacchan, I heard about the conversation… you know, back at the arena, and I’ve always wondered why you do that.”

“Pfft, I don’t know why, and I thought you were gonna be quiet?!”

“Sorry…”

“Tch.”

After a few uncomfortable moments, Bakugou clears his throat and in a low tone he asks his friend the question that’d been plaguing him.  “After we got home from Nabu…  what did you mean when you’d said we’re good together?”

Midoriya thinks back to that time, not remembering immediately what Bakugou was asking about.  Nabu, Nine, the Shimano kids.  When they’d returned home, he’d hoped that maybe their friendship would get significantly better, but things stayed relatively the same, just a little less of the yelling.  Yes, there was that one conversation about him transferring his quirk to the blonde after the man had cornered him into telling him exactly what had occurred.  It was the only thing he could think of to do at the time, and he’d been grateful Bakugou was the one there with him.  

“I know you think I’m your rival and all, but just… maybe, I mean look at what we accomplished there when we teamed up?  We flowed like water.”  Midoriya’s voice grows quieter, “we balance each other out well and I think we’re good together.”

“Okay, I get that, so as just what, friends?”  

“Well, yeah… I suppose.  What else would we be?”

“Tch.”  Bakugou shifts and places his hands on the ground, ready to push himself up.  “Nothing, I guess.”

“Wait,” Midoriya reaches backward, placing his hand on his friends to stop him.

The blonde stiffens up further as his friend not only covers but squeezes his hand.  “What is it Deku?”

“Besides friends….  what more would you want to be?  Is that why you always sit by me?”

‘What!  Maybe…’  More than friends?  Oh, fucking hell.  “It’s because…”

[my-kingdom-of-slamalot]

My Way | Chapter 2: And So The Hunt Begins

Words: 976

Authors Note: Kleo could’ve killed Adelaide because if you look at her terminal she wants to kill everyone in Goodneighbor but we’ll just say at some point Adelaide saved Kleo so she’s thankful and actually wanting to help more.

Warnings: Sad Stuff, Cursing, One (1) Sexual Related Thing, Canon-Typical Violence, Recreational Drug Use Mentioned

|*INSERT GIF HERE BECAUSE MY INTERNET SUCKS*|

“Kent, I need you to do me a favor. You still have the Shroud costume I gave to you after killing those people?” Adelaide questioned the ghoul with a thick accent. He lept up from his seat and made a bee-line to the wardrobe he put in his room. 

“It’s right here! Why...why do you need it?” Adelaide took the hero costume from him and took the Silver Machine gun from beside the wardrobe.

“I’m going after the bastard that killed Hancock.” She replied bluntly as she walked out the door. 

“SINJIN? YOU C...CAN’T GO AFTER SIN...SINJIN! YOU’LL GET YOURSELF KILLED!” Kent frantically tried to get the new mayor to come to a halt but to no avail. Instead, Adelaide tightly hugged Kent and went to The Oldstatehouse to change into the Shroud costume she donned long before. Muggsly and Jerry were both hunched over the coffee table of one of the rooms talking about something. What it was Adelaide didn’t care. Instead, she started changing near the bed.

“Woah! Hey! Miss Mayor!” Jerry started. She really didn’t care. All of the watch had seen her nude before during the watch parties Hancock had thrown. And that’s exactly what she had told them. She tossed on the shirt, pants, jacket, and hat. She called out for Dogmeat who had been chilling under the coffee table. She told Muggsly and Jerry where she would be heading and they too tried to stop her. Nothing would stop her.

“I’m gonna see if Kleo wants to come with me.” She uttered as she left the building. The assaultron was busy serving a client when Adelaide had shown up. “Kleo, I’m going after Sinjin, I’m gonna need a strong woman. Care to join?” Kleo seemed to think for a second before responding to the new mayor.

“I could go for some.... hot-blooded murder.” The robot said in her typical seductress tone. She closed up shop for the night and followed Adelaide out of Goodneighbor. The sun was high in the sky as they slashed past super mutants, raiders, and gunners. Adelaide let out a soft chuckle as she remembered the things Hancock had said during combat. Little things like, “OH NOW I’M FERAL!” It’s ironic how that was one of the last things Adelaide ever heard him say during one of their last sexual moments. 

“We’re gonna need to set up camp for the night,” Kleo spoke as she took glanced to the now darkening skies. Adelaide nodded in agreement as the robot hauled her off to some abandoned building. Dogmeat followed both into the building and sat to watch while they sat down a sleeping bag for Adelaide. Kleo stood beside the sleeping bag and went into a temporary sleep for the night.

A few hours had passed. Dogmeat had wriggled his way under Adelaide’s arm and Kleo was still partially asleep. That’s when it happened. Raiders. Dogmeat woke up and started growling and Adelaide had fully woken up. Slivers of moonlight had peaked through the run-down building and she could see the outline of three raiders. 

“Kleo,” Adelaide whispered. Kleo began to stir. “Raiders. Get ready.” Kleo’s eyes did their usual red glow as she raised her claw-like hands. As the raiders rounded the corner she began the laser fire. Adelaide used her old shotgun rather than the Silver Machinegun to take out at least a raider and injure another. Kleo finished taking out the rest. Neither could sleep after what had happened. Well, Kleo could and Dogmeat could have, but Adelaide couldn’t. 

She already hated killing unless she had a truly valid reason. Sinjin? She had a valid reason for wanting to slaughter his ass and she would take joy in it. Kleo, despite not being the comforting type, tried her best to comfort her. “They probably had families or pets!” She sobbed. Kleo sat a hand on Adelaide’s head and stroked her hair.

“If they did have family or pets there is a likelihood they were all as bad as them. Now come on, hot stuff, get some sleep so we can kill the bastard that killed Hancock.” As usual, due to her seductive personality, she emphasized certain words such as hot-stuff, kill, bastard, and the last part of Hancock’s name. 

Dogmeat barked and laid his head in Adelaide’s lap trying to comfort her in his own K-9 way. His fur was soft and it reminded Adelaide of her three childhood pets. One, an Irish wolfhound, named Dog. Yeah, real original. Her grandpa always wanted to name a dog...well...Dog. So that’s what Adelaide did. Dog was the first animal her parents gave her and she loved him to death. Wherever she went he went. They were like Tommy and Spike. 

Kleo stood beside Adelaide as she sat up against the wall with Dogmeat still in her lap. The trio stayed in silence until sunlight started filtering through the cracks of the building. Adelaide stood up and started to gather the contents of their make-shift camp so they could head to Milton General Hospital and take out the bastard. This time Kent was safe in Goodneighbor and hopefully, no one innocent was being held captive by Sinjin.

Kleo bent down and rubbed Dogmeat’s head before following Adelaide out of the building and back onto the roads. The sun hung low in the sky which was painted a beautiful orange, red, and purple color. Tears came to her eyes again as she remembered the times she and Hancock would climb to the top of The Oldstatehouse and watch the sunrise as well as the sunset. All while getting high off jet or mentats...hell...sometimes both. Then they would stay there and sometimes spend a little while longer making soft love until they head back in.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Red Sea Diving Resort One Shot-More To Life

Thanks to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for my @official-and-unstable-satan ‘s Fic Off Challenge nomination... and @icanfeelastormbrewing for the idea on how to start this one off.

Is this gonna end up a series at some point? Probably because I’m a sucker for Ari and writing shit in general... Warnings- Language!

Ari slumped down on the couch in Ethan’s office and glanced at the tumble of scotch next to him.

“There’s something else…” Ethan said

“What?” Ari looked up at him.

“Andy Horowitz…”

Now that was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Frowning he sat up. “What about him?”

“He’s dead Ari, was caught in a cross fire in Nigeria. Some terrorists raided the camp he was working in. The medics did everything they could but…” Ari let out a sigh and ran his hands over his beard “Shit. What about Hannah?”

“She’s safe.” Ethan assured him. “She’s currently in Johannesburg, as soon as we can get her home we will.”

That conversation was running through Ari’s head right now as 4 years later he stood in front of Hannah as she glared at him, arms folded.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she looked at him “I barely got out of Africa alive, Andy didn’t and you want me to come and help you smuggle refugees out of Sudan?” “Hannah, this is gonna be different.” he pleaded “We have a really good cover, a great…” Hannah barked out a laugh and looked at him, shaking her head “No, no you have a pipe dream Ari, just like the pipe dream you roped Andy into almost 8 years back, the same pipe dream that in the end got him killed 4 years ago .”

Ari visibly started, as if he had been slapped. And to be fair, he felt like he had been.

“Is that…is that what you think?” he looked at her, swallowing slightly.

“I don’t think it, I know it.” she blazed at him “If it hadn’t been for you the idea of becoming an MSF would never have entered his head.” “Oh come on Hannah.” Ari sighed “You can’t seriously blame me for that? Andy was a good man, he wanted to help people…” “Was, Ari, yes. He was a good man. Was because he is fucking dead!”

“You were with him!” Ari said, looking at her “You were with him, so you must have shared that same desire.”

“I was with him because I had no choice.” she shook her head “I couldn’t stay behind and wonder what the hell he was doing at home, not seeing him for months on end. Our marriage wasn’t like yours Ari, I don’t have the patience or, frankly, bravery of your wife to be able to wave you off and stay behind…” Ari swallowed, that had hit him hard. “I’m sorry, but the answer is no.” she said, her tone a little softer “I wish you good luck with it, I really do but…” He nodded “Ok, well, thanks for seeing me anyway.”  He approached her a little tentatively “Look, if you change your mind…”

He dropped a card on her desk. She gave it a cursory glance before she looked up at him “I won’t.”

With a tight smile and a nod he left.

Hannah slumped down onto her chair, running her hands over her face. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, her attention fell to the framed photo of her and Andy on her desk. It was taken a few days before he had died, both of them in the field. It hadn’t been an easy 12 months spent, going where the demand took them, but she had to admit, it had been one of the most satisfying 12 months of her life. Helping people who truly needed it. Waking up every morning not knowing whether you would still be in the same place by nightfall, or if demand would take you elsewhere.

She’d struggled to come to terms with Andy’s death, just like any widow would she supposed, but it seemed so cruel. He had dedicated so much of his life to help others, and his life was taken from him in such a violent way. And he’d died saving her, pushing her out of the way of a bullet, taking it straight in the chest. He’d bled out next to her on the dusty floor as she’d desperately tried to save his life.

Her fingers gently ran over the card Ari had left, before she picked it up. It was a business card for Ethan Levin, the Israeli Intelligence Officer that one time Andy had worked with. She tossed it into the waste paper basket with a sigh and ran her hands over her face.

Deep-down she knew blaming Ari wasn’t completely fair, but the fact remained if it wasn’t for him then Andy would never have gotten that bee in his bonnet about there being more to life than treating “old people with flu” his words, not hers. And so after a lot of discussion they’d sold their home and uprooted their lives. And for 12 months it had been great, so rewarding. But not without risks, risks they knew full well about, but that knowledge hadn’t saved him.

After her return to the US she had thrown herself into her studies, qualified as a doctor (which had been surprisingly easy considering her previous experience as a nurse) but now, if she was honest, she was in a rut. Her life felt empty, worse than it had when Andy’s death had been fresh in her mind.

“Because you have no purpose, Han…”

Fuck. She was going to regret this.

******

“You do know that’s a truck, not a fucking gym floor right?” Sammy rolled his eyes.

“I’m restless.” Ari shot back, continuing his press ups.

“You and me both…” Sammy mumbled before he glanced up the street, folding his arms and leaning against the back of the truck “You know I still don’t get why we couldn’t just meet them at the airport.”

“Covert ops man.” Ari said, his arms stretching and then falling again “Use your brain.”

“What time did Ethan say this doctor was arriving?”

“Should be here any moment…” Another few minutes past before Sammy spotted a car pulling up across the street.

“Ari…” he said. Ari paused and looked at him, glancing at the car, before he stopped what he was doing and dropped to his ass, sitting on the back of the truck.

Both men watched the driver get out of the car and open the rear door before heading to the trunk.

“Is that…” Sammy felt his mouth drop open as a woman climbed out of the car and headed to the trunk.

“Well I’ll be damned…” Ari muttered, his mouth curling into a smile as she payed the driver. Nodding to him, she took her bag and headed over to the men.

“Hi Sammy.” she smiled “Long time no see.” “Hannah!” he beamed, sweeping her up into a hug “How you been?” “Oh you know…” she shrugged. She turned her attention to Ari, who grinned at her as he slid off the back of the truck. “Ari.” “What made you change your mind?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

She shrugged “Dunno. Maybe I’m just an idiot.”

“That’s good…” Sammy snorted “You’re in good company. We all must be to trust this jackass.”

Hannah merely raised an eyebrow, biting back the response she had about getting them killed. She’d made a promise to herself to try and be reasonable with Ari. He hadn’t forced her into this, she was doing this of her own accord. Just like Andy had. That didn’t mean she’d forgiven him though. “Right, now you’re here we should head back.” Ari said. “Rachel and Jake will be wondering where we are.”

“You sure?” Sammy looked at him “Or you wanna do another 50 press ups before we get going?”

“Press ups?” Hannah looked at Ari “Seriously, you were doing press ups?”

He shrugged “Like I said, I get restless.”

“How many did you do?” she queried.

“I dunno, wasn’t counting.”

“Bullshit.” Sammy snorted “He was.”

“50 in how long?”

“I wasn’t…what is this?” Ari frowned.

“Just curious, I manage 30 in a minute but…”

“Is that a challenge?” Ari’s lips curled into a smirk.

She simply shrugged.

“Alright…” he said, dropping down “Go on, set your watch…”

With a roll of her eyes she glanced at her wrist and twirled the dials on the face “Go…”

As he began Sammy looked at her and he sidled closer “Are you really timing.”

“Nope “she said, “I’m just gonna see how long it is before he twigs.”

[camillemontespan]

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part seven: lost & found]

Master List if you want to catch up

Warnings: Sort of NSFW. Question: as we are on lockdown and not at work, can we still say ‘not safe for work?’ Hmm.. ‘NSFQ?’ Not safe for quarantine!

@moonlightgem7​​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​​ @mskaneko​​​​ @ibldw-main​​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​​ @pug-bitch​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​ @princessleac1​​​​ @burnsoslow​​​​  @loveellamae​​​​  @pedudley​​​​ @oofchoices​​​​ @emichelle​​​​ @simplymissjulia​​​​ @dcbbw​​​​ @sirbeepsalot​​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​​ @notoriouscs​​​​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​​​​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​​ @nomadics-stuff​​  @gardeningourmet​​ *******************************************************

Drake rested his face in the crook of Camille's neck. His breath came out heavy and hitched, giving her goosebumps. Drake could smell the coconut of her hair. 

He slowly ran his hands along her thighs as he pulled gently away from her. Camille's chest heaved as she tried to regulate her breathing after the exertion of what they had just done. 

They didn't speak as they put their clothes back down. When Camille couldn't reach the zip of her dress, she silently turned her back to him and Drake pulled it up slowly, allowing his fingers to graze her spine. 

Camille helped him with his cufflinks silently. Drake watched her, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to memorise every detail about her. 

'I'll go out first,' Camille said, breaking the long, heavy silence. 'You come out a minute after.' 

Drake nodded and watched her turn on her heel to open the door. He caught at her wrist. 

'Camille.' 

Camille turned to look at him over her shoulder. She looked terrified. Drake cursed himself. Of course she would regret what they had just done. She was engaged. 

Drake sighed and took his hand away. 'Please can we just be normal?' he asked, his voice low. 'We can forget what happened between us and just carry on as normal.'

Camille moved towards him now, her silk dress flowing across the curves and lines of her body. She pressed her hand on his chest, making Drake swallow. 

'We will never be normal, Drake,' she whispered. 

Drake's finger grazed her jaw, tracing a line up her cheek towards her collar bone. He wanted to remember every detail of her face. He wanted to remember how high her cheekbones were and how soft her skin was. He wasn't banking on ever touching her again, not now. 

His finger brushed her bottom lip. He let out a breath when Camille kissed his finger. 

'See you out there,' she murmured. She turned and opened the door, quickly stepping out to the party outside. 

Drake waited one minute before following in her footsteps. 

**********************************

Camille joined Liam on the dance floor. He had been dancing with Gisele but his future mother in law kindly let go of him so he could dance with his fiancé. 

'Where have you been, my love?' he asked her warmly, kissing her on the forehead. 

'I was just outside getting some air,' Camille said easily. 'Are you enjoying yourself?' 

Liam grinned. 'I love a Beaumont Bash! Great music, atmosphere, incredible outfits..' 

He twirled her in his arms, making her giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and focused on his body against hers, his scent of sandalwood, his blue eyes. 

But her focus was distracted when she saw Drake appear in the corner of her eye. He was talking to his mom, who was trying to get him to dance with her. 

What they had done in the Beaumont study flashed through Camille's mind. His hands on her. His desperate kisses. His fingers tangled in her hair. Urgent, desperate, deep kisses that left her breathless. He didn't treat her like fine china. He made her body feel like it was on fire. He made her feel something. 

For the first time in years, Camille felt alive and she wasn't sure what to make of that. 

****************************

Drake couldn't sleep that night. His mind was too busy with thoughts of Camille. Everytime he closed his eyes, he relived it. 

The way she gasped his name as he drove into her. Her fingers scratching his back that were sure to leave scars. Her lips hot against his neck as she kissed him with abandon. 

Knowing he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, Drake got out of bed and out of the house. He found himself at the jetty, his place, and settled down to look at the darkness. He couldn't see the water but he could see the stars twinkling above him. 

'I'm so fucked,' he murmured, resting his head in his hands. 

******************************

Liam and Camille had three days left in Texas. The trip had gone by quickly and they had realised that during that time, they hadn't actually sat down to discuss wedding plans. 

Today, they set up camp at the kitchen table to do just that. 

'Okay, who have we invited from Applewood?' Liam asked, a pen poised in his hand. Camille sipped her coffee as she thought back. 

'Bertrand, Maxwell, Penelope..' 

Liam wrote their names down. 

'Bianca, Savannah, Drake..' 

Liam nodded. 'Anyone else?' 

'Kiara, though she is still to confirm,' Camille said. 'And I guess I should invite Madeleine but I don't really want to..' 

Liam chuckled. 'It's your day, darling. You invite who you want. I want this day to be perfect for you.' 

Camille smiled at his kindness. Liam reached out to take her hand, his eye fixed on hers. 'Just think, in three months, you will be my wife,' he said, smiling. 'Our wedding will be beautiful. You will be beautiful.'

Camille's heart began to beat more rapidly. She cleared her throat and took her hand away from Liam's so she could sip her coffee. Liam studied her with a dopey smile on his face. 

'Mrs Camille Rhys,' he declared proudly. 

The coffee burned Camille's tongue as she downed it. 

**********************************

Bianca clapped her hands excitedly as she read the Applewood Gazette. Drake looked up from his phone, unamused. 

'What have you read now?' he droned. 'Discount event at the garden store? Coffee morning? Another Beaumont Bash?' 

Bianca tutted at her son. 'Actually, no,' she said. 'But the Applefest has been organised for this Friday!' 

Drake groaned. 'Oh no, ma..'

Bianca got to her feet and started to dance around, shaking her hips. 'I'm going to make you bob for apples!' she cried, ruffling his hair. 

Drake closed his eyes. He hated Applefest. Every year, they went and every year, Drake hated it. It was always busy and it meant he had to mingle with people from school which was not his idea of a fun time. Plus he fucking hated apples. 

'I'm going to call Gisele and see if they're going!' Bianca announced, picking up the phone. 

'I'm sure Camille will be too busy,' Drake said quickly. 'And I can't see Liam being the type to enjoy Applefest-' 

'Heh he can hang out with you then,' Savannah quipped, entering the kitchen. 'Drake and Liam, best friends.' 

Drake could hear the sarcasm in her tone but he chose to ignore it. 

'Gisele, it's Bee!' Bianca said down the phone. 'How are you, gorgeous? Are you guys going to Applefest?' 

Bianca and Gisele talked for thirty minutes, mainly making fun of the idea of Drake bobbing for apples.  When Bianca finally hung up, she looked at Drake triumphantly. 

'Liam and Camille will be at Applefest!' she cried. 'Time to work on your apple bobbing skills!' 

****************************

'I swear we've been to so many events,' Liam said as he got ready for Applefest. ‘Not that I’m complaining, I’m used to parties - you’ve met my brother - it’s just for such a small town, I’m quite surprised.’

Camille shrugged. 'I told you, Applewood is really social. We've always got something going on. I quite like Applefest, it's a bit dorky but it's always fun. I was once crowned Apple Queen!' 

Liam raised an eyebrow. 'Apple Queen?' 

'Uh huh,' Camille said. 'I've still got my crown. Let me find it!' 

She dug around in her closet until she found the plastic tiara set with red apple shaped plastic gems. She placed it on her head and curtseyed to Liam. 

He chuckled and moved towards her. 'My Queen,' he murmured, bowing to her grandly. His eyes focused on hers and Camille could see his pupils darken. 

'You suit a crown,' Liam said softly. 'Very regal. Elegant.' 

'It's made of plastic,' Camille told him. 'Not elegant.'

Liam smiled and took her hands, pulling her in close. 'You will always be elegant to me,' he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. 

Camille leaned into the kiss. She was about to break away but was stopped by Liam's hands that kept her in place. 

'My Queen,' he repeated, his voice thick. His lips moved to kiss her cheek and peppered little kisses down her neck to her collar bone. He reached up to run his hands under her sweater so he could touch her skin. 

'Let me worship you,' he murmured in her ear. 

Camille blinked. 'We need to get ready for Applefest -' 

'I'm getting you ready to greet your people,' Liam interrupted. Camille tried to make sense of this. Was he role playing? Liam never role played! 

Camille's mind flashed to Drake. Swallowing, she pushed the image of his face out of her mind and grabbed Liam's hands, pulling him onto the bed. 

'Worship me then, my king,' she whispered, making her voice low and husky. 

She needed to forget Drake. She had had a moment of weakness when she was with him in the study but no more. She was engaged. Regardless of how Drake made her feel, she had to focus on Liam. Liam was the one who mattered. 

She watched him as he unbuttoned her jeans. He flung the jeans to the floor and got down between her thighs, grazing her skin with his lips. 

'My love,' he groaned. 

Camille closed her eyes as she felt his tongue begin to work her. Her hands clenched the pillows and she let out a low groan as he twisted and twirled. 

Drake's face appeared. Camille gasped. She tried to push him out of her mind but she found that she couldn't. Without meaning to, she imagined his hands, his fingers, his breath against her skin. 

As Liam worshipped her, Camille imagined Drake. She imagined him doing what Liam was doing to her. She imagined Drake worshipping his Queen. 

****************************

Fireworks were exploding in the twilight sky, welcoming the beginning of Applefest. The event was being held in a fairground, complete with a carousel and a corn maze.  Drake could smell candy floss and the sweet scent of apples; it made him want to throw up. He quickly looked around to see if there was an open bar but of course, there wasn’t. This was a family event. Whiskey was not allowed, god forbid. 

‘So, shall we bob for apples first?’ Bianca suggested. ‘Oooh or we can fish for plastic apples! Let’s do that. Drake, you’re good at fishing-’

‘Mom, I’m not getting involved,’ Drake interrupted. ‘I’ll just wander around and wait for this shit show to be over.’

Bianca sighed. ‘You’re such a fun sucker..’

‘I am not!’ Drake protested.

‘You kinda are,’ Savannah chimed in. ‘You don’t like to do anything. I swear, sometimes you act just like a moody teenager.’

Drake’s jaw set. He couldn’t think of a retort because he knew his sister was right. Drake was a moody teenager in a 28 year old man’s body. He really should move out of his mom’s place..

‘Hey everyone!’

He closed his eyes. He recognised Liam’s voice now. Oh god. Oh god. 

‘Liam, Camille, hiiii!’ Bianca cried, rushing towards them to give them hugs. 

Savannah nudged Drake’s foot with her shoe. ‘Going to say hi to your girlfriend?’ she whispered. 

‘Fuck you,’ Drake replied. ‘Seriously.’

Liam walked towards Drake with his hand outstretched. ‘Drake! Good to see you! Did you enjoy the Beaumont Bash?’

Drake tried to keep his face from turning red. He saw Camille look down at her feet and quickly looked away from her. ‘Yeah, it was alright,’ Drake said, keeping his voice neutral. He was not going to steal a glance at Camille. To do so would betray his thoughts. 

‘Drake hates Bashes,’ Savannah said, joining in the conversation. ‘The dancing, the music.. He likes to be at the bar.’

‘Nothing wrong with that!’ Liam said, grinning. ‘I like a drink myself. Now, what are we going to do first? Bob for apples?’

‘We’re going to fish for apples!’ Bianca crowed, taking Liam by the arm. ‘Let’s win some prizes!’

She dragged Liam away with Savannah following close behind. Drake ran a hand through his hair, becoming acutely aware that he was left with Camille. She cleared her throat. 

‘So, shall we fish for apples?’ she suggested, her voice unnaturally high. 

‘Why not, Montespan,’ Drake grumbled. ‘I hate this shit.’

Camille giggled despite her nerves. ‘I know you do. But hey, you get to win a prize.’ She winked at him, knowing he couldn’t care less about prizes.  

‘If the prize is a bottle of whiskey, then my work here is done,’ Drake said, starting to walk through the fairground.  Camille fell into step with him. 

They walked on in silence, trying to avoid the crowds of people who were packed together, eager to try the games and have a good time. Someone bumped into Camille, pushing her into Drake.

‘Woah!’ she cried, grabbing hold of Drake’s arm. 

‘You alright?’ he asked her. He looked around to try and find the pusher but the person was gone. 

Camille nodded. Her hand slid gently down his arm; her fingers brushed his. Without thinking about what he was doing, Drake’s fingers closed around hers. 

‘What are we doing?’ she muttered. 

Drake bit his lip. ‘Being stupid, I guess.’

He moved to take his hand away from hers but found with surprise that she held on tight. ‘Not yet,’ she whispered. ‘This is.. This is nice.’

Drake swallowed and looked down at their hands that were intertwined. They were hidden away from people’s eyes but Drake could feel the softness of her hands in his, softness against his callouses. 

‘We should go fish for apples,’ he said roughly. 

Camille took her hand away and exhaled. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’

**************************************************

It turned out that Liam was terrible at fishing for apples. As the plastic apples bobbed in the water, Liam tried and failed to get hold of one with his hook; the apples would just flip over and float away from him. 

‘I need to win you a prize!’ Liam told Camille, determination set on his face. ‘I’ve got my eye on that stuffed corgi!’

‘It’s okay, I don’t need the corgi!’ Camille said, trying to make him feel better. ‘I don’t need any toys, I’m not a child-’

‘You deserve the corgi!’ Liam interrupted. 

Camille stepped back and watched her fiancee try to hook an apple again. Savannah watched in dry amusement, rolling her eyes as Liam cursed under his breath. Drake was standing to the side with his hands in his pockets, desperate for a whiskey. 

‘Drake’s really good at fishing!’ Bianca said. ‘Maybe he could try?’

Drake’s eyes widened. ‘Mom, I don’t wanna-’

Liam brandished Drake the fishing rod. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Get Camille that damn corgi.’

‘I don’t need the corgi..’ Camille muttered. 

Drake winced. ‘The lady says she doesn’t want it-’

‘Nonsense!’ Bianca cut in. ‘Come on, baby! Get the corgi for Camille!’

Savannah let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, Drake,’ she said. ‘Get the corgi for Camille.’

Camille was bright red. Drake sighed and took the rod from Liam, who looked at him gratefully. Drake was beginning to realise that Liam worshipped the ground Camille walked on. He had to make her smile. He had to make her happy. Even if she didn’t want the corgi, Liam wanted to give her something to make her smile and laugh. If it was anyone else, it would reek of desperation. But Liam made it seem like he wanted to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Drake felt sick as the realisation dawned on him. 

He stood and poised the rod. He clocked an apple that looked easy to fish and he focused on that. He was aware that Camille was watching him and he tried to ignore her. He wasn’t doing this for Camille; he was doing this to help Liam be the best fiance he could be. Why? Fuck knows.

Drake hooked the apple and brought it up out of the water, making Liam and Bianca whoop with delight. Camille was beetroot red. Savannah was watching Drake with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed and shaking her head. 

The vendor whistled. ‘Okay, you wanted a corgi?’ he asked Camille.

‘Uh..’

The vendor picked up the stuffed corgi and handed it to Drake. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Give it to the lady.’

The corgi was so fucking soft. Drake quickly held it out for Camille like it was a grenade. ‘There you go.’ 

Camille took it and held it in her arms, holding it tightly. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. 

Liam grinned. ‘Perfect! Now we have a memento from our trip to Texas! Thank you, Drake!’

Drake wanted the ground to swallow him up.

******************************************************

The group decided to visit the corn maze. It was a feature that had been present at every Applefest for the past forty years, practically an Applewood institution. It was known for being hard to navigate and easy to get lost in. 

Liam was excited to try it. 

‘Let’s all split up!’ he suggested. ‘Whoever gets to the middle first wins!’

‘Oh jesus..’ Savannah murmured. ‘It’s like we’re children..’

For once, Drake agreed with his sister. 

They reached the entrance and Liam placed a kiss on Camille’s hand. ‘See you in the middle, my Apple Queen.’

Savannah dry heaved. Drake elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Quit being a dick..’ he muttered in her ear.

‘I’m sorry but it’s nauseating,’ Savannah hissed. ‘I don’t know how Camille deals with the constant attention and sickening declarations of love. He’s too perfect. He has to have something wrong with him.’

Again, Drake agreed with his sister. Twice in one day was unheard of. 

The group split up. Drake took a left, walking through the path of corn. The corn was taller than he was and blocked out the stars above. As his vision adjusted, he made a right then another left. He thought back to previous years getting lost in this maze. He always managed to find his way eventually but he remembered that Camille never could.

****************************************************

Drake aged 9; Camille aged 8

‘DRAKE! DRAKE!’ Camille shouted as loudly as she could. ‘DRAKE!’

Silence.

She had no idea where she was in the maze. Was she near the middle? Near the exit? The entrance? She didn’t know. Her sense of direction was terrible and she couldn’t see in the dark. She walked carefully, making sure she wouldn’t trip up, and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart.

‘DRAKE!’

She needed to find her best friend. He would get her out. He would calm her down. 

‘DRAKE!’ she tried again. ‘I’m lost!’

She continued to tread carefully, whimpering as she did so. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes and she couldn’t fight the sheer panic that was building in her heart. What if she would be lost forever? What if she had to live here for the rest of her days? What if she became the Corn Queen? 

‘Camille?!’

Her heart leaped. ‘Drake!’ she cried. ‘Where are you? I’m here!’

‘Where is here?’ Drake shouted from somewhere in the near distance. 

‘I don’t know!’

Her voice was high now, shaking. She continued to walk but tripped over a root. ‘Ooof!’

‘Okay, I’m going to follow your voice!’ Drake shouted. ‘Just keep talking! I’ll find you!’

‘I’m here! Find me!’ she shouted back. ‘I’m here!’

She heard footsteps. As her vision adjusted, she saw a dark figure approaching her. ‘Drake?’

‘Camille!’

Hands reached out to take her by the arms. In the dark, she could make out Drake’s features. Relief flooded Camille and she threw her arms around him. 

‘You found me!’ she cried. ‘Oh I thought I was going to have to stay here forever! You found me!’

Drake held her tight and chuckled. ‘I’m always gonna find you,’ he mumbled, his mouth against her hair. ‘I promise. I won’t let you get lost.’

Camille let out a sigh of relief and hugged him tightly, not willing to let him go. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘My grandma would’ve been so worried if I disappeared.’

Drake squeezed her tight. ‘I wouldn’t have let that happen.’

****************************************************

Drake continued to wander aimlessly. He didn’t really care if he didn’t reach the middle; he had done this maze so many times that he practically memorised the pathways. 

He made a right and stopped when he saw Camille who was treading so carefully. 

‘I forgot you have terrible vision in the dark,’ he teased. 

Camille jumped and whipped around. ‘God, Drake, you scared me!’

Drake chuckled and walked towards her. ‘Sorry, Montespan. So, think we’re near the middle?’

‘Not even close,’ Camille said. ‘I’m lost. I hate this fucking maze.’

‘I know you do,’ Drake said, now standing in front of her. ‘I’ve had to save you countless times.’

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘Please, you have never saved me-’’

‘I have!’ Drake protested. ‘Don’t lie, if I never found you, you’d be the Corn Queen and forced to become one with the corn!’

Camille laughed despite herself. ‘My saviour,’ she said. 

‘That’s me.’

They were achingly close to each other. Drake’s eyes looked down at her own before settling on her mouth, darting away before he could be tempted to do something reckless. Camille’s eyes remained on him.

‘Drake..’ 

‘Fuck it,’ Drake said roughly. Before Camille could react, Drake pulled her into him, his lips colliding with hers. Camille let out a surprised gasp before sinking into the kiss, letting him kiss her desperately without holding back. 

He could taste her watermelon lip balm and smell the coconut of her hair. She was like paradise. Camille tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, eliciting a groan from Drake. He couldn’t help but think that they should have spent their time doing this in the maze years ago. Much better than getting lost.

Camille pulled away from him, her eyes wild. ‘Drake, we need to talk about this.’

Drake exhaled. His arms felt empty without her in them. He cleared his throat. ‘Okay. Let’s talk.’

Camille clenched her fists. ‘I know I said we’re never going to be normal,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘We’re never going to be just friends. That’s not in our nature. We can’t do it. But I’m getting married. I’m with Li-’

‘I know,’ Drake said, wishing she would stop talking. ‘I know, Camille. I’m painfully aware.’

‘So then why are you kissing me in mazes?!’ she burst out. ‘Why are you kissing me in the Beaumont study? What are you doing?!’

Drake’s eyes widened. ‘What am I doing?’ he repeated. ‘Camille, what about you, huh? Why are you kissing me back in mazes and in the Beaumont study? Why are you not pulling away and stopping this?’

‘Don’t put all the blame on me-’

‘I’m not,’ Drake said. ‘I’m just trying to understand what’s going through your mind. What do you want?’

Camille looked down at the ground. ‘I.. I..’

Drake closed his eyes. ‘Camille. Tell me. What do you want?’

Camille let out a breath. ‘I’m so confused..’ she whispered. ‘You just make me remember.. You make me remember how I used to be, how we used to be..’

‘You’re not answering my question,’ Drake said, his voice without emotion. ‘Camille, what do you want?’

Camille closed her eyes. ‘It’s not that simple.’

Drake moved closer to her and placed his finger under her chin, bringing her face up so she could meet his eyes. She looked so anguished. Drake’s heart broke for her. 

‘If you want me to step away, I can,’ he murmured, his eyes not leaving hers once. ‘I can let you go. You’re going back to New York in three days anyway. We can just forget about what happened in the study. We can forget about our kiss. If you want us to just act like nothing has happened, we can do that.’

Camille looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I don’t want that,’ she whispered. ‘I know that for sure. I don’t want to forget. I can’t. Right now, that is the only thing I’m sure of.’

‘You’re torturing yourself,’ Drake whispered. ‘Why? Why put yourself through this?’

Camille blinked and her eyes cleared. She let out a breath and reached out to take his hand. ‘Because it’s you,’ she whispered back, her voice cracking. ‘It’s you.’

Their lips brushed again. This time, they were in sync and both knew what they wanted. They wanted this moment, this kiss. The corn stood high, shielding them from view. They kissed softly at first, then urgently. In the maze, time stood still. 

They were lost together but unwilling to be found.

[wanderingsoul]

questions to ask yourself before the new year except its february and we’re in a pandemic

what is one small way you can become a better person? for others? for yourself?

i can become a better person by addressing the trauma that i carry, and addressing it, and learning to cope with it better. i can be a better friend, parter, daughter and sister by leaning into the parts of myself that are broken and taking the time to pursue healing in meaningful ways. i can become a better person by taking responsibility for my growth and healing and actively work towards a more healed, wholesome version of myself. 

what are you holding onto currently that is no longer serving you? why are you holding on? what’s one small step you can take towards releasing it?

i am holding on to the idea that i can fix those around me. being in a partnership/friendship with someone that openly expresses brokenness pulls on the need inside of me to fix things, and fix her. except thats not how people work, and thats not how healthy relationships work. i am holding on to this because for a long time, and sometimes i think to this day, i have been the glue for so many people. i am the common denominator, i am the steady, i am the savior. and being with alexa is a challenge because i have to be fully present, and wanting to support, with the very present knowledge that i can do absolutely nothing to make her feel better, and i might get my feelings hurt if i try. 

goal for the new year that excites me? goal that scares me?

the goal that excites me the most this year is buying a house. it feels like another piece in the puzzle of the ever-elusive “perfect life”. having a house, two cats and a garden is a dream that i am so desperately hoping becomes a reality this year. 

a goal that scares me is getting a therapist. i put it on my new years goals and here we are, almost march and i am no closer to reaching that goal. there are lots of things about therapy that are scary, being vulnerable mostly. and also the fear that i am going to open a can of worms that i can’t put back. and at the same time, i am afraid i am going to do the same thing i did last time - convince my therapist i was completely healed and didn’t need her help anymore to make her feel like she did a good job. probably one of the most toxic people pleasing i have ever done.... yikes. so this year, i want to be vulnerable and open with a therapist- and truly learn from them. 

what do you want to be a student of in the new year?

i want to be the student of self-love this year. i feel like i have so much to learn from her, and truly so much to gain. as i am on this journey of ~weight loss~ healthy living i want to learn how to truly love myself- in all the forms that i take. one of the childhood and teen traumas that i carry around is self-loathing for my physical body, and extreme uncomfortableness i feel inside of her. my body was different than i thought it should be, and i never felt thin or pretty enough. even though looking back i could not have been any thinner without blowing away. as i try and lose some weight to get back to a healthy range, its so tempting to chase that skinniness that seems closer than ever now. i don’t ever want to think about my body in a good or bad way again, the same with food. i want it all to be neutral and purposeful. i don’t want body positivity, i just want body neutrality. i want to be comfortable and unbothered. i want to take pictures and look for the joy and not be hyperfocused on the rolls. 

a quote that i am taking with me on this journey - 

“what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written, or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your things were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juice creative life of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? it’s going to break your heart. don’t let this happen.” - author unknown

who in your life deserves the biggest thank you for this year?

i am thankful for karl because of his understanding of me. i am thankful for mikaela for being a rock in my life and a cheerleader. i am thankful for silka because she offers more love than i know what to do with. i am thankful for alexa because she pushes me to be a better person. i am thankful for my mom, and her patience with me as i grow. i am thankful for my dad, and the hands-off role he has taken in my life. i am thankful for the friends that were patient and kind with me this year as i stayed away from most of them. 

what can you thank yourself for this year?

i am thankful for the resiliency and grit it took to get through this year. feeling extremely burnt-out, from the pandemic, from social work and from life. managed to get a new job which is furthering my career in the healthcare field, managing to save a little money to buy a house. making it through the panic attacks and crying in the car at the thought of the losses in my life. thankfulness for the home that i have in myself, and the peace and safety i offer myself to be who i am and to encourage growth. 

what have you outgrown this year?

i have outgrown pointless complaining. life is what you make it (to some degree) and i am choosing joy where i can and peace towards things i cannot affect. 

what is an important boundary to set in the new year?

it is important to me this year to set emotional boundaries this year and create language to protect myself when i find myself trying to fix my partner and getting into old negative habits. 

what’s a memory from this past year that makes you smile just thinking about it?

now this one’s a bit challenging because of the pandemic and social tension of this year, but i am choosing to focus on the personal good that happened in my life. 

january- three way kiss with mariah and alexa. iceskating in CVS field with dalton. getting naked in the woods at taylors falls. 

february - tall heights concert. drinks at cowboys with emily, alexa, sarah and meghan. raincloud and strawberry tattoos. 

march - up/down bar with jaden and silka-getting mexican at 3am. cuddles on the couch with hippo while everyone was gone over spring break. drinking wine and looking at art at bethel. christian living on our couch- hiking afton. our neighbor mark gets his dog ella. 

april- doordashing with knute- danny davito picture. staying with karl and mikaela for 3 weeks. getting drunk with jimu // garage door beer challenge. getting to ride on todd’s motorcycle. 

may- seeing juneau for the first time. knute’s “just friends” instagram post. biking along st. croix with john. fishing with jaden at rapidan dam. lilac bushes blooming at the ranch. alexa’s graduation surprise. rollerblading... canoeing lake iduhapi with callie, sam, alexa and knute and smearing ourselves in charcoal. eating chinese and drinking wine for alexa’s birthday. 

june- watching the dad’s try and fit our couch into the house. GFS- nightwatches, curfews. birthday bagels on the balcony. celebration at camp iduhapi. biking in northfield with jen. adopting juneau! bringing her everywhere with me. fathers day with john eating tacos. breonna taylor march. getting drenched walking around bdemakaska. 

july- bee’s knees tattoo. cabin trip to barnum lake with alexa and jen. celebrating anthony’s birthday with alexa and erin (moving the gravestone). duluth trip with sam, knute and lea - jumping into lake superior. trip to padre island with john-getting way too burnt to function. chic fil a drivethrough with juneau. 

august- camping trip with mikaela -attempt to get into canada and immediatly denied. murder mystery at emily’s house. rain on the patio for emily’s birthday. golden retriever puppies. dinner date with emma downtown minneapolis. annual brule trip- flipped the canoe. 

september - alexa and i take a fake trip to ny. celebrating john’s birthday. visiting jeff’s farm. celebrating jen’s birthday in northfield. shooting pumpkins with jen. another trip up to barnum lake with karl, mikaela and seth. minnehaha trip with emma. jack’s apple farm trip. 

october- camp trip, reffing football. making apple crisp. murder mystery night for sarah’s birthday. thrifting outdoor outlet with emma and lea. hanging with ozzy the cat. photoshoot with alexa and hippo. halloween party at caitlin’s house- being velma and daphne with alexa. 

november - start working at bluestone. dinner at pub in minneapolis with jen where we die laughing. winning monopoly with callie and tyler. hiawatha hike with alexa. thanksgiving at silka’s. 

december - giving the cats a bath. accidentally breaking into a cemetery with alexa. muffin’s christmas photoshoot. christmas at jens. sea world with molly, kody and kids, seth, john, k&m -forcing ourselves to watch blackfish the next day. tattoos! hammocking by the river. almost running into the elementary school on jimu’s dirtbike. 

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 7

Abomination

 Idiot-idiot-idiot-idiot-idiot!

This repetition had made a home within him since departing camp- hours down the King's Road and Dorian still didn't know who it was directed to. Himself, for his careless actions? Or Evallan for sending him away- and the audacity in which he'd done so?

 He knew what to say.

 That bloody fool knew exactly what to say to me!

The return-journey for the tower seemed to go by in a flash- even with almost losing his direction. Time was consumed by frantic raving, stopping as little as possible, only the darkening sky indicated to Dorian how swiftly it passed. To his sense, it was as if he'd blinked and the old stone bridge materialised before him, welcoming his horse to charge while he hollered.

 “THE GATE! OPEN THE BLOODY GATE!”

Whoever was burdened with that duty reacted soon enough for Dorian to avoid ramming into it, sparing not a moment in pouncing from his steed. He simply left the poor, baffled creature to the stable-hand and sprinted for the tower.

 “Pavus! What's going on?!” Someone yelled from the walls- likely a Templar on gate-duty. Paying no mind, Dorian ran up the yard stairs and threw open the great wooden doors.

 “Dorian!” This time it was Fila but he couldn't spare breath for her either- shoving passed some mages queued for dinner, he clambered up the winding staircase.

 “Dorian- wait! What's happening?!” Her voice was shrill now, light feet easily stalking his. With her as his shadow, he ran until the final ascent brought him to Irving's office. Fists slammed upon the door, as unrestrained as his volume.

 “FIRST ENCHANTER! IRVING!” There was no response and the barrage of knuckles became violent- he'd knock the door off its hinges if he had to!

 “He's not here!” Fila said breathlessly, gasping alongside him. “Dorian- what's-”

 “Where is he?!” Whirling around, he spied the terror in her huge eyes and forced himself to compose. Hissing, the heels of his hands shoved into his forehead and he tried to recall how that stupid Dalish song went.

 “I don't know! Some emergency at Redcliffe! He said they'll be back late if they can!”

Exclaiming unintelligibly, Dorian marched for the stairwell and almost knocked into Titus- gulping and slouched on the bannister.

 “You two...” He wheezed. “...are really fast.”

 “I-I'm sorry, Titus,” Falling over his words, Dorian sidled by him. “I love you but I don't have time!”

Still not quite understanding the depth of his surrogate brother's panic, Titus laughed incredulously.

 “You what!?”

 “It's not funny, Titus!” Fila scolded, hot on Dorian's heels. “There's something really wrong!”

All he could do now was wait- either for Irving and the Knight Commander, or Marcus and Evallan. There was the possibility Marcus wouldn't be sent over the edge- not a possibility Dorian would stake coin on. A sense of incredible unease gathered in his chest. Of impending, unavoidable disaster.

Both Titus and Fila badgered him all the way to the yard but he couldn't process their questions until he was outside. Viewing the grounds- still devoid of an enraged Marcus- he opened his mind to the constant inquiries.

 “Dorian, please!” She grabbed his arm, clearly afraid he'd storm off again. “What's happening?! Where's my brother?!”

 “Is the Keeper okay!?” Titus joined the chorus. “Why are you alone?!”

 “There was...an incident,” Words tumbled, unsure how to phrase anything. “And if I can't find someone to stop Marcus...I don't know what he'll do.”

 “What do you mean 'an incident?!'” Fila cried out, jostling him.

 “With your brother.” He stated flatly, staring over her head at the gate. “I...can't explain more.”

He would explain to Irving- and only to Irving.

Then that shameless elf could make no claim of Dorian betraying his word.

Fila's grip loosed, the three speechless for some time. All the while, Dorian watched the gate.

 “What...do we do?” Titus squeaked- Dorian had some thoughts on that.

 “We wait for Irving or Greagoir...” He conveyed in a distant voice, attention never diverting from where he expected Marcus to approach. “If Marcus arrives first, I need you to follow us- to see where he takes the Keeper. Then you return here, and you wait. Hopefully someone will arrive before anything escalates...”

Another pause from the trio, then Fila piping up;

 “What are you going to do...?”

 “I'll protect him,” Dorian answered without hesitation. “However I have to do it.”

 “You shouldn't go alone!” Titus protested- of course he would.

 “Don't get in the way, Titus!” His gaze diverted to the youth, eyes narrowed. “If something happens to either of you...Maker, please, just take care of each other! Leave this to me.”

A bottom lip protruded and Dorian knew he wished to argue- but Fila slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Titus relented with a stubborn frown, probably realising the truth of Dorian's statement- they had to protect each other.

It was Dorian who was sworn to Evallan.

There was no knowing when Marcus would arrive. While the rest of the tower dined and prepared for evening, they stood vigil at the tower entrance. New anxieties sprouted the longer they waited- what if Marcus had executed him on impulse, or taken him elsewhere? For all Dorian knew, he could be transporting the elf straight to Aeonar- or some other mage prison. Then it would become a matter of discovering the location and somehow freeing him- politically, or through other means.

 I'll make apostates out of all of us if I have to.

Fortunately it would never come to that.

Brutish shouts erupted from the other side of the gate, chains creaking in response, giving room for several horses to rush through. Firming his stance, Dorian scanned each rider as they hastily dismounted; Marcus, Augustus- and Evallan.

Crimson in rage and moving with purpose, Marcus left his horse and issued an order to his man, then barked at Evallan.

Dorian's heart plummeted from chest to stomach and nested there. The Keeper was in a sorry state; robes unkempt, hair matted, circlet cracked and the whole pitiful image encrusted in blood. Still he walked with spine rigid and eyes cool, attempting to force dignity where there could be none- especially with Marcus pushing him onward.

Squaring up his shoulders on their approach, Dorian tore into the commander with his eyes, prompting him once they were in earshot-

 “What have you done to him, you madman!?”

 “Out of my fucking way, fairy!” Marcus demanded, Evallan glaring at Dorian alongside him- ungrateful bloody! -

 “The First Enchanter isn't here!”

 “I don't need the blighted First Enchanter!” The Templar barged through, yanking his charge along by the collar. He was delayed by Titus- springing forth with a growl.

 “You don't have the Maker-damned right-!”

True that may be- Marcus hardly cared and his lyrium-addled recruit had no ability to. Responding to some earlier instruction, Augustus smacked the youth aside and this finally provoked the subdued Keeper, Dalish insults exploding from him. Dorian comprehended just enough to conclude Evallan had more or less accused Marcus of bullying a child.

At the same moment the elf was rearing up into the commander's face, challenging him. This was met by a brash headbutt, so forceful it propelled Evallan inside.

Conflicted on who to aid first, Dorian glanced at Titus to ensure he was unharmed and not about to interfere- safely held by Fila. So he bounded after Marcus- the Templar dragging the disoriented mage onto his feet, Augustus latching to the opposite arm when Evallan swayed.

They led their captive through stairwells and Dorian followed, battling on whether to speak or to wait for opportunity- what sort of opportunity, he hadn't decided. He was also conscious of Fila and Titus skulking after some distance away- but made a point to attract no attention.

Marcus' goal became clear. Dorian saw fit to inform him as they traversed a familiar hall;

 “I told you the First Enchanter isn't here!”

 “And I told you,” Marcus spat, boot smashing into the office door. “I'm not looking for the fucking First Enchanter.”

 “That's funny,” Dorian chortled, somewhat crazed. “Because that's his door you're kicking in!”

Unresponsive, the commander kicked until the wood flew off its hinges- then threw Evallan like more debris, so that he stumbled into a kneel before the writing desk. Both Templars marched in after and Marcus made a bee-line for the corner- where a chest sat.

While the elf fought to stand, Dorian barked from the doorway and Marcus assaulted the container.

 “What are you even doing?!”

Glancing at him, the Templar first spied Evallan and snarled.

 “Stay down, Lavellan.”

The Keeper's chest rose and fell in silent annoyance, but he obeyed.

 “As for you...” Narrowing eyes on Dorian, he said simply. “I'm doing my fucking job.”

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