#the sort of blanket *know i love you* statements... would not compute at all

[variousqueerthings]

smth I've been thinking about in terms of my reads of fraser in relation to the word "love"

so obviously im obsessed with "you must remember this" an episode all about falling in love with a title based on one of the most famous love stories in cinema (not only about that ofc) containing a scene where fraser -- who is more supporting in this episode as ray is the one actually In Love -- looks for cues on what love ought to feel like. How do you know you're in love? he asks

part of this is that the closest he's ever felt to another person is a woman he nearly died with who also probably definitely tried to manipulate him into not giving her up to the authorities, and he's wondering if he's in love with her, maybe fearing the idea of it considering she's anathema to everything he stands for + he feels like he fundamentally betrayed her by giving her up

that's another thought for another day, but does sort of connect to this in the sense that he's not really grown up with or experienced emotions that he would be sure can be classified as "being in love."

the things ive been thinking about the are... would fraser say he loved someone? as in, "i love you." whether it be platonic or romantic or just one of those things people say offhand...

and i really do struggle to See it. this is somewhat different to my most favourite headcanon that he's also loveless, this is just exploring the (potential lack of) vocabulary that he has to express his emotions with, and the access to understanding those emotions in the first place (there's an aside to this that i also don't think he'd be very able to vocalise what he does or doesn't like in kinky and/or sexual scenarios, but that's a whole other ball of twine to unravel)

on the one hand fraser is very very well-read and he's hinted at having watched at least a few classics (i like to imagine he's something of a classic film buff although he may also just have five or so movies he's watched on repeat), but the way he engages with language carries so many hallmarks of scripting i genuinely wonder what intentions they could've had other than him being neurodivergent (probably autistic). he's nigh-unfailingly polite in a way that's reminiscent of a storybook hero come to life more than "just" that politeness is a... polite thing to be, he stammers and loses words if there's interpersonal conflict (or the threat of such) he struggles with slang and sayings (i haven't gone too far into this, but i wonder if there's an analysis that looks at when he does know these and whether that could connect to the kinds of books he's read and people he grew up with, eg. his grandparents... but yeah, another day EDIT: I just rewatched the Pilot and he definitely knows "kettle of fish" but that could also be something from pilot!fraser that doesnt make it into the show-proper) and he can't easily adapt to various speech mannerisms, although by end s2 he does a very good ray impression, but that, again, is scripting based on close study.

He Basically Always Sounds A Bit Out Of Place (in fact his speech mannerisms uh... are very similar to mine. outside of the accent) because his way of engaging with the world is to learn about it from a book or a movie and to mimic it back

BUT LOVE. TO GO BACK TO LOVE!

what is love? many a book and film and essay and scientific analysis has been put out there in the world about the subject and i imagine based on some of his lines (about hamsters and the french and north by northwest i believe it was) that fraser has paid attention to many of them in an effort to figure it out and come up pretty empty

the idea that, fundamentally, love is kind of what you make of it is not a very useful conclusion to someone who needs to understand how things work in order to put them into practise -- fraser has a lot of book-knowledge and he has intuition based around things like survival and reading people in a particular kind of way, but he has no way of putting the vagueness of love-in-fiction-and-science into practice -- there's nothing concrete to point to, other than "this one time i almost died with this woman and i hear her voice still and hallucinate snow falling when i think about her and i feel guilty about what i did and now she's making me make promises that will allow her to use me however she wants and i want forgiveness and answers so badly that i'll do it"

it's not a word that i can imagine exists in his lexicon really, especially post-victoria, because the word itself cannot be connected easily to a precise feeling or action and its only point of reference is a woman who severely fucked with his head

but what does exist for him is said action. would he say "i love you"? i don't know. would he do more for ray than i think ray realises? yes absolutely. same, i think, goes for meg (who has her own "this woman reads to me as autistic" stuff going on). probably in later seasons same goes for the second ray -- things that go beyond his code of being to protect people as a general mandate and specify that these people are different to him

is that love? idk, you tell me, im as clueless as i read him as

but to say "i love you" i think he'd first have to feel like he understood it in some way, and that would be a difficult process. it would at the very least need coaxing. teaching. giving him a sense that he knows what exactly he's emotionally responding to

idk. some kinda fic called "what is love (baby dont hurt me)" would be fun

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink. 

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next. 

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English. 

"Yes, Dean's room." 

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him. 

Another Sam nod. "Right." 

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said. 

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you." 

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew." 

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks. 

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands. 

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'" 

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle. 

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo." 

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere." 

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat. 

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body. 

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this.  and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind.  i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another.  a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif​ who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos.  and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning.  He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks.  He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration.  Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head.  Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed.  She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.  So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times.  But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.  

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.  

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I��m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes.  She’s struggling a bit.”  

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line.  The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.  “I’m certain they were quite detailed.  It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”  

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes.  Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen.  Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk.  “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response.  “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it.  She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest.  Yet again, you exceed expectations.  

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs.  “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do.  So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next.  “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have.  You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.  

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her.  Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.  

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting.  But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit.  Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city.  Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike.  Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.  

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page.  Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.  

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home.  You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.  

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair.  Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this.  You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand.  You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.  

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking.  You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back.  There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.  

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.  

You fight back tears of frustration.  You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.  

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.  

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours.  “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.  

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense.  You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop.  You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.  

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.  

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self.  But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation.  You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon.  Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog.  You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.  

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face.  Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother.  They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.  

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile.  “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees.  “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me.  You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation.  She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well?  Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit.  “He replaced me not long ago.  But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.  

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors.  She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.  

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom.  It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed.  She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest.  “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you?  And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway.  “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed.  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?  

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead.  She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.  

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl.  She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot.  The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon.  “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods.  “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it.  For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.”  You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her.  She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why.  I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear.  I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own.  “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.  

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all.  Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know.  Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.  

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are.  She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear.  I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook.  You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away.  “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.  

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them.  Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick.  And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.  

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.  

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too.  You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit.  It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.  

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity.  You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed.  Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.  

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur.  “Tell me the truth.  Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits.  “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother.  Making plans to send Jinjoo.  Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly.  You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face.  Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story.  You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly.  “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now.  I need to know all of it.  Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser.  You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant.  You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.  

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work.  Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife.  And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home.  No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours.  The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch.  But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.  

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest.  Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly.  “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits.  “But there are different kinds of risk.  Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement.  Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts.  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything.  Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly.  “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.  

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud.  He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway.  He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away.  You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.  

“The late nights and the extra hours.  Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.  “Did you do that for your boss?  Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk.  Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it.  “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face.  The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch.  “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly.  You lean into the touch of his hand.  “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.  “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.  

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation.  He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment.  “Go home,” he pleads.  “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

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[myelocin]

The Gratitude in Endings | Miya Atsumu, You, Kuroo Tetsurou

Synopsis: What follows endings always were the most beautiful things. In this case, after Kuroo Tetsurou, came Miya Atsumu--and for you, nothing could truly be better. 

**This is the epilogue to Redefining You (Part 1) and  To Us, A Love Story Unwritten (Part 2)! 

Characters: Miya Atsumu, You Kuroo Tetsurou

Genre/Tags/Warnings: No warnings! Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Bestfriend!Kuroo, Reader/Atsumu, Kinda a love triangle i guess lol

WC: 2.8k+

a/n: i,,,, have not let go of this AU and will probably not let go until a long time. i’m planning on writing drabbles in this certain AU soon, but for now enjoy this epilogue!

-

You suppose happy endings is the sort of cliché you’ve been wanting to avoid this whole time. After all, you’re still only in your late twenties and even if you’ve crossed some things off of your bucket list—there were still pages you’ve yet to even flip through.

Life, to you, is a constant work in progress; all you’ve known were only beginnings but the reality is there is still never an end. From the second you opened your eyes and sucked in your first breath of air, day by day you continue to leave a mark in the world.

The stories you’ve scribbled in paper, the secrets you’ve whispered to willing ears, photographs of your claim in that snapshot of the world, and the connections you’ve made—those are the things that last and remain even after you’ve gone to cross new horizons.

Life—much like yourself will always just be a work in progress.

Whether it be the ink on your skin that’s yet to be connected to another work of art or waking up to a new morning wondering how differently Atsumu’s hair will look curled around your fingers this time.

Every day that you spent watching the sun rising and setting in his eyes never failed to leave you breathless.

-

It shouldn’t have surprised you when Atsumu adjusted himself with the beat of your life quite naturally. After reconnecting in the airport, Tetsurou didn’t even have to sit you down to talk to you about his reappearance in your life.

Literally, after Bokuto landed, he left the airport that day without you and texted you that this was your chance to go home with, as Tetsurou said in verbatim, your “long lost love.”

According to him, after showing up in your weekly dinners at Kenma with Atsumu trailing behind you—that it was all part of his plan for he was the best wing man you could ever ask for.

After that self-proclamation, you and Kenma responded to his statement by simultaneously rolling your eyes. Atsumu, beside you, was apparently polite enough to laugh. Tetsurou was quick to stride over to him, clap him on the back of the shoulder and declare, “You both suck, but at least Miya-san has enough taste to recognize my genius work.”

“Please,” Atsumu laughed and clapped Tetsurou on the shoulder, “Atsumu is just fine.” From your place in the table, you smiled at Atsumu beaming up at Tetsurou, with your best friend returning the same energy.

“I think they’ll get along.” Kenma says and you smile, feeling your heart swell.

“They will,” you reply, and in return Kenma smiles because the both of you truly believe your words.

-

There were still moments you see Tetsurou break down. Eventually the ink climbs up higher and higher on his shoulders until you eventually see it peeking above the collar of his shirts. You have half the mind to ask, but at the same time, when Atsumu drapes his hands over your shoulders and you spot Tetsurou look away and bark out another joke���you decide against it.

“Are you happy?” Tetsurou asked you one day and you could almost laugh at how ironic the setting was. The two of you, along with Kenma had gone with Atsumu and the rest of MSBY in their team trip to a lake house ways from the city.

He asked that question when you joined him on the balcony one morning, a mug of coffee outstretched in offering to him. If it wasn’t for the morning fog clouding your hazy thoughts, you figured you would have caught on a lot quicker than you did—but at the moment, all you could think about was how warm Atsumu’s jacket was wrapped around you and how the roots of his natural hair were starting to peek through from what you observed earlier that morning.

Tetsurou smiled a thank you at the mug of coffee you offered him and motioned for you to take a seat next to him. He doesn’t ask the question again, but you spend the next few minutes of silence mulling about how the morning air brought bouts of nostalgia.

“I’m really happy, Tetsu.” You say and look at him, and you suddenly feel a little choked up. You blame the cold air for the blur in your eyes because when he smiles and wraps the blanket around him tighter while taking slow sips of his coffee you suddenly remember the moment you fell in love with him all those years ago.

In the solitude of the early hours, you’re brought back to the world from more than ten years ago and see the boy who spent his mornings with you through the pixilation of a computer screen. Your heart still beats with a fondness only attributed for him, but you suppose even the rhythm doesn’t flow the same way—you still love him.

And when he opens his eyes, red and teary and cheeks flushed, the fondness in his voice is as familiar as it had always been, “I’m glad, (y/n).”

You sniffle because even if you only exchanged the minimal words, you know the both of you understood everything lingering in the unspoken.

“Are you happy though?” you ask and knock your shoulder against his.

“I am, for you, I always am happy.” He says and laughs when you smack his shoulder a little harder this time in retort. “I meant you, dumbass. Are you happy?”

He laughs, sniffling and turning away from you.

“I love you.” He says, and before you could voice out your confusion he turns to you with a teasing glint in his eyes, “I began to tell myself that every day.”

You roll your eyes remembering your words from the balcony that one night. “Oh god, don’t just quote me.”

“I mean it!” he says and laughs along with you.

You think the two of you must look a little silly, crying at seven in the morning and laughing over your heartaches you endured some years ago, but your relationship with Tetsurou ran deeper than the norm, so you guess you don’t mind.

“Tetsu, I really want you to be happy.” You finally say, and you hope the softness in your tone reaches him.

Tetsurou looks at you in the way that’s sincere because he sighs into the air with a smile and wraps a hand around your shoulder—pulling you in for a half hug. You set your mug down to the side and wrap your own arms around his frame, burying your face in his chest.

He feels warm and you don’t come to mind his chin resting on top of your head.

“Happiness is a work in progress, I’ll get there in time. But I’m always facing to walk in that direction.”

“Promise?” you ask, and he pulls from you to look you straight in the eye.

Though before he opened his mouth to reply, the finality in his eyes quelled your worries.

He didn’t need to say promise because you were more than sure he was going to get there.

-

Miya Atsumu was someone who came into your life in a whirlwind of all the things you considered to be the most beautiful.

He’s a human being; far from perfection just as you were, but then again, the word perfection had always been subjective. Not a day passed by where you didn’t tell him thank you for always being patient. He dealt with his demons just as you had but like the certainty of those very demons coming and going in your life, the grip in his hand holding yours was just as steadfast and un moving.

Atsumu would be the one to tell you to bite your hand and push through it when you had no other option but walk through hell itself, but also in contrast, he would be the one to lay with you in the silence and rub circles on your back telling you to cry out whatever was hurting you.

He’d crack a couple jokes in between your sobs, and kiss your eyelids despite you telling him no and that your tears will taste gross.

You, on the other hand was always the one he came home to and your arms being opened was a constant whether he celebrated a victory or a loss.

Whether he’d cry because his service ace was the winning point, or cry because he felt second best, time and time again Atsumu would tell you his thank you for the presence through it all.

And when he tells you an I love you every day with the sun rising and setting as the witness, you know he means it just as he knows the sincerity he’s always found the comfort in with yours.

“Are you happy?” he asked you on your third year together and you could almost laugh at the parallels you’re begging to see with the conversation you had with Tetsurou some time ago.

“Really happy.” You reply and lace your fingers through his.

“With me?” he asks and smiles when you swing your joined hands back and forth. “With us.” You reply and lean forward to kiss his cheek.

Atsumu laughs and tugs you to walk with him ankle deep in the water. “This kinda feels familiar,” he comments and you laugh because it does. You mean it’s familiar because déjà vu is nudging at you and also because the both of you had found yourselves in a quiet stretch of beach along the coasts of Okinawa.

It wasn’t Siargao in the Philippines this time, and you could understand the distant chatter of Japanese in the background opposed to the dialect spoken in the Philippines those years ago, but it was the light of the setting sun peaking in Atsumu’s eyes that had you grinning ear to ear because this was your favorite part of the day.

When the both of you are a little over ankle deep in the water Atsumu releases your hand and points to the horizon on the western side of the world.

You turn and smile because he’s pointing to the sunset. Closing your eyes you, breathe in and breathe out—then smile because it wasn’t shaky. Briefly, you think of Tetsurou and what he could be doing this time in Tokyo—and smile again because he’s probably over at Kenma’s for movie night yelling into a TV and chucking popcorn in the air. You think about the new dating app he downloaded on his phone that he showed you the other day and chuckle to yourself in a way that had you feeling giddy. He was putting himself back out there and for that, you were always happy for him.

And so when you open your eyes and look at the western horizon, you shift your body to turn to Atsumu; you prefer looking at the setting sun’s painting from his eyes, anyway.

But you stop in your tracks because he’s grinning at you and then biting his lip in nervousness. You laugh, automatically choked up because he’s down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

“(Y/n),” he begins, but you don’t let him finish because as you’re staring into his eyes and see the sparks of orange and red reflected you’re suddenly throwing your arms on his shoulder and kneeling down with him.

“W-wait!” he protests, but laughs along with you, “—for god’s sake let me propose properly.”

You continue to laugh, even as you feel streams of tears rolling down your cheeks. Pulling away from him you grab his face in between your hands and wipe the tears rolling down his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, but you know it’s not much of a question because he doesn’t wait for you to answer since he’s kissing the palm of your hand and sliding the ring on your finger before you open your mouth to speak.

“I had a whole speech prepared,” Atsumu whines, sniffling when you laugh at him and hold his face in between your hands again.

You could cry because it truly does feel like déjà vu, because the sunset reflected in his eyes look just like that very sunset you could still remember on that day you fell in love with him all those years ago.

The water in Okinawa is not as warm as the water in the Philippines, and the water soaking your dress is a little uncomfortable like the sand digging in your knees, but with Atsumu being in front of you crying along to the comments you’re sharing back and forth with him—you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

“You know if I closed my eyes and this playlist wasn’t shitty, I could just pretend this our wedding.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a comment and let out a laugh instead. “Atsumu was in charge of the playlist. I told him to make the vibe uniform but he probably ignored everything after Atsumu make the playlist.”

Tetsurou snickers and squeezes your hand in his, while the other that’s resting on the back of your waist pulls you along to the sway of the music. You smile and lightly knock his chest with your hand that’s resting on his chest.

“Don’t tell him I’m trashing your wedding music.”

“He’ll laugh along with you,” you reply softly.

“Oi, Tetsurou!” Atsumu calls from the background; the two of you turn to face him, you greeting him with a slight wave and a wink while Tetsurou opts to shoot him a thumbs up and a smile.

“Stop tryin’ to steal my wife.”

Tetsurou laughs at your husband’s halfhearted warning, “She’s not really my type!”

“Damn straight.” Atsumu laughs, then turns towards the conversation he was having with Osamu.

“Why did it feel like my husband is trying to devalue me?” You snort and Tetsurou laughs because he knows you’re only joking.

“He trusts you and knows he can’t get rid of me that’s why.”

“Fair point,” you smile, agreeing.

“Hey Tetsu,” you say slowly, looking at him. He hums in response and looks at you with a smile mirroring your own.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t ask you what you mean by the thank you and you smile in appreciation because you know the message was delivered without a hitch. So the two of you continue to dance in circles, with Tetsurou snorting every time the music in Atsumu’s playlist got progressively more “country” as he dubbed it.

“We should write a book about this someday.” You quip and he nods, “Hell yeah, as long as I’m written as a super buff guy.”

Thank you for being my first love.

“I mean sure,” you reply, “but when Atsumu comes into the story he’s obviously more buff. It’s just canon like that.” Tetsurou huffs, turning his head away in exaggeration.

Thank you for breaking my heart but still leaving breakfast for me that morning.

“My character needs to have some really cool quotes though,” Tetsurou negotiates and you laugh out a sure, what do you got, before he replies, “If your goals don’t scare you, they’re not big enough.” You throw your head back and laugh. “That doesn’t even make sense, but sure, we can work that in.”

Thank you for being my best friend above everything that’s happened. Thank you for accepting Atsumu.

“Wait I have another quote,” he offers and you nod for him to continue. Tetsurou smiles at you, his eyes dazzling under the night sky’s stars and the venue’s fairy lights. “He loved her enough to let her go.”

You fall silent and the urge to suddenly cry hits you. Tetsurou smiles and spins you around until you’re face to face with Atsumu, who’s staring at you with a knowing and gentle smile from across the room.

You turn to face him and the tears well up even more at the feeling of déjà vu gnawing at your chest. It doesn’t hurt in a bad way because you know the both of you are heading in the right direction this time. Tetsurou smiles and tells you, “Love you, dumbass.” before you feel Atsumu’s hand take yours.

“I’m proud of the both of you.” Atsumu whispers, kissing the corner of your temple.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the protective husband?” you laugh.

“I know he’s a special person in your life, and I’m thankful for him everyday too because him being dumb enough not to love you led to us.” Atsumu replies, laughing along with you.

“Tsumu!”

“Kiddin.”

Resting your cheek on Atsumu’s shoulder, the two of you continue to move in slower circles. You meet Tetsurou’s gaze from your spot in the room and smile when he flashes you a thumbs up.

Thank you, Tetsurou thinks when he feels déjà vu nudging his heart. The dull of his heart thrumming doesn’t ache this time so he smiles towards you again and thinks of the baby’s breath tattoo he got the night inked on the left side of his chest.

When you turn and Atsumu meets his gaze, he gives the blonde a solid nod and another thumbs up.

Thank you for letting me love and let you go, (y/n).

 -

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH55

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 55: Purgatory Reunion (VII)

Qi Leren woke up. When he woke up, he felt very tired. He didn't want to open his eyes. He just wanted to let the heavy sleepiness drag him and let him continue to sleep.

But he vaguely felt that something was wrong. He should have been sitting under the rock wall, but now the thing the back of his head was resting against was not as hard as stone, and why did he feel that he was lying down...

Qi Leren woke up with fright, suddenly opened his eyes, and immediately saw Ning Zhou sitting beside the rock wall.

He didn't know when they had changed their positions. Ning Zhou's leg had become his pillow, and the blanket was put over his own body, while Ning Zhou rested by sitting against the rock wall with his eyes closed. At the moment he woke up, Ning Zhou also opened his eyes that were without a trace of sleep.

"Why don't you take a rest?" Qi Leren quickly sat up and asked anxiously.

Ning Zhou shook his head: "I’ve slept enough."

When Qi Leren looked at the time, eight hours had passed.

Since they had both woken up, Qi Leren simply moved all the picnic items from Chen Baiqi out of the item bar, made a fire, and made some hot food for Ning Zhou. The method was quite simple and crude, directly throwing a small demon crystal into a vessel filled with water. The water was immediately heated to boiling by the energy in the demon crystal, and then the pot was put on it to start heating up, skillfully cooking noodles.

While cooking, Qi Leren talked about what had happened when they were separated. When he talked about Chen Baiqi giving him special training, he looked sad: "...When I was chased by the dog, I was particularly desperate. I didn’t know when those days would pass. I wanted to jump into the sea and never come up again."

After saying that, Qi Leren felt that this was inappropriate and added: "Of course, the effects of the training were still very good, otherwise I would have died in my last task."

Saying this, Qi Leren felt stupid again; shouldn't they talk about some easy topics when meeting again after a long separation? Why did his IQ plummet so far when he saw Ning Zhou?

Sure enough, Ning Zhou showed a worried look.

"Hey, it’s nothing, am I not fine?" Qi Leren quickly changed the subject. "Where's your big bird?"

Ning Zhou released the eagle from its pet bag. As soon as it came out, it began to shake its feathers. It was fed a [Pleasing Ration] by Qi Leren and swallowed in one gulp.

When the food was cooked, they ate hot noodles, and then they continued to talk.

They weren’t good at expressing their feelings, and even have a natural shyness towards love. The two men tacitly avoided the topic of love, as if they had forgotten why they were here after the night. Ning Zhou didn’t say that he was delighted when he learned that Qi Leren had come back from the dead, nor did Qi Leren speak of his love hidden in the bottom of his heart. Inexplicably, at this moment, the two people had an intuition.

They watched carefully, and even their hearts beat faster when their fingers accidentally touched. When Qi Leren spoke several times, he couldn't express his words, but Ning Zhou didn't notice it, and he nodded.

"Aren't you curious how I knew you were here?" Qi Leren asked. Ning Zhou hadn't even known about Qi Leren’s resurrection, because letters could only be sent to the transfer station in the Underground Ant City, but Ning Zhou had gone to Purgatory after writing his letter and didn't  receive the letter.

Ning Zhou nodded his head. He really was curious. How had Qi Leren recognized that it was him when he’d seen the huge magic dragon in the lake of fire?

"Actually, this is a bit hard to explain... When I was in reality... Well, when I lived in the world I’m from, I downloaded a game called ‘Nightmare Game’ with my laptop." Qi Leren considered the statement and prepared to start from the beginning, but he choked when he started. "This... what a laptop is may be a bit complicated to explain..."

It suddenly occurred to Qi Leren that Ning Zhou, as a person born in the Nightmare World, may not know what it was at all.

"I know." Ning Zhou said, with a smile in his eyes. "I’ve done the copy task of your time."

"Really? What was it like?" Qi Leren asked curiously, his spirits rising.

"At that time, I needed to make a phone call with my mobile phone. I had to look at the mobile phone for a long time," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren laughed with a "pft" sound, and Ning Zhou also laughed: "At that time, I really couldn't do anything. When I saw the gas stove, I thought for a long time about where the demon crystal was installed. As for the computer, I couldn't figure it out. I guessed that it was a product of alchemy."

Qi Leren was overjoyed and laughed for a long time before asking, "Did you learn it later?"

Ning Zhou nodded his head.

"Have you ever played computer games?" Qi Leren asked again.

"Well, I like minesweeper," Ning Zhou said, looking serious and sincere.

With this said, could Ning Zhou, who liked minesweeper and probably had only played these sorts of games with his own computer, understand the Nightmare Game he spoke of? Qi Leren was deeply worried. However worries are worries, so Qi Leren tried to describe things in understandable sentences: After playing the game, he had entered the Novice Village, then found the laptop again and got the Easter Egg in the castle. Finally, he talked about the previous task, and how he had learned the news of Ning Zhou's accident in advance through the game in the laptop—of course, he didn't say that he had lost his hand and almost died. He didn't want to worry Ning Zhou.

Qi Leren comforted: "In my eyes, no matter what power you use, I believe you’ll only use it to protect the world."

Ning Zhou looked at him deeply, and his complicated mood was indescribable.

What was at the end of power? While chasing the elusive mystery, people with power were destined to move closer to power, and the closer they got, the more they lost themselves. This feeling wasn’t very strong before achieving a half-field, but after reaching the level of a half-field, every step after that was closer to one’s origin.

But in the end he didn't say anything, just nodded his head gently.

Once a person had expectations, even if they were only a little bit weak, they were no longer willing to rush to close their eyes.

He would look at his light until the day when he had to be destroyed.

　　&&&

On the way back to the Underground Ant City, Qi Leren thought that the dense sentry posts would bring them trouble, but he didn't expect the demon guards to disappear without a trace, which made him feel confused.

"When I came here before, there were many guards. Have they withdrawn?" Qi Leren wondered.

Ning Zhou looked back at the sentry post they had already passed, thoughtful.

"When no one could enter or exit because of martial law, did that have to do with you?" Qi Leren asked.

"Maybe it was because of the Devil of Slaughter," Ning Zhou quietly changed the subject. "I heard that he started to have frequent appearances in the lake of fire a month ago and broke out once. According to the task background, the Devil of Slaughter’s consciousness has broken the seal."

"Well..." Qi Leren suddenly had a thought, but didn't say it, and went on according to Ning Zhou's words: "Speaking of this, the second part of the task requires us to ‘destroy the Devil of Slaughter and gain one third of the authority of the Devil of Destruction’, but now we have no clue."

Ning Zhou hummed, his expression stiff.

Ning Zhou really was a bad liar. Qi Leren could see that he was worried. When the demon information broker he had spoken to before had said "the Devil of Destruction’s former people appeared near the lake of fire", he inevitably had made some connections.

This group of demons was probably looking for Ning Zhou, who had inherited the force of destruction.

He wouldn’t mention it yet. Qi Leren didn't want to put more pressure on Ning Zhou. He just wanted to make Ning Zhou have a better life.

"Well... Let's go back to the Underground Ant City first. I left in a hurry. I didn't ask the Illusionist when he was going to go back to the Village of Dusk. Let's go back with him. What do you think?" Qi Leren asked.

"Alright," Ning Zhou said.

"Good, good, let’s walk." The eagle flew up from behind and stopped on Qi Leren's shoulder to peck his ears.

Qi Leren helplessly touched it, and was pecked in the nose as it asked for food. Ning Zhou glanced at it coldly, and the eagle muttered "how stingy" and fluttered away with its wings.

"Don't let it get used to it," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren bowed his head and smiled. On a sudden whim, his right hand quietly grasped Ning Zhou's left hand. Ning Zhou froze for a moment, then trembled a little as he took his hand.

One person looked at the fluorescent plants on the left side of the rock wall, and one looked at the fluorescent night moth on the right side of the rock wall, and the two moved forward without a word. Only their heartbeats with disordered rhythms and the sweetness flowing from the bottom of their hearts secretly announced their tacit understanding.

Qi Leren's thoughts were as messy as fallen leaves swept by the wind. For a moment, he wondered whether he should take the initiative. For a moment, he felt that with the environment Ning Zhou had grown up in, he wouldn’t be able to adapt to the modern ways of love. Finally, he desperately reviewed himself, and how he hadn't talked more about love and gathered experience in his student days, so he was now like a high school student experiencing his first love... The object of his affections was still a junior high school student who was more ignorant than him.

If you want to be "unsuitable for children", you have to get married first. Do you have to get married before kissing? When you get back to the Village of Dusk, you can buy an engagement ring... Ah, you’re penniless. It seems that you have to do a task first to earn some survival days. You can't bring Ning Zhou's blue gem ring from your grave to make up for it.

Before seeing Ning Zhou, he had thought about Ning Zhou all day. After seeing Ning Zhou, his head did not rest, but he thought more and more...

Along the way, the two people held hands like no one was watching, left Purgatory on the way back to the Underground Ant City, and got on the "train". This kind of car that was pulled by a strong domesticated demon at the front on a track was called a rail car in the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren and Ning Zhou put on their cloaks, sat side by side, and returned to the Underground Ant City.

However, an accident happened.

"What, the Illusionist is missing?" Qi Leren asked in shock.

The contact person from the Village of Dusk in the Underground Ant City was a young woman named Celia, who was dressed in the style of the Underground Ant City. She nodded solemnly: "Yes, the day after you left, the Illusionist took the Soothsayer's edict to meet the Dragon Ant Queen and never came back."

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Editor’s Notes: I’ve hesitantly decided to stop including a misgendering cw when it only applies to the Illusionist’s pronouns because I worry that it will get redundant, and I think it might be more apt to use it only in cases when heavier misgendering occurs (as well as I’ve often felt a bit odd doing so since this humble editor is a femme person who uses he/him pronouns). If you would like me to continue using the warning, please let me know and I will do so.

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[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 03

Ch. 3: Saudade: “The feeling of longing for an absent something or someone that you love but might never return.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 4.2k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff, domestic fluff is strong in this chapter... ALL THE FLUFF

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

You hadn’t been sleeping, not really. Between bouts of crying over the piles of pictures and old love letters from the war, you were at a loss for words. A part of you was so mad at yourself for never getting to know your grandparents, not really, not on a level that truly meant something. You loved them and by the prideful placement of your graduation pictures on the coffee table by your grandmother’s reading nook there was no doubt they had loved you too or at least been proud of your accomplishments. You were no one to the world. No one thought about the person that patched up heroes and now the one person left with whom you may have been their world was also gone. You could only describe the feeling as being left adrift.

Adrift, what an odd, dark place to be. You mused in silence as you thought about life, time, and death. None of it seemed black and white to you. No one was wholly good or bad and even the flawed souls had people that cared about them at some point, conflicting as that may have been. You’d turn that thought over in your head, night after night, wine in one hand and pictures or letters in the other. It made you wonder how long it would be until you’d find a soul to remember you when you were gone, the act of having to replant yourself one that felt more like a chore than your tired body seemed to have energy for. The only person that seemingly connected to your entire existence now was a hundred-and-something year old patient that was adored by every person that knew even a fraction of his story. Every night, with that reminder in mind, you’d polish off your glass and curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for a couple hours of reprieve from the horrors of your solitary reality.

At odd hours, you and Steve would check in with each other. For the most part the pair of you had stuck to texting, you with your proof that you were eating and Steve with some balm that the team was still in one piece without you. To your surprise, he managed at least one short FaceTime every few days. This was a new and pleasant escape from your solitude that happened to include little introductions to food he’d never had and meaningless promises that you’d cook more in your tiny kitchen and bring him your leftovers to try. Maybe it was the way his face lit up when you managed to peak your head up from your bundle of hoodie and blankets, but it really felt like he understood and never judged you for how miserable you looked or for those moments where you’d simply fall silent mid-sentence. In fact, he never commented on your appearance at all. Two weeks and it felt like you learned more about him than you had in all the years as a doctor at Stark Industries.

You missed your job, kept telling him as much but Tony insisted you stay and get what you had to get done over with to prevent you from having to make multiple trips away. Stark may have claimed one thing, but your conversations with Steve made you suspicious of what he was getting into and how he was coping with Wanda’s vision. As if you were on some sort of mental health retreat. Steve wouldn’t say anything particular about it, but you noticed that his jaw went tight before commenting that there were no medical emergencies waiting for you and he’d tell you if there were. It was one of the least reassuring statements the soldier had ever given you and he seemed to notice the way your expression fell, getting off the phone awkwardly with an excuse that he remembered he had somewhere he needed to be.

Something told you that it would be the last time he would FaceTime you on your trip to Mallorca. Rather than let yourself get upset by that or hyper analyze the giddy feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach every time your phone lit up with his name, you busied yourself with all the things you should’ve been working on in the first place. It was the most productive day you’d had since getting there, but you managed to forget to both eat or slow down and rest. With little interest in laying down on the couch, still incapable of sleeping in your grandmother’s room, you decided to shower and head out to find something to eat at one of the dozens of little shops. The noise in your head was already wondering what Steve would say when you sent a picture of whatever you were eating and he realized you’d actually left the house for more than groceries or a meeting with the lawyer.

The late April air was warm and dry, a light breeze blew in the sweet scent of the Valencia red roses and lemon scented geraniums that lined the large balcony. As you towel dried your hair with a yawn, half tempted to collapse onto the couch as your stomach groaned with hunger, the doorbell chimed through the house. You looked down at the maxi dress you’d put on, a little wrinkled from being in the small suitcase, as your heart raced. You hadn’t been expecting anyone and no one had swung by to check on your grandmother, but you figured it was only a matter of time. This is fine, I’m glad she wasn’t alone, you chanted whispered over and over as you went to the door and pulled it open.

Steve rocked on his heels, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a small box wrapped in parchment paper and tied with a simple blue silk ribbon. He could hear footsteps inside and his gaze moved over the place. It wasn’t like any place he’d ever been before, more like something from a postcard, and he found himself eager to explore the streets he could hear voices coming from. Then he heard the rapid pulse and little pep talk on the other side of the door, causing the corners of his lips to turn up in a small smile. In possibly the worst attempt at a Spanish accent you’d ever heard, he managed a bashful, “Buenas tardes.”

With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, mostly to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, you managed to pick up your jaw and ask, “Tony finally send you out here to drag me back?”

“Nah, team had a lead and I want them to practice a little recon without me. I’m not too far from them and, I think, my friend needs me a little more than they need me.” He swallowed down his nerves and you tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple or the fresh stubble along his jaw. Instead you looked at the box in his hand. “Sam said this might help with the pictures and things.”

Slowly backing up you nodded for him to come in, watching him duck through the doorway that he easily filled, as you took the gift from his hand. Moving the blanket and pillow from the couch so you both could fit, you carefully opened what was a portable image scanner that would plug right into your computer. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath, though he’d been watching you the whole time despite wanting to look around the place and he put a hand on your back, thumb rubbing across your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.”

Nice things, little things, every little opportunity of letting yourself feel even a fraction of emotions seemed to make you fall apart. Steve noticed and took the gift from your hands, setting it gently on the coffee table next to your discarded laptop. “I didn’t get a breakfast or a lunch picture from you. Why don’t we go grab something to eat?”

For some reason you felt the immediate need to protest, but his hands were gently pulling you up from the couch and leading you back to the door. The sun stung your eyes when the door opened and there wasn’t a super soldier to block out the light, making you pull back into the house. Steve didn’t let go of your hand, waiting and trying to encourage you by brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Okay.” You reassured yourself more than him, taking each step slowly as you let yourself be anchored by the man walking with casual purpose as if he knew where he was going. “Are we wandering or did you really memorize a map when you Googled the place?”

Steve smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and you did your best to not cringe at how much your body naturally reacting with your own smile wracked you with guilt or how obvious it was that he knew by his fingers lacing through yours as he held on just a little tighter. Even when you turned down a little street you hadn’t explored and he pulled out a chair for you at a quaint little bistro you were still smiling. “So, I know what tapas are and with some googling this is supposed to be one of the best places for them.”

Time and again, something normal slipping from this man’s mouth couldn’t help but make you stare at him in awe. “Well, do you like spicy food? Tapas are great and patatas bravas are spicy. You can’t go wrong with the classic tortilla de patata though.” A waitress passed you both a menu and you ordered a café con leche and Steve politely nodded to have the same. “You know you just asked for espresso with milk, right?”

His face went a little pink as he admitted, “I thought café was coffee?” Attempting to hold in your laughter, the small sound that did escape you was muffled by the sound of melodic guitar pouring through the open doors and windows of the restaurant. “If I would’ve known that you were all alone in a postcard I would’ve asked Sam to check on Benton sooner.”

“Benton?” Your head tilted to the side as the waitress set your espressos between you and you processed, while asking her for a coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“I told you that I’d end up naming your fish if you didn’t. Thomas Hart Benton is an American painter… pretty famous, but probably not an everyday kind of name if you aren’t really into the Regionalist art movement.” Steve waited until the waitress walked away before trying the espresso, his nose scrunching like a kid trying a sip of beer and finding out it tasted nothing like juice.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Hiding your smile behind your own espresso, you stole another glance at him, catching his bright blue eyes on you for just a moment before pulling away to the colorful scenery. “You’re  lucky you showed up when you did. I was torn between a nap and finding something to eat.”

“Is the espresso so you don’t fall asleep on the table?”

Burying your face in your hands you tried to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not that I’m not ecstatic to see you or that you’re not amazing company.”

Your hands muffled your words and Steve reached over and pulled them down. “It’s fine. I understand. You can get your nap in after you eat something.”

To your surprise, he kept reaching out for your hand between bites and light conversation. By the time you were done eating the waitress was hovering, now seemingly aware of who he was. Despite the looks and flirting on her end, he kept his attention on you, insisted on paying, and walked you back to the house. A part of you thought you’d wake up from the dream when you walked through the door but he followed you, only letting your hand go to close the door. “There’s a lot of books to read. I’ll probably only sleep for like an hour.”

“Sleep as long as you need to, Darling. I can sit out here and read or if you’d like me to help scan things onto your computer, I could do that too.” Steve’s smile fell as you buried your face in your hands and started to cry. “Hey, I don’t have to touch a thing. Whatever you need.”

His arms wrapped around you when his attempts to gently pull your hands from your face failed. Just as he’d done before, one hand caressed your back and the other stroked your hair until you settled into the hug. “I’m sorry, you’re just being nice and I’m exhausted.” Craning your neck to look up at him, you caught the glimmer of tears in his own eyes. You didn’t have to wonder who he missed, knowing that probably every person he’d cared about was gone or moved on in the time he was frozen. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

Steve took in a breath, trying to steady himself as he looked over at the couch, remembering the pillow and blanket you’d moved for you two to sit earlier. “This whole time? Is there not a bed?”

Swallowing you hid your face, “There’s a bed, but it smells like her.”

“C’mon.” Steve cautiously pulled you out of the hug, “Show me where it is. I’ll be your pillow and you can get some proper sleep.”

You were in shock; confused, physically and emotionally exhausted, and then he was taking your hand and pulling you toward his best guess at the direction of the bedroom. After opening the door to the bathroom and office, Steve pushed open the door to the bedroom. Reluctantly and barely over a whisper, you muttered a quiet, “Okay.”

He stepped out of his boots and climbed onto the bed, taking up nearly the whole thing, before he reached out for you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Nodding you climbed in next to him and he pulled you right into his chest. His thumb and palms wiped the damp from your cheeks before brushing your hair from your face. Steve waited, holding your face, gently brushing your jaw as you settled in at his side, your head far away from anything that could shock your senses with nostalgia and grief. “Comfy?”

It didn’t seem to matter that you had to hike your dress up to your knees or that ‘comfy’ meant your legs were tangled up in his. The blankets being under the pair of you didn’t seem to matter either, when you were warm against his abnormally warm chest that, despite being solid muscle, still felt more comfortable than the pillow you’d been resting your head on every night. Steve’s long broad frame dwarfed you, giving you the sense of safety you hadn’t felt since before you’d lost your family. His fingertips drew an invisible map across your bare arms and you hummed a nearly inaudible ‘mmhm’ as your eyes fluttered closed. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, but as he took you in his arms and seemingly unleashed the jar of butterflies in your stomach, you almost instantly fell asleep to the sound of his steady pulse under your ear while he engulfed you in the scent of clean laundry and bar soap.

Steve stayed by your side, as promised, and despite the time difference and the Quinjet negating typical travel time from the States to Europe, he found himself comfortable and exhausted. Maybe it was seeing how broken you were to be sitting in a space of memories, displaced by the absence of everything you held dear, something he knew too well; but he found himself incapable of slipping out of the bed or even moving to reposition you so that he could give you some blankets. Until this moment he’d chalked up all of his thoughts of you to Natasha’s pestering to ask someone, anyone, on a date. As his blue eyes closed, he replayed your smile in the sunlight at the table, the breeze blowing the scent of your shampoo and espresso at him. God, he thought as he drifted to sleep, he should’ve asked you to dance.

When you woke up, disoriented by the darkness and a soft blue-white glow over your head, you found Steve staring at his phone, free hand absentmindedly stroking your hair. Your arm was wrapped tightly around his and the sudden realization that you were clinging to him for dear life made you relax. He looked down at you surprised. “I really thought you’d sleep through the night. Are you hungry again? It’s only eight.”

It was painfully domestic and you hated yourself for not wanting to get out of bed. It felt too much like borrowed time and you nodded, hiding your face in his side as you tried not to think about the reality outside of these four walls where you both would eventually leave back to your respective jobs. The certainty that things would go back to how they were the moment you were back in Stark Tower felt like a new pain you weren’t ready to confront. “I can make-”

“We are both hungry.” He’d interrupted you with a sleep-laced haze to his quiet voice. “We’ll cook together.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you gave him a studied look. “Full of surprises.” Reluctantly climbing out of bed, you stretched, feeling his eyes on you as the dress fell down your thighs back to your feet. Steve slipped into the bathroom and you heard him immediately turn the water on. Trying not to think too much into it, you put on some music and started pulling out the fresh feta, garlic, basil, and tomatoes you’d picked out at the store.

When he was done, Steve leaned against the wall of the hallway, listening to you singing along to the song, the corner of his mouth turned up as he tried to not interrupt what looked like a little moment of happiness. He could hear Sam’s laugh when he walked into your apartment to pick up the key and see where everything was. It was a laugh he’d given Bucky when he tried to play off asking the prettiest girl in school was a bet and not because he really liked her; the laugh of a friend that knew the truth but was willing to let you feign ignorance a little longer.

When you turned around, you nearly dropped the pot of water and at least half of it splashed onto you. Steve waved his hands in an apology. “I can boil water. I’ll clean this up.” His hand brushed over the soft curves of your hips as he apologized and shooed you out of the kitchen.

The person that looked back at you in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the one you’d seen every day since your arrival- or even in the last three years. You looked rested, despite your hair being a bit of a mess, and the small smile that no longer made your face ache wouldn’t seem to subside. The voice in your head tried to scold you back to reality telling you that this was the most loyal and old fashioned man on earth and that if you hadn’t sent him your location and seemed like a mess for weeks he wouldn’t have shown up. Swapping one dress for another, trying to make your hair sit right, and putting on some tinted chapstick and mascara, you came out looking like a new person and found the kitchen deserted. “Steve?”

For a moment you felt like an idiot, thinking you may have literally dreamt up his presence out of boredom and loneliness. Then he stuck his head in through the balcony door, already talking. “It’s too nice to eat inside.” You watched him visibly pick up his mouth. “You look… I feel underdressed.” You wrapped your hands around yourself about to apologize and offer to change before he said, “No, no. You look beautiful. I’m just… I’ve never really seen you not in scrubs, y’know.” He scratched at his blonde hair and nodded to the balcony.

When you stepped out you found the pasta plated, wine poured, and silverware set neatly on napkins. He’d even picked a few of the roses and placed them in a small glass of water. “How long was I in there?”

With a shrug, Steve pulled the chair out for you and when you sat down and looked up at him, waiting for an answer that he didn’t give, you watched him hesitate before going to sit opposite you. Your tongue ran across your lips, more out of the butterflies wishing you had kissed him than the smell of the food making your mouth water. “So, what do Spaniards say instead of ‘bon appétit’?”

“I think, qué aproveche, but I grew up saying buen provecho.” Steve picked up his glass and you did the same. “Salud!” You cheersed, tapping your glass against his. At first you kept quiet, the pair of you digging in with hums of satisfaction, but as your leg started to bounce under the table you found the question you didn’t want to know the answer to pour past your lips, “Are you just waiting for the team to send the extraction message?”

Steve’s fork hung from his mouth a little and he swallowed. “Yes and no? I have the Quinjet, so I’ll have to get them when they’re ready, but it could be days or longer. It could mean that I need to grab the shield and get to work.” The reality of the danger the team was in with the Maximoff twins working for HYDRA wasn’t lost on him, but two things currently felt more important. First, he needed to find Bucky and do whatever he could to save him. Second, he couldn’t leave you to cope with your grief alone. He’d seen so many people lose someone they loved and though he’d initially told himself that this was his way of doing the same thing Tony had done to help a co-worker through an unbearable situation, Steve was slowly settling into the reality that he looked forward to any time of day you gave him. “But I wanted to be here for you and I know the team can handle following a few leads without me. However long you need me and the rest of the world doesn’t, you’ve got me.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows drawing together, still telling yourself this was Steve doing a favor for a friend and to not read into what he was saying. It hurt, but you felt yourself trying to put up a wall to stop yourself from seeing the kindness of someone you happened to find attractive as more than just kindness. For a moment, you stopped to sip the wine, take a few more bites, and calm down your nerves. Just as he’d done at the bistro, he reached his hand across the table, waiting for you to take it. “I still think that I need you.” Whatever this was, you knew he had given you the first manageable day since you went adrift with fresh grief.

He watched you take his hand, studying your small fingers and how they wrapped around three of his, clinging to him like you had in your sleep. “I still think you need me, too.” But he held it in, trying to focus on you and not confess that he thought maybe, for the first time since he woke up from the ice, he felt like someone really saw him.

The conversation was lighter from there and the two of you decided to walk the cobbled streets to where he’d left the Quinjet so that he could get his bag and gear. As you walked back, hand in hand, you slowed down as a young musician plucked out a beautiful and intricate song on his Spanish guitar. “Can we just… just for a moment. My grandparents would’ve never walked away from this.”

Setting his shield, conveniently hidden in a leather case, and his duffel bag next to the musician, Steve came back to you and held out his hand. “I have no idea how to dance to this, but I’d love to learn if you’ll give me a chance.”

It took every ounce of self-control to not bypass his hands and place yours on either side of his neck so that you could pull his mouth down to yours. A soft, nervous laugh passed your lips, “Full of surprises.” A boyish smile spread across his lips as he did his best to learn and three songs later, the two of you settled into the easy slow dancing that disregarded everything else around you, including time and the small crowd that had joined what, to all others, appeared to be two young lovers lost in their own world.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m still shooting for posting a new chapter every Sunday. I would love feedback from you. Do you think they’ll put up a wall before admitting they have feelings? Is someone going to crack first? What’s going to happen when they’re back at the little villa or Stark Tower? I’d love to know where you think this is going.

I mentioned this last time, but while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina. If you know the history of Venezuela, then you also know its political climate in the last 30+ years has led to a mass diaspora, which is why Reader (who like me was raised in the U.S. with family abroad) has some different phrases than typical Spaniards for things. I hope that my Latinx readers don’t mind and that my non-Latinx readers will stick around.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[extratragic]

kissing you (missing you 2)

pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

warning: hints at sex. i think i said ‘fuck’ a few times

word count: 1555

summary: it’s the end of summer and time to see if the begging paid off

read part 1 here

   The begging started about a week after your family got to Outer Banks. 

At first, you would ask your parents during breakfast. You’d drop subtle hints and when they didn’t catch on, you just flat out asked before anyone had the time to take a bite of their food. 

Once they got sick of you after three weeks, you got your friends to ask. They were already planning the ways they would ask, but they weren’t going to act on anything until you gave them the green light. 

When JJ would come to pick you up, he would bluntly tell them that it would be best for everyone if you stayed here. 

“Trust me, I act much better when she’s around. More mature, less bull sh-crap. All the good stuff. And she’s like our safe haven, you know? She’s not as crazy as the rest of us.”

You wouldn’t admit that the way he was talking about you was making you totally fall more in love with him. 

Kie was a little bit more subtle. She’d throw hints here and there about an empty guest room and a dramatic sigh when your parents would talk about leaving at the end of summer. 

Her subtle hints were far better than your ‘I like the weather here’ bull. 

Pope would try to be a sweetheart about it and take a logical route (teenage logical) and tell your parents’ weird facts that just might help convince them. They probably didn’t help, but it was really sweet that he was trying so hard. He got pretty flustered in front of your dad, so that was pretty adorable. 

John B would try to guilt-trip them, telling them that he could have another friend to keep him company when he felt lonely.

You just about lost it when he started fake crying. Neither of your parents bought it, so John B was definitely the failed back up plan. 

When summer was almost over and your parents were talking to their bosses about coming back, you had given up hope. They’d been working from their computers the whole summer, and when you heard your dad’s boss say that he was excited to see your dad again, it kind of hurt. 

Sure, you made friends there, but the people at your school really sucked and you never formed a friendship past the ‘school friends’ part. You wouldn’t miss a damn thing from New York. Everyone knew that you just fit in Outer Banks. It wasn’t always crowded, so you could actually breathe without feeling like you’d have an anxiety attack, and you just looked peaceful here. 

Outer Banks was your home. The Pogue’s were your home. 

-

The day was finally here. 

You said goodbye to your friends that morning and now you were walking into the Airbnb that you’d been staying in for the last time. You walked into your room, frowning at the packed suitcases (and the extra duffel bag full of your friends’ clothes).

JJ gave you three of his hoodies and you almost cried. He didn’t have a lot of hoodies, mostly just random t-shirts and muscle tees, so when he offered you your three favorites, you kissed that boy like you were dying. 

It took no time for the two of you to fall back into routine with each other. When you were with the group you’d limit the kissing to a few pecks and the PDA never went further than holding hands. But when you guys were alone, your time was spent making out, going way further than making out, snuggling after, deep pillow talks, anything that you two thought of. JJ couldn’t get enough of you and you could never get tired of looking at him or listening to him. 

He talked about how it’s been bad with his dad, but he was with John B more often so he wasn’t getting hit much, and you tried to cheer him up with stories about the dumb things you did when he wasn’t around. You weren’t one to talk about deep things. You’d always listen, but JJ made you talk to him. Well, he didn’t make you, but he made you feel comfortable enough to share everything with him.

Kie gave you one of her Sherpa’s, Pope gave you two of his hats (one that had ‘Heyward’s’ on it), and John B gave you an unnecessary amount of bandanas. 

Kiara was always your best friend. The two of you were inseparable, even during her Kook year. She was there for you through everything. Something happened at school that the boys wouldn’t understand? She was your personal therapist. Sarah Cameron made Kie feel isolated and lonely at school? You stood up for her in any situation. The two of you had each other's backs no matter what. 

Pope was always sort of a safety blanket. He was a nervous wreck, but he always made you feel safe even in the craziest situations with the group. When Kooks came around your group and he noticed how your breathing quickened and your eyes just barely clouded over, Pope was right there to calm you down. If you needed to study and everyone else kept distracting you, Pope would kick them out and help you ace your test. Pope was the definition of a good friend. 

John B was the chaotic one in your eyes. Sure, JJ was chaotic, but he was your sweetheart. It seemed like all of his crazy stories happened when you weren’t around. John B never hesitated to do something crazy, like stand on the edge of the roof of a house. He kept you on your toes and really brought out your fun, carefree side. He was also a safe haven in your eyes. If you needed an escape, his house was open with no questions asked. John B was solid and also all over the place.

“Come on, princess. Your new home is waiting,” your dad said.

“Yeah- what? New home?” You asked.

“The Carrera’s are waiting,” he grinned.

It took you a few seconds to fully process, but then it finally set in.

“I’m staying?!” You yelled.

“With a Jeep,” he sighed, holding out a pair of keys. 

Your eyes widened even more and you screamed, running over to him and hugging him tightly. He just laughed and hugged you back, explaining to your mom that you now knew when she walked up the stairs. She smiled and joined in on the hug. 

At some point, you started crying.

“Oh, baby. Why are you crying?” Your mom asked, laughing lightly. 

“I’m so happy. You guys are the best parents ever,” you said, laughing while still crying. 

The three of you looked like a huge mess. Both of your parents had tears in their eyes but all of you were still smiling and laughing. 

“We’re dropping you off at the Carrera’s before we leave. And we’ll be back here in a few weeks with the rest of your clothes and anything else you want us to bring. We might have realized how much we miss this place, too,” your dad told you.

You nodded and hugged them again. Nothing at all could ruin this moment. 

-

After getting everything into the guest room at Kie’s house, you had almost an hour-long talk with Kie’s parents and your parents. It was mostly about you behaving yourself and starting to work at The Wreck. Thankfully, Mr. C agreed when you begged to have the same shifts as Kiara. He knew how well the two of you worked together.

Not to brag, but you always had been his favorite of her friends.

After the long talk and a long, tearful goodbye, your parents left. You were right behind them, but you were on your way to John B’s house instead of the ferry. The group planned to spend the day on the boat, and if they were actually on time, they would be leaving in five minutes. 

You ran down the dock behind John B’s house after parking and turning off the Jeep, almost falling into the HMS before he could drive off.

“What the fuck?” Kie asked.

You held your pointer finger up and took a few deep breaths before standing up straight.

“First of all, how fucking dare you try to leave without me. Second of all, say hello to your newest permanent resident of OBX,” you told them.

They all started cheering and JJ picked you up, spinning around.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, tangling your fingers in his pretty blonde hair. 

“Oh, God. It’s back,” John B groaned. 

“Is it too late to send her back?” Pope asked. 

You flipped the two of them off while still kissing JJ. Kie just laughed. When the kiss ended, JJ was grinning and looking at you like a lovesick puppy. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he said. 

The statement shocked you. You knew that he loved you, everyone knew, but he’d never admitted it out loud before. 

“I’m so in love with you,” you laughed giddily. 

“Fucking finally,” Kie groaned.

The five of you sat down in your spots and John B pulled away from the dock, driving down the stream to wherever the group chose to stop. 

You were finally home. 

[bookswitchcraftandcats]

Rainy Days (Part 4 of 4)

Link to AO3 -----  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Summary: Emma and Julian are in charge of the London Institute for a week and find a box that once belonged to Cordelia Carstairs and contains poems written to her by James Herondale. The story switches between Emma and Julian and oneshots about things that happened in Jordelia's life to inspire the poems.

Sorry if the formatting for the poems is messed up, I tried.

Thank you all so much for reading this story, I really enjoyed writing it <3

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Daisies must have been her favorite flower or something” Emma says as they look around the room. Looking now that was a very obvious statement. Even some of the blankets neatly folded on the end of the bed had daisies embroidered on them. The wall paper was lined with a daisy print and on the box itself was intricately carved flowers. There are also some very old flowers that were carefully pressed and put in the box next to the poems. They were afraid to touch them for fear that they would fall apart. 

“Yeah, maybe I will do a painting of her when we go home,” Julian says thoughtfully, “I should include some daisies if I do.” 

“I’m sure it will be great,” Emma says thinking of his other paintings. He has done so many great pieces that if he was a mundane she was sure his work would be in an art gallery. The institute itself had turned into a sort of gallery these days, some people visited just to see the murals Julian painted on the walls.

They both were laying back on the bed and Jules had his arm around Emma. This was a nice day off after the busy day they had yesterday, they had run into some demons by the river and were outnumbered. Luckily, Emma is the best shadowhunter of their generation. Her wielding Cortana was definitely a scene he wanted to paint when he got home. The grace of her movements when she was fighting was like a dance, he could never quite capture the movement with a set of acrylics. 

He checked his watch, they had plenty of time before Jem and Tessa would get here. 

“We should read another poem,” he suggested. “They are kind of interesting to see what they said to each other 100 years ago.”

“Ok, I will,” she says, reaching into the box again for another poem. There was one titled Rainy Days.

“That seems fitting for today,” Julian says, glancing out the window. Emma reads the poem aloud.

Rainy Days

Outside the sky is dark and gray, The rain falls in puddles on the ground, We are in the library by the fireplace, Listening as it down pours all afternoon.

The heat of the flames warms the room, You by my side warms my heart. Even on the darkest of dreary days, You light up everything by being there.

Now you are asleep next to me, While I write about our day. I'm starting to think that I quite like, These warm and rainy days.

It was another rainy spring day in London, the snow had just melted and it was still very cold out. You could hear the wind blowing all around outside, it was quite the stormy day. None of the merry thieves or their family members would be venturing out today, they too were curled up by a fire, just like Cordelia and James. 

James now looked at the sleeping Cordelia on his lap, she looked so at peace. Her soft red hair was undone and free from it’s unusual style, he combed his fingers gently through it. He thought about the day they had had. Today was very good weather for writing. With a notebook in his hand he began to come up with ideas. 

------

“Good morning,” Cordelia says, sitting next to James at the kitchen table. She poured a cup of tea and looked out the window, it was raining very hard and forming puddles in the street. 

“Good morning” James responds, reaching for some breakfast, “Looks like any plans for today are cancelled”

“I think it is far too cold to go adventuring in London,” Cordelia says with a shiver, it was almost spring but they still had many cold days ahead of them. 

They finished their breakfast talking about rain and what crazy things their friends have been up to lately. Christopher had been working on a new invention, Mathew caused some trouble at the Hell Ruelle, nothing much different than usual. They then decided to head upstairs to the study where they could sit by the warm fire and play a game of chess. 

“Shâm-Mât” Cordelia says, winning her 12th consecutive game in a row. James just laughs as they reset the board for another game. There isn’t much to do and he is still holding on to hope that he can win at least one round.

“You're too good at this,” James says with a smirk. She has always been brilliant at battle strategy, she could outsmart any opponent she faced. He looked at her with a smile as she planned her next move, her face was full of concentration. He could feel her plotting his demise. 

They played chess until it was time for lunch, the sky was still gray with rain clouds. They then decided to venture to the library to look for a book to read on this cold and rainy day. James walked over to put more wood on the fire while Cordelia went to look for a book. They settled on the couch by the fire, Cordelia leaning her head against James’s shoulder while he read from an old volume of The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. There were a lot of Dickens novels in the library mostly from James’s parents' fascination with the author. Will and Tessa were both staying in Wales for a week and were not at the institute, it was just James and Cordelia. 

She began to fall asleep and he smiled as he see the book on the night stand. He grabbed his notebook and began to write. 

---------

So now James was still sitting on the couch trying to write a poem about the letter but he realized the poem wasn’t what he should be writing about, he spent the whole day with Cordelia and she was more fierce and interesting than any storm. 

______________________________

“That was very fitting for today,” Emma says, putting the poems back in the box. She looks at the time quickly, Jem and Tessa would be there soon. 

“It must rain here a lot,” Julian says, “I miss the beach” They laugh, they would be back in LA soon enough to deal with the chaos that ensues there. 

They had just renovated the institute more and had been busy painting more murals on the walls. They also updated their computer and Jules got a laptop which made some things easier and more organized. 

They hear footsteps coming down the hall and Tessa looks into the room. 

“I see you found James and Cordelia’s room,�� she says with a smile. 

“I haven’t been here in years,” Jem says looking around the room. Tessa was looking at the box in Emma’s hands. 

“I see you found Cordelia’s jewelry box,” Tessa smiles as though she is remembering her, “She is an ancestor of yours, she was a Carstairs before she married my son.” 

“James, right? Did he write poetry?” Emma asks. Tessa looked a bit confused.

“Yes, he did. But I thought I had all his notebooks saved at my house, did you find one?” 

“We didn’t find a whole notebook but we did find a few poems he wrote to Cordelia.” Jules says. Emma opens the box and pulls out the pieces of paper. 

“I always wondered where the ripped out pages went, I always assumed they were just rough drafts that got tossed away.” She paused for a moment, “did you two happen to find a book called The Beautiful Cordelia. I have been looking for it for a while now and I know Cordelia had it.”

Emma pointed over to the shelf they had originally found the box on. Tessa pulled out the leather bound book that had The Beautiful Cordelia across the top in fancy calligraphy and a small “by Lucie Herondale” on the bottom. 

“Thank you,” Tessa said, holding the book. Jem was looking at something across the room. 

“Hey, did some of our stuff get moved up here too,” he asked, picking up a stele. 

“I think so, did you find something?” Tessa asks. 

“This was Will’s stele,” He says, handing it to her and looking slightly incredulous. “How much of our stuff is still here?” Tessa laughs.

“Leave some for the other generations, we don’t want to fill our house with 100 years worth of clutter.” 

They all turn to leave and go get something to eat. They would never forget the poems they found, the remnants of someone else's rainy day, of another time period far away yet so near to them. While the day was dreary, dark, and wet, never let the weather depict whether there is a storm cloud raining on your day off.

_____________________________

Cordelia looks at the poems one more time with a smile before placing them in her new jewelry box. It had been an anniversary gift from James. It is wooden with her name and intricate little daisies carved onto it. The box truly is beautiful. It had been raining so she took the opportunity to organize a bit but now the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. 

James walked over and kissed her on the cheek while she latched the box shut. 

“ We were invited to a picnic in the park, just the usual group. Do you want to go?” He asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“That sounds lovely,” she says, standing up from the bed and carrying the box over to the shelf. She puts it between The Beautiful Cordelia and a book of persian mythology her mother had given her. She slipped on her shoes and took James’s hand. They walked off happy as can be, standing in the sun for a change instead of being stuck inside on those rainy days.

Tag list: @fortheloveofthecarstairs  @thehotfaeriethreesome  @shadowrunner2000  @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @gabtapia  @niathesanctuary-bolastair-kanej

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list :)

[kilibaggins]

Grapes?

Memori Modern Fic

Credit for Gif: X

Ao3 Link: HERE

Request: Not Requested!

Summary: Murphy's been working on his art all day, forgetting to eat. Emori swoops in to help. Or: Murphy is Trans, does Art, and is horrible at taking care of himself.

A/N: Enjoy some trans murphy and supportive emori content <3

Setting: Modern Setting

Warnings: Mentions food, mentions past transphobia, mentions surgery, T shot mention, and forgetting to eat.

Word Count: 763

~~~

“Have you eaten today?” Emori asks, walking over to Murphy’s art desk, where he’s drawing something. Murphy seems to not hear her at first, before suddenly comprehending she asked a question.

“Uh, I think so, yeah,” Murphy says, continuing to draw whatever he’s making. Emori looks at the computer in front of him and watches as he picks out a new brush from it, going over to the canvas and adding color to the image. Emori doesn’t understand how he could do these things, He told her it’s a lot of practice, but she decides to keep thinking of him as a God of some sort.

“You think so? What do you ‘think’ you’ve eaten?” Emori asks, leaning against the desk next to him, looking at him. He’s wrapped up in a blanket and leaning back in his comfortable chair as he draws with the tablet in front of him. Every once in a while he clicks one of the buttons on the side and then makes yet another mark.

“Uh- Grapes? I think?” Murphy says, the statement coming out more like a question. Emori turns her head and looks at the bowl filled with grapes on the table. She grabs it and shows him it.

“You mean these grapes? The grapes that are still in the bowl?” Emori says, a bit of sass in her voice. Murphy looks away from the screen and looks at it.

“Oh,” Murphy says, his face slightly crestfallen. Emori sighs and puts down the bowl.

“Come on, let’s take a break and get you some food. There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge.” Emori offers, knowing Spaghetti is one of Murphy’s favorites. Murphy looks at his art, and then looks at Emori, before pouting.

“But, art-” Murphy says, his voice sad. Emori sighs and grabs his drawing pen from him, which results in Murphy looking at her in utter betrayal. “You evil little-”

“Up,” Emori says, putting the pen in her pocket and waiting for him. He sighs sadly and slowly gets up, the multiple blankets falling off of him.

“Cold.” Murphy pouts, and Emori laughs.

“Of course you’re cold, you’re not wearing a shirt,” Emori says, looking down at him. Murphy huffs and lets his arms fall back to his sides, before smiling.

“Duh, I spent 22 years of my life having to have a shirt on at all times,” Murphy says, stepping over the blankets and moving over to Emori. Emori wraps her arms around him and kisses him softly.

“Yeah, I know. I was there for 10 of those years, don’t forget that.” Emori laughs, and Murphy smiles remembering back to the years of friendship they had.

“Yeah…” Murphy says smiling. He sighs softly and pulls away from the hug, letting Emori pull him over to the kitchen.

“Sit, I’ll get you some food,” Emori says, walking towards the fridge. She opens the fridge, and Murphy turns and opens the cabinet, looking at himself in the mirror on the door. He looks down at his chest scars, and finds himself smiling at them once again. 4 years ago he got the surgery. It was a big step, one that his mother dreaded, but it was needed. He had come out when he was 15, which had not gone over well at all. From then on, he had been waiting. When he was 18, he started the transition process, starting with T shots and working his way up to the surgery, which he got when he was 22.

“John, I told you to sit,” Emori says, a laugh in her voice. Murphy sighs and shuts the cabinet. He walks over to Emori, who just put the food on the table, and he hugs her tight. He would have never gotten anywhere without her, without the love of his life there for him every step of the way. He lost all of his friends when he came out, Except for Emori. Emori stayed, and she introduced him to her other friends, who all immediately took him in as who he was. Nobody ever made a mistake, using his name and pronouns and keeping him up in spirits even when the world seemed against him. Without Emori and his other friends, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be how he is now.

“I love you,” Murphy says, his voice filled with more love than he could probably ever really express. Emori smiles up and him and kisses his cheek softly, an action that has become their main form of connection since they were kids.

“I love you too.”

[archived-mononokeland]

ask : Hi! I just read the Levi Hanahaki story and I loved it, but the ending made me sad. Would you maybe be interested in writing a part 2 where he or another brother visits to see why she didn’t go back to the exchange program, and he finds her coughing up flowers? Thank you!

sorry for taking so long, here it is! the good ending to patch up after the last one. i didn’t write it until what i wanted to be the end, but you know the feeling when you’ve written until 2000+ words and you still don’t know what you’re doing and you want it to end? yeah. please enjoy, though!

warning: blood, hanahaki

“ i’m here. “

“You’ve been here a while now, Leviathan.”

The words of Diavolo hooked the demon back to reality. Emitting a small, slightly uncomfortable hum, he looked away, “Sorry, you probably don’t want a yucky otaku like me around. . .”

The Demon King laughs, booming the otherwise empty room. “Nonsense, I quite enjoy your company. I’m very invested in the human culture you’ve became a fan of.”

Levi’s mouth opened to a retort, only to freeze and opt to grumble to the side instead. Silence pass, as every now and then Levi checks his D.D.D. and his foot taps in rhythmic beats onto the floor.

Slowly, a small groan sounded from him, “Ugh, seriously, how long is the human gonna take?”

He turned his head to Diavolo, who seems slightly more serious than usual. The latter held back a sigh, “Perhaps you should go back to the House of Lamentation. Your brothers’ve already left, so you should too. I’ll tell Lucifer of any news regarding them.”

Despite worded like a suggestion, Leviathan knew it was more or less an order. With a soft puff of air, the demon pocketed his D.D.D. “. . .Alright, I will. Uhm—thanks, I guess.”

The easygoing smile morphed its way to Diavolo’s face once again, “It’s not a problem. Goodnight, Leviathan.”

“G’night. . .”

The steps of the demon brother soon faded outside the room, until it wasn’t heard. The smile on Diavolo’s face fell in an instant. With a sigh and ever so slightly narrowed eyes, he took out his own D.D.D.

Diavolo: Barbatos.

Barbatos: Yes, my lord?

Diavolo: Trace back the invite letter sent to the human.

Barbatos: Of course.

And with that, he shut back his device and pocketed it. Unreadable eyes looked out the balcony of the student council room. Devildom—the land he’d supposedly rule—spread with flickering lights, all swishing underneath Diavolo.

It’s a sight you’d wish to see, really.

[ ❀ ]

It’s been two days since Leviathan waited until the hour of midnight for you. On the downside, you still haven’t showed up. On the bright side, a council meeting was called, and there’s a little ray of hope that the topic was you.

But—

“They have decided not to join this year’s exchange program.”

The council room, the one that all the demons’ve familiarized themselves for quite some time, suddenly seemed quite cold. As if a heavy blanket fell upon them at once. For a few moments, none spoke.

“. . .Huh. . ? Why?” Levi was the first one to speak up, brash, but there’s a trace of self-restraint, “Why didn’t they come this year?”

The air hung over once more, before Diavolo hummed lowly, a serious expression on his face, “It was at a short notice, but they informed us that they won’t be joining. Personal problems.”

Perhaps it was covered expertly, but the Demon King himself seemed off-put by his own statement. True—you sent a message through your D.D.D. when he asked of you. Barbatos’ expression is perfectly clear as well, but the tension was present as ever.

“. . .I assume that is all.” Lucifer said, once more breaking the silence. Even if his words sounded unfazed, the noticeable crease on his brows was evident. With a heavy breath, Diavolo nodded, and called the meeting over.

No one said a word walking home.

The tense air followed the brothers, even later until dinner, The suffocating aura was insufferable, and somehow decreased just a bit as Levi lightly slammed on the table with a groan, “I don’t get it, why didn’t they go back?!”

And just with that, he spoke everyone’s thoughts.

Yes, they all knew they had to respect your wishes. And they did try. But, it’d be a lie to say that they aren’t and can’t be selfish at this moment—being demons just adds to the equation a bit. But they were still very close to you, how could they not?

All clanking of utensils on plates stopped. Lucifer opened his mouth to explain, but shut it back up once realized he couldn’t say anything. But, even so. . . “Leviathan. . .” What came out was a sympathetic croak, though he tried to hide it with a cough.

Dinner went by in a fly.

The third brother groaned as he entered his room, immediately making a zip-line to his computer. None of his games had any events, so he had free time to himself, if not grinding or anything like that. Of all the times. . .

He reached for his D.D.D. and opened the chat. His fingers tapped away mindlessly to yours and his—almost by reflex. A part of him scolded himself for expecting maybe, just maybe, a new text from you saying it was a joke and that you’d come tomorrow.

But of course it never came.

Even just looking at your past texts—it stirs something he can’t name inside him. His stomach is now a blackhole, the rhythmic beats of his heart increases, and he felt. . .bittersweet happiness.

His mind racked up a storm filled with emotions—emotions he felt too tired and confused to deal with. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but Levi finally snapped himself out of it, and opened the brothers’ chatroom.

He can’t take it, he can’t take it, he can’t—

Leviathan: I srsly can’t take it anymore..!

Leviathan: istg I need to see the human and ask everything!!

The fingers tapped away on its own, and he knew there’s a chance of consequences with his words. But that didn’t matter; not a lot did at the moment. Soon, dots appeared from his other brothers. . .

Beelzebub: Levi. . .

Lucifer: . . .I understand the turmoil you must be going through right now, but. . .

Lucifer: . . .I don’t think I can permit that.

Satan: You’re too rough.

He watched the texts go by, caring little to none as his own attention drifts away. No doubt Lucifer won’t let me go to the human world, he thought, absentmindedly opening a game on his computer, but maybe. . .I can just. . .

He mulls over the possibility in his mind. Maybe this stunt was a bit too much compared to the others—but he’d be willing to take the punishment. Eyes finally focusing, they turn attention back to the D.D.D., the chat.

Beelzebub: Levi? You there?

Leviathan: . . .

Leviathan: Yeah. I’m fine, sorry, forget all of this.

It’s very selfish and foolish of him—but there’s a reason he’s a demon.

[ ❀ ]

He didn’t miss the occasional glances directed at him next breakfast.

The air was almost as miserable as yesterday. Almost, because the time set apart since the day before made somewhat of a difference. Even so, breakfast didn’t resume with its normal banter; mostly just a sentence exchanged or two.

Despite that, deep inside Leviathan was a secret flame of hope and determination. It’s small—perhaps just a match, but it was enough.

Levi’s mind only came to attention nearing the end of the student council meeting. There wasn’t much to discuss—and he wouldn’t have been there had it not been for his plan—but that was to be expected. It was the beginning of the year, but thankfully, Diavolo’s token the measure to ease in their work due to the recent news.

While the meeting was reaching to its end, Levi still continued to play his games on his D.D.D., as he has for a while now. The words from Diavolo saying the meeting ended, Leviathan feigned a sigh and shut his device off, and set it on the table. Then, pretending to be clueless, leaves the room with everyone else.

He’s not certain if everyone didn’t notice. After all, he isn’t the slickest demon—and with a brother like Satan and Lucifer, he won’t put it past them. Well, if they did, they didn’t say anything.  But now, he’ll play a game of pretend.

He spent a few dozen minutes in the cafeteria. Not to eat, but to just sit down and play his games on another device. It’s a pain to not be having his D.D.D., but the ends justify the means.

Then, he slid it back to his pocket and made his way back to the student council room, and hoped that Lucifer wasn’t unexpectedly still there (he was on cooking duty, if Levi recalled correctly). Fortunately, when he opened the door, he wasn’t, and only Diavolo stood there, sorting some papers.

“’M sorry,” even if he did plan all this out, his pretend-apology didn’t go farther than a mumble, “Left my D.D.D. here. . .”

Diavolo merely laughed and waved a dismissive hand at him, “It’s quite fine. Go ahead.”

With slow, antsy steps, he made his way to his chair with the device in front of it. Even though he had time, he’s still mulling over what he could possibly word it to Diavolo as. Maybe this was a bad idea—

“You want to go to the human world, don’t you.”

The question brought heaps of confusion and bafflement to Leviathan. Yes, he was standing there for maybe long enough, but Diavolo just guessed it? He pocketed his D.D.D. with a gulp, “Uhm. . .”

Words escape him, currently, but Diavolo soon cut off whatever he wanted to say in his head by turning around and meeting his gaze. His face is unreadable, both showing good nor bad reactions, and his usual friendly smile long gone.

“And I assume this was without Lucifer’s permission?”

“. . .Yes.”

The silence seems to stretch at cruelty’s will, twisting and churning at his guts. Diavolo’s eyes remained a mystery, until a laugh erupted from him. But not in an actual, comedic sense; more of languid than anything.

“You’re determined, aren’t you?”

“O-Of course. . .”

And the silence continues. Leviathan’s darting eyes to the other demon told him that he was studying him, observing him. As if there was a reaction, an attidude, action to indicate to him. . .something. Something he doesn’t know. And suddenly, the eyes felt heavy upon him.

“. . .How curious. Very well,” Diavolo broke the ringing quiet with a low mumble, barely audible, along with the tapping of his nails on the table, “I’ll allow you.”

“. . .Huh?”

“I’ll allow you to go to the human world.”

The words—so did everything else—seemed like buzzing for a moment, before it all cleared.Emotions rushed through the floodgates; relief, confusion, shock, all the likes. “But—wh-why would. . .”

He decided not to push his luck by asking.

Diavolo remained unwavered and certain, a smile now pulling his lips by anything than genuine emotions it feels. “Don’t tell Lucifer. I’ll open the portal soon, Levi.”

Reality was fuzzy and unbelievable. But even so, Levi tried to hold his ground and remain still as the demon king set up the transport to the human world above. He’s going to see you! Anxiety and relief peacefully clashed in himself on which he feels more, but—he did his best to ignore it.

Once the portal was up, all it took was a flicker, and he’s gone.

[ ❀ ]

Oh how you loathed it.

Spitting and choking metal-flavored flowers weren’t your ideal schedulings—and you’d really prefer if it wasn’t. They make for pretty decorations if one were to put it in a pot, if the person was able to ignore the origins and how it was, more or less, what they’d call memento mori.

You hope they’ll live after you die; despite how much you despise the fluttering petals.

A bitter reminder, really, that you litter your house with vases filled with them. Your estate smelled a mix of several scents, and also painted with their colors. Maybe this was your last highlight of life in the current time.

But all that beauty didn’t make up for you, curling up in the middle of the hallway, using your clutches to the wall as your only support. Blood didn’t even wash up from your previous shirts—you’d guessed.

And one by one, the floral beauty fell.

The world, your house, blurred. Your hearing’s long gone, replaced by constant, grating ringing. It didn’t matter anymore, not when they were blotches of colors and screeches, fading in and out from darkness. Maybe, if you just—

“——!”

Your body trembled, the bones in your body feeling brittle enough to crumble. Who’s that. . .? A savior? Maybe an angel, seeing your soul off? The next-door neighbor who heard something?

Your mind scrambled to scream, beg, for any kind of help to pull you out of the ripping gash in your throat. Whether it came out as you wanted, or just a gravel of a groan came out, you never knew.

You never knew, for the world darkened.

[ ❀ ]

Beeping.

Incessant rhythmic beeps were muffled out, but faintly audible. Labored breaths filled the room, as a hand held yours. Warm. It felt warm, and nice, and safe, despite you walking your way slowly to death’s door.

The human body was weak, and Leviathan cursed at it for being so. Even if he did know any healing magic, he’d been too paranoid to tinker with the workings of your health. And so, the two of you were sent to a hospital.

It’s been about almost a day. He hopes anyone back in Devildom didn’t search for him—for the reveal of his whereabouts would cause trouble. And with the state of his mental mind. . .he felt he’d go insane.

But slowly, your eyes broke open a crack.

A low croaky groan was what drew the demon’s attention, clutching tighter at your hand as his head darted to look over you. He called your name desperately, weakly, hoping it to be a mantra that ensured you were alive.

“—! Are you okay. .?!”

Another groan resurfaced, and finally, you’re back to the land of the living. But to your side, you found, Leviathan.

You shove the flowers down for a moment.

“L-Lev. . .?”

Your voice felt fresh and unused. But for now, you vaguely squeezed your hand in his. You’re fine, you’re okay, you’re here; that’s what he needed to know. The fact if you actually were or not came second.

“Where. . .are we. . .?”

Your vision blurred in and out of being visible for you to actually discern anything. But for now, you could see mostly white.

“We’re in a human hospital.”

Hospital. Passing out. . .Right.

“And why. . .are you h-here?”

You couldn’t see it—he hoped you didn’t, at that—but Levi’s expression wavered, as his body became more awkward and stern. He tossed his glances to the side, “I. . .I c-came to see you, o-of course. I can’t just let you curl up and. . .die, for all I know.”

You pursed your lips.

“. . .Did the doctors diagnose me with anything?” Fear washed over you as your voice drops to a whisper; a shaky, wavering, quiet whisper.

If he found out. . .that he was a part of the cause. . . what would. . .?

Levi took a deep breath and his eyes shifted to the side. Then to you. “Yeah.” He replied, “. . .It was hard to find out cause there weren’t many cases, but. . . Hanahaki, r-right?”

. . .Oh.

“Did they,” you gulped the lump in your throat, “Did they tell you what that means. .?”

“. . .Yes.” The black hole in your stomach dug deeper and deeper in— “Why didn’t you tell me? A-Am I. . .unreliable to you. . .?”

His voice was only a whisper, but it echoed through your heart until it broke. “N-No, of course you’re reliable. . .! I just. . .” Your eyes shifted away to your hands, which clutched at the sheets of your bed, “. . .I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You were dying, for goodness sake! Worrying me shouldn’t—sh-shouldn’t. . .” his voice died like a flame, as his pitiful eyes spoke to you instead. “. . .Who’s the person?”

“Huh?”

“Who’s the person you. . . had f-feelings for?”

You took a sharp, silent breath. He didn’t know; and you weren’t sure if he should know. But. . .being here, with Leviathan in front of you made you feel vulnerable so any lie you told would just feel useless. But—he’d think it was his fault. His fault for not returning your feelings. Technically speaking, it was, but it’s not like he could help it—force love would hurt you more than anything.

“. . .” You spent your time, fading out of reality to weigh your options in silence. Levi kept silent as well, patient in hearing your answer. “. . .Y-You. . .”

You almost wished he didn’t hear that right after it came out your mouth—maybe your voice was soft enough so he didn’t hear it. But the quiet gasp heard, the way his eyes widened in utter bafflement, the way his face paled a thousand shades, it all betrayed your wish.

“I. . .I—“

“It’s not your fault. . .!” You said before the thoughts in him spiral down. Your hand flew from the bed sheets to his hand, squeezing it tightly despite how much your heart churned at the action, “It’s. . .It can never be your fault. I couldn’t. . .just wish for you to fall for me like that. And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. . .”

And once again, silence ruled the room.

You couldn’t bare to look into his eyes—not after the hurt overflowing them. A part of you silently wished that he didn’t come into your house at that moment—and just let you decay like the flowers you racked up. But then again, it’s selfish, for you to deny him seeing you again. It’s selfish, for you to give the cold treatment you had, only for him to find out you were dead.

You wondered who’d hurt more.

“. . .” You finally looked up at Leviathan’s eyes, barely visible from his hair as his head was angled down. Silent, deep in thought. You were about to shift your gaze back, until— “. . .Actually, I. . .have a confession m-myself. . .”

A respond never came, you just looked longingly for his continuation.

“I d-don’t know what love feels like; I’m not Asmo. All I’ve seen are, u-uhm, romance and harem animes. But. . .” He took a deep breath, “Ever since you left, I feel. . .overwhelmingly sad. A-And it’s not a friend thing—I don’t think, but—when I look back at everything, it. . .it makes me happy beyond belief. I want to be there with you, b-by your side, a-and. . .a-and. . .”

“I think. . .I love you.”

The moment those words got out his tongue, a deep, bellowing gasp of air ripped itself from your lungs—as if you’ve been underwater and finally got a breath of air. Your chest, your heart, your throat—the weigh on them ever since the flowers sprouted all lifted and wilted, one by one by one—until it was all gone.

“—?!”

Your name said on Levi’s tongue was foreign to you—for a second. Until with one last gasp of air, your breathing normalized and slowed. With glossy vision, you looked over at the panicked demon beside you, shooting a gentle, calming smile, “I. . .I’m fine, Lev.”

“Are you. . .?! You could be—“

“Lev.” Your soft calling of his name stopped him. “I think. . .I’m cured.”

[nasfunkysunglassesinactive]

Loving is Easy

Pom groaned as he sat up, reaching for his alarm, blaring at him rudely from the side table.

Shutting it off, he rolled over and glanced out into the kitchen, where the light was already on and faint clanks and humming could be heard.

He found himself smiling, despite it being 6am and still dark outside, even though he hadn’t got to bed until 2am. He couldn’t help it, it was so nice to wake up and know there was someone there for him, on his good days and his bad ones, always believing in him, never giving up on him.

Pom managed to drag himself up, still blinking blearily as he sighed and slung his feet to the ground, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the blankets to pad towards the doorway between the bedroom and the living area of their apartment.

He smiled as Chanon turned to him when he entered the kitchen. Pom stretched down to rest his head in his arms on the counter, eying Chanon fondly as the kettle clicked and he turned towards it, reaching to pour the boiling contents into the mugs set out next to the sink.

Chanon stirred the coffee now steaming from the mugs, the gentle tinkling of the teaspoon the only sound that could be heard aside from the tune he was quietly humming.

He smiled as he tapped the spoon on the edge of a mug and silently handed one of them to Pom, wrapping his hands around the other and gently lifting it to blow across the liquid to cool it down slightly.

Pom huffed under his breath in amusement.

Chanon had burned himself from drinking boiling hot chocolate once in highschool, causing him to jump and spill the rest all over his shirt (and Pom’s). Ever since then, he had harboured a deep mistrust of hot liquids.

 “Thank you.” Pom whispered, glancing up at Chanon as they both took a sip of the coffee.

Apparently adequately satisfied with the temperature of his drink, Chanon smiled back at him.

 “Well you need to go prepare for class in a bit and you only got 4 hours sleep after the Gifted exam last night.”

Pom groaned again at the reminder and flopped his head back on the counter, closing his eyes as his hair fell to cover them.

 “I love being a teacher, I’ll never regret that decision and those kids are like my own at this point. Still sometimes I question why my job takes up so much of my life.”

Chanon smiled down at him fondly.

 “Just like you said, those kids are like your own and you love being able to help them grow up and find themselves. You teach to see them become the people they were born to be and you love it because they mean so much to you. That’s why you put so much time and effort into it.”

Pom laughed at the speech and sat up to stretch his arms out.

 “You’re right as always. I’m just exhausted I guess.”

Chanon put the coffee mug down and stood up.

 “Of course you are, it’s not easy being the cool teacher!”

Pom raised his eyebrows questioningly at the statement.

Chanon smirked and wandered off to the stove, where he flicked the switch of the gas on underneath a frying pan before setting off towards the fridge.

 “I saw a meme. Like, how the cool teacher puts in like this much effort-” he stretched his arms out wide in front of him- “ and end up getting this much recognition from other teachers.” he finished holding his fingers an inch apart.

Pom couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, even if it had stemmed from a meme (that Chanon had likely seen whilst he was meant to be working.)

Chanon came back over to the pan with 2 eggs, cracking one into it before leaning over to stick 2 slices of bread in the toaster.

 “You go get changed, I’ll sort breakfast for us.”

Pom nodded and slunk off to the bedroom to get clothes and take a shower.

He’d always showered in the morning. It always helped him wake up and collect his thoughts for the day, running through the never ending to-do lists as the cool water hit his shoulders helped him organise his day.

Chanon on the other hand, always showered at night. He couldn’t sleep unless he’d washed the day away. Pom quite liked it though. It meant he always crawled into bed smelling faintly of rosewood, the familiar scent of which always managed to calm Pom’s racing mind as they drifted off to sleep.

As he turned off the water and reached for a towel, he paused. From the kitchen came the faint, melodic sound of singing again.

Pom instantly recognised the song and smiled to himself. Chanon always sung when he was in the kitchen.

Once his clothes were on, the dress shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, a tie in his hand, he returned to the kitchen with a towel still around his neck, rubbing the ends of his hair absentmindedly.

He returned to his spot where a plate of scrambled eggs and toast had been placed.

Chanon stood up and silently reached for the towel around Pom’s neck. He took it in his hand and began to massage Pom’s scalp, gently, carefully drying the damp strands.

 “It’s usually you nagging me about things like this,” Chanon murmured, “You’ll catch a cold if you’re wet and shivering.”

Pom sighed, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into Chanon’s touch, enjoying being the one taken care of for once- something his job didn’t often allow.

 “I know. But it’s nice having you do this, maybe I’ll leave my hair wet more often.” Pom mused.

Chanon gently knocked Pom’s head and threw the towel over the back of an empty chair before ruffling his hair fondly, causing Pom to duck away and turn to pout up at Chanon, who just laughed and gestured to the plates in front of them.

Pom wrinkled his nose at him before whispering a thank you and turning towards the food.

Chanon had always been an amazing cook. Back in highschool, whenever Pom had been too tired to eat and content to just collapse onto his bunk after a long day and fall unconscious on an empty stomach, Chanon could tell. He would always duck into the kitchen area on evenings when the late classes had begun to take their toll and even though he was exhausted too, he always managed to whip up something so delicious that Pom could never refuse.

Just where he’d picked up this knack for culinary preparation Pom didn’t quite know. Chanon had always seemed busy, either at their desk or the chalkboard or the computer lab. He was always lost in calculations or maps or star charts or some such that Pom could barely keep up in trying to understand, yet he still always managed to find the time to make sure Pom wasn’t burned out or skipping meals again.

In the years that had passed since then, through their ups and downs, the fundamental basis of their relationship had remained unchanged. They both looked out for each other no matter what and loved each other easily, without the explicit need to voice it out loud.

Being together, no matter where they were, was comfortable. It was easy. And it felt right. It had always felt right to be by the other’s side.

They both finished breakfast at the same time and Pom reached over for Chanon’s plate and stacked it on top of his own before carrying them over to the empty dishwasher and slotting them both in side by side before turning to the clock.

 “It’s 7 o’clock.” He murmured.

Chanon nodded before reaching for the tie that lay on the counter and walking over to Pom.

 “Which means you need to get going soon-” he stretched his arms around Pom’s neck to tuck the tie under his collar- “to resume your role as best teacher in history.”

Pom grinned as Chanon continued to fiddle with the tie, looping one end over the other before undoing it and starting again, his tongue poking out in concentration as he bent down to get closer to the complicated knot he was managing to tie around Pom’s neck.

 “Let me.”

Pom gently slapped Chanon’s hands and took over tying the tie. At over 30 years old Chanon still hadn’t got a grasp on the skill.

Chanon looked at his feet sheepishly before glancing back up at Pom through his fringe. God he looked cute doing that.

 “I’ll see you later, then.”

Pom said, slipping shoes onto his feet and reaching for the keys hanging on the hook next to the front door.

Chanon nodded, leaning against the doorframe and handing Pom’s phone to him (he’d walked out the door without it too many times to count in the past.)

 “Make sure you get to work on time. Text me at lunch, if I’m free we can eat together.”

 “Will do.”

Chanon yawned, still smiling fondly at Pom as he fumbled to get his phone in his pocket.

Finally organised, Pom grabbed his bag and turned the key in the lock, opening the door up to the apartment hallway.

Their place wasn’t too big and it wasn’t showy or posh, but it was theirs and it was filled with little bits of each of them, from the decorations to the clutter to the smells, and that made it perfect to them.

 “Wait a sec.”

Chanon called out as Pom stepped over the threshold.

Pom turned to him as Chanon stepped forward and swooped in to quickly kiss his cheek.

 “There we go. Have a great day at work!” Chanon grinned cheekily.

Pom rolled his eyes fondly and nodded.

 “You too. I love you.”

 “Love you more.”

 “Impossible.”

He smiled as he made his way down the hallway, with the warm sunlight beginning to filter through the window in front of him and Chanon’s words still ringing in his ears, he felt he could face anything the day threw at him.

[closer-stars]

Good Thing - Mingi (Epilogue)

Member: Mingi Genre: Fluff Requested: Sort of? Word Count: ~2k Content: Just Y/N and Mingi in the work life. Good vibes. Note: Yay an epilogue as requested by some of you haha. I didn’t really think i’d be making one but here we are. 

Music plays from the speakers in a low lull. The male leans forward as he listens closely to what he and his team have been making over the past few days. So far, they’ve been able to create a handful of rough drafts of what the artist wants, though so far none of them have made Mingi think that it could be it. Two knocks on the door and he lowers the volume, and presses pause on the software. “Yeah?” He calls out, the editing software still present on the screen. 

“Can I come in?” 

He turns in his chair, relieved to hear your voice come from the door. He’s greeted by your smile. He also notes that you were in your dance attire, which could only mean you were teaching a routine later on. He pulls another chair next to him, patting the empty seat. “Thank god it’s you. If it was anyone from my team, I would’ve lost it.” He jokes, much to your amusement. As you settle yourself down next to him, he steals a kiss on your cheek, getting a whiff of his favorite perfume on you. 

Truth be told, both of you didn’t officially become together until a year or two later. Post graduation blues, the stress of looking for a job and overall just trying to get to know the other better being just some of the things that hindered the two of you from doing so. Fortunately for the two of you, it worked out in the end. Even better is that both of you are working under the same company. 

Your eyes quickly catch the exhaustion under his eyes, hours of staring at the computer over the smallest beats really did a number on him. You also note his outfit, the only time he’s in a button up is when he’s expecting guests, which could be the artists based on the name of the file. “I brought some food cause we both know you forget to eat now.” You tease lightheartedly. Pork belly and various other side dishes from his favorite restaurant down the street. “I wasn’t able to get your favorite noodles since they ran out for the day.” You explain as you set the bag of food to the side, away from all the technology in front of you. 

“Now it’s you taking care of me? Oh how the tables have turned.” Mingi muses, eyeing the food. He pushes himself away from his work table, settling himself in front of the food you bought. “Eat with me?” He knows you can’t say no to that. Even if you now lived together, schedules were so hectic nowadays that the only times both of you could bond were over a meal or in bed. It was great that both of you were under the same company but not so much that both of you could barely see each other unless it was for a meal. “Love, you bought food that’s more than enough for three people.” He notes as he brings each container out of the bag. 

You laugh, dragging the wheeled chair towards where he is to help him out in setting up the meal. “That’s the point, love. You eat more than I can and it’s also to make sure you don’t eat less than usual while working.” You learned early in your relationship that he has a tendency to eat less when he’s riding the creative high. You wondered if he got this habit from his colleague, Hongjoong. 

Too elated at the sight of his favorites, he steals another kiss, this time on your lips. He was always the more physically affectionate one between the two of you. “I love you.” He says, grateful for this. 

You return the kiss before he’s out of reach. “Anything for you. Now eat and tell me how your work has been.” 

That’s what happens between the two of you for the next three hours: eating and discussing his work, your work, the artists in the company, the auditionees who look promising, and everything under the sun. “There’s this one trainee who reminds me a lot of you. I’m hoping you get to meet them soon.” You say, tone a little soft and endeared. The young trainee’s vigor reminds you so much of Mingi, his tendency to cheer for his fellow trainees with pats on the back and head pats. Your tone makes Mingi crack up. 

“Wait until they meet someone like you.” He teases and before you could shoot a retort at him, he manages to shoot a small pork belly wrap in your mouth. “Three points.” He hums, delighted to take you by surprise like old times. You glower at him as you chew through the food. As you clean up the last of your meal, a few knocks could be heard. While you return you attention to cleaning up the place, Mingi asks who’s by the door. 

In comes Hongjoong who manages to smell the pork. “You guys ate without me?” He asks with a pout. It’s crazy how this male managed to make the trainees cower in fear when he’s in front of you whining over food. He’s also partly why you’ve toned down the intimidation factor in you. 

His whines make your lover laugh. “Yeah, sorry, hHung. Maybe later for dinner, we can catch a meal together with Seonghwa.” Seonghwa teaches the trainees dance with you, but is in charge as well of the auditionees when he has time. He’s also the reason why you’ve softened up. 

“If I finish teaching the trainees early, I can grab coffee for the four of us.” You offer. In two hours, you would be teaching the trainees a piece for their monthly evaluations. Hongjoong notices that you were already by the door. 

“Leaving so soon?” He asks and you catch Mingi pouting at you from behind Hongjoong. 

You gesture to the door. “I mean, you guys are expecting someone soon. Also don’t you guys have stuff to do now?” It’s not that you wanted to leave immediately, but being part of an industry that relies on creativity, you know firsthand that being distracted can be stressful down the line. 

The older man shakes his head. “It’s fine. One, Mingi here would love to have you here a little longer.” He starts, with a gesture to the man behind him. His statement making Mingi’s ears burn bright red. “Two, we want your thoughts on this track. It’s you who’s making the choreography as well.” 

As you listen to his explanation, your gaze goes to your lover who was doing his best to avoid your gaze. Still shy as ever. “Sure thing, Hongjoong.” You set the bag by a corner then approach the two, sitting next to Mingi as they start catching you up to date with the progress of one of the finalized songs. As you settle into your seat once more, it’s become a habit that your knees would touch his. No matter what the two of you are doing, if the two of you are next to each other, your knees would graze the other’s. They play the song and you keep quiet, deep in your thoughts. For the next hour, the three of you discuss overlooked details and well thought of verses until everything has become up to standard to the three of you. A rarity since you often butt heads with Hongjoong. You look at the time: one hour until you teach. “I should get ready to teach the kids.” With that, you stand up and stretch your back for a few moments. 

“Dinner?” Mingi asks as you set the chair away. You didn’t need him to expound. You know what he means by that. Instead of answering him explicitly, your lips graze lightly against his cheek, much to Hongjoong’s delight at the flustered expression on the male. 

You wave goodbye to the two of them, making your way to the dance studio. The time you spent with Mingi giving you the energy you need to last through the next few hours with the trainees. You peek into the studio and you’re already greeted by the trainees helping each other on the piece and you can’t help but hope they make it big in the industry. 

“Hey everyone! Should we get started?”

---

It’s already past midnight when the two of you arrive back at your apartment. Both of you dropping your bags in the living room, exhausted sighs and groans slipping from your lips. “I’ll get the shower ready.” Mingi says as he drags his tired legs to the bathroom. You get your used clothes into the washing machine, keeping a note to put them in the dryer when you wake up the following day. 

The two of you spend the next few minutes in the shower, washing each other’s body carefully. You carefully knead out the knots on Mingi’s shoulders, a result of being hunched over the computer and instruments for hours at a time. He does the same to your neck as both of you let the hair conditioner set in. In the entire duration of your relationship, you’ve grown to have a habit of pressing a kiss on the base of the other’s neck after cleaning after them in the shower. 

Before you know it, the two of you were buried under the blankets, legs tangled against each other. Words didn’t need to be exchanged at this point, both of you spent from today’s hectic schedule. Instead, both of you revel in the silence, taking this opportunity to gaze and study the features of your partner’s face. The way the eyelashes flutter as one tries to stay awake, hoping to catch the other fall asleep first, the way one’s lips shiver as they stifle a yawn, the gentle sigh of comfort of being in your lover’s arms in bed. 

Even with the lights off, you could see just how much Mingi adored you, and you hoped he could see how you felt the same way if not more. You feel his cheek lean into your touch and you swear you could feel your heart soar at that moment. 

You notice him drifting off to sleep and your lips graze against his eyelids, then lightly on his lips. “Sleep well, babe. You deserve the rest.” You whisper against his skin, snuggling a little closer to him before giving in to the comfort of slumber with him.

[paintedwithapalette]

Monsters Incorporated could be a ticking bomb waiting to happen at times. With its reliance on laughter to fuel their city, it wasn’t entirely uncommon that they’d receive laughter so powerful and potent that it would cause a shortage. This was one of those times. At least, for the upper floors of the massive complex where some sort of outage had taken place, and considering the CEO of the company had Boo with him, he didn’t want to turn her visit into a mess of running from floor to floor like the last time she was there. As much as he and his best friend loved her, they didn’t want Boo slowing them down either. They thought it might be best if she stayed in the lower levels where the power was, thankfully, still intact. 

The good news for Mike Wazowksi and James P. Sulliven was that a certain fuzzy exterminator who carried an oversized key was in the neighborhood. Though, this time he didn’t have the one-eyed duck and green dog with heterochromia iridum accompanything him. Instead, it was an unfamiliar girl wearing a stylish pink dress with her periwinkle fur, large paws, four eyes, and horns. It was a far cry from the much more outlandish looks of Donald and Goofy they remembered. 

After a quick introduction to Kairi and thanking the two for stopping by to do them a favor, Mike and Sulley scurried off to reach one of the main generators on one of the upper floors, leaving Sora and Kairi to care for Boo themselves, They entered Sulley’s office where the two had left Boo to play with her dolls while they stepped outside to have a chat with Sora and Kairi. 

“Boo?” Sora asked no one in particular. The room seemed fairly standard for an office: a desk located in the back with a computer and shelves of books surely collecting dust. “Anyone home?” 

As Sora and Kairi stepped further inside and searched the room for any signs of the young girl, Sora accidentally stepped on a doll and carefully picked it up. 

“This must be hers,” Sora concluded. 

“Do you think she’s okay?” Kairi asked, concern painted on her face. 

Sora didn’t say anything. Monsters Inc. was a big place and there was no telling where she could have gone. Boo was a sweetheart but she could be a troublemaker as well if left unsupervised. Sora crossed his arms and closed his eyes, contemplating what their next move should be. 

“Boo!” 

“AGH!” Sora yelled, wincing. 

When the dust settled, he saw the culprit reveal herself from behind Sulley’s desk, covering her mouth with both hands as she giggled at the reaction she was delighted to have witnessed from Sora. 

“Whoa, Boo! Where’d you come from?” Sora asked. 

Kairi laughed. “Looks like someone got a little spooked.” 

Sora cleared his throat and rubbed right under his nose. “Yeah, scared that you’d get hurt,” he excused poorly.  

Kairi gave a knowing smirk. “Yeah, sure.” 

When Boo looked at Kairi, she tilted her head at the unfamiliarity of her. Kairi recognized the little girl’s uncertainty and hunched over with a friendly wave. “Hi, there! You must be Boo. My name is Kairi. I’m Sora’s girlfriend.” 

Despite the validity of her bold statement, Sora couldn’t help but blush with a goofy smile lingering on his face that was only concealed thanks to his fur. Boo wasn’t sure what exactly a “girlfriend” was but she assumed it was something similar to Mommy and Daddy. With a giggle, she ran towards Kairi, talking to her as if she could understand whatever gibberish she spewed as she took her hand. 

“You are just the cutest little thing,” Kairi cooed as she picked up Boo. “And probably a lot braver than Mr. Scaredy Cat over here.”  

“Whaaaat?” Sora said. “I am not. I mean, okay...” he crossed his arms. “Some of the monsters around this place kinda give me the heebie-jeebies, but... I wouldn’t say I’m a scaredy cat.” 

Kairi sent him a teasing smirk. 

“What?!” he said defensively. 

Kairi laughed, settling into a sigh. “Oh, Sora. Remember when you and Riku would come over and we’d steal scary movies from my parent’s room to watch at midnight? You pretty much hid under the blankets the whole time and couldn’t sleep with the light off for a week.” 

“I was seven!” 

Kairi shook her head, the smile on her face never leaving. “You haven’t changed a bit. Even your monster form looks non-threatening.” 

“Huh? No way! I can totally be scary when I wanna be. Right, Boo?”

The only thing that came to mind for Boo was the unforgettable Funny Face Special that cracked her up the last time he visited. “Scary” was the last thing her developing brain categorized Sora as by any means. She giggled just thinking about it. 

“Aww, no. Not you too, Boo!” Sora dropped his head in shame. 

“Then it’s settled,” Kairi concluded as she and Boo laughed. 

“Hmmm.” Sora folded his arms and looked to the ceiling, thinking to himself until an idea came to him. Maybe if he scared Boo, it would show just how intimidating he could be. With a sinister-looking grin, Sora raised his hands and wiggled his fingers, a low growl murmuring under his breath. 

However, what Sora perceived to be a sinister smile came off more as a silly, non-threatening look Boo assumed was meant to be as funny as it looked and once again rewarded Sora with affectionate laughter. 

While Sora loved making her happy, he wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong either. He spent the next ten minutes doing whatever he could to make Boo at least a little fearful; he made every face he could possibly muster, but they all resulted in either blank, confused stares or laughing frenzies from the girls. 

A lightbulb popped over his head as an idea came to mind. “Stay right here,” Sora requested as he hurriedly turned off the lights, blanketing the three of them in complete darkness. 

“Boooooooo,” Sora sang in a deep, haunting voice. “I seeeeeee youuuuuuu.” 

Sora couldn’t see it, but Boo’s lips quivered. Thankfully, she had Kairi to hold onto tight, making the dark not as scary as it normally would’ve been. Sora carefully and quietly crept around the office. 

“Boooooooooo,” Sora echoed. 

“Kitty?” Boo said in hopes of her favorite monster friend coming to her rescue at any moment. 

Sora stealthily crept closer to where he pinpointed where Kairi stood and snuck behind her. He lifted his finger, ready to tap Boo on the shoulder in hopes of giving her a good fright, but instead, Boo heard him at the last second and grabbed his finger just before he could touch her.  

“Boo!” she said. 

“WHOA!” Sora cried,  rushing back to turn the lights back on. Kairi howled with laughter at how poorly Sora’s plan backfired. He groaned. Maybe that was what he deserved, trying to scare a little girl just to prove a point. Still, as he watched Boo laugh heartily with Kairi knowing that he was the cause, it did make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. . 

“I guess you’re just too cute to be scary, Sora,” Kairi teased. “Just stick to what you do best, okay?” 

Sora smiled. Kairi was right. If anything, he was more glad to have been able to bring Boo such joy rather than be the reason she would have a nightmare that night. “Looks like you win, Boo,” Sora said. “You’re tough! Guess nothing ever gets you down, huh?” 

Boo only responded with more giggles before she spoke a set of words he wasn’t expected. “Funny Face! Funny Face!” 

“Huh?” Sora questioned aloud. To his surprise, she really did remember that from the last time he visited. 

“Funny Face?” Kairi asked. “Oh, you mean like when you first met Donald and Goofy, right?” 

Sora rubbed the back of his furry head with a bashful smile. “Ah, I guess you would remember that, huh?” 

“Yup!” Kairi affirmed with a laugh. “And honestly, I’d like to see it, too.” 

“Well, I guess I can’t disappoint,” Sora said. He set his feet, tied his hands behind his back, dipped his head down with an imaginary drum roll playing in his mind before he shot back up with his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, showing off his pearly whites. 

Just like last time, Boo laughed like a little madwoman. Kairi found the sight amusing as well, it was her first time seeing this face from a third-party’s perspective rather than when she was inside his heart when he first did it. 

Sora chuckled. “Hey, Kairi, give it a try!” 

“Oh, m-me?” Kairi asked. 

“Sure! Let’s see how silly you can be.” 

“Well, I guess I can give it a try,” Kairi said. She turned Boo in her arms to give her a better look at her before she dipped her head down, imaginary drum roll and all, before she lifted her head with her crossed-eyes pupils and her tongue sticking out. “Neeeeeeeeee!” 

Boo was hit with gut-wrenching laughter she couldn’t contain, tears leaking from the little girl’s eyes as the deadly combo of both Sora and Kairi sending her the silliest faces they could manifest was too much for her to handle. Before long, Sora and Kairi noticed the lights in the room beginning to flicker at a rapid rate. They ceased their onslaught of silly faces, but Boo didn’t stop laughing at the fresh memories. 

Pop! 

In an instant, the lights cut off and shards of glass from the broken lightbulb crashed onto the floor, thankfully out of reach to not hurt Boo but close enough to make Kairi let out a slight shriek. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

Sora nearly forgot that laughter was what fueled the city of Monstropolis. Having Boo laugh so much must have caused some sort of overload. He chuckled nervously. “I think we might have gone a bit too far.” 

Before Kairi could ask a question, they heard Mike Wazowksi’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. “See, Sull? What’d I tell ya? That generator was a piece of cake. Still, where’s the electrician when you need ‘em?” 

“You probably could’ve used the exercise yourself, Butterball,” Sulley replied as the two entered the office only to find that it was pitch black. 

“Uh, guys? You in here?” Mike asked. 

“Yeah, Mike,” Sora said, leading Kairi outside into the light of the hallway. 

“You guys playing hide and seek?” Sulley asked. 

Sora rubbed the back of his head. “I, uh... think you guys might need a new lightbulb.” 

“What the heck is that s’posed to mean?” Mike asked. “What in the world were you two doin’ to make Sull’s whole office pitch black?” 

“Making Boo laugh,” Sora admitted bashfully. 

“Yeah, like this!” Kairi said, offering a demonstration as she made a similar face from before. 

Sora, Mike, and Sulley reached out their hands dramatically. “Kairi, no!” all three said a variation of. 

But it was too late. Boo went into another burst of laughter and before they knew it, the hallway lights flickered and after another resounding pop, they stood in the midst of darkness. 

“Oops,” Kairi squeaked. “Sorry... I didn’t think her laughs were that powerful.” 

“But if the entire hallway blacked out, then does that mean...?” Sora prodded. 

Sulley sighed. “You guys think you might wanna take a trip down to the generator in the basement?” 

Mike nearly had a heart attack. “OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—”

Fin. 

------------------------

Definitely one of my sillier and lighter pieces for this week! Lol the adorable full piece will be posted by @amyhayanora​, so check her out! 

[girlmeetsliv3]

Head Over Heels

Killing Me Softly Sequel!

Yandere Hoseok x Reader ; BTS Member x Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,076

Release Date: December 5th, 2019 @ 12 am (GMT-4) 

Three years. It took three years for some semblance of normality to return to your life. It took three years for you to begin to see the world, not by it's bad but it's good. Three years and you were finally moving on. Three years wasn't enough to stop his obsession. After three years, he was tired of waiting - you would finally be his.

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, harassment, and child k*dnapping. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

 Hoseok's fingertips trailed soothingly across your bareback, as the two of you gazed into the cityscape visible through the large windows. The silk sheets that covered your naked bodies provided little warmth but eased your anxieties about what your body might look like. Hoseok turned his head toward you, but you chose to ignore it, focusing on staring outside. Things were calm and pleasant. A drastic change from a few hours ago, but you welcomed it. "Did I hurt you?" Hoseok whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. You shook your head and leaned further into his embrace. "It was perfect."

 Hoseok chuckled and moved you so your head would be tucked under his chin. "You were perfect, Y/n." You were grateful that he couldn't see your reddened cheeks or the grin that had quickly spread across your face, but you were sure he sensed them. In moments such as these that are so serene and full of joy, one can't help but think the happiest of thoughts. Ones that fill you up with joy, and this feeling of invincibility, they make you believe that anything is possible - that anything can be achieved. Those happy thoughts can cause great moments of joy, but they are not without consequence. Especially if one doesn't take into account the gravity of their words. It couldn't be helped that in a moment as beautiful as this, images slipped into your mind: images of Hoseok and you together forever as a large family in a tiny house. It was all supposed to be a harmless delusion - the fleeting dream that one might conjure up in a passionate moment with a lover. Even though you and Hoseok weren't lovers - technically.  

 Still, it didn't hurt to dream. "What are you thinking of, Jagi?" Hoseok asked his fingers on your back stilling. He was sure to have his eyebrow cocked in the way he did whenever he asked a question. "About us." Your tone was light, too caught up in your daydream to notice the change in Hoseok. "What about us?" His words were chosen carefully as if he were threading over thin ice. Even his breathing had shallowed, a sign of his nerves. Maybe you made a mistake that night, answering his question. Perhaps you should've changed the subject or pretended your thoughts laid elsewhere. You turned around to face Hoseok, noticing the slight frown in between his brows, and you softly smiled.

 "How I want us to be together forever. No matter what." You knew that statement could potentially scare him off, you had only known him for two months, but everything felt so right with Hoseok. It was a glimmer in his eye, and the way his hold on you tightened significantly that should have warned you that Hoseok had taken the words to heart. This wasn't a mindless pillow talk to him; it was a declaration. "I agree." Was all he said. You turned back around and lay your head on his chest, snuggling into him for some warmth. Your eyelids were beginning to become substantial, your eyes fluttering shut every so often until you finally succumbed and closed your eyes. Falling asleep to the rhythmic sound of Hoseok breathing.

 "I'll always be with you, Jagi. No matter what."

 You didn't hate your job, but it did want to make you tear the hair from your scalp several times a day - some days more than others. You had managed to work yourself up to a management position, which was supposed to mean fewer hours, but whenever someone in your office decided to be incompetent, you were left to deal with the consequences. Like today when Yeri had abruptly taken a day off right before the monthly evaluation meeting and forgot to send you the presentation and documents which you would have to present to the CEO. Usually, this wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't found out forty-five minutes before the meeting. Not to mention you were supposed to leave early today, Sun-Hi had a doctor's appointment, and you couldn't afford to be late. Thankfully the daycare you had placed her in was only a ten-minute drive from your workplace.

 The clock on your car's dashboard read ten twenty-seven am. With luck, you would be able to make it to the appointment by eleven. Maybe I’ll take Sun-Hi out to lunch? It was preferable to going home and attempting to cook dinner. The bright colors of the daycare stood in contrast to the copper and steels of Seoul's architecture, but it was a welcome change. You pulled into the parking lot of the building, quickly gathering your stuff before racing towards the entrance and front desk. It was a new receptionist this time, one you didn't recognize, but you hoped she wouldn't take too long. "Hello, what can I help you with?" She must've been around your age, but her sweet smile and bright eyes let you know that she still hadn't lost her naivety - lucky. "I'm here to pick up my daughter Sun-Hi, we have a doctor's appointment." The girl smiled, typing her name into the computer. After a couple seconds, the smile faded from her face and was replaced with a frown. "I'm sorry, but it says she's already been picked up," she further leaned into the computer, eyes skimming the text. "It says here she left early for an appointment...and her father picked her up.”

           "So, what do you think of it?" Hoseok had insisted on stopping by your cramped apartment during finals week. He had dragged you outside, insisting that if you didn't take a break from studying, your head might combust. You didn't exactly believe his words, no matter how much he swore they were real, but you did need a break. Plus, any excuse to spend time with Hoseok was a good one. He had practically kidnapped you, forcing you into his car and driving for almost an hour before showing you his "hideout." A quaint beach hidden between forestry and rocks. Where despite the gray morning sky, the sea and sand glimmered. "It's nice." You muttered, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. The air had gotten colder, the beginnings of winter making themselves evident. "I've always loved it here. Used to visit when I was younger to get away from it all." Hoseok rarely spoke about his past, even if the two of you were close. There was always a sort of barrier between the two of you. One that only seemed to weaken around his friends, or in moments such as these.

 Hoseok sat down on the large blanket he had brought, dusting off what little sand got onto it. He patted the empty space to his left, indicating he wanted you to sit with him. Once you did, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in a warm hug. "Are you cold?" He asked as he felt you shivering. "A bit." you chuckled before leaning further into him. The two of you remained silent for quite a while, basking in the refreshing scent and lulling sound of the waves crashing into the shore. You tilted your head up to look at him, mesmerized by how someone could be so beautiful and kind. Though the relationship between the two of you was a transactional one, it never felt like that. You felt like he loved you, even if he had never directly said the words. When the others gave you presents or attention, it felt like compensation, a 'thank you for your services' kind of thing. Whenever Hoseok did it if felt like it was a way for him to show his admiration towards you. Who knows? Maybe you were just a fool, falling for a rich man with sweet words.

 "You're staring." He smirked, not even bothering to look down at you. "I'm gazing." You retorted, smiling a bit. "It's creepy," Hoseok said, rolling his eyes. A small scoff left your lips, "It's romantic." One of his hands crept up your face, covering your eyes. Both of you burst into laughter as you tried to uncover your eyes when you finally did Hoseok pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. "No fair." You whined, lips pouting somewhat exaggeratedly. You pretended to try to escape Hoseok's hold, but his grip tightened, and he pulled you tautly against him. "Life isn't fair," Hoseok said as he pressed another kiss to your lips. "You're not getting away from me, darling. No matter what."

           “And you’ve had no contact with any of them since the trial, correct?” Officer Park asked, the two police officers standing in the middle of your living room. "No, I haven't! You know this. How many times am I going to have to say this?!" You were exasperated, the snot-filled tissues clenched in your hand, and reddened cheeks a clear sign of it. After causing quite a show at the daycare, you had called Investigator Lee only to be told that he was out of town. Park shot his partner a look before crouching down in front of you, the case you had been involved in was infamous: seven of Korea's most prominent businessmen and figureheads all involved in a kidnapping and love affair that looked like something straight out of a drama. Your name had been changed to ensure your security, but that didn't mean that judgment hadn't followed you everywhere you went. Even now, in your own home, you could see the way the officer's side-eyed you. "I understand why you're reacting like this, Miss, but rest assured we will do everything in our power to locate your daughter and ensure her wellbeing." Inspector Park stood above your hunched over the figure, while his partner stood in the corner with harsh judgment in his eyes. "For the time being, please refrain from speaking to anyone about this. We will try to interview the men and see if they know anything." Yeah, right, like you were going to listen to that.  

 Gangnam's correctional facility was on the outskirts of town, barely classifying as Seoul but housing enough prominent individuals to bear that name. You had been sitting outside in your car for over thirty-minutes debating whether or not to come in. Whether or not to see any of them again after everything that had happened. The desire to locate your daughter had outweighed any sense of fear or survival instinct that willed you to drive away and forget the men. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out and stared at the bleak concrete structure, it's red bricks standing out against the desolate surrounding area. You noticed that some guards were staring at you, so you began to walk towards the front, trying to ignore their peering eyes. The prison was a long stretch of red brick and concrete; it was perhaps three floors high, including the ground-floor. There were small windows all along the length of it, and it was quite a distance away. That was because there was a large front yard area for inmates almost enclosed with high fencing, the tops covered in barbed wire with signs along the lengths warning that the fencing was live and that touching it could result in electrocution and possible death. Between the yard and where you currently stood, there was another building, a smaller building. This one was ground-floor only, and it was the entrance to the prison.  

 Visitors would be checked and searched within that building. Two other buildings were flanking each side of the prison, one in which there was an infirmary and presumably solitary confinement of sorts. The other contained a large visitation room and other things that you had yet to see while inside. Lastly, in two of the corners around the prison, there were tall towers on which guards would stay and watch everything from above. There were massive alarm systems stuck to the sides, and you briefly wondered what the siren would sound like before you dragged your eyes away. It was an imposing building, that much was sure, and the cold waves coming off it seemed to permeate and chill you down to your very bones.

 "Who are you here to see?" The guard asked, his voice being slightly muted through the glass pane. You took a deep breath, "Jeon Jungkook." You handed over your id and emptied out your pockets before you were patted down. The walk through the aisle was uncomfortable, to say the least, inmates lined their cells peering down to catch a look. You couldn't help glancing up, trying to meet any of the six familiar pairs of eyes - not knowing whether to feel gratitude or regret when you were unsuccessful. The interview room was vacant, with only you in a room lined with glass, chairs, and black phones. You chose to sit in the third chair, deeming a reasonable distance, though what you measured you didn't know. It was a few minutes until the other room's door was open, Jungkook stepping forward while a guard lingered behind. His hands were handcuffed in front of him, and even though the white jumpsuit, you could see the way his muscles flexed. He had gotten more significant, if that were possible, not having much to do except workout after being locked up for so long. Jungkook seemed disinterested until he glanced up, and his eyes met yours.

 Jungkook began to laugh, a childlike glee filling his eyes; beneath that, however, you could see the swirl of wrath and regret. The guard uncuffed him and whispered something to him, possibly telling him to behave or the amount of time they had. Jungkook walked to the third chair and sat down, his eyes slowly trailed down your body. Now up close, his features had aged and hardened, but they remained with a youthful glow that sadly you had lost. Not wanting to waste any more time, you picked up the phone beside you holding it up to your ear. Jungkook smirked, leaning back in the chair as he continued to stare at you. Clearly, he had no intention of picking up the phone, at least not anytime soon. Even now, he still found ways to torment you. "Please." you mouthed, hand coming up to rest on the glass. It had been years, but people didn't change that much, and you knew that you still meant something to them. Jungkook played along, his palm coming up to meet yours. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you swore you felt some of his heat come through the thick bulletproof glass. Finally, he picked up the phone.

 “Long time no see, Y/n.” His lips curved slightly upward.

 “...Hi Jungkook.”

 "Aren't you going to ask how I've been?" Jungkook teased, leaning forward. When you refused to, he answered anyway. "I've been good, you know. I didn't think I would ever fit the prison life, but it isn't too bad - at least I don't have a long time left." Your eyes widened, shock evident in the way the phone between your hand trembled, "What? But I thought -" Jungkook chuckled, "Didn't they tell you about the appeals? All our sentences got decreased, not to mention all of us have been on our best behavior." He emphasized by making quotations with his fingers. You wouldn't believe the cruel hand fate had dealt you with as if once wasn't enough. You opened your mouth to speak, but you were unsure of what to say. What would work? What would make the men give up on you?

 “Jimin’s already out. I’m sure he’s planning on coming to visit you soon.”

 With those few words, Jungkook had robbed you of your breath. You had been so sure it was Hoseok, but if Jimin was out, that means he might know about Sun-Hi. If he knows that means… Your eyes trailed up to see Jungkook smiling sadistically, madness in his eyes. Maybe he didn't know. Perhaps he did. All that mattered to you now was finding your daughter. Along with making sure to protect her from her father, even if it cost you your life.  

 "Have you thought about what you want to do for the rest of your life?" You asked him as you turned around. A small giggle escaping your lips when you noticed that he had been staring at you this whole time. "I'm looking at her right now." Rolling your eyes, you playfully hit his shoulder. "I'm serious." Jimin pouted, "As am I." His arms wrapped around you and pull you towards him, the book on his chest long forgotten. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you." It was a cute thought, one that caused blood to rush towards your cheeks.

 "Why do you always say such corny things?" You accused him, as you hid your face in his neck. Jimin could only laugh, "Someone has to." Then he lowered himself until the two of you were at eye level on the soft carpet floor. Jimin's hands combed softly through your hair before cupping your face. There was a faint glow in his eyes, almost like golden flecks that danced in the light. Jimin looked like an angel that had fallen from heaven. Slowly you leaned in to brush your lips along his, but the sound of a phone ringing interrupted you. You had forgotten to turn off your phone.

 "What is that?" All the joy had disappeared from his voice. "How many times do I have to tell you to turn off your fucking phone?!" In the blink of an eye, Jimin had crossed the room to where your bag was. He took the leather bag in his hand, combing through it until he located the mobile device. "Jimin… I'm sorry. It's almost out of battery, so I thought it would die out." He wasn't listening, or he didn't care to. Jimin smiled, turning around to face you, the phone in his hand. "You know I've told you that I hate this phone. It's so old. How do you think it reflects on us if you're walking around with a dinosaur for a cellphone." When you didn't answer, it only made him more upset. Even if it was clear, his statement was rhetorical.  

 "Don't worry, I preordered the newest model. Think of it as a gift." The phone between Jimin's stiff fingers slipped - or that's what he claimed hours later once he had calmed down - to you, it looked more like he slammed the fragile device with all his force against his marble table. It didn't matter. No point in bringing it up, you had a new phone, and Jimin was happy. That's all that mattered.

 The ringing was what woke you up. It had already been over six hours, the news had yet to be dispatched, but so far the police had no luck in locating your daughter or a single trace of Jung Hoseok or Park Jimin. When the police visited the prison to interview the other five men, they'd been notified of your visit. To say they were displeased would be an understatement; the two officers insisted that your involvement would only slow down the process of the investigation. All you could think about was how audacious one must be to tell the mother of a lost child to "relax and destress."

 The phone on the nightstand next to you shined a bright blue. The caller identification stating 'foreign.' It couldn't be your family, investigator Park had warned that contacting your family might not be helpful as it could cause an intense commotion. They'd be the last person you would tell: your family had shut you out after what had happened three years ago. Not that you blamed them, no one wanted an 'escort' for a daughter. Hesitantly you answered the phone, placing it next to your ear.

 "Hi, mommy."

 You leaped off the bed, "Sun-Hi. Oh my god. Are you okay? Sweetheart, are you hurt?" Tears were spilling from your eyes as you rushed to the living room to find Investigator Park's number that was on the card they'd given you.

 "I'm fine, Mommy. Daddy says not to call the police."

 You froze. "Da-daddy? Is he there can I speak to Daddy?"

 There was slight static in the background, so you couldn't make out the voices. Only your daughter's soft tone when she returned, "No. Sorry." A dry sob escaped your throat, "Sun-Hi. Baby, please. Tell me where you are." Your daughter didn't respond; there was only more background noise until "I'm sorry, Mommy. I have to go." No. "No!" The call ended, and with it, you collapsed onto the floor. Your knees coming up to your chest as you rock yourself back and forth. Desperation began to fill you as a single thought settled back into your mind: it isn't over. Their game. It's just started.

 Sun-Hi played with the monster truck until she had just about crashed it into everything and quickly become bored. Then she decided to explore her room once again. Daddy had said that everything inside was either bought by him or her uncles. It was beautiful and distracted her for a bit, but she missed Mommy. She wanted her mommy. It was only after throwing a tantrum and screaming for a while, that Daddy finally let her talk to Mommy. Mommy sounded upset, but Daddy said that soon she would join them, and they would be happy together. All of them.

 "Sun-Hi." His voice called out, a sing-song tone to it. When he peered his head through the door, she burst out into giggles. "Oh, my baby. You're so adorable." He cried, running over to her and lifting her up into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, in awe of how he and you had ever managed to create such a beautiful creature. In the corner of the room, next to Sun-Hi's bed was a nightstand with a framed picture of him and you in it. Taken on that oh so fateful day. "Good news, sweetheart. Mommy's coming to meet us soon…" His voice trailed off as he looked deeply into his daughter's eyes. As he gazed into them, he saw your eyes staring back at him. The ones that used to gaze at him with so much love and fear. For a fraction of a second, he felt guilty at the damage he might be causing; how much pain he might be inflicting onto you, all because of some deep-rooted need. However, that sentiment didn't last very long.

 Sun-Hi was a reflection of the love he and you had, he would be damned if anything stopped him now after having waited such a long time. He would have you now. The world is damned.

 The last thing you knew you had passed out on the living room floor. After the call, you had suffered a panic attack that left you hyperventilating so much the lack of oxygen triggered a 'reset' switch to go off in your brain. Knocking you unconscious. Your mind likely needed such a thing after all the stress it had to undergo in twenty-four hours. The former, of which would look like a stroll to the park, considering what you had to face next. It wasn't until you tried to move and felt the tight cord digging into your flesh that you realized you were tied up. Looking around, you realized that you were still very much in your house - the bedroom, to be exact. Even it didn't paint a pretty picture that you were curled up with your wrists and ankles tied together. It left you in an uncomfortable position that at best only allowed you to roll over and off the bed, but didn't allow for much else. In the corner of the room, a shadow moved before it seemingly melted back into the wall. You weren't easily deceived.

 "Who's there?" You called out, knowing that the person wouldn't necessarily answer, but hoping to elicit some type of reaction. That way, you could narrow down who it could be - even if there really were only two contenders. "Who do you want it to be?" Spoke his angelic voice, before he stepped out into the moonlight - a maniacal grin on his face.

 "How I've missed you, darling."

[yeetingmyfeeling]

Express Part 1 (Brian)

I have a feeling this may get taken down, or something of the sort. I warn, this is very, very dark. So head my warning, if you are sensitive to triggering topics, do not read.

Such as: self harm, suicide, child abuse, paedophilia, eating disorders, transphobia, homophobia, abliest.

I let out a jagged breath, my shaking hands carting through my hair, gripping the ends. I swallowed heavily, forcing down a painful sob. Tears cascaded down my face, landing on my thighs with little splats. I sat on the edge of my bed, my toes gripping the carpet beneath my feet. I leaned over and grabbed my phone. One in the morning.

I wiped my arm over my eyes, sniffling loudly. I just needed to calm down, before my dad heard me and yelled at me. He looked around my dark room, finding a box of tissues, I started to wipe at my face. I found a water bottle and took a good few gulps of the cold liquid.

Eventually calming down, I now lay under the covers, having a gentle throbbing in my head and my body. At least I just cried this time. My phone vibrated with a message, so I quickly checked it.

Moo: Hey dude, you up? I really need someone to talk to.

I bit down on my lip, breathing through my nose. I was quick to respond, knowing my friend, my crush, was upset. Around four in the morning, he went to sleep. I stayed up, plagued by my thoughts. At seven, my alarm went off. I went to school, having no choice. Brock didn’t show up.

~~~~~

We were hanging out at Tyler’s house. It was a Saturday, and everyone happened to be free. So Tyler offered, and everyone came. We all squeezed into his living room somehow, and everyone was doing their own things. 

Evan, Jonathan, Tyler and David were all playing Mario Kart. Loud shouts and screaming was heard. They took up the couch, all of them leaning forward so they could see the screen better. Marcel and Scotty were sharing an armchair, Marcel half in Scotty’s lap. They were laughing at the four idiots. Antony was leaning over the couch, annoying the gamers. Brock was laughing, trying to get Anthony to stop.

I sat on the floor, almost in the corner. This always happened. I did try, I swear I did. I always tried at the start to join. I was loud, happy, smiling, making funny voices. Then Tyler called me annoying, and said I was too loud. David told me to shut up, saying I wasn’t funny.

No one else stood up for me, most even agreed. Even Brock said I was getting kind of annoying.

I looked at my friends around me, feeling pain build up in my chest and a burning in my throat. I stood up slowly and made my way out, knowing no one noticed. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor just trying to control my breathing and calm my mind.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

I stood up and made my way out, my chest getting tighter and tighter. I was right, no one noticed me leave. “I’m gonna go guys,” I spoke, just loud enough for them to hear over the yelling. The only response I got was a salute from Brock.

~~~~~

“Ashley!” My dad growled, making me look up in confusion. We were having a normal conversation, why is he suddenly angry?

“Can you do anything right Ashley?” Mum asked in a yell. I looked at her in confusion. “Don’t give me that fucking look!”

I went to say something, but was interrupted by mum again. “Are you talking to that boy again?”

“That boy…?” I asked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“That pedo,” Mum explained in a sigh. “Craig.”

I looked down at my lap, tears welling up in my eyes. I hate when they mention him. It was a mistake. I tightened my hands into fists, my bitten off nails digging into my palms. 

“Well!?” Mum yelled. I just shook my head. She stepped forward and gripped my shoulder, pushing me back and pinning me against the couch. My eyes widened in fear. “Answer me you fucking disgrace!”

I swallowed and shook my head quickly. I could feel the tears threatening to fall. “N-No mum!” I croaked out. “I don’t talk to him!”

“What about the others?” She asked, still gripping my shoulder. It was starting to hurt.

“No,” I said again, avoiding her eyes. She sighed and pushed away from me. She left the living room, going back to the kitchen to cook.

Dad stood up, coming over to me. He held out his hand. “Phone.”

“Wh-What?”

“Give me your phone, brat!” He yelled, making me flinch. “Then get your computer, and whatever other shit you have. Bring them to me or I’ll fucking break them, then you!”

~~~~~

I sat at the desk, we were in class. It was a test, as the school was going through test week. I sat, staring at my paper. My leg was bouncing, and my hand gripped the pen tightly. It was just a maths test, but my brain couldn’t work anything out.

When I stared at the paper, the words and the numbers would start blurring and mixing together. I had to blink to get everything to go back to their spots, but even then it didn’t make much sense. A headache was starting to build up, one that made my whole head hurt.

I nervously looked around the room, feeling like everyone was staring at me. No one was looking at me, everyone was focusing on their test. I looked over at the teacher just as he looked at me, making me look away quickly. 

I breathed out heavily as thoughts swam through my brain. I tried to focus on the words on the page. 

If Sally had five oranges, and Tim had seven…

Dumb. Stupid. Not good enough.

Find the value of X in…

Idiot. Retard. Brainless.

If you put these two numbers together…

Useless. Unneeded. Unlovable. 

Subtract twenty-six from…

Ugly. Fat. Whore.

It took Amanda eight minutes to get to the train station…

He never loved you. He was a liar. A pedophile. 

What is the formula for…

He is going to find you.

What do you get when you…

You are a monster.

I finished my test reasonably quickly, and before anyone else, like I usually do. I raised my hand, and the teacher came over. I gave him my finished paper then left to go to the bathroom. I needed to relax, calm down. To stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him.

~~~~~

I don’t remember what happened, and I don’t fully recall how I managed it. But here I was.

A sat on my bed, blankets and pillows strewn everywhere. The rest of my room was an even bigger mess. There was trash and dirty clothes laying everywhere. As well as empty, or even half full, cups, bowls and plates. Through the smell in my room, I knew I left something with milk in here. There were papers and school work thrown everywhere, as well as broken objects and cables. A few books lay scattered on the floor as well. 

I don’t remember much of the past three weeks. They were all such a blur. All I remember is the gentle hum of my brain working too quickly. All I know now, is I’m on my bed, only in my boxers, and my bodies a mess. 

I stood up shakily, my body nearly giving out. I grabbed my phone from it’s current spot on the floor. Four in the morning. I staggered over to my mirror, turning my lamp on along the way. I risked a glance at my body.

My face was pale, with undertones of red and yellow. My eyes bright red, and my cheeks shiny from my tears. I stared at my chest, feeling more tears well up. I averted my eyes to my arms. I had thin, red lines across my upper arms and wrists. Some deep, some shallow. Some red in agitation, some still bleeding. I had the words ‘shut up’ sharpied down my arms. My thighs were worse. There were more cuts, all of those deep, some still bleeding. Words were sharpied from my hips to my knees. Insults, comments, statements. 

I sniffled and looked for some sweatpants, only finding a dirty pair. I slipped those on, as well as a clean jumper I found. I climbed into bed and set my phone up to my speaker, playing some soft music. Rolling over. I slowly fell asleep. 

~~~~~

I stared down at my dinner, feeling my throat start to burn. It smelt so good, and it looked like it would taste amazing. Yet, just the taste of eating anything made me feel sick. I felt like the second I put a forkful in my mouth, I would instantly start throwing up.

I took a quick glance down at my body and cringed. My thighs were large, taking up so much space. My hips sticking out, and I could see my stomach over my pants. I looked up, seeing my mum look at me.

I swallowed down my insecurities and gave her a smile as I started eating. It was pasta, I love pasta. This tasted like ass, even though I know my mum is an amazing cook. I just couldn’t eat.

I ate half of my dish, soon getting full. My dad gave me an earful for not eating all my food. I put my plate out in the kitchen, then went straight to my room and to my bed.

No notifications. Sounds about right.

I roll over in my bed, staring at the wall. As always, my brain goes back to him. 

I wonder how he’s doing, is he alive? Does he still think about me? He moved on pretty quickly. He probably lied to that other guy, like he lied to me and everyone else.

I wonder if he ever did actually kill himself? 

I should. I should do it before he finds me, and does to me what he did to his cousin.

Craig made a promise. 

Even if he’s a liar, sometimes pathological liars tell the truth.

And a promise is a promise. 

[snikkerrs]

kokichi ouma, the so-called ultimate 'supreme leader,' was quite a strange boy. mischief would glitter in his eyes less than subtly. he constantly came up with not so friendly ideas, such as letting loose the bugs in gakuhara's room, causing his poor roommate to freak out more than they already did.

sometimes, these ideas were dangerous. like taking a trip to abandoned buildings at three in the morning, or using that expert level lying skill to get himself into places he shouldn't.

even so if they don't show it much, he knew his friends cared about him. the way gakuhara brought him food when he 'felt sick,' or how him and iruma would come up with world ending machinery.

they were in their first year of college, just having graduated high school, actually. a few of them went on to different colleges, some not at all. not that he cared much.

he still had a lot of his friends, even if some of them wouldn't call it 'friendship.' they dealt with him either way.

"shuuumaaii..!~" the violet haired boy called in a sing-song tone, earning a groan from the other side of the room.

"what is it, ouma?" the detective asked quietly. he was probably working on that same case he'd been on for a few days now.

"you've been on that for houurrss! take a break, mister detective!" he giggled, kicking his feet in the air from where he lay on his dorm room bed, "when was the last time you ate?"

sure, he seemed like a pretty carefree guy, but he knew saihara would go days without eating or resting now that he's gotten bigger cases.

"uhm.. i had a sandwich yesterday..?" he heard the uncertainty in his voice, as if he couldn't remember.

"shuichi saihara! you need to eat!" he jumped from his bed, rushing into the room where the blue-haired boy was. saihara appeared to be hunched over his computer, frantically typing away at the keys. in this light, shuichi looked ghostly. his skin was pale, only dotted by the occasional freckle or two. heavy eyebags pulled at his bottom lids, which twitched every now and then. his cheekbones were even more highlighted by the glow from the laptop, and if ouma was completely honest, it scared him.

"i'll.. get something later." he muttered, but was cut off as ouma grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of his chair.

"nope! you're coming with me to the cafeteria. wouldn't want my beloved shumai going hungry, now do we?"

as soon as ouma said the words 'my beloved,' saihara could feel his face light up with a blush that he tried- and failed- to hide behind his hat.

"aww!~ is shuichi's cute face getting all red when i call you that?" he asked innocently, but soon something sparked in his eyes that was quite the opposite, "what if i call you something.. different?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

a shiver ran down shuichi's spine, and he was sure his face went redder, "o-ouma! that's not-" he was cut off by a fit of giggles.

"wow, shumai! i didn't think *you* would think such dirty things! of course i meant calling you mine, silly!" he grinned, and the flustered detective could only let out a less than dignified whimper. thankfully, it was drowned out by the sound of the cafeteria as ouma pushed the doors open.

"now, let's get some food in you!" the purplette lightly jabbed at shuichi's arm and pulled him towards the line for all sorts of food. saihara simply sighed and followed him over, knowing there was no point trying to stop him.

"oh! it's saihara and ouma!" the two heard an upbeat voice from behind them. the blue haired boy looked over to see kaede sitting at a table with kaito, maki, and rantaro. he figured korekiyo and miu would be there soon.

"h-hi.." shuichi muttered, and ouma snickered. "don't distract him! he needs food." causing the detective to once again have a face full of red. but since ouma hat taken his hat, he just hid behind the plate he held. good thing they hadn't gotten food quite yet.

"oh! sorry!" she giggled and returned to the other students, "well, you two can join us here when you're done."

there was an obvious complaint from maki, and a laugh from kaito. knowing him, it probably wasn't even funny. and he was sure he'd heard rantaro say something along the lines of 'silence, simp,' which caused ouma to laugh as well.

after he'd managed to convince shuichi to get at least a bagel, they walked to the table with their friends.

"hey you two!" kaede greeted them and looked around expectantly.

"heya, sidekick!" kaito grinned, and maki looked up to them with a silent nod. go figure.

"hey." rantaro wasn't quite as energetic as the other two, but he still had a friendly smile on his face.

ouma would hear a surprised squeak from kaede as miu wrapped her arms around the pianist from behind, and he pretended to gag.

"oh shut the hell up, you bastard." she laughed, ouma knew she was joking, "you're just jealous."

ouma quirked an eyebrow and a sudden idea was brought into his mind. "jealous? why would i be jealous when i have my beloved shumai?" once again, the detective blushed. and even more so when kokichi wrapped his arms around him with a mischievous grin. it didn't take an idiot to know he was lying, but unfortunately, they were sitting at a table of idiots.

so of course, they got a few confused looks. "the hell ya say?" came from the one and only gorgeous girl genius.

"nee-heehee! am i joking? am i.. lying? it seems you'll never know.. a shame, really."

shuichi was not having the time of his life right now. he just slowly ate his food, head ducked down to at least hide the growing blush.

"hm.. and it seems your only one who can confirm or deny that statement is out of order." kokichi strung his own fingers together, hands clasped in front of his chest.

"i dunno what the hell your onto, but i doubt it's good."

after a few minutes of bewildered silence, korekiyo arrived and sat next to rantaro. they were awfully close, and he could tell by the scrunched up eyes of shinguji that he was smiling under that mask.

"cough- gay." ouma giggled, and miu stared at him

"sorry to break it to ya, but you're sitting at the table of the gays- kaito and maki excluded. we all know what those two do behind the scenes." she wiggled her eyebrows, and maki muttered a low, "do you want to die?" while kaito blushed furiously.

"hey, ya didn't deny it, didja?" miu pressed, leaning forward, and kaito had to literally grab maki to stop her from lunging at the inventor.

~~~~

as ouma and shuichi walked back to the dorm they shared, shuichi gave him a confused look. he cleared his throat.

"w-what did you mean.. back there?" he asked quietly, despite the more than empty hallway.

"you know what i meant, shuichi." kokichi grinned, and the boy in the hat quickly looked down, eyes wide.

"or do you? maybe you don't know how much i love you~" ouma continued the teasing, and he could tell shuichi's eyes snapped his direction. "just kidding!"

as much as he did like the boy, that might make him uncomfortable.. and that's the last thing ouma wants. either way, kokichi held the door open for him with a quiet, 'ladies first!' and followed him in.

the purplette sat on his own bed, swinging his feet off the edge with a childish giggle.

is shuichi *that* dense?

he looked up to saihara, who was going back to whatever detective work he got assigned this time.

will he ever know how much i care about him?

kokichi sighed, flopped backwards onto his bed, and closed his eyes.

maybe he never will. i can.. i can live with that.

berore he knew it, ouma was asleep.

after a bit, saihara crept from his room and saw kokichi, splayed sideways on his bed, and a smile tugged at his lips.

he gently lifted him up, as to not wake him, and lay the sleeping boy across his bed the right way, and pulled a blanket over him. shuichi would probably die if he was actually awake, but he still pushed a strand of hair off of the small boy's face to admire it for a moment, before heading to bed himself.

"goodnight, ouma."  he whispered.

"goodnight, shumai." he heard the response.

oh no-