#was startled and then kicked my keyboard off my desk

[yukipri]

He is here to cause Trouble

Cats tag: #YukiPriASLKittens

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Let It Snow

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: When the power goes out at the Facility, Pietro makes sure you’re keeping warm.

Note: Takes place in an “Everybody is alive and lives at the Avengers Facility” AU. Wanted to kick out one more Christmas/Winter imagine before getting into the New Year’s stuff.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.5k

Reader Is: Gender Neutral, an Avenger.

To be honest, you didn’t notice it at first, the slight chill in the air. You continued your work, typing away on the loud, typewriter-style keyboard on the fancy, expensive computer Bruce had built for you (with Tony’s money, of course).

And then it got…worse.

Your toes were numb and you were shivering, despite the long sleeves you were wearing.

You slid your feet into some slippers and walked out into the hallway, arms huddled around yourself as you wandered from your room, down the hall to where the thermostat was. You gave the up button a cursory press, waiting for the screen to blink to life and tell you what it was set to, but it didn’t.

Huh. Well, that was something, wasn’t it?

“(Y/N). Hello.” Vision materialized beside you, causing you to jolt in shock. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, Vision. Do you know what this is all about?” You asked, shivering and motioning to the busted thermostat.

“It appears the furnace is broken. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are attempting repairs now, but it may take quite some time.”

“Oh. Gotcha.” You nodded, “Thanks for the info.”

“Of course. I do recommend you bundle up. It seems your body temperature is steadily decreasing.”

“Will do.” You saluted and pivoted on your heel, just in time to catch a face full of Pietro as he sped down the hall, sliding to a stop.

You ever so gracefully fell on the floor, staring up at him, disgruntled. “Nice one, Sonic.”

He chuckled, offering a hand, but you got up on your own, dusting yourself off. “What is the problem?”

“Furnace is busted.” You explained, patting his arm as you began walking away.

Pietro started walking backwards, keeping pace with you. “Where are you going?”

“To get into something warmer. Might be a while.”

One of his eyebrows quirked up. “Well, you know, I’ve heard skin to skin contact is the fastest way to warm up, if you need some help with that. I do have ‘improved homeostasis,’ as Banner puts it.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You deadpanned, shutting your door in his face. You could feel him lingering there for a moment before running back down the hall to his room, you presumed. You chuckled and rolled your eyes. Pietro was a flirt. Always had been. But things like this never worked out with people like him. Not in your experience, at least.

You changed into a cozy, zip-up onesie, feeling a lot warmer than before, especially with the hood over your head. You got back to your tying for a while. A few hours at least…until the lights went out.

“Great!” You threw your hands up, rolling away from the desk in your dark room.

In a huff, you stood up and walked to your window. It was a blizzard out there, inches and inches of snow on the ground. There was a knock on the door and whirled around to answer it. Part of you expected it to be Pietro standing there, but instead, it was Steve with a flashlight.

“Oh, hey. Is this because of the blizzard?”

“No, Tony says he snipped the wrong wire.” Steve shook his head. “Or something. Might be a while before it gets fixed.”

It was already getting late, and you were planning on going to sleep soon, but now, you weren’t so sure you should if you didn’t want to wake up a popsicle. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

You said, turning back to grab your phone and your water bottle to refill it before you figured out exactly what it was you should do in the meantime.

***

About an hour later, Pietro found you on the couch in the living room, shivering and reading a book by the light of a tiny, battery powered reading light. You were bundled up and, due to the lack of windows, you were pretty sure it was the warmest room in the facility. But as the temperature continued to drop, it didn’t seem to matter where you were.

“(Y/N), what are you doing in here?” He said, concern etched deep into his accented words. You met his eyes, wrought with worry and only offered a shaking shrug.

“I don’t want to g-go to sleep until the h-heat comes back on.”

He shook his head, crossing the room slowly for once, taking his time with each step. He sat beside you, not even bundled up beyond a hoodie and some sweatpants. For the first time in your life, you envied his powers. Carefully, giving you every opportunity to shove him off of you, he gently lifted your blanket, guided your book to the coffee table, and crawled on top of you, settling his body atop yours and sandwiching you between himself and the couch. He pulled the blanket back on top of the both of you, adjusting his head into the crook of your neck.

You were stiff at first, but at his warmth, you all but melted, eyes closing in bliss, your arms relaxing around him as you chased that feeling. His warmth. His scent, that sharp, woodsy cologne he was so infatuated with.

“Is this alright?” He asked, voice low and raspy.

You nodded, relaxing further into his hold, letting him warm you up. You pulled him closer, relishing in the feeling of your shivers slowly stopping. “Pietro…”

“I won’t say anything. The others don’t have to know.” He assured you, meeting your eyes before settling down again.

“I’m not too worried about that.” You whispered, suddenly overcome by it all. His proximity, his voice, the way his body felt melded against yours. It was right, what they said. Fitting like puzzle pieces.

“You’re not?” He asked, mischief at the edge of his tone. “Who are you and what have you done with (Y/N)?”

You scoffed. “You know, contrary to popular belief, I don’t dislike you, Pietro.”

“I don’t dislike you either.” He replied with a chuckle. “Kind of the opposite, in fact.”

Your heart picked up a quicker rhythm, cheeks flushing. You were kind of thankful the two of you were cuddled up in the dark. You hoped nightvision wasn’t one of his secret powers, or you were sure you’d never see the end of it.

“Please say something.” He murmured at the silence.

“You…”

“I thought it was obvious.” He muttered, words quick, flat at the edges.

You let another moment pass, choosing your words.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”

You touched his face with a cold hand, guiding his chin so you could attempt to look him in the eyes in the silvery rays of light streaming in the window. “I like you, too.”

He grinned, breath catching in his throat. “You mean it?”

“I have for a while.” You confessed. “Since that first training session when you bulldozed me on the track.”

“I did not bulldoze you!”

“I don’t know, I felt pretty bulldozed, laying there, flat on my back, feet knocked out from under me.”

He chuckled. “I was trying to impress you.”

“Mission accomplished.” You laughed at the way frustration crept into his words. “I could never forget about it. My very first week on the team and already, someone was out to get me.”

“Oh my God.” He rolled his eyes, the words sounding unsure on his tongue. He shook his head, gaze softening as he reached up, a careful hand brushing the hair out of your face. “Are you warmer now, drága?”

“Much.” You nodded, brushing the tip of your nose against his. “I do have another idea for warming up, though…”

He smirked. “Such as?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Please do.”

You rolled your eyes, and looped an arm around his neck, tugging him down to you and crushing your lips to his. He hummed in agreement, calloused fingers hooking your jaw, keeping you close as his kissed you tenderly, passionately, lips soft and perfect and experienced. He was the perfect distraction from the freezing room around you.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud thrum and the power kicked back on, bathing the room in light. You squinted, the appliances in the kitchen all beeping as they came back to life.

Pietro shielded his eyes with a hand, still hovering over you. You stared up at him for a long, quiet moment, still not entirely sure it had happened until he dipped back down and pressed a long kiss to your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin.

“Now let’s get you to bed, hmm?” He asked, helping you off of the couch as the facility gradually warmed back up. The two of you walked down the hall together and you yawned.

“What were you two doing down there?” Bucky asked, standing in his doorway. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“I was just letting (Y/N) know the heat was back on.” Pietro shrugged. “I am the quickest, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Bucky nodded, suspicious, but backing away into his room anyway.

You got to your door and stopped in the doorway, turning to look at Pietro. His hand grabbed at your waist, tugging you in for a kiss that you gladly returned. When you parted, you watched him speed down the hall, hoping that when you woke, it wouldn’t all be some sweet, winter dream.

[meowmeowriley]

Bunny!Ghost anon, you know who you are. I'd like to once again address you because this is your. Fault. I've now discovered this will be a much longer fic than I'd initially anticipated. Because of that, have a little snippet of a scene that's been eating away at my head, but won't come till later in the fic. Just to tide y'all over till I can get you a proper first chapter. 😘🐇

*** Watership Down-Bad, scene ???***

Johnny was sitting at his desk when Simon entered the Sergeants's shared office, his back to the door. He didn't look up when Simon knocked on the doorframe.

"Unless someone's dead or dying, give me a minute." Johnny grumbled without stopping. He was typing like a mad man.

Simon considered his options for a moment. He could make himself known, Johnny would ask what's wrong, they'd talk, distracting Simon from his overactive mind. He could walk away, letting his maybe partner? the Sergeant finish his work.

The poor man looked exhausted though. And disgruntled. Truly, he looked how Simon felt. Fuck it. Simon shifted.

He hopped quietly up to Johnny's desk. Took half a second to evaluate his target and plan his trajectory. Then launched himself.

"Bloody christ!"

Simon landed on the desk, the keyboard went flying. It came unplugged from the monitor as it flew, then crashed into the ground loudly, keys detaching and scattering who knows where about the room. Simon huffed, settled his chin onto his dewlap, and stretched his legs out and behind himself. He closed his eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of a stunned Johnny, arms up from jumping and pushing his chair back from the desk when he'd been startled, mouth agape.

Silence.

"Ghost?" What a stupid question. Who else? Not like he could answer, though.

If anyone were to ever ask, Ghost hated being pet, being touched. Ghost had bitten his fair share of people for getting their grubby hands on his plush fur. But... Simon craved connection. He hadn't realized how desperate he was for affection until it had ben offered, and he'd lashed out, like always. Outside of his warren, he always lashed out. But Soap was a stubborn bastard. Going so far as to continuously reach out towards him, even though he always nipped. So he flopped. And if the self proclaimed 'rabbit expert' didn't see this as the tentative olive branch that it was, well then Ghost was fucked, and Simon would be alone forev-

Simon was suddenly being pulled off the desk. His eyes flew open of their own accord and he made to bite the arms that were intent on restraining him, legs kicking spastically in protest.

"Oh go ahead then ye bastard, ye've bit me before, and ye will again a thousand times." Johnny pulled him off the desk and situated him in his lap. Simon, the large bunny that he was, sprawled with his back legs in soaps lap, near the edge of the desk, and his head resting on Johnny's shoulder. One of Johnny's hands cupped his rump, supporting him, not restraining.

They held their positions for a moment, both waiting for the other to decide this wasn't what they actually wanted. Eventually, ever so slowly he could feel himself aging, Johnny brought a hand up to stroke down Simon's back. Then again. And again. He brought his hand higher, pushing Simon's ears back to his body, and breathed what could've been a slight laugh when they bounced back up.

"Suppose we'll talk later then, aye?" Did he expect a response? Surely not. He wouldn't be getting one anyway. "Hang on," Johnny instructed as he started to shift himself lower in his seat, most likely to be more comfortable. Unfortunately he jostled Simon, who was not pleased.  "Don't bite me just because you're a touch uncomf- ach! Ye fucker!" He chuckled as he scolded Simon, who had buried his face in the other man's shirt to bite at his peck.

Simon was now on his side, curled a little, head tucked under Johnny's chin. Being pet. It'd been so long since he'd willingly been pet. It was pleasant.

He lost track of time, only noting its passage when the petting stopped, and he mourned the absence of it. Johnny's hand stilled on his back. His world shook as the human beneath him began to snore. Simon settled in deeper, snuggled closer to the kindness he didn't feel he deserved, and allowed himself to purr. No one would know.

***

"The fuck is all this?" Gaz said aloud as he entered his shared office with Soap and found the remains of a keyboard scattered all over the floor. Had the man finally lost it?

Thump.

He looked around. Soap was asleep, head thrown back, drooling and snoring in his desk chair.

"Wha-"

Thump.

Curled up against Soap's chest, evidently kicking the desk, was the biggest fucking rabbit Kyle had ever seen in his life.

"Ghost?"

Thump!

Louder and more incessant this time. Didn't that mean he was angry? He looked pretty pissed. Maybe Gaz didn't actually need to file the report on the rookies breaking each others noses again. He threw up his hands in surrender, and left as quietly as he could.

[dks-smut]

Somebody… Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Kyungsoo x female reader

Rating: Mature, Explicit (Just fucking filthy)

Word Count: 6,500

Genre: Smut, Jealousy, Angst, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers.

Warnings: Teasing, name calling, degradation, edging, exhibitionism, orgasm denial. (No more spoilers! I’m depraved and embarrassed.)

——————————

His flight wasn’t due to land until close to 1:00am. You’re twiddling your thumbs behind your desk, killing time until you get to lay your eyes on his face. To feel his lips and glide your nails through his hair. Ahh, this was too much to think about. You cross your legs to relieve some tension, feeling dampness in your panties. You breathe quietly through your lips, hiding your arousal from coworkers. You look down at your keyboard, you’re sure your cheeks are rosy and hot.

You send a thirsty text to Kyungsoo, “My wetness has ruined so many pairs of underwear.” He sends a string of swears then, “Baby, my dick hurts. I’m going kiss and fuck your pussy until you come over and over. Until I say you’re done.” You touch your breast, typing, “Please. Use me. See you soon.” You hope your monitor hid you well enough. Finally, Friday night is here; nervous and horny.

/////

You’ve denied yourself since the promise with Kyungsoo, settling for the warm shower stream. It’s always just a tease like the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit when you sit down. Or the edge of the kitchen counter jutting into your pussy when you reach for a glass from a high shelf. Accidentally denying and teasing yourself in unexpected ways. Shaving your legs in the shower always causes you to drip profusely while one leg is propped up on the tub edge. Remembering him pushing you against these very same tiles, fucking your hot cunt and groaning loudly. Just taking what he needed, using you. These nasty memories cause your stomach to flip. You eek out a slight moan, the echo startling yourself.

You’re thinking of all the dirty things he’s going to do to you tonight. Denying you an orgasm or not letting you touch him. Calling you hot and upsetting names. Maybe you won’t let him penetrate you. Maybe just tease his tip. This should piss him off, enough for him to hurt you. Shit, you are cock drunk.

Being needy and denied makes you thoughtless. Just erotic scenarios repeating. The anticipation of knowing for the past week that you’re about to be dicked down by Kyungsoo causes your pussy to clench around nothing. Your clit has been engorged for a day which makes any sudden movement difficult. You decide on a green knee length cocktail dress, no panties and thigh high stockings. You’re meeting at his place again. He sends a text and a taxi appears in front of your apartment. This repeated and generous gesture makes you grin ear to ear.

/////

You love the smell of his apartment; it’s comforting. You open the door after knocking and hear his deep voice say, “Come in. Take off your shoes.” You’re not sure why he’s being terse. No hello or excitement in his voice. He didn’t greet you at the door, and above all else, no kiss. You had dreamt what it’d feel like to have his lips on yours again, and on your neck and nipples. You walk in and kick your heels off. It’s dark in his apartment save a table lamp. It’s illuminating an empty chair which is beside a sofa in the shadows. You see his knee hit the beam of light as he parts his legs wide and exhales.

You start to think he’s tired from flying and work so you ask, “Hey, are you okay? It’s dark. I can’t see you.” You start to shuffle in the dark towards the sofa. You’re quiet on the hardwood floor, your smooth stockings helping.

You hear him stir on the couch and say, “Yes. I’m fine.” You turn on another lamp, “Now, I can see you. I missed you!” As you’re running towards him to hug him, he puts his hand up, “No. Sit.” His hand moves to pat the seat next to him. Your eyes grow wide and you sit quietly with your head down. You feel like a little girl who did something wrong and now you’re being scolded. Your heart thumping out of your chest, “Is everything really okay? You don’t seem excited to see me.” He responds, never taking his eyes from yours, “I am. I’m afraid I’ll get carried away.”

“A simple hug and kiss won’t hurt you,” you offer.

“It will. I won’t be able to stop once I start kissing you.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a monster. It’s okay if you come fast. And I can help you get hard again.”

“I feel like a monster sometimes. Treating you like an object, no regard for your feelings and needs. It bears repeating, I’ve never been like this with anyone before. It’s a part I didn’t know I was hiding.”

You grab his shoulder and slide your other hand to his nape, getting closer. “Please take what you want. Do whatever you want to me.” Your deep gaze on his eyes drops to his lips, causing you to lick your own.

“I’ll make you beg,” he moans, pressing his bottom lip between his teeth, brushing his long bangs back, showing his forehead. “Are you sure?” He asks this as though you don’t understand what you’ve unleashed in him. He’s almost threatening you into making any other decision.

“Please just kiss me. I missed your lips,” you beg him, whining and scooting closer to him.

He’s wearing another one of his dark suits, paired with a white button up and tie. You pull him toward you by his necktie, your lips barely touching, hot breath breezing across each others’ faces. You grab the collar of his jacket, jerking him downwards to line his lips up better to yours. He cranes his neck back, still trying to resist his urges.

You drop your hands in your lap and look down, frustrated, “I get it. I know you missed me, but the way you’re acting makes me feel repulsive. Touch me. Kiss me. Please” The last few sentences come out in a high pitch whine. You sigh, looking down at your hands.

“Baby. I fucking want you so bad right now. I just don’t want to rush. Come here,” he grabs your waist to pull you toward him. He looks down at your form, “That dress is gorgeous on you. I’m sorry I haven’t changed out of my work clothes.” He’s rubbing his thumb across your hip, fingers smoothing over your waist. His lips part in awe, uncovering every curve of your figure, the low neckline giving way to the swell of your tits; your bra is just barely visible.

“Your suit is making me drip,” you grab his tie again and pull him even closer, interrupting him practically drooling over you. His eyes look up into your wanton gaze, eyelids heavy.

The kiss he plants on your lips is breathtaking. He literally stole the air from your lungs. His damp, thick, and soft lips engulf yours. His other hand grabs your jaw, caressing you with his fingertips. His light touches cause you to shiver and moan in his mouth.

Your tongues are enmeshed while he grabs onto your hip, being more forceful and needy. You place both hands on his face, falling into his lips completely. The fervor is palpable. You take heavy breaths, parting momentarily from him. You smash your lips back onto him, sucking his bottom lip with a nice wet sound emanating. Your parted lips kiss down his chin to his bobbing Adam's apple. Slowly moving until his shirt collar blocked your way. You whine and grab his tie, pulling it loose from the knot, and tossing it to the floor.

As you unbutton the first couple of buttons of his shirt, his palm reaches up to fondle your boob through your dress and bra. This causes you to stiffen and shiver, moaning out, “Baby, more.” He kisses you suddenly forcing his tongue into your hot mouth. You’re both panting and acting more and more desperate.

He takes control of you. Pinning your arms behind you, he picks up his tie, and starts winding it tightly around your wrists. “No touching,” he says as he finishes tying your hands up. “Not fair. I’ve been thinking about touching you for a week,” you moan out, thighs rubbing together. “You’ll be just fine. I’ll treat you with the utmost respect tonight,” his tone drops to a whisper, his deadly smirk making you freeze on the spot.

He notices you clenching your legs together. Another wicked idea forms as he presses you to sit back onto the sofa. Your chest arches forward and he begins to rub at your breasts. Your hips thrust up as he fondles you, getting more and more helpless. You emit quiet whimpers not resulting in anything coherent. You writhe back and forth, your hair obscuring your face. He delicately moves the meandering strands from your features, “So much better. I love seeing you like this. So needy.” His fingers fall behind your ear and land on your hair pooling at your shoulders. He yanks a handful back, causing your neck to jerk back. You’re staring at the ceiling now, shadows dancing. You moan out loud, the tension in your neck causing a guttural noise.

You’re still begging him, “Please,” as he loosened his grip on your hair. Your neck straightens when you focus on the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. They were the same as in his bedroom. At the angle the sofa sat, anyone across the way could see you. Only glowing TVs are noticeable through your watery eyes. He places his hand on your thigh, “Please what? Tell me,” fingers ghosting over your black stocking.

“Give it to me,” you beg. His hand sneaks under your dress, sliding up slowly. He stops where your stocking ends, he can feel the hem is satiny and taught around your upper thigh. He groans and bites his bottom lip, “Give you what?” You squirm around, your feet hitting the floor causing thuds to rise over your heavy breaths. His hand goes higher and stops when he feels that you're not wearing panties. He twists his left palm to stroke his middle finger up your little slit.

He pushes his head into the crook of your neck, “Is this what you want? I bet it’s something that a certain asshole from your work could never give you.” You yelp out small whines, mostly from the pleasure he’s barely giving you. Some of it due to shock at his dirty statement. “Uhhh, what?” You are hardly able to articulate yourself, his finger still teasing your shaking lips.

He lets out a strong laugh, “Aw you’re so cute like this. You can’t even speak coherently.” His middle finger pushes through your puffy lips, feeling your slick drip down. Your throbbing clit aches for his touch. You beg again, “Pl—, -ease… I—I want you. That guy is nobody.” His tongue dips behind your ear, “Not as much as I want you.” He chuckles, “And you really have no idea how that picture of him touching you affected me. Still affects me,” he ends by moving in close, staring at you like he wanted to hit you and fuck you at the same time.

“I swear, I’m yours only,” you beg as he presses his finger onto your clit. “I’m going to punish you and you’ll be begging me to stop,” he says as his lips peck your cheek. You’re both still fully dressed with his tie around your wrists. Your pussy is dripping onto his knuckles as he’s massaging your labia. He then lands on your clit to only lift his hand to slap it. Your hips jut forward and you moan out, “Holy fuck, yes! More!” He touches his fingertip to your entrance making you shake and your toes curl. The looks and sounds you create make him emit a low growl, “Not yet,” he continues circling your clit with even more pressure. He knows you’re close when he feels your clit flex repeatedly. “Please, I’m so close,” you yell out, opening your eyes to meet his lustful stare.

His hair falls into his eyes due to his hand’s rapid movement on your clit. He uses his right hand to brush it back off his forehead. This beautiful sight had you getting even closer to snapping. You’re still wriggling and whining, repeating Kyungsoo’s name over and over with each exhale. Just as you’re finally about to come, stomach tightening, calves flexing, he takes his hand out from under your dress.

“Fuuuckk. Please baby. Please,” you beg, pulling at the tie around your wrists. “No. I have to punish you for what you did. Letting another man put his hands on you,” he says, standing up from the couch. He looks down where you sit, your knees together, legs swaying. You look up at him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “I’m sorry. You should have been there with me. I could have sucked your dick in the bathroom,” you smirk. Then in a moment you whine again, “Baby I was just about to come, touch me, please!”

“You’re being dirty. I want you to remember that you belong to me. I get to control when you come,” he lowers his scowl as you sulk on the sofa. Feeling frustrated you blurt out, “I didn’t do anything with him. I kept pushing him away. Can’t you let this go?” He adjusts his posture and takes his jacket off. He begins to fold his sleeves up to the elbow and chortles, “Did you wear panties under your skirt that night? Or were you looking to get drunk and fucked?”

“Do you think I’m that much of a slut? You’re starting to hurt my feelings,” you protest. He starts to unzip his slacks, freeing his hard dick and says, “You didn’t answer my question, darling.” As you’re staring at his veiny dick you quietly respond, “I did wear some, please. I went out to have some fun, but not get fucked. I was too busy dreaming about making you come. I missed you and only thought of you. I swear.”

After you’ve said your piece, Kyungsoo walks toward you, holding his hot and erect dick. He doesn’t say a word, just locking eyes with you. He places his other hand on the back of your head. He taps his tip to your lips, then rubs it around while moaning. Without a second of hesitation, his hips move back and he thrusts his cock in your mouth. “Shiiit. I missed your mouth on my dick,” his throat rattling while clenching his eyes shut. You hum in response which causes him to jolt. He’s motionless, letting you decide the speed and depth. He’s watching you with adoration at how noisily and sloppy you suck on him. “Your mouth is perfect,” he grunts, then adds, “Your pussy is even better,” now smirking.

His deep brown eyes open again to see drool running down your mouth. He puts more pressure on the back of your head which startles you. He forces almost his whole dick in your mouth at once. You can tell he’s getting more desperate to come. You begin to gag as tears fall down your cheeks. He’s at full throttle thrusting his dick into your mouth, making deep grunting sounds. His dick hits the back of your throat which causes you to whine. Still fucking viciously he asks, “You can take it, right? A filthy slut like you should be able to. Show my neighbors how well you suck my cock.” This causes you to panic, forgetting the curtainless windows. Your eyes move toward the windows, trying to see if anyone is watching. Just then, his dick begins to twitch and throb at the shaft, you know he’s close to coming. His cock is getting thicker and makes your jaw sore and tight as you’re barely able to breathe.

“Oh that’s right. You can’t answer. Your mouth is too full,” he winces and grunts, panting loudly. As you feel him about to come, he lets out the sexiest and deepest moan and suddenly, moves his hips back and pulls his cock from your mouth. Strings of saliva connect from your mouth to his shaft. You’re both trying to catch your breath. Kyungsoo looks even more angry than earlier. “Baby, I wanted to taste your come,” you look up at him with an innocent stare. “I’m not coming until I make you come first, which may be awhile. I wanna play with you and deny you until you beg me over and over,” he says as he moves strands of hair from your face. Your pussy aches at his dirty words, now dripping onto his sofa.

“Let’s see how wet you got,” he says with his hard dick still protruding from the opening in his pants. He takes another step toward you and leans over you. His hand goes to your knees and opens them forcefully. Still struggling against your restraints, he pushes you, straightening you against the backrest of the couch. Your legs open even more, your feet no longer able to touch the floor. “Please untie me. I wanna touch you,” you mumble out, still writhing.

Not answering, Kyungsoo reaches his hand back under your dress, touching your labia softly. “I see gagging on my dick made you drip even more,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. “Or was it the fact that someone was watching us? You like being treated like a little slut, don’t you?” Forming a coherent sentence isn’t working, so you just look up at him and nod frantically. He’s now barely touching your engorged clit, sliding up and down. Each time he puts a bit of pressure on your entrance, you instinctively close your legs. “Open. You like when I tease your pussy?” he asks while lowering himself, kneeling on the floor in front of you. All you can do is arch your back and nod.

You’re now deeply gazing into each other’s eyes while Kyungsoo massages your needy pussy. Your dress is still covering you which makes your insides flip. This reminds you of the first time you met him. He ghosted his fingers up your skirt at a bar, a total stranger. You blurt out, “Everytime. Especially when you fondled me at the bar.” He raises one eyebrow at you and says, “Oh, so you like it when people watch? The bartender definitely noticed.” He continues his ministrations on your vulva and adds, “Fuck baby, you are drenched.”

Your gaze goes down to his still rock hard dick. You want to touch it, you want it inside you. He sees the way you’re looking at him and where you’re looking but doesn’t let up on your pussy. He starts stroking his dick with one hand and circles your clit with the other. You’re both panting and moaning. You start to whimper louder at him while watching his veiny forearm moving under your dress.

You see a flash of light in your periphery, causing your head to turn toward the windows. Your blurry vision is making it difficult to discern shapes and forms. Maybe someone was watching you. Maybe they took a picture. These thoughts cause you to gush even more resulting in Kyungsoo saying, “Eyes on me baby. You checking to see if anyone is looking?” The speed of his fingers on your clit makes you throw your head back. Now you’re moaning and moving your hips up and down, wanting to make his fingers go faster. You take deep breaths and look into his dark wanton eyes, “Yes, baby. I want them to see how you make me come. See how wet I am for you. I’m so close.”

Your movements are more rapid and desperate, matching the rhythm of his hand. He’s still death gripping his cock, you’re convinced he’s going to come all over you and your pretty dress. Your yelps get louder and louder, “Kyungsoo! Pll-leeease. Let me come on your hand!” Just as you lift your weight from the couch, about to snap, he stops again. “Fuuuck! You can’t,” you yell out to him. He just grins and places a hard slap on your clit, causing you to jerk and yowl. More tears come streaming down your face as he takes his hand away from your clenching pussy yet again.

He stands up, towering over you, and starts to jerk off. He seems to be getting more aroused after denying and edging you for the second time. “I can. And I did,” he says in a flat tone. He strokes himself quicker until he can’t edge himself any longer. “Shit. I almost came,” he says as he tries to place his raging dick back inside the opening in his pants. You’re in shock right now. The way he’s speaking to you, treating you, making sure his neighbors watch, making you so dripping wet and not letting you come.

Once he’s done zipping himself up, he comes closer to you. He closes your legs and has you sit forward on the couch. He begins untying your wrists very slowly, with purpose. You are finally able to place your hands in front of you, your shoulders aching. He soothes over your wrists now bearing red marks where you were rubbed raw in all your writhing and grinding. He softly fixes your hair so it’s not in your eyes and wipes away your tear stained cheeks. “It’s okay now baby. I think you learned a lesson. And I learned that you like to be watched and degraded,” he says and then places a hot kiss on your lips. As your tongues meet, he can taste himself and starts to moan.

He sits next to you on the couch after breaking away and says, “Your mouth tastes like my dick. That’s so fucking hot.” You finally reach out for him, placing your hands anywhere and everywhere. His face, his chest, his dick straining in his pants, and then embrace him in a comforting hug. As your head rests on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly you say, “You have corrupted me. I was never this slutty before. You like teaching innocent women to be whores?” He removes you from your embrace gazing into your eyes, “I didn’t realize you were so innocent. But I still have some things to teach you.” You begin kissing him again, his soft plump lips are irresistible.

“Please make me come. I need you,” you start to whimper while climbing onto his lap, locking lips again. His bulge is pressing into your bare cunt. He can feel your wetness soaking into his pants. He touches your thighs while sloppily making out, loving the feeling of your nylons. He grabs on your thighs harder and stands up. You lock your legs around his waist and whimper with surprise. You stop kissing him to see where he is taking you. You ask, “Where are we going?” He continues walking and with each sway his bulge knocks your pussy, causing small moans to emit from your throat.

He reaches his bedroom and walks towards the bed, tossing you on it. You drop down flat on your back and move your legs up and open them wide. It’s only for a second, then you place the fabric of your dress in between your legs, hiding your dripping and drooling pussy from him. He notices this and snickers, “Not uh baby. Don’t hide, I know what you want. Don’t be shy now.”

He’s removing his button up shirt in the slowest, most painstaking way imaginable, just standing staring at you. You reach your arms out without saying anything, just whining and rocking your hips up and down. “Just a minute. You’re so impatient,” he says with a slight annoyance in his tone. “You teased me for so long and didn’t let me come! Of course I’m impatient!” you quip, not able to wait any longer.

You get up from the bed and start rushing to help him remove his pants and underwear. Once he realizes, he holds your wrists shaking his head, “No baby, let me. No touching or I’ll have to tie you up again.” Heeding his command, you look down and return to his bed. “Don’t sulk now,” he says, throwing his shirt to the floor. God, his fucking body was perfect. His skin, a nice tan, glistens with beads of sweat. You want to put your mouth all over him, your hands lightly scratching his ribs to see his reaction. You just sit there and sigh while watching him ever so slowly undress. Once his pants pool around his ankles, your eyes brighten, knowing you’re about to witness his hot throbbing cock.

Once his cock is free, you can’t help but stare, not caring if he notices. You start massaging your breast while ogling his body. He smiles and gives you a sweet but passionate kiss. You wrap your hands and legs around his waist while he’s still standing over you. He starts to unzip your dress, lowering it over your chest, exposing your lacy black bra. He moves a strap down your shoulder, finally revealing your breast. He immediately starts to grab at it and pulls your nipple, still placing smothering kisses to your lips.

He grabs your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. He moans aloud seeing the sight of your bare and dripping pussy. He frees your arms from your dress and bra, sliding it down to your waist. He then flips the bottom of your dress up bunching in a band with the top. He’s obviously too worked up to properly undress you. He strokes his dick and places the tip over your slit, collecting your slick. He places light smacks to your pussy with his heavy twitching cock. You’re moaning and writhing, “Baby, please give it to me. I need your cock.”

He places his bulbous tip to your tight opening, “I got you, it’s okay.” He slowly works the tip in your pussy, feeling your wetness cover you, glistening. He’s teasing you over and over with his tip only, barely thrusting. You try to buck your hips to bury more of his dick into you. His hands come to both hips and hold you tightly to the bed, unable to move. Keeping you still, he buries more inches into your clenching cunt. You moan uncontrollably, head thrown back, “Ow baby! It’s too much!” He grunts and halts his movements, “You’re dripping wet. You can handle it.”

He fucks more of thick cock into you, each time you whine and try to pull yourself away from him. His grip on you prevents you from moving at all. He comes down to your face, placing his mouth to your ear whispering, “You’re not going anywhere. You can take it.” Your arms start pushing at his chest, then hitting his thighs. No matter how you struggle, he thrusts more of himself into you. He’s unable to bury himself completely, you’re not open enough, still tense and frightened. In the struggling and writhing, you fuck your pussy on to him not meaning to, causing a loud grunt.

He releases your hips and holds your knees wide. You moan and more tears stain your red cheeks. “You’re too big,” you yell out and his hips still, dick throbbing in your pussy. He gives you a devilish grin and starts moving his hips slowly back and forth, stretching you out and says, “Shit, your pussy is clenching so hard. You took it before.”

You whine and start humping to meet his thrusts. Since he’s holding your legs open, you start caressing your clit. “I’m gonna come on your dick!” You yell out and start moving faster. He takes the hint and rails into you. He looks at you, his bangs obscuring his eyes and thick eyebrows, unable to read his expression in the dim light of his bedroom. He looks down at your tight pussy lips wrapping around his cock, sucking and throbbing around him. He can notice his dick is covered by your white slick, ending in a ring, showing him how deep you can take him.

While he’s hypnotized by your pussy being stretched, his face shifts lower, his features disappearing altogether. He thrusts even deeper into you, giving you slower strokes. This becomes too much, you can feel every vein and twitch in his cock, filling you tighter, stretching you more. Your head flies back and your arms stretch out to touch his chest, “I’m coming!” He holds your legs back and tries not to come, affected by your thrashing limbs and constricting pussy. Your eyes shut tight, seeing kaleidoscope-like patterns behind your lids.

While shivering and moaning from your orgasm, Kyungsoo never lets up, still thrusting into you. Your pussy flexing on his dick takes him over the edge, he groans slack-jawed and pulls himself from your pussy. He unloads on your mound and pussy lips, some landing on your stomach and dress, as he grunts and strokes more come onto you.

You’re still shaking from coming and then feeling him come onto you just made it last longer. Without a lull, he fucks his come-covered cock back into you. Your eyes open wide, focusing on his face. His pupils are blown wide, a primal need. The noises you both emit are so fucking hot and needy. He really starts to pound into you, neither of you are able to recover from your orgasms.

After so much buildup, he can’t stop, he needs to feel you around him so badly. “Fucking god, baby. I can’t stop. I need your pussy always. You feel so good around my dick,” he says with heavy eyelids, grunting each time he penetrates you.

“Give it to me now. I want more,” you whimper as he pumps into you even faster. He places his hands on your shoulders, rocking you down into his cock. You hold your legs back and crane your neck down to take a glance at his dick. It’s sticky with each other’s come, creating wet, sloppy noises.

He’s fucking into you and pressing you down onto him, meeting in the middle, using you like an object. His head tilts back with a look of ecstasy, moaning deeply, “You’re going to make me come again.” He thrusts more and more until his hips go farther back, making his dick fall from your pussy. He whines out and humps his cock over your slit, coming all over you again.

When the come hits your chest, spurting a greater distance, you start to writhe and then giggle. You’re in disbelief at how much there is and how quickly he came again. “Holy fuck baby. You’re unbelievable. Missed me huh?” you ask while batting your eyelashes at him. He’s trying to catch his breath and holds onto his dick, slapping and smearing his come around your pussy lips.

Your body jerks and your eyes flinch at the feeling. You moan and smile up at him. He meets your stare, his eyes are dark and dreamy. He places his tip near your entrance and starts rubbing it in circles, trying to fuck you again. You jerk again due to oversensitivity, whining out. “It’s okay. I denied you, now I will overstimulate you,” he whispers into the silent room.

He thrusts into you without warning causing you to yell out. Your cunt is still dripping and wrapping tight around him. “How are you still so tight? Sluts aren’t supposed to be,” he says while fucking into you with desperate strokes. Your pussy clenches at the words that just fell from his amazingly plump lips. He is so sexy and mysterious, especially in the low light. Your inner slutty thoughts invade; you hope you are being watched. It’s like he’s a stranger that broke in and decided to have his way with you. He’s not speaking much but when he does he’s either praising or degrading you. There’s no inbetween.

Your legs go up onto his shoulders, his dick pressing into new places within your cunt. He’s massaging your breasts, pulling at your nipples, still fucking you as hard as he can. Moaning out louder, yet deeper, “I’m going to come inside your pussy, it’s just too pretty.” You yelp and start twitching, arriving at the end before you snap. Your grunts turn into yells, feeling his cock driving all the way in and stills. You’re coming all over him again, gyrating your hips, making your pussy fuck onto him. His dick throbs again, causing him to get thicker, and squirts his come into you. He’s so deep inside and moaning and delicately fondling your tits. He moves his body lower, feeling his lips yours, just breathing heavily into each other.

You can feel his dick release more come into you, each time you both moan out in harmony. “I love feeling you come deep inside me,” you mumble before pressing your lips to his. His lips move harder and quicker once they meet yours, desperate to feel you moan into his mouth. He’s propped up on his elbow above you, just kissing you passionately, still hard inside you. He starts to lightly thrust his come into your pussy. You gasp out and hear how your pussy squelches around his dick. You can feel so much wetness and come squish around your thighs and in between your chests.

You have been completely fucked dumb and used. He has come on you twice and in your pussy once. Now he’s fucking his load deeper inside, while making out with you and using his come as lube. It’s not as if you haven't had a fountain between your legs since walking through his door. “All of this come for me?” you ask him and wiggle your hips, causing his dick to grow in your pussy. “You’re just cock hungry aren’t you? At first you couldn’t take it, now you can’t get enough,” he says, still barely moving his hips.

He straightens back up, standing above you, rubbing his hands up and down your soft legs. He flips you over onto your stomach. He gropes your pussy and smacks your ass with his wet fingers. You moan out, “Fuck.” You clench your thighs tighter and start whining, hips moving in circles. He’s slapping each cheek harder causing you to yelp. Your ass stings and burns as you’re gradually moving up toward the pillows, away from his angry palm.

You feel his weight sink onto the bed and slowly straddle your legs, his dick snapping against your ass. He pries your cheeks apart to see his come oozing from your used hole. “You said you needed to come. I’m just helping,” he says while pressing his thumb on his tip forcing it into your pussy. His tip pops inside and you release a guttural yell. He’s fucking you into the mattress which is helping his thrusts bounce back.

With your legs together, you can feel every part of his throbbing cock rubbing and stretching you. He’s huffing and puffing with each stroke, his hair damp falling into his face. You’re tugging and punching the pillows above your head as you try to lift your hips from the bed. His weight keeps you still and he begins to pump faster and faster. You start to shiver and your toes curl. He recognizes this as a sign that you’re close, always quietly observant.

His pupils are blown out as he moans and ruts into your clenching pussy. With his new pattern of strokes, hitting a new spot inside you, you yelp, “-Soo… I’m coming again, oh god!” He doesn’t slow down through your orgasm. You keep whispering his name and expletives as you’re still convulsing and whining. His cock pummels faster than ever. He grabs onto your hair and pulls down, causing your back to arch. “Shit baby, keep coming on my dick,” he says as he’s now about to come for the fourth time tonight.

The feeling of being filled up by him again makes your orgasm never end. You feel waves washing over you with each spurt of his cum. Your pussy is still contracting, milking him until empty. He grunts each time he spills into your tight pussy then moans out a loud exhale, this repeated over and over. Your clit is flexing as he’s still fucking into you. He wants to fuck all of his come deep inside, none of it wasted. His hips halt, but his dick penetrates you.

He lets go of your hair, allowing your chest to fall to the bed. You huff out and your pussy throbs, causing him to grunt. He gives you a few more little pumps. You both whine when he pulls his come-covered dick from your used pussy. His come begins dripping from your hole. He stares in awe as it leaks out, your pussy flexing each time. His fingers slide over your slit and he gathers some come. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, he puts his fingers in his mouth, moaning while sucking them dry. This is honestly the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and the dirtiest thing you’ve seen Kyungsoo do.

He smacks your ass causing you to whimper at the stings. He moves to lay next to you. You turn on your back, matching him, and place your head on his chest. He rubs his hand over your ribs and stomach, making you shiver. His open palm covers the expanse of your torso. His fingertips hit below your tits and his wrist below your navel. You feel so small next to him.

“Shit, baby. I’ve never come that many times in a row. You have the best pussy,” he whispers, kissing your head. “I was saving it all up for you,” he adds. You lovingly look up at him, blushing at his compliment. “I love that you treat me sweetly outside the bedroom and a whore inside it,” you smirk and rub your thumb on his bottom lip. Your hips move forward, touching his body and kissing him with fervor. Between breaths from kissing you can hear Kyungsoo say ‘baby’ and sexily sigh.

You’re still slick as Kyungsoo turns on his side facing you. You instinctively place your leg over him, your calf resting on his hip. You start rutting forward, your pussy lips hardly making contact with his hard, glistening cock. You moan, “I need more of you.” He smirks, thrusting toward you, “You can come on my dick again. Give me your pretty little pussy.”

——————————

I know it ends too abruptly. Kinda blanking on what’s next. Any suggestions for further arcs? Where should it go next? Should I end it? Make a new fic?

[chaotic-on-main]

Summer Event! 💕

Matcha Green Tea Ice Cream,

Kitchen Sink option but make it a surprise!

Thank you for being so understanding & sweet, I get really anxious if you can't tell haha. You're a dear💕✨

Order up!! One matcha green tea cone with everything but the kitchen sink for Eri!!

Sky's Summer and 250 Follower Event!

☾ Pairings ➼ janitor!Levi Ackerman x fem!people-pleaser!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ modernAU, meet-cute(kinda?), familial trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, accidental therapy (for me), corporate ick

☾ Author's Note ➼ Hi Eri!! Thank you so much for sending this request in. I was a little worried with the whole "make it a surprise" because I struggle with lack of structure BUT I'm so proud of how this came out. I couldn't stop writing, as you can see. This might be a little self-indulgent and I hope I got the emotions right since I struggle with them. I just want Levi to call me out on my shit, okay?? Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! love you k bye *smooches*

☾ Word Count ➼ ~7.6k (oops)

“Hi, you’re the new hire right? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Carol from a few rows down. Listen, I hate to do this to you since you’re so new but you’re the only one I can ask. Would you be able to do the data entry on the Sina job? I can’t stay past closing tonight due to my set plans and unfortunately it’s due tomorrow morning. Could you help me out? I’ll pay you back!”

The voice of your overly excited brunette coworker reverberates through your skull as you type away at your desk, the bright light of your monitor biting at your eyes just like the migraine you feel in the back of your head. You had a feeling that this is not the first time the people in the office have picked on the newcomers, and you bet it wouldn’t be the last. You chalk it up the fact that you were still in the office past seven in the evening doing someone else’s work because they dropped the stack of papers on your desk before you could say anything back, but you knew better. Damn your pathological people pleasing tendencies.

Your chair squeaks as you lean back in it, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you sigh heavily. It’s a handful of days into your first week and you’re already daydreaming about your next vacation. An office job was not your first go to, but as all struggling artists do, you needed this job to supplement your income until your art took off – if that ever happened.

Thoughts of how much longer you’d have to be here swirl through your mind when you’re interrupted by a loud thunk a few cubicles down. It startles you so much that you jump up as your eyes shoot open, hand over your heart in an attempt to calm it. You weren’t aware of anyone else in the building so you can’t help but think there might be a mass murderer just feet away from you. Steeling your resolve, you push yourself up from your chair and carefully peek over the half wall to see what had made that noise.

At first you don’t see anything as your eyes adjust from seeing nothing to the semi-lit office floor from the setting sun and dimmed overheads. Down the row, you see the back of a man in what you assume to be a gray janitor’s suit. An undercut peeks between short raven locks, neck lines sharp giving away to a clean cut. It doesn’t seem like he notices you’re there as his attention is focused on the waste basket in front of him.

You sit back down slowly, heaving a heavy sigh from relief that it was indeed not a mass murderer – well, that you know of. He didn’t seem threatening from far away at least. Your hands hover on the keyboard as you do your best to blink away the tired. Only a few more pages now, you reassure yourself.

An hour later, miraculously you find yourself down to the last page. The miscellaneous words and numbers swim off the page as you force yourself to focus. With the promise of a late night treat, you finally make it down to the last line. Just as you’re about to hit ‘enter’, something kicks the back of your chair causing you to yelp loudly and slam down on the keys harder than you meant.

“What are you still doing here?” A deep voice grumbles from behind you, making your ears twitch at the sudden volume difference. You twist around in your chair to see who the voice belongs to and you’re surprised to see it coming from the janitor you saw earlier. What’s even more surprising is how young he looks, and handsome to boot - despite the look he’s giving you. Stark gray-blue lidded eyes stare down at you as he scowls, eyebrows pinched together. He doesn’t look pleased.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m working on some…” Your voice falters when his expression turns into annoyance.

“You’re in my way.” He simply states as he leans against a vacuum you only now notice sitting under his arm. Was your focus so strong that you completely missed the sounds of him cleaning around you?

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me get out of your way then.” You say timidly, pushing yourself out of the chair. You’re face to face with him at standing height, even in your work heels. This was a very intimidating man despite his short stature.

“I’m not going to clean with you breathing down my neck.” He grumbles, eyes narrowing at you like you asked him the most offensive question known to man. Your lips part as you struggle to find your words, but nothing comes out as you find yourself low-key panicking.

“I c-can just-”

“Just finish what you’re working on, I’ll just come back.” He rolls his eyes before walking away, leaving you and the vacuum illuminated by your computer screen. You ball your hands in fists to keep them from shaking.

Exhaling a weak breath, you sit back down and force yourself to focus on the last line of data instead of the glowering expression of your office’s janitor.

.

You slam your forehead into the vinyl coating of your desk, not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to hear the echoes of contact through the whole floor. It’s nearing seven at night again and you’re still in office catching up on yet another coworker’s workload.

When they asked what plans you had tonight, you didn’t think that saying you were going home to watch TV would bite you in the ass. If you were completely honest, you had quietly hoped they might be asking if you wanted to go out for drinks with them. After all, they were the only ones that had really talked to you in the past few weeks but you’re starting to wonder if they were just trying to butter you up to get you to say yes to their requests.

Who were you kidding though, you would have said yes anyways because the word ‘no’ didn’t exist in your vocabulary. You wish you weren’t so aware of that fact because not only are you stressed out, you’re full of self loathing. A groan escapes your lips.

“Still doing other people’s work?” You hear a familiar voice grumble from behind.

After lifting your head up from the cool desk, you swivel around in your chair to see the janitor – this time in dark blue. A white handkerchief wraps around his face, covering his mouth and nose so that all you see are his tired eyes. A same-colored bandana adorns his head with some of his bangs falling into his eyes. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from asking what the point of the bandana was if it didn’t keep his hair out of his face.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, partly from not using it for so long but also because of the steady unfriendly feeling radiating off him. He raises an eyebrow at you as you stare up at him almost dumbfounded.

“I- who said I was doing other people’s work?” You finally make out, voice trembling.

“You’re new, right? The office goons do that to every newbie that comes in.” He folds his arms over his chest and you see that his sleeves are rolled up to show his toned forearms, muscles popping up from the position they’re in. Your eyes flicker back up to his, blinking slowly.

“I’m sure but they needed the help, so...”

“Because they would rather slack off than do any work. They’re taking advantage of you and you’re falling for it? You’re an adult, right?” There isn’t malice in his words but they still sting.

“Of course I am! I work here, don’t I?” Your eyes widen in emphasis, sweeping your hands around you.

“Tch, that doesn’t make you an adult. I’ve been here for years and I’ve seen my fair share of children.” His scowl reappears at those words. You’ve never met someone so grumpy.

You close your mouth at that, not sure what else to say. He clicks his tongue and flips a small towel over his shoulder. Turning on his heel, he sets off down the aisle without another word, the sounds of his heavy boots getting quieter.

You don’t get done until 10:30 that night. On your way out, you pass by the janitor who was currently on the inside of the board meeting glass walls, wiping them down with what you suppose is glass cleaner. His eyes meet yours as you walk by and you offer a small wave and smile even though his short words still sting. You think he’s going to ignore you but instead, he gives you a curt nod.

.

The janitor’s words swim through your mind the next time you’re asked to stay behind to help out. You spent the last couple of weeks doing your best practicing in the shower on setting boundaries with your coworkers but when the person who came to you next was your supervisor, how could you say no.

You were in the middle of packing your bag while lost in thought of your weekend plans when she came to you. You’re thinking you might stop by the evening market by the river before heading home with some food from the local vendors when a finger taps on your shoulder followed by your name coming out in a honey-laced voice.

“Hey, I just wanted to stop by and commend you on being such a team player in the last month. It’s something we find rare in someone as young as you and of course we’re grateful.” Your red-haired boss beams down at you while she talks. The feeling of ice pricks in your veins at what you know was coming next.

“I’m really sorry to come to you so last minute and on a Friday no less, but because of your wonderful work ethic, you’re the only one I can trust to complete The Warrior Project. It’s been extremely slow going and we need it done by Monday. Do you think you can stay behind and help us out?” She offers you an apologetic smile, eyes boring into yours with sincerity.

You wished you could have said no but the words died before they made it out of your mouth, instead agreeing meekly with a fake smile.

So now here you sit at your desk with the dying rays of light rising higher against the back walls as the sun sets, fingers flying across the keyboard. You suppose you’ll have to stop by the late night convenience store on the way home for some dinner; your face scrunches up at the thought of your very limited choices.

“If you type any harder, you’ll break it.” You don’t bother to turn around at the voice, knowing damn well who it was.

“I’m sure they’ll get me another one. They need me to finish this, after all.” You mutter the last part under your breath. The smell of something sweet and tangy hits your nose and on contact, your stomach rumbles loudly.

Swiveling in your chair, you’re met with the janitor who’s simultaneously holding a feather duster as well as a bag of what looks like Chinese take-out. Your eyes widen at the sight, bouncing back and forth between the objects in his hand.

“Are you here to eat or dust?” You ask, finally looking up to his face. There’s no expression on his pretty face. You still haven’t gotten over how stunning he was, with his pointed nose and pouty bottom lip. Today he has his janitor uniform half on, the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist so that it’s only pants. Tucked in is a black t-shirt that shows more of his muscular arms. He’s not ripped by any means but it’s very obvious he exercises on his time off.

“I’m here to dust. This is for you to eat.” He says dryly, shoving the bag in your direction. Once again, you find your words stolen as you stare at the brown paper bag that sits curled in his pale fingers. Your eyes shift back and forth between his face and the food.

“F-for me? Why?”

“Whenever I see you here late, you never eat. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I eat when I get home.” You retort back softly. A late night meal for you consists of a single serving bag of chips and whatever looked edible at the convenience store – but you wouldn’t tell him that.

“Just eat it.” He pushes it forward to you again, the warm smells of food wafting past your nose. It smelled like heaven.

“I- no. I can’t take that, it’s yours!” You wave your hands in front of your chest in a dismissive manner. A dark eyebrow shoots up his face.

“So she can say no.” He reaches over you and places the paper bag down on your desk. Along with the smells of delicious food, the scent of clean laundry and musky pine tickles your nose. It’s a very pleasant combination, and one you were not expecting. “Eat it, throw it away, I don’t care.” He says casually before turning around and walking off. Your hand reaches out in an attempt to stop him, but he’s long gone.

Twisting your chair around, you eye the paper bag for a moment before finally caving. Your stomach is about to eat itself and he had paid for it, so you don’t want to waste it. Why he would care enough about you to order food is a mystery, though.

Upon opening the contents, you’re greeted with a small foil dish with a plastic covering holding what you believe is orange chicken. A little white box off to the side contains sticky rice and in the little plastic package next to it holds some spring rolls – all still steaming hot and smelling wonderful.

You spend the next half hour scarfing down your dinner while thinking about how you’d pay the janitor back. The flush that started creeping up your cheeks at the end of your encounter with him stays even when you go to bed late that night.

.

The week after, you intentionally slow down on your daily work so that you had a reason to stay late and finish it. But much to your dismay, you don’t see the janitor anywhere. You’d leave each night a little embarrassed at yourself for being so excited for someone you’ve talked to a handful of times, but to your benefit you had a reason for your madness.

Finally, you gather enough courage to peep your head over your half-wall and grab your coworker’s attention – whose attention was on a mobile game in his hands and not on the spreadsheets in front of his face.

“Ryan?” You whisper-shout down. Your brunette coworker’s eyes shoot up to yours, almost in a panic.

“What? Is the boss lady making her rounds?” He asks back. You sweep your eyes around the office floor and finally find your supervisor who was currently in a meeting with other board members.

“She’s busy, you’re fine. I actually had a question?” You didn’t realize how soft you were speaking until he stood up to meet you, towering a good foot above you with his ear down to you.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew when the janitor might be back? I haven’t seen him in a few days.” You subconsciously start picking at your nails – a nervous habit.

Ryan stares at you as he processes your words before throwing his head back in bellowing laughter. You’re quick to shush him and duck your head down from the glares aimed your way at such a loud disturbance.

“Not so loud!!” You whisper-shout again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious why you want to know? He doesn’t like anyone, and no one likes him.” He shrugs his shoulders. You so badly want to tell him to shut up and that you like him, but instead you settle on trying to get him to answer your question.

“Well, what’s his schedule?” You narrow your eyes in hopes of getting the message across that you were serious.

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s always working. Sometimes even on the weekends. From what I heard, his cleaning routes are the same every week. He doesn’t get to our floor until late in the week. He has a thing for cleaning, so I heard, and that’s why there’s only one janitor contracted. He’s so weird.” Ryan rolls his eyes as he rests his chin against the top of the wall.

“What’s his name?”

“Why do you care so much about the janitor?” It’s Ryan’s turn to narrow his eyes to you. You’re asking too many questions and he’s getting far too nosy about your business. It’s best to retreat for now.

“Uh, it’s nothing. Thank you.” You squeak before plopping yourself down at your chair and pretending to click around on your word documents until you no longer feel the pierce of your coworker’s stare.

So he’s always here, you think. You’re just missing him on your way down. You bite back a smile as you glance down to the clock at the bottom corner of your screen. The time reads 4:37pm and it’s a Thursday which meant that he would be around your floor this evening. Perfect. Your eyes sweep over to your bag in your excitement.

In the time it takes for you to wait for the gray-blue eyed janitor, you’ve finished half of the next day’s work. A part of you starts to wonder if he isn’t coming tonight, that it may be tomorrow instead, and weirdly you find yourself hoping one of your coworkers would ask you to help them out again so that you had a reason to stay.

“That’s so stupid.” You say out loud as you stir sugar into the black tea you had spent the last 5 minutes steeping. You’re standing in the office break room, lost in thought.

“I’m sure the mug doesn’t feel that way.” That voice makes your heart flutter, and you bite back the smile that threatens to curve into your face. Instead, you pinch your lips together and turn around.

The janitor is there alright, uniform zipped up tight as he holds a spray bottle and a rag. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded across his chest. His black hair falls into his face, almost kissing the corners of his heavy-lidded eyes as they watch you intently.

“Ah, there you are!” You exclaim, pointing your spoon at him.

“Here I am.”

“I have something to give you as payback for dinner last week.” You muse, grinning at him. His eyes widened briefly before going back to normal.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m grateful for it, dummy.” Carefully, you place your spoon next to your mug and walk towards him until you’re face to face. It takes him a moment to realize you were waiting for him to move, and carefully he backs away so that you have room to escape.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You order before dashing off to your cubicle.

When you come back with the gift in hand, you see that the janitor hadn’t moved an inch. His intimidating eyes follow you as you stop in front of him, slightly breathless from speed walking back. An eyebrow raises at you as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“I-ah. Okay. So. I made these for you. I ended up having to make a fresh batch because I didn’t see you for a bit and I didn’t want to feed you stale cookies so. Anyways, here. Thank you for feeding me last week.” You beam up at him as you hold your hands out to show him your gift.

It’s a small plastic bag wrapped with a pastel bow. The contents of the bag include bite sized cookies that you spent all last night remaking in hopes you would see him again. They’re pale yellow in color, dusted with a light coat of cane sugar. His eyes widen again at your gesture, this time staying big as they stare at the bag in your hand like its gold.

“You… made these for me?” His voice is low.

“I did! I don’t know if you like sweets but these are my mother’s recipe and her cookies were never that sweet. Pretty much the sweetness comes from the sugar on top. The rest are just buttery goodness.” You gush as you stare off in thought, the happy memories of your mom making these cookies for you flooding your brain.

When your eyes fall back to the raven-haired man, you’re almost tempted to run away in embarrassment. His neutral expression stares back at you and you take a small step back.

“I’m sorry, this is probably weird. You don’t have to take them actually. In fact, I’ll just le-“

“No, you’re fine. I uh, I appreciate it.” He quickly reaches out and grabs the bag, the sound of crinkling plastic taking up space in the nearly empty mess room. You offer him a small smile, grateful that he accepted the gift. His eyes trail past you and onto the kitchen counter behind you. He purses his lips as he thinks but finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Pour that disgusting excuse for a tea out and follow me. Bring the mug.” He says tersely before turning on his heels and out the door. You blink hard a few times as your brain processes his words but quickly you find yourself dumping out the tea and chasing after him down the cubicle aisles.

Soon, you’re sitting on the ground with the janitor as he pours steaming amber liquid from the thermos he pulled out of his cleaning cart just mere moments ago. It splashes into the bottom of your mug and fills it quickly, then he hands it over to you as he starts speaking.

“So are you a workaholic or…” He gives you a side eye.

“I should be asking you that. I’ve been told you work practically every day, even on weekends.” You hold the mug by the handle as you stare down into the cup. “Is this…?”

“It’s tea and no I didn’t poison it.”

“What was wrong with the tea I had?”

“Stale tea leaves don’t make for a good cup of tea.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No, I’m not a workaholic. I like to clean, and I get paid for it. Plus, I’m left alone. Usually.” He grumbles the last part, but you don’t detect any hostility in his voice.

“Well, I’m not either. A-a workaholic, I mean.”

“No, I suppose not. Just a people pleaser then?” His statement makes you splutter on the tea you had just sipped on. Despite it going almost everywhere, the bitter taste of the dark leaves bite at your taste buds. It’s unsweetened and you can’t keep the slight look of distaste off your face. Luckily, it’s covered up by the glare you shoot his way.

You don’t say anything back at that, knowing any denial would have been a lie but you didn’t want to confirm it either. However, you can’t hold back the annoyance that simmers in your chest at such a presumptuous statement, from someone you hardly know, no less.

“Beats being disliked by everyone.” You mutter finally, setting your mug on the floor next to you. Your eyes drift to the floor-to-ceiling window you were both sitting in front of. The last dreg of golden sunlight warms your face as you stare out into the bustling city as they prepare for the evening.

“You say that like it should bother me.”

“Shouldn’t it though?”

“Why would it?”

“Don’t you want people to like you?” You whisper softly, dragging your gaze over to his face. There’s no readable expression on his face as he sips his tea out of the top of his thermos lid. He’s holding it in a way you’ve never seen before – long fingers gripping the metal from the top rim and tilting it back into his mouth.

“I don’t give a shit if they like me or not.” He says finally as he gives you a side eye.

You’re not sure if your surprise at his callous attitude is warranted or not. Your interactions with him have been few and far in between but that night he got you dinner, you thought maybe he was a little more caring than that.

“Why do you care if people like you anyway?” He leans back on a hand, his other cradling his cup.

“I just- well. I don’t know.” You say simply. You do know.

“I read this thing about people-pleasers. It said that they’re great manipulators. They bend and break just so that others tolerate and like them, pretending to be something they’re not. Are you trying to get something out of it?”

Your eyes snap to his, feeling the heat behind your stare at his insinuation. Where did he get off calling you a manipulator? A pretender? Despite the subtle rage dancing in your eyes, you give him a smile and push yourself off the ground, grabbing your mug on your way up.

“Thank you for the tea. I really must be going now.” You say politely, voice coming out higher than you meant.

“Tch.” Is all you get back.

With that, you turn on your heel and head back to the break room to pour your tea out and rinse the mug, leaving it out on the rack to dry. You’re quick to gather your things before practically running down the aisles to the elevator, down to the front door, and towards home. A lump in your throat stays even after your shower and still when you lie down for the night.

.

After your last encounter with the janitor, you find that you’re rushing home as soon as you can. You aren’t necessarily mad at him for telling you a hard truth, but the rumination of having someone being annoyed at you doesn’t go away.

Your evasive tactics work for a while. Your office was in between projects and jobs so no one had come to you for help for anything. But of course that didn’t stay that way for long and your luck would run out as it always had as the quarter was about to close. Your supervisor came to you early on a rainy Tuesday morning to tell you that some freak accident had happened to the last reports which made the data you spent days organizing completely disappear.

You don’t know what was more frustrating: the fact that your hard work from the last week had completely vanished or the fact that no one in the office offered to give a helping hand when you needed it the most.

Your supervisor apologized and said the entries needed to be done by the next morning so they could be submitted in time for the quarter review. With a forced smile and false-positive voice, you agreed and got started on it right away.

This was about 12 hours ago.

The only thing that brings you solace is the knowledge that the janitor was not due for your floor for a couple days so at least you could work on it without worrying about running into him. And thankfully for you since you were semi-prepared for being held back, you ordered pizza for dinner before the front doors locked for the evening.

For some reason, you find yourself sitting on the floor in the same spot you had shared bitter tea with the janitor. You’re lying on your back with your phone hovering as you scroll on it mindlessly, a more than half filled pizza box next to you with the lid propped open slightly. There’s a vacation photo that pops up from one of your acquaintances that makes your chest tighten from envy.

“You’re in my way, brat.” A voice from above rings out. It startles you so much that your fingers loosen on your phone, and it comes smacking into your face with a loud slap. Your eyes scrunch shut from the stinging pain radiating from your nose as you groan softly.

You sit up from your position, making sure to grab your phone before it falls on the ground, and turn to narrow your eyes at the perpetually scowling janitor. You hear a subtle pop in your back as you do.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out more accusatory than you meant, and you end up clearing your throat before giving him a forced smile.

“I’m working. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“You’re not supposed to be on this floor today.”

“Says who?” An eyebrow quirks at your statement.

The words die on your tongue because even you knew that one person’s word was not enough to be reliable. You reach over to close the pizza box and gather your things to leave. He doesn’t say anything and only stares while you push yourself up onto your feet.

“I’ll just get out of your way, then.” You mumble, bending down to grab the pizza box in one hand and your empty cup in the other. As you brush past him, you can’t help but wonder if he’s still mad at you, though you can’t logically find a reason why he would be mad in the first place. And if he was, then what did you do? These thoughts are jarred as a vibration in your back pocket alerts you to a notification. Upon more buzzes and the start of your soft ringtone, you realize it’s a phone call.

Stepping over to the nearest desk, you set your stuff down and pull out your phone. On the screen is the caller ID for your mom, her faux-happy face staring straight at you as the lights around it pulse. You don’t fight the grimace that etches into your features. Hitting the green button, you regret it immediately.

“Hi mom!” You exclaim, forcing another smile on your lips.

“There you are! I really thought you had died on us.”

“Of course, I’m not dead. Just busy!” You state happily, turning around to face the windows again. A relieved sigh escapes when you notice the janitor is no longer standing where he was.

“You should call us more. You know I was talking to our neighbor about you recently! Remember Donna and her kids? Apparently her youngest just got engaged. And it got me thinking…” Your mother’s words trail off as your eyes glaze over. Your pulse is steadily picking up speed with every word, and you grip the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

“Anyways, both of your sisters are coming to visit with their little families. When are you planning to come by? It would be nice to have everyone home again. Maybe this time with a man on your arm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, mom. I just started here, so getting the time off will be a little hard to do right away. But I will ask my supervisor, and see? I want to see everyone too.” Your voice wavers a little as the muscles in your face start to hurt from your smile.

“Your grandmother is asking about you, you know. I had to come up with some excuse about why you’re so far away, and single no less.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll give her a call soon.” Tears prick in the corners of your eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you are, honey. Oh, your little sister is calling, I need to go. Please call us more!” And just like that, the line goes silent as she hangs up.

“I’ll call tomorrow, I guess.” You whisper down at the blank screen. Setting your phone down, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes to get rid of the wetness that threatens to overflow. You practically feel your heart beating right out of your chest as your mom’s words float around your head.

“I see where it comes from now.” The janitor’s deep voice comes from the right of you. When you pull your hands away to look at him, he’s holding out a steaming mug to you. Hesitantly, you take it. The color of the liquid is lighter in color and smells slightly floral. A mile’s difference from the last thing he shared with you.

“Where what comes from?” You mutter before bringing the cup to your lips. It’s hot but not unbearably so. The taste is gentle and has a touch of sweetness to it. It’s pleasant, and not something you were expecting.

“Your people-pleasing tendencies.” He leans against the half wall next to him as he eyes you.

“Please do enlighten me, as I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” You reply back in a monotone voice. You were tired in more ways than one. Slaving away at this project that you were only 80% done with. Staying late, lack of sleep, and now your mother calling. You were tired and you can’t mask anymore.

“Let me guess.” He raises his hand and taps a finger against his chin in thought. “Middle child. Your parents always apologized for what you lacked. Always felt like you had to put in extra effort to be seen and walking on eggshells so that when you are seen, no one pulls away. You’re starving for real, positive attention.” Again, none of his words come out malicious but they really sting. This man hardly knows you and yet he’s spreading your entire childhood out like it was nothing.

You’re tired.

“Yeah. Exactly that. And it’s infuriating. Not to drag on my sisters because they’re doing their best and they have the same parents I have but it’s like…” You take another sip of the honey liquid before continuing, feeling the heat of not only the tea but also anger burning in your chest. Your eyes drift back to the front window.

“I can’t stop myself from doing above and beyond on the off chance I might be liked and appreciated. I’m putting in all this hard work and still it doesn’t matter. I’m just so tired.”

The sun is all but gone and is replaced by the city lights that illuminate the indigo sky above. The janitor stays quiet through all of this as he takes in your words. You’ve never told anyone any of this before, and part of you feels liberated. The other part feels guilty for putting something so heavy on someone who probably doesn’t even care.

“So, what if it doesn’t matter? Why are you putting so many expectations on yourself? You’re just one person.” He stands up from the wall and walks around it so that he’s face to face with you. His arms are folded across his chest again as he eyes you warily before continuing.

“I spend everyday cleaning after you shits and no one sees that. And yet, what I do matters because otherwise this place would be a shithole. You do not have to bend over backwards so people can see your accomplishments, they still exist whether they see it or not. But, say they approve of your help, then what?”

“What do-” Your fingers grip tight on the handle of your mug.

“They say thank you for doing what they asked you to do, then what? Do you keep up with their demands?”

“If I have to.”

“And what do you gain from that outside of exhaustion?”

You want to lie so bad. You want to say that you get a lot of enjoyment from making others happy. That you gain happiness for making others smile because you did what they ask of you. But you realize that putting yourself out there for the sake of others is wearing you down. And you aren’t actually happy.

“I don’t.” Your voice cracks and when you blink next, your sight is blurry.

“That’s what I’m saying. You bend and you bend for these short bursts of attention but you don’t need it. The only thing that should matter to you is your wellbeing. The rest comes after.” His voice retains the same dryness as it had before, but there’s an unmistaken lilt of tenderness.

You look away from his gaze and wipe the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as you take a shaky breath.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you care so much about me?” You offer him a small smile to hopefully deter any ill will that statement could bring up.

“Tch, don’t get me wrong, you’re still annoying. But, I can’t stand watching people tear themselves down for the sake of others. You’re here to live for yourself, not for them.” His steely eyes roll to the ceiling before landing back on you.

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” You smile at him, a genuine one that squeezes your eyes closed. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, even if your words are a little rough.” He huffs at that then nods curtly, tapping his foot on the ground.

“On that note, I need to-“

“Will you stay with me?” Your words come out faster than you can stop yourself. A sudden burst of warmth blooms into your face. “I-I mean, if you want. I just have this pizza left and-“

“Do you want me to stay?” He stares hard at you as he reads your reaction. You have a feeling he’s testing you.

Do you want that?

Yes, you do.

“Please stay?”

He considers you for a moment before relaxing, his arms falling to his sides.

“Okay.”

Once again, you find yourself on the floor with the janitor, knees tucked into your chest as you’re lost in thought. He sits a few feet away, slowly chewing on a just heated up piece of pizza while he stares out into the night. Your eyes never leave his face, watching the way his long eyelashes tickle his cheekbones and the way his hair falls in his face. You notice the dark circles that bruise the underside of his eyes.

“Do you ever take time off?” You ask softly.

“I never needed to.”

“You look really tired.”

“That’s just my face.” You laugh at that and he gives you a side eye. He wasn’t expecting that from you.

“Where would you go if you ever took time off?” You ask despite the fact he might ignore you as he didn’t seem the type to indulge such stupid questions, but he surprises you.

“Home.” He says without skipping a beat.

“Home? Really? Are you not home that often that you miss it more or something?”

“It’s quiet and all of my things are there. Where else would I go?” He stares at you with a perturbed expression. His dry voice adds to his comment and you find it very endearing. You think you see his lip twitch, but it might have been your imagination.

“What about you?”

Leaning back on your hands, you stretch your legs out with a soft groan and stare out the window. By this time, it’s well into 9pm and you still have work to do. But with the janitor staring at you, you find yourself pushing the thought of work away for now.

“Don’t laugh. But I really want to experience a day in that park off of Centennial. I heard it’s really nice in the afternoon because of the trees and little river that cuts through it. I would love to just sit out on a blanket and draw for a bit.” You say wistfully. You can already feel the heat of the sun against your skin.

“You’re an artist?”

“Yeah, struggling and starving as most are. But I draw when I can.”

He hums softly. “That sounds like a good day.” He says, wiping his hands on the towel that was tied to his utility belt around his waist.

You beam over to him at that. You again think to yourself of why people don’t like him. He was blunt and a little tactless, but he was caring and empathetic. Something you wouldn’t see from the outside. You liked him for just being himself with you.

Realization dawns on you at what his words meant earlier. Just being you was enough. You matter.

“Thank you.” You say simply, a toothy grin pointed his way.

.

A month passes and you find yourself steadily settling more into your job. You haven’t seen the janitor much since that one night. When you got home after that conversation, you made a promise you would only do things that you wanted to do for the sake of yourself and not others. The next time your coworker came to you for help, you were able to put your foot down and tell them no. Your voice and hands shook the whole time, but since then you haven’t been bothered. Unfortunately, you helped your supervisor when asked but you are proud of the progress that you made with your boundaries.

And now, here you are on a blanket in Centennial Park on a Thursday, lying on your stomach with your sketchbook propped open in front as you pop grapes into your mouth. There’s dark charcoal smudged along the side of your hands but you can’t find yourself caring as you finish a hooded eye with a flourish. It’s a nice day with a light breeze that helps keep you cool and soft music flows through your ears from your earphones, quiet enough so that you can be aware of your surroundings.

You’ve been at the park for so long that you’re almost done with your drawing and you’re thinking you should have brought a book to read when something kicks your foot. It makes you jump and your head twists behind you to see who or what it was. You assume it’s a child that kicked their ball too far as that happened earlier, but instead you scrunch your eyes to make sense of the figure in front of you.

Your eyes trail up to find it's a man dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of oversized headphones circling his neck and sunglasses covering his eyes. The shades are dark but you can only assume he’s staring down at you. In his hands are two hot to-go cups.

“Can I help you?” You ask up to the mystery man, not hiding the annoyance in your tone.

“So she does take a day off. It’s nice to see you away from the computer screen.” The voice is familiar and you find yourself scrambling up to your feet, staring at him hard. He’s the same height as you and you notice his lips are all too familiar. They’re the same ones belonging to the drawing you just finished.

“You’re the janitor! What are you doing here?” Your annoyance quickly changes into surprise.

“Took the day off and I’m meeting a friend.” He raises one of the cups which you assume must be his friend’s. “And you can just call me Levi, by the way.” He grumbles the last bit. You only now realize you never asked for his name in any of the interactions you’ve had with him. Your face flares in embarrassment.

“I- yeah. I’m sorry, that’s so rude of me to have never asked.” You tell him your name as well but he just nods.

“I know who you are, and it’s fine.” He shrugs, tone dry as ever.

“You know my name? But how?” You don’t remember telling him your name. Nor has he ever been around to hear it be said. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You have a plaque on your desk.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair.” You run a hand through your hair as you laugh at that. You don’t notice the way his eyes flicker from your sweet face to the sketch behind you on the ground. He huffs softly at that.

“Well, I can’t keep them waiting so. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmurs before turning on his heel in the opposite direction.

“Wait, Levi!” You yell, taking a few steps towards him. His head tilts back in your direction so that you see his blue-gray eyes side-eying you from behind his sunglasses.

“What?”

“Would you like to get some tea with me sometime?” You ask quickly. Your voice wavers slightly with anxiety as you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Are you sure you don’t have other people’s work to complete first?” You laugh at that.

“No. I don’t think that will be a problem.” The sides of his mouth twitches.

“Then sure. Only if you bring your mom’s cookies again.” He raises his cup at you before turning his back to you and walking down the hill.

You sit back down with a grin, staring down at your finished sketch of Levi leaning against the doorframe of the break room.

Doing things for yourself has never felt so good.

I'm adding my taglist to this bc I'm actually quite proud of this one?

-> taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95 @sckerman @secretmoneybearvoid @apolloshaiku @sujiroses @jadam724 @kamyru @highgoon69 @missyasma @nube55 @svftackerman

The link to my taglist is in my pinned post on my blog!!

[sparrow-orion-writes]

early summer essay writing

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Trigger warning: Mentions of drug use and alcohol, and previous struggles with addiction. Unhealthy relationship, not terribly, but enough.

POV: First person, conversational, unedited

--

I was sat in the library, my laptop on the same desk I always use, with a cup of coffee that tastes loosely of water - but I can't complain, it was cheap.

And the weirdest thing was, it was early morning and utterly silent and she still sat down opposite me. My hands lingered on the keyboard, but I brushed it off - nothing important, maybe she has a favourite seat too.

I sat there until my timer went off and I could finally stretch out my aching back. I almost wish it was socially acceptable to do yoga in the library after sitting still for twenty minutes at a time until I can finally stretch out my back for five.

By this point I was ready for my smoke break, so I packed my things away and headed outside.

I didn't think of the girl, but I didn't see her leave; when I came back, she wasn't sat there any longer. I shrugged, and sat down for my next twenty minutes.

--

It happened a few more times, about an hour in, she would come and sit opposite me, but two chairs to the left. I would go for a smoke, come back, and she was gone. At some point the strange girl became as much of my routine as anything.

The end of my essay drew dangerously close, and the idea of having never spoken to her felt...weird. Why did she keep disappearing?

Having said this, the idea of speaking to her was just as odd. We were two strangers existing in each other's company - the way society does, but it didn't mean she noticed me, or that it was even purposeful that she left when I did.

Except I never saw her go through the front door.

I decided to risk it, curiosity getting the better of me (and not really all that hindered by social anxiety, at least not as much as I used to be, if she found me weird, she found me weird and that was just that).

"Y'know, I do come back, I'm just goin' for a smoke."

She looked up at me startled, opening her mouth and then closing it, her face a picture of bewilderment. I grimaced internally, maybe that was a bit too casual. "I was wonderin' if you could keep an eye on my sh-uh-stuff, for a moment? Whilst I go for a fag?"

Her gaze went momentarily amused, glancing at me, and then at the rainbow sticker plastered on the front of my laptop. Well, so much for covert.

"Other than myself, I mean," I added, grinning. She laughed then.

"Aight," she shrugged "...promise not to steal any of your shit." My laptop's half-broken and all that's in my bag is an unopened bag of raisens that I promised I would eat three days ago. Not much to steal.

"Cheers," is what I ended up saying.

I sat outside the library without the burden of a heavy laptop, my feet kicking against the brick wall as I pulled the poison into my lungs and steadied my sense of anxiety. She was cute, I mean, as far as strangers tend to go - nice eyes like, and it wasn't as though I hadn't noticed the way she ran her hand through her hair.

I threw some chewing gum in my mouth before I headed back in, and hoped I didn't reek of smoke. She was still sat there, typing away on her laptop. She glanced up at me for a moment - I didn't miss the quirk of her lips.

"Phoebe," she announced, unasked. I sat down back in my seat, digesting the name I'd been given for a moment.

"Ren," I finally replied, when I got to grasp what it was exactly that she'd told me. It suited her, the name. It fit her face, there's no other way I could explain that - like I couldn't have given her another nam if she'd asked.

"Do you know smoking is the leading cause of cancer, Ren?"

"Wow, that's...that's such a big surprise!" I gasped, running a faux-stressed hand through my hair "...I had no idea!"

She laughed, it was...a nice sound. It made me smile, and my cheeks felt hot and my chest felt tight. Our eyes met and I looked away. "What are you...uh...studyin'?" I offered her, sitting up a little straighter and turning my eyes back to the assignment I'd been working on for the last two weeks.

"Marine biology." I could imagine it too - her long hair tied back and a fascinated frown on her lips. She seemed science-y, I didn't know many science-y femmes. "You?"

"Art and design history (It would turn out, later, she didn't know many artsy butches, but I'd introduce her to a few)."

"Nice," she tilted her head towards the wall and regarded the clock with her eyes a moment "...Bet you can't write 1000 words in the next hour."

"Oh now you're on something," I snorted, sitting up to my laptop "...wanna bet?"

She only grinned back. God, I must've fallen in love with her then, I don't know what else could've possessed me to try and spit out a quarter of my essay in an hour. I did it, too, but real fuckin' badly, like. It needed so much editing.

She gave me a hand too, after one too many sighs of frustration (there's a reason I prefer art to writing), and then she gave me her number.

I texted her, asked her how she was, how her day went. She told me she was getting drunk because it's a friday, asked me to come over. I wanted to, I really did - I wanted to be six shots in and lying on her bedroom floor.

'Another time, maybe,' is what I said.

I saw her again on the monday, then tuesday, then wednesday, for the next week until I'd finally finished the essay.

Every day we talked about all sorts, and fought each other for the highest word count like we were hunting each other for sport. It was a messy ordeal - mainly because the overall winner had to buy the other a drink (her rules, and I didn't protest).

I lost, I tried to pull the dsylexia card, but I was too busy laughing - and then thinking about the fact I was going to get a drink with her.

And so we did. I bought her a gin and tonic whilst I downed a double rum (spiced) and coke. She talked to me and I listened - both of us drinking more and more until our table looked like the line for the dishwasher.

I learned her favourite animal was a platypus "because they're just so fucking weird, man," and I didn't disagree there. She had two brothers, both older than her, a father she doesn't talk to and a mother who calls her up for help with her computer. She asked me about my life and I kind of shrugged, said it wasn't interesting.

Wasn't really in the mood to tell the story of the traumatised little girl who ran away from home and cut all her hair off and snorted heroin between class. Then again, who is, ever? She'd find out eventually, though, not that night, not many nights after.

It was about three months into our friendship, we were at a club - like most of our nights out were, and I was thankful for that because I could be blatantly in love with her and she wouldn't notice because she was too piss drunk.

A friend of hers offered me coke and I nearly threw up there and then. I just turned around and pegged it, keeled over on the pavement wit my lungs constricted in a panic attack and my throat clenched in a forceful wave of rememberance.

God I missed doing coke, I wanted to say yes more than anything. But the come down - oh fuck, the come down was never worth it. Jerky sweats and the sudden realisation that your entire world is in black and white, sat in the corner of your room wondering which of your demons were going to come out and play tonight.

She didn't know what was wrong but she walked me home anyway, the vibe was dead for me from there. "Wish I'd gone to rehab, maybe I would deal with this shit better," I said, bluntly and with one foot in a land where I had no awareness of the world around me.

"How long?" She asked me, in a whisper. I paused, trying to remember my own age.

"Five years, now," I laughed in disbelief "...God, where did the time go?" I sat on the wall outside my flat and pressed a cigarette into my mouth, she leaned her head on my shoulder.

"I don't know, I was seventeen yesterday, now I'm twenty-four." I smiled, and smoked, my hands shaking.

"Ah well, we're still young."

"God I hope so." She leaned up and stole my cigarette (she insists she doesn't smoke, and I don't argue), taking a long drag as she leaned on her words a moment. "Sometimes it feels like time is passing me by, and I've got no way to slow it down."

"You don't, we don't, it's just what it is," I rested my drunken head on the palm of my hand, the flicker of that little baggie in my head. Had I just transferred from one addiction to another? I looked up at her - she'd never said she was interested in me, but I followed her around like a lost dog and she loved that I did.

And I don't mind, but someday I wanted to love someone, or something, that didn't destroy me.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her lips all red and her skin all sparkling in the street light - she was like an angel, or maybe it was the alcohol, I don't know. But I really, really loved her in that second, so much, more than words could say (and I tried, over and over but I could never find the words). I couldn't breathe, I started to gasp for air and my throat felt all tight and I realised, oh my god, I'm so drunk right now.

And when she'd finished panicking and I was clutching her arms I asked her "...Can we kiss?" Like I was asking to break a law neither of us had written.

"Fucking hell, you're a mess," she replied, laughing. I laughed too. We were both still laughing when we kissed.

So yeah, that's that. That's the whole story up until last week. I haven't talked to her much since but I don't mind it, as long as she's happy, y'know? Like I said, I seem to like it when things destroy me.

[sapphireginger]

Don’t Go Earth-Quaking My Heart

AO3 Link

Summary:

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, his lips forming an adorable pout. “I’m a grown man and I can do what I want. I don’t need a babysitter.” If it wouldn’t totally invalidate his point, Stiles would have stomped his foot.

It was just after ten pm when Stiles sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He took off his glasses and sighed. He’d been at this for hours and still had a lot to do. After checking the time, he figured another hour or two couldn’t hurt and quickly dove back in.

Two hours later, Stiles was still typing away on his computer, but had to take a break to get rehydrated and find something to quell the rumbling in this stomach. He got up to get a drink and fix himself a sandwich.

Suddenly, a siren blared loudly and the ground began to shake. Stiles took up a place in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Than he ducked under the dining room table just off the kitchen. From his hiding place, Stiles could just barely see his desk in the office on the other side of the living room.

As the earthquake intensified, his computer started to slide towards the edge of the table. He began to panic at the thought of losing all of his hard work. He knew it was stupid and that computers could be replaced but the panic building inside him couldn’t be reasoned with. Right as his laptop started to fall off the edge, he scrambled out from under the table and ran over to catch it.

A crack formed on the ceiling, startling him and a piece of plaster fell. The debris collided with the back of Stiles’s head. He was immediately knocked unconscious, his computer clutched tightly to his chest.

💻 ⟡ 🌋 🤍 🌋 ⟡ 💻

When he woke up in the hospital, Danny was sitting by his bed, a laptop–a laptop that looked like Stiles’s laptop–balanced in his lap. The tech wizard’s fingers were flying across the keyboard in a blur. When he noticed Stiles had woken up, he glared at him despite the relief in his eyes. “You stupid idiot,” he snapped.

Stiles blinked his Bambi eyes wide and pouted, his brow furrowing.

Danny huffed and rolled his eyes. “Remember when I showed you how to upload your works to the cloud?”

Stiles nodded, his throat scratchy. “Yeah.”

Danny set the computer aside and helped Stiles drink some water. Once he had set the cup aside, the tech whiz turned the computer to face the injured man and gestured to the list of files. “These are all of your files and documents.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and then he noticed the computer was a brand new version of his old one. “Wha–”

The tech guy sighed and closed the computer, setting it on the hospital table. He crossed his arms. “You’re an idiot. You could have died. And for what? A computer of all things! You ridiculous imbecile. No self preservation at all. A computer is replaceable. You. Are. Not.”

Stiles huffed softly, warmth pooling in his chest and he smiled at the other man. “Th’nk y’u,” he slurred as the pain meds kicked in and offered another smile this one more fond. “You love me and wouldn’t change me for the world.” Then he passed out.

Danny took Stiles’s hand and laced their fingers together before leaning forward and placing a kiss on the unconscious man’s forehead. He rested his forehead against Stiles’s own and sighed, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “It’s anyone’s guess why, but I do love you, Bambi.”

Stiles had to remain under observation for at least a week and Danny didn’t let him have access to his computer at all. Technically Stiles wasn’t supposed to watch TV or stare at any screens until the concussion was sorted out. So, Danny read to him, sang to him, played board games with him and just relaxed in silence with him.

💻 ⟡ 🌋 🤍 🌋 ⟡ 💻

Once they finally released him with strict instructions to take it easy and relax as well as scheduling a checkup in a couple weeks, Stiles found himself in a taxi with Danny.

Neither spoke until the taxi stopped and Stiles frowned in confusion. “Danny? Where are we?”

Danny smirked and hopped out to go around and open Stiles’s door. “My place of course. I wasn’t going to leave you homeless and your place is a hazard zone. Not to mention that from now on I intend to keep an eye on your computer time and of course keep an eye on you.”

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms, his lips forming an adorable pout. “I’m a grown man and I can do what I want. I don’t need a babysitter.” If it wouldn’t totally invalidate his point, Stiles would have stomped his foot.

His friend ignored him and led him inside. It wasn’t until they got everything put away and Danny gestured for Stiles to join him on the couch that either of them spoke. Once the amber eyed man was seated, Danny took a deep breath and said, “I was so scared, Bambi. I got the call and I—” He choked back a sob. “I thought I had lost you.”

It was then that Stiles realized just how upset and hurt his friend was. He and Danny had always been close. They were the ones who supported each other when they both came out as gay their sophomore year of high school. They’d been inseparable since preschool.

“I-I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t know that—I didn’t mean to make—I’m so sorry. Please forgive me?”

Danny shook his head and snagged Stiles’s hand. He gently rubbed small circles on the back of Stiles’s hand with his thumb. “I know. It’s okay. I just need you nearby. Okay?”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Danny looked up at Stiles and met his gaze as he gently kissed the amber eyed man’s hand. “I love you, Bambi.”

Stiles’s breath hitched. “Oh, Danny. Fuck I love you too! I know I was high on painkillers but I meant it!”

The two guys chuckled and then stilled, searching each other’s faces for any hesitation or doubt. When neither found any, they leaned closer and pressed their lips together. Stiles hummed softly and threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of Danny’s neck. Danny melted into the kiss, cupped Stiles’s jaw with one hand and gripped Stiles’s hip with the other.

When they pulled apart, Danny smiled and nipped Stiles’s lip. “You know what this means right?”

“No. What?”

Danny rubbed their noses together and smirked. “Don’t you dare go earth-quaking my heart.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and then he burst out laughing, Danny joining him quickly after. They laughed until they cried and then curled up together to just be.

Then, a few minutes later, just as they were drifting off, Stiles whispered softly in Danny’s ear, “I promise I’ll never break your heart.”

Danny smiled and kissed Stiles’s forehead. “Good, cause I’ll never break yours either.”

“Love you, Koʻu aloha.”

“And I love you, Ko'u Puuwai.”

[thebigshotman]

don't be shy, spill the mother fuckin' tea. or rather the shit you had to deal with while in that amor because that could NOT be comfortable

He locks widened marbles with where he thinks the source of the voice is before he sighs deeply, posture relaxing a little as he kicks his feet against the desk he’s sitting on. Away from Eileen a moment…that saved him from saying something stupid. An opportunity to rant about that body he had so foolishly run back to? He would take that opportunity any day.

*…1’LL [[redeem free coupon?]] TO V3NT. [[Thank you!]]…

*H3LL. IT WAS HELL. SHOULD’VE EXPECTED THAT, 1T WASN’T MY [round one] WITH THAT THING, BUT…IT WAS STILL [[$&@!]]. S0 MUCH NOISE!!!! EV3RY MOMENT OF EV3RY DAY THE [[*phone ringing*]] [[*garbled discussion*]] [[*static*]] [[*keyboard clicking*]]-

He pounded his desk with one fist, heaving wildly as he kept his eyes locked forward and continued to rant.

*MY M1ND WENT [[stocks down 500 points]] 4ND I DIDN’T MIND!!! THAT [[body]] WOULDN’T LET ME!!!! 1F I C0ULD JUST KILL [[trust me, im a dolphin]] 4ND [[*squeaking*]] FOR [Hazelnut]’S $AKE,,MAYBE IT WOULD ALL G0 AWAY!!!! BUT IT D1DN’T!!!!!

By this point he was leaning right at the edge of his desk, voice clipping at its maximum volume. The sudden silence from himself pausing seemed to startle him, and he flinched and tumbled off of the desk, landing facedown. A voice clip of annoyed grumbling escaped his throat as he looked up to finish his speech.

*…WH3N I COULDN’T [[kill]] 4N YMORE…I WENT [[no thoughts head empty]]. TH4T’S WHEN SPAF GOT INVOLVED. AND…well…

Glitching a little, he heaved himself up and put his head on the table. Right over the dent his lunch just now has formed.

*WHY D0N’T WE [[pause]] FOR NOW??? [[Come back tomorrow for more specil deals!]] 4ND I’LL T3LL YOU MORE ABOUT MY [personal hell]. [[Yes/No]]???

He definitely sounded a little out of breath, despite not possessing lungs. Perhaps it was for the best…

[reidjumpers]

Here Comes the Sun: Blue and Pink

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning/Includes: mention of eating, foods.

Series Summary: A journey of going through parenthood with Spencer.

Chapter Summary: In which you find the gender of your baby

Note: dad!spencer is a dear concept to me. I try to make sure all of the chapter could be read as a stand alone, but if you squint you can tell there's a string of connections to previous chapters. Enjoy!

previous chapter, next chapter, series masterlist

“What do you think about a gender reveal party?”

You stopped in your tracks as Penelope thought out loud. You rolled your chair to face her, and immediately your face scrunched up as you noticed the content displayed on her screen. It wasn’t work, or anything tech related that sometimes made your head a little fuzzy, it was a mood board filled with gender reveal party ideas.

Throughout your pregnancy, you have found yourself burrowed in Penelope’s lair more often than not. She was more than welcoming, all happy to have someone accompany her in her safe space. She even made an effort to make you feel comfortable, go all board to put all soft and fuzzy things to soothe your aching back and swollen feet. You had been crying for thirty minutes straight when she first presented it to you.

You liked it here a lot. The room is always at the right temperature that didn’t leave you shivering or grumpy with heat. But most of all, it smells really nice, and as much as you’d love to be in your desk and your own element, you couldn’t handle the wafting smell of everyone’s perfume in the air. You once lashed out at Morgan for having the audacity to wear his perfume that he had been wearing for years, and then proceed to cry for an hour profusely apologizing while he laughed his ass off.

“Gender reveal?” you hummed, not knowing what you feel with the idea. Your hand absentmindedly made its way to your bump, now more visible than ever, and you’re both delighted and terrified about it.

“Look at this!” Penelope eagerly made a gesture towards her computer screen. She scrolled slowly through all the well-put mood boards. You cocked an eyebrow at it, knowing fully she probably had spent weeks planning before even asking your opinion. “It’s cute, isn’t it? All fuzzy, blue and pink! So many cakes and happiness radiating from it all.”

“How long have you been planning for all of these, Pen?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Three weeks? Four weeks?”

“Ugh!” she grunted, a pout appearing on her lips as she sent you a heatless glare. You pressed your lips together to bit back a triumph smile, proud of your achievement to be able to crack her up. “Fine! Three weeks.”

You snorted a laugh, “Thought so.”

“I hate profilers,” Penelope huffed. She pressed a key on her keyboard to reveal more pictures of her mood board. “So? What do you think?”

“I don’t know, I have to talk about it with Spencer.”

“Talk about what?” a voice appeared behind you nearly startled you to death. You whipped your head towards the source of sound, smiling when you caught the sight of your husband standing in the doorway.

Spencer quietly made his way to you, pressing a chaste kiss on your hairline as he gently placed your lunch on the desk. It had been a routine in the past four months that he would make his way to Penelope’s office during lunchtime, bringing food for three of you and he joined you and Penelope devouring lunch in her office.

“Lovely Boy Wonder! You always have the most perfect timing,” Penelope basically beamed at the sight of Spencer. He furrowed his eyebrows confusedly, but from years of befriending her, Spencer had learned not to question too many things about her. “What do you think about a gender reveal party?”

“Gender reveal party?” Spencer pulled his designated chair, the one that Penelope provided just for him to eat lunches. He scooted his chair close to you, hand absentmindedly finding its way to yours.

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know…” Spencer muttered, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. He eyed the mood board displayed proudly on Penelope’s screen carefully, examining each picture. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

Penelope gasped, “Dr. Reid! I am honestly offended that you didn’t consider Penelope Garcia will handle everything and you and Lady Reid don’t have to lift a single finger!”

Now that caught your attention. “We don’t have to lift a single finger?”

“All you have to do is sit down and the next thing you know, we’re all huddled together in a happy space full of love.”

You glanced towards Spencer who shared the same look with yours. He shrugged and a small smile settled on his face, entrusting the decision fully into your hand. You pucker your lips, weighing all the pros and cons about throwing a party.

“Come on!” Penelope whined. “We see horror and gore almost every day. We need a sweet reminder of everything good in the world. It’s nice to have something good to look forward to.”

You glanced at Spencer once again who subtly nodded. “Okay. Make it small and private.”

“Yes!” Penelope squealed, startled both you and Spencer. “I love you both so much.”

***

The whole idea of preparing a gender reveal party alone made you tired, but one trip for your check up changed everything. Penelope joined you and Spencer for your routine check up, tearing up when the sound of your baby’s heartbeat echoed. At this point you would have thought you’d get used to hearing their heartbeat, but it had never lost its magic.

Penelope practically vibrated with excitement and squealing when the doctor slyly slid your ultrasound photo and the gender of the baby to her, wrapped in a cute envelope. Spencer tried to take a peek, but Penelope was quick to swat him away.

“Do you think we’re having a boy or a girl?” Spencer thought out loud. You glanced up from your book to meet him staring at you, a solemn expression painted on his face.

“Can’t wait until the weekend, can you?” you teased, eyes fell back into the string of words in your book again.

You felt his hand rubbing your feet, his fingers dutifully untangle all the tangled knots that made you sore. You let out a satisfied sigh, shifting slightly on your seat to positioned your feet better on his lap. You really started to think you were probably the luckiest pregnant wife in the whole wide world with a husband like him.

Spencer sighed. “I think we’re having a boy.”

“You think?” you turned the page on your book, already feeling your focus shifting fully into the conversation now. “I’d say we’re having a girl.”

“I’ll tell you what, if we turn out to have a girl, I’ll buy you that handbag you’ve been eyeing on in the past two weeks. And if we turn out to have a boy, you’ll tell me how you cheat on every single UNO game we have.”

You snorted a laugh. Spencer must have noticed you stopped reading minutes ago, for the way he wasn’t unfazed when you lowered down your book and stared at him with a questioning look. He shot you a challenging smirk, with one eyebrow shot up into his hairline.

“Spencer Reid, are you really betting on our children?” you hit his arm playfully with your book. He feigned a pain, frowning as he rubbed the sore spot where you hit him. “I love you, but there is no way in hell I’ll tell you how I play UNO.”

“Ha! So you admit you do cheat!”

“No I didn’t! I never said that!”

“Your words do imply otherwise. So you do cheat!”

“I don’t cheat! I am just really good at what I do!”

Spencer scrunched his nose, not exactly buying your words. “Morgan and Emily also think you do cheat, hon.”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of their name. Of course they would conspire with your husband about your amazing ability of kicking everyone’s asses in UNO. You pulled your book back into your line of sight, tried your best to pick up where you left off. “Just accept the fact that UNO and Mario Kart is my expertise, babe. And a magician never reveals their secret.”

Spencer squinted his eyes at you for using his words against him. You lifted your book up slightly to conceal your growing smile, doing your best to ignore his burning stares. Spencer shifted slightly on his seat, his hand ghosted just above your ankle.

“I beat you in Mario Kart already,” Spencer said smugly. His voice was soft, and if it wasn’t so quiet, you were sure you would miss it.

“It was one time!” you groaned. “Once, babe, once.”

Spencer laughed. “You’re just bitter I beat you up with Baby Peach in Rainbow Road.”

You sighed through your nose, pouting as he rubbed about your defeat a year ago that you were still slightly bitter about to your face. You had no idea how he managed to beat you in Mario Kart using Baby Peach out of all things, in Rainbow Road out of any places.

“Honestly, how did you do that?”

Spencer beamed up at the question. You regret asking once your eyes caught the look on his face almost immediately, already knowing the answer he was about to say before it left his mouth. He leaned closer, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “A magician never reveals their secret, sweetheart.”

***

“Garcia is one amazing crazy bitch, isn’t she?” Emily nudged your shoulder. She took a sip towards her drink, her eyes scanning through the room. “How the hell she managed to take care of this party alone, I have no idea.”

Penelope had outdone herself. But then again, she always managed to break her own records after records breezly like it was nothing. Rossi was more than happy to provide his backyard to host the small party. Penelope managed to turn it into the most colorful and cutest gender reveal venue you’ve ever seen.

You just snorted, turned around to steal a slice of cake from Emily’s hand. She groaned at you, but didn’t do a thing as you shove it into your mouth. “Once she has a goal, she’ll do everything in her power to achieve that one goal, Em. You know that.”

Emily grinned, raising her glass slightly. “Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?”

You hummed. “Honestly? I don’t know. But something tells me it’s a girl.”

“Good,” Emily grinned. She jerked her chin towards the direction where Spencer was sitting together with Jack and Henry, a big amused smile on his face as he showcased his newest magic trick. “JJ already has two boys, Hotch has Jack, I think it’ll be nice to have a cute little girl into our family.”

Your eyes settled on Spencer once again. A loud squeal and delighted laughter rang throughout the walls as Spencer pulled a string of cards from Jack’s ear. “We’ll see.”

The party had been, much to your delight, a beautiful one. It was a spur moment of excitement and laughter, Penelope had made sure to make everyone comfortable and happy. The small game she had creatively come out with had been nothing but fun. You nearly fell from your chair laughing as you watch Morgan and Hotch doing their best to put a pen into a bottle blindfolded.

Everyone was here for one thing, and you watched the atmosphere shift from excitement to anticipation and suspense as JJ placed the cake into the table almost immediately. You bite your lip, somehow nervous at the prospect of knowing the gender of your unborn baby and reveal it in front of your friends and families.

Spencer wasn’t doing any better either, he was visibly jittery. You squeezed his hand gently once. Two times. Three times. Sending him all the wordless immense love you hoard for him, and a reminder that you were there with him. A small smile appeared on his face and he squeezed your hand a little firmer than you did, before he lifted it up to plant a soft kiss against your knuckle.

“Okay! When I reach three, you’ll cut the cake!” Penelope instructed. “If anyone would love to record this very magical moment, I advise your camera is ready by now.”

You chuckled, glancing up from the blue and pink cake in front of you. You saw Rossi already recorded the whole thing.

“One!”

You gently gripped the knife, feeling Spencer’s hand covered your hand warmly. He sent you a nervous smile as he adjusted his hands, his fingers settled in between yours seamlessly.

“Two!”

Spencer gently guided your hand to place the knife just right above the cake. You held your breath, feeling your heart trumped inside your chest loudly.

“Three!”

Spencer a little too eagerly cut the cake, almost forgot that he squeezed your hand underneath his a little too tight. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you finally saw the inside of the cake, and Spencer was stopped in his track as he gawked at the cake.

“It’s a girl…” Spencer whispered, like he couldn’t believe what he saw. He blinked and took a sharp inhale, feeling the reality settling in a lot better. “It’s a girl!” He then pulled you into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing into yours raked with love and happiness that you couldn’t help but to smile.

“A girl!” Derek hollered from his spot, already made his way to steal Spencer away from your embrace and pulled him into a hug. Everyone followed not so long after, and you could feel Emily pulled you into a hug, followed by JJ, and then Penelope trapped you in the middle.

“Aw,” you heard Penelope cooed. You didn’t realize there were tears streaming down your face until you could feel her thumb gently wiped it away from your face. “Don’t cry!”

You just laugh, pulling your girl friends into another round of hug. Emily let out a soft chuckle, and muttered something about having a new member to your sacred girl’s night out. You didn’t say anything, but feeling a smile growing on your lips at the thought of having a little girl following you in tow during your night out.

=======================================

series tag list:

@measure-in-pain @wooya1224 @reidemandweep @manuosorioh @jswessie187 @starrfruit

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 30: Dukexiety

Day 30 - When you look in the mirror, you can’t see your own reflection, just your soulmate. (Never heard of this prompt before, so I guessed)

Content warnings: maybe some anxiety? Just some wholesome for ya.

Word count: 1.5k

This ficlet is dedicated to @marshymoop. 

Virgil was told he had brown hair; the color of a walnut. Sometimes if he grew it out long enough, he could just catch a glimpse of the color when it fell into his eyes. Apparently those were brown too. 

A friend of his mom’s was an artist and had drawn him when he’d turned thirteen, but it hadn’t looked right. The face staring back at him from the canvas didn’t feel like his at all. He didn’t recognize the curve to the nose or the bags under the eyes; it just looked like a stranger. The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt, and he’d tucked it into the back corner of his closet, never to look at it again.

His reflection, where he’d seen the face of his soulmate since he was a baby, was far more familiar to him.

Black hair streaked with white.

Sharp green eyes.

A smattering of freckles over olive skin.

Sometimes it was odd, smearing makeup under eyes that weren’t technically his, and trying to fix hair that was shorter than what showed in the reflection, but it was a problem everyone had until they met their soulmate. He just hoped that the dark clothes looked as good on the real him as it did on his reflection. 

 ---

Virgil was struggling to focus on the textbook paragraph in front of him when his phone chimed. It was a welcome distraction from the existential quandaries that came with Philosophy 103. Just a quick break, he promised. 

 Remus: heyyyyyyy

 Aaaand there was that plan out the window. He couldn’t care less though, studying be damned, because now his heart was pounding and a nearly painful smile was stretching his cheeks. It had been a week since Remus had messaged him, and the pent up joy was all coming out at once. 

 You’re back! He replied amidst flapping hands. How was camping? His fingers hesitated over the keyboard. 

 I missed your messages. I missed you. I was lonely.  

 He said nothing.

 Remus: i caught a squirrel. i couldn’t keep it though

 Virgil: Did you name it at least?

 That’s adorable. You’re adorable and a goof and amazing.

 Remus: Yep. Squirrely Temple

 A picture message showed up moments later, showing a surprisingly relaxed squirrel sitting in a styrofoam cup, a single peanut clasped in it’s little hands. The taker of the photo wasn’t visible, though that was to be expected. 

The next one featured what Virgil assumed was the same squirrel, this time wearing a crudely constructed paper top hat. It held another peanut, and once again seemed shockingly unconcerned. 

The photo was quickly replaced with a call screen and Virgil accepted it eagerly, still laughing.

 “Did you see the squirrel?” Remus asked excitedly, to which Virgil could only laugh harder.

 “Why is it in a hat?” He wheezed.

 “I made it out of sap and a brochure I found. I think Squirrely Temple looked rather dapper.” The grin was evident in Remus’ voice.

 “And you didn’t keep it?” Virgil inelegantly kicked his schoolwork off the bed to lay across it, grabbing his fidget cube from the side table.

 “Nah, something about preserving wildlife and not having enough room at home,” he yawned, “Me an’ Roman gave him plenty of peanuts before we left though. A whole pile on a wood stump.”

 “You sound tired,” Virgil teased. There was a small twinge in his chest at the idea of Remus going to bed already. He’d been off the grid for a week. Virgil was loath to admit, but he’d missed his friend more than expected. 

 “I think my body just sees an actual bed and the ‘tired’ protocol is,” Another yawn, “activated.”

 Virgil yawned in tandem. “You should probably sleep, then.” He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. 

 “Take your own advice, and I’ll consider. When’s the last time you got six hours of sleep?”

 “Consecutively?” 

 Remus snorted. There was a whoosh of air as he dropped onto his bed, and a brief lull in the conversation before he spoke up. “I think I’d rather talk to you than sleep, actually.”

 Damn, how was he supposed to respond to that? He pressed a cool hand to his reddening cheeks, glad the other couldn’t see him. “Wow, is that genuine emotion coming from Remus?” Virgil retorted instead. We can talk for hours if you want. I missed talking to you. 

 “My bad, I think I still have some fresh air in my system.”

 God, he’d missed him. A single week had felt like a whole year without their constant interaction and updates throughout their days. They’d only known each other for months (had it only been months?) but in that time, talking to each other had become so ingrained in their lives, it seemed wrong to not wake up with his phone blown up from messages. It was so effortless, wasting hours away but feeling like no time had passed at all. It meant the world to Virgil.

 And despite their jokes and snarky conversations, he had a feeling it meant a lot to Remus too.

 It was as if he blinked, and the sun had set in the sky. The room had gradually turned dark as ink but Virgil couldn’t be bothered to flip on the lights, not when he was so captivated by Remus’ voice as he recounted his family camping trip. He didn’t notice nor care; this was more important.

Only when Remus’ yawns grew closer and closer together did it occur to him that the other was several hours ahead, blasted timezones. It would be early morning there.

 “I think you should try to sleep,” Virgil grinned as Remus tried and failed to keep talking through another yawn.

 “Maybe,” He sighed.

 “Talk tomorrow?” For the first night in a bit, Virgil felt that same, familiar warm bubble in his chest.

 “I actually had a question for you, first.”

 Pop.

 Remus sounded uncharacteristically nervous, putting Virgil on edge instantly. Everything he’d ever done wrong flooded through his mind. Oh god, how did he find out about the third grade Christmas concert?

 “Do you want to vid chat?” He blurted.

 Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Like, tomorrow. Or not. It’s okay if not.”

 Remus never stuttered. Something about it was unbelievably adorable. 

 “Just for fun, because we haven’t before, but if you don’t want to there’s no pressure-”

 “Yes.”

 All blubbering screeched to a halt on the other end, and Virgil couldn’t decide if his predominant emotion was anxiety or excitement. Besottedness, maybe? Either way, it made his face heat up to the tips of his ears and his feet wiggle.

 “Yes?”

 “Yeah, let’s do it.”

 “Okay!” Remus let out a relieved laugh that bordered on a giggle, “When?”

 “I end classes at one tomorrow.” 

 The man murmured his way through timezone math for a moment. “Yeah! Yeah, okay! I can do that! Yes!”

 Virgil bit his lip, but a laugh made its way through anyways. “I can’t wait.”

 -----------

 Whatever confidence Virgil had developed the day before, it had completely evaporated by the next morning. His mind wandered during classes, too busy coming up with worst case scenarios. What if the connection sucked? What if they spoke over each other and it was awkward? What if they had nothing to talk about and it got awkward? What if they weren’t compatible face to face? It added a whole new layer to their relationship they hadn’t explored before.

 What if they weren’t friends by the end of it? 

 He was equal parts relieved and petrified when his final class ended and there was nothing between him and the call. The whole walk back to his dorm was spent watching the numbers on the clock tick by, each minute sending a rush of adrenaline through him until he was sure he’d collapse from nerves right there on the path way. 

A text from Remus came through three minutes before their agreed time.

 Remus: Ready?

 NO, he wanted to scream. There were too many variables, they were leaving the comfort zone and that’s where Virgil thrived!

 Virgil: 5 mins

 He set up his computer and paced around his room for the remainder of his time. His eyes caught a blur of motion in the mirror and he turned to his reflection, his flapping hands slowing as he studied the face before him as he’d done hundreds of times before. Not his face, but the only one he knew as his.

A part of him was suddenly weighed by guilt as he looked into those bright eyes, because the guiltier part of him knew what he had was a crush. A helpless one, at that. And a hopeless one. What was the point pining after someone when the universe had already handpicked someone else for him? 

Stupid universe and it’s stupid soulmates. 

The chime of an incoming call startled him out of his reverie and he swore under his breath. He tried to soothe down his hair, rub the stress from his eyes, but it was hopeless when he couldn’t see if it actually looked okay.

He sat in his desk chair and took a few measured breaths before clicking accept. The video stuttered and glitched before it finally settled, and Virgil’s breath caught in his throat. 

 Black hair streaked with white.

 Sharp green eyes.

 A smattering of freckles over olive skin. 

 The silence stretched between them for achingly long before Remus beamed into the camera, and it was the most beautiful thing Virgil had ever seen.

 “Well, hello there, soulmate.”

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

[supercorpkid]

It’s you against the world.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Kelly Olsen x Niece!Reader.

Word count: 3175.

Warning: Still angsty, I guess.

I would recommend checking the Rescue Mission series if you haven’t yet :)

Kara said, ‘one thing at a time’. You’re alive, and back on your feet. Brainy is nursed back to health. Alex is out commanding the DEO back again. Jamie is exhausted, but fine. Kelly looks like she never even was in danger in the first place. And your Gramm is talking about going back to Midvale. Everyone is doing ok, but Lena.

How can no one be talking about this? About the fact that she’s not even here. About the fact that she looked blankly at your face and told you she doesn’t have a daughter, nor a family? This should be the only thing on their minds because it’s the only thing on your mind. How can they bear the fact that one person from this family is not here? How is the fact that she’s alive and safe enough for them?

As soon as your feet touch the ground and you get the ‘approval’ for leaving -even though you still look like a war painting, with all the blood and the bruises-, you fly out of the DEO. Kara tries to stop you, but she doesn’t know where you’re going, so you guess she’ll show up in a while. You fly to where you found Jamie and Lena. The place is abandoned and none of the guys that you beat up are still there. Well, there’s no one to follow now, so you figured they have fled the scene.

You grab everything you can see that was possibly used to erase her mind. You even carry the chair out of that hiding place and into L Corp. You use your super speed to take everything into your lab, and then call the front desk to let Aly know you’re in there. You beg her not to tell Lena, because you’re working on a surprise, and tell her you don’t want to be interrupted by anything or anyone.

You’ve been working for hours, and you’re almost sure it’s night and you haven’t heard from anyone yet. Great, Aly is doing her job and not letting anyone disturb you. This should work.

“Baby, please.” Kara knocks on your lab door, and you breathe deep, trying to ignore her. You don’t have time for this, for whatever it is that she wants, you just can’t waste time. You only have time for one thing in your life right now and you don’t care about the rest of the world. “Can you open the door, so I can see your pretty little face?”

“I’m busy, go away!” You answer, rolling your chair to the computer behind you, and your hands go crazy on the keyboard.

“I’m not leaving.” Kara says, and you look at the door, rolling your eyes. “I need you to open the door, so I don’t have to break it.”

“Don’t you dare destroy L Corp property, Kara Danvers!” You speak loudly and your heart squeezes on your chest when you hear your own voice. You sounded just like Lena.

Kara sighs on the other side of the door, hanging her head low, thinking the same thing you are. You know that by the way her heart changes a beat the slightest.

“My love, I know you’re hurt. I know you want to solve this, and trust me, I want you to crack this too, but-”

“Then leave!” You yell, cutting her off. “If you want me to solve this, then you have to leave and let me work, because right now you’re distracting me.”

“It’s the middle of the night, you need sleep.” Kara keeps going, and you see her hand on the handle. No way in hell you’re going to let her break this door. You roll your chair towards the door and open to a puppy face doe-eyed Kara. “Little one, you just got out of a fight where you almost died. Let’s go home. Let’s wash this blood off and-”

“No.” You roll back to your workstation. “You can stay and help if you want, but you will not convince me to leave. This is my fault, and I have to fix it.”

“Kid, this is not your fault. You did what you had to do. You saved her. Rao, don’t you get it?” Kara goes to you and kneels next to your chair. “You saved everyone. You saved me, Jamie, Alex, Kelly, Eliza. And you saved Lena! Lena is safe! Alive! Because of you.”

“It’s not enough. I didn’t do enough.” You ignore her, hands still moving fast on the keyboard. Although, if you’re being honest, you’re not exactly typing anything that makes sense right now. You’re just distracting yourself, and trying to show Kara how busy you are, so she can leave.

“You did what you could’ve done. You did what I would’ve done in that situation, baby.” Kara says, putting her hands on top of yours so you can stop. With her other hand she holds your chin, and makes you look at her. “You are a hero. This is not your fault.”

“Stop.” You clench your jaw, feeling the anger boiling your blood. You try to stop it from coming up and devouring you, but you can’t. “Stop patronizing me. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I know you’re not. You’re an awesome superhero who just saved all National City. But you’re also a person, and you have basic needs. You need to sleep, eat, change out of your super suit, wash this dry blood off, you need to catch some sunlight to heal your bruises, and I-” Kara breathes heavily swallowing her tears. “I need you.”

“You can stay and help if you want, but-”

“Stop. Please, baby, please, stop.” Kara says, eyes full of tears. You can see the pain on her face. You can hear the pain in her voice. It makes you sadder. “I miss her too.”

“Not enough.” You get out of her grip, and stand up, going to the table behind you, distracting yourself with the first thing your hands can grab, in front of you. “You can’t possibly miss her enough if you’re here trying to convince me to stop trying and go home.”

“That’s not fair. You’re my daughter and I have to care for you.” Kara stands up, walking to where you are. She easily spins you around and strokes your cheek gently. “Look at you, baby, you’re battle-worn.”

“You can’t be here talking about sleep and shower when your goddamn wife doesn’t remember who you are!” You slap her hand away from your face. “She-she doesn’t remember me! I did this! You don’t get it!” Your eyes are full of tears too, but it’s more than sadness. It’s guilt, and pain, and anger. It makes you furious that everyone else in the entire world is out there doing anything, anything besides helping your mom get her memories back and be herself again.

“I do.” Kara tries, which only makes you angrier.

“NO, you DON’T!” You yell, making her flinch at the voice raise and she takes a couple steps back, giving you space. “And you NEVER will!” You grab the first thing you see and throw it on the floor next to her. Kara watches, motionless, the wrench breaking on your hand, and then kicking on the floor before stopping in front of her feet. “You will never understand how this is my fault. I made the wrong call. You’re Kryptonian, she’s human. I should’ve gone for her first!”

“Then why did you go for me?” Kara furrows her eyebrows, looking stung by your declaration.

“I thought you could help me.” You hold her gaze defiant. “But you didn’t. You couldn’t. I had to do it alone, and I didn’t do enough.”

“You have to stop saying this. Kid, you sacrificed yourself for us. How is that not enough?” Kara comes closer again, holding her hands out so you can hold it. “You nearly died. You did more than-”

“I told you to STOP PATRONIZING ME!” You punch your anger through the table, making a hole right where your hand went. “GET OUT!”

“Little one-”

“I said GET OUT! Get out of my lab!” You point at the door. “Only come back here when you realize that mom needs me. That I’m the only one who should-who can bring her back. Until then, you’re not welcomed here.”

Kara stands there, unmoving. Taking in your every word like punches in the gut. But you don’t care. You’ve been punched in the gut a lot today. By aliens, by your own gullibility, by Lena’s empty look towards you, by your guilt that’s been eating you out from the inside.

You turn around, so you don’t face her, and you go grab more things for your work. She looks lost, stuck there, drinking your words in. You don’t look behind yourself for a few good minutes, and when you do, she’s gone. No trace she was ever there, except the things you broke because you’re mad.

You are mad at so many things you don’t even know where to start. And you decide not to. You can’t start thinking about the things you’re mad about or this will never get done and you will have to go longer without Lena knowing who you are.

You go back to work. Solely focus on bringing her memories back, whatever it costs. You are tired. You’re past the point of hunger. You start to feel your blood drying up on your skin getting so parched it breaks it off when you move, and you know you could use a shower. You’re fueling your body with energy drinks only, and you guess they were put outside your door by Aly. You lose count of how many meals you’ve skipped; despite the fact that food is also placed outside your door from time to time. And how many sleepless hours it has been now. You’re battle worn, exhausted, and drained out, but you won’t leave this lab until you crack this.

“Kiddo, is aunt Alex.” You hear a voice coming from your door. Honestly, by now, you might as well be hallucinating this whole thing. It feels like you’ve been alone here for days now.

“If you’re not here to help, then don’t waste your breath.” You answer, finally looking at the door and you see she’s not alone. “I don’t think therapist Olsen can help.”

“Can you just open the door for a minute?” Alex asks and waits a little. You don’t go there. “Please, kiddo, it’s not fair you can see us, and we can’t talk to you face-to-face.”

“You want to talk about fair?” You run to the door, opening it with so much anger it startles both of your aunts on the other side. The sight of you, you imagine, also helps with this shock. “Let’s talk about how you made me decide which mom I had to save first! I’m just a kid! You put that decision in my hands! How is that fair?”

“Hey, that’s not, kiddo, come on.” Alex breathes deep trying to calm herself. “That shapeshifter was playing with us. I told you to go for Lena, but it-it had Kara’s location. It wanted you to go for Kara, so it could buy time to erase Lena’s mind.”

“You should’ve made me! You’re the grown-up! You’re the director of the DEO, you’re the one who was supposed to know what to do!”

“Well, surprise, I didn’t!” Alex raises her voice a little, and Kelly holds her arms like telling her to calm down. “I didn’t know what the hell was going on and my sister wasn’t answering. So when that alien gave you Kara’s location, I wanted you to go for her. There was no way for me to know what was really happening so you can’t-you just can’t blame me for this.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t blame anyone but myself.” You turn around, going back to your computer. “I see you didn’t come to help, so you can make your way out. If you're looking for confirmation, there, you have it. It’s not your fault.”

“Honey.” Kelly says in the most condescending tone you’ve ever heard, and you hold your breath and close your fist trying to hold the anger inside. “It’s not your fault either. You were tricked, like everyone else. Alex was tricked by fake Brainy, me and Jamie got tricked by fake Alex. We all got tricked too. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“And you don’t blame me?” You turn to them again, narrowing your eyes. “None of you blame me for this?”

“Of course not!”

“No, not at all!”

“That’s funny.” But you’re not laughing. “Would you still not blame me if Jamie couldn’t remember you? What if I were too late to save her too? What if right now your daughter didn’t know any of you? Are you sure the speech would still be the same or would you be here helping me find out the fucking solution for this nightmare I’m living? Huh?”

They blink at you. No words come for a few seconds where they just drink your words in like Kara did. You don’t have time to waste on this.

“Get out. And tell Kara to stop sending people that can’t help me.” You turn around again. They sigh and leave, defeated.

And you go on. Alone with your sick and raging mind. You have no sense of time anymore. It could be minutes since they left, hours, days. You wouldn’t know.

You look at the device ready in front of you. Run the numbers on the computer again. This looks good, it looks like it could work now.

“This is my tenth try on the memory recovery. I have changed the programing on the original alien mind wiper.” You breathe deep, recording yourself. “I’ll use my memory wiper to forget something stupid, then I’ll try to fish that memory back with the memory recovery. I’ll forget my school’s principal’s name, so I guess goodbye Mrs. Goodwin. Here goes nothing.”

You use your memory wiper on yourself.

“Ok, I forgot whatever her name is. Let’s try fishing that memory back now.” You grab the metal halo thing you took on the alien’s hiding spot and put it on your head. “Ok, the principal of my school is called-” You think and think. You go back to every moment you were face to face with her, every time you got called at her office. “I don’t know.”

You yank the halo out of your head, and drop on your knees, crying.

“I don’t know!”

It doesn’t work, nothing works. Nothing you do is enough!

“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!” You yell, punching the chair out of your way, and it just rolls to the other end of the lab, falling loudly.

You didn’t save her soon enough. You didn’t stop them before they harmed her, and you don’t fucking care they are dead, they still won. Your mom doesn’t remember you; they have won. You’re alive, having to deal with this shit. Having to deal with the fact that you’re not enough. Not enough of a superhero, not enough of a scientist.

You’re weeping on the floor. So incredibly heavy-hearted and alone. And you’re also so mad. So freaking furious with the world. How dare it come for your family? How dare the world keep throwing drama and trauma on your back all the damn time? It doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe, before sending more fucking ass suffering your way.

How dare National City depend on your family so much? Why can’t they save themselves? Why can't heroes catch a break? Is this a legal thing? Was it a contract you signed without being aware? Why. Can’t. You. Just. Be. Happy?

You don’t even see it happening, you’re too drained and reliving your own nightmare to notice. But Kara walks in the lab, sits on the floor, picks you up gently and wraps you up in her arms, wordless. You just stay there, sobbing mercifully on her shirt, while she strokes your hair gently and says something you can’t make out because of how loud your thoughts and words of accusation for yourself are.

“It was not your fault. It was not your doing.” You finally make out what Kara has been repeating like a mantra to you.

“Mommy. I want her back.” You sob and Kara kisses your head gently.

“I know, little one. I want her back too.” You look at Kara, and all the pain in her face. Pain that you helped add up, by the way. “But I want you back first, my love. I want you so much more.”

“I’m sorry I said I shouldn’t have gone for you first.” You stop clinging to her so you can raise your hand to her face and clean her tears. “I did what my heart told me to, and I’m not sorry for it.”

Kara kisses your hand and smiles softly at you.

“I know what you’re feeling, because if presented with the same situation I would have done exactly what you did. And I would be here feeling guilty and mad at the world.” Kara says, holding your face with both hands.“So I can’t judge you for feeling like this. All I can do, my baby, is tell you no one else thinks this is your fault. No one is going to blame you if you just go home and sleep, before coming back here again and keep going. And no one is going to say no to help you, because we all want Lena back as fast as possible.” Kara’s breath shudders out , like her heart is on your hands. “So please, my heart, please come home with mommy and sleep this through, and tomorrow I promise I’ll do no objection for you to come back to work. In fact, I’ll come back and help you if you want.”

“I don’t think I can fly right now. Will you please take me home?” You ask softly and Kara smiles at you, kissing your forehead as a response. She picks you up, walking out of the lab. She turns off the lights and closes the door.

And you close your eyes and wait.

You thought if you left the lab without a solution the world would instantly burn down and destroy you. But instead, you feel the wind on your hair. You hear the world's sounds. Smell Kara’s perfume, mixed with sunshine and that perfect familiar scent of home.

You open your eyes to see that the world is still the same. That you’re not going to be punished for not having a solution right away and even before Kara lands in the backyard, you’re sleeping this nightmare away. You can go back to fighting the world when you wake up.

Notes:

Thanks @yvonkayvonki for the idea of the kid fighting with Kara. I thought it made sense for her to be so angry after the fight she would take it on the world, STILL broke my heart though.

[cinnaminsvga]

A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could -  you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him.  “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x 

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

[unnie-lili]

can u do fluff 29+11 for jeongin <3

Winter Confessions

29. “My heart is beating so fast right now.”

11. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

from my Prompts list

Requests are : OPEN

A/N : Hi anon 🌸 Thank you for the request. I hope you enjoy!

pairing : jeongin x GN!reader

genre : fluff, non!idol Jeongin, college!AU

word count : 1.3K

warnings : none

You were walking down the snowy sidewalk, hands deep into your coat pockets as the cold December air hit your skin. Watching as the snow fell softly, you couldn't help but shiver and curse winter for being so cold. You were heading to your classmate Jeongin's house to complete a project due the next day, walking as fast as the iced-out pavement allowed you.

You weren't usually the type of student to finish a project last minute, but your obvious crush on Jeongin made you ditch him every time you both had planned to meet up to work on it. You dreaded every moment you had to spend with him, only because you didn't want him to notice your blushing cheeks and stuttering voice every time he asked you a question. He was often your partner in class projects, and you had enough occasions to embarrass yourself in front of him to last a lifetime.

You regretted pushing the meetings until the last day, though. Now, instead of meeting at the campus library after school, you had to show up at his house on a Sunday afternoon. You had avoided this scenario as much as you could. Just the thought of being in a room alone with him had your heart racing. He's going to find out my crush for him for sure.

You knocked on the door once, finding the strength not to run away as soon as the door opened on your classmate's face.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Just the way he said your name made your heart flutter. He had the cutest smile on his lips, making your nervousness turn down a notch.

“H-hi, Jeongin,” you mustered up, looking anywhere but his face.

“I'm glad you could make it,” he didn't seem to notice your agitation. “Come on in, it's freezing outside.”

He held the door open for you as you shuffled in, taking off your boots and coat. You stepped further inside as he closed the door behind you, ever still smiling.

“Mom, this is Y/N,” Jeongin pointed to you to the woman who was sitting in the living room.

You were startled, turning around to face Jeongin's mom. You hadn't seen her when you came in and quickly greeted her.

“Ah, so you're Y/N,” she smiled softly. “I've heard great things about you.”

Your eyes shot wide, confused.

“You have?” was all you could respond.

She only nodded, looking at her son with a small smile before going back to her book. You didn't notice how Jeongin's cheeks turned red as he cleared his throat.

“We have a project to finish up, we better start now if we want this over before midnight,” he stated, avoiding looking at you.

“Dinner's going to be done in about an hour, I'll let you know when it's ready,” his mom told you, watching as you both left the living room.

You followed him to his room, standing awkwardly as he made some space on his desk for both your laptops.

“Sorry, I know it's a bit messy in here,” he seemed embarrassed by the small clutter in his room. “Here, you can sit there.”

He pulled a second chair and put it beside the first one at the desk.

“I-I've seen messier, don't worry,” you tried to reassure him, getting a small smile in response.

You both sat down at the desk, pulling your laptops up and starting to work on your designed parts of the project.

The room was silent, the only noises being heard were the clicking of your computer's keyboard and a defeated sigh here and there. You acclimated to Jeongin's presence rather quickly, no longer feeling the knot in your stomach every time his would brush yours or his leg would accidentally kick yours under the desk. Your heartrate even became somewhat normal after while, which you had never experienced before.

The project was going great, having more than half done by the time Jeongin's mom came knocking at his door.

“Dinner's ready,” she simply announced, opening the door slightly. “I hope I'm not bothering you in your hard work.”

Jeongin stretched out his arms over his head, smiling at his mom.

“We're almost done, we'll be there in a few minutes.”

His mom smiled.

“Don't rush it, I'll keep your meals warm.”

With that, she closed the door. You looked at Jeongin beside you, feeling your cheeks burn up as you lock eyes with him.

“You know, like you said, we're almost done,” you managed to say. “I can leave after that, no need to keep me a plate. I don't want to intrude.”

Jeongin tilted his head to the side, pouting.

“What do you mean? You can stay and eat with us, you're not intruding. Beside, mom already made you a plate.”

You nodded your head, why did he have to be so cute?

“Thank you,” you replied with a small smile, going back to your project.

You felt his eyes on you, doing your best at ignoring him as you could. He started playing with the fidgets on his desk, his stare going between you and his own laptop screen.

“Is there a reason why you kept ditching me?” he finally asked, making you stop typing for half a second.

How were you supposed to answer that?

“I've just been really busy, a-and I suck at time management, I guess,” you shrugged it off, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Busy with what?” he asked curiously, leaning his head towards you.

“School stuff,” you lied, eyes focused on the screen in front of you.

Your heart felt as if it was going to bounce out of your chest. You couldn't understand why he was suddenly asking you all these questions.

“We have all our classes together,” he snickered. “That's not true. Why are you lying?”

“We don't have gym together,” you blurt out.

You finally looked at him, a defiant look in your eyes. He was smiling widely, his face way too close to yours.

“I'm sure you have a lot of gym homework,” he nodded, still smiling deviously. “I think I know why you've been avoiding me.”

You heart dropped.

“Oh,” you lost all confidence in your voice. “A-and why is that?”

He took a dramatic pause, his eyes studying your face.

“Because you have a boyfriend, and he's threatened by my perfection.”

You almost let out a laugh, relief washing all over your body.

“No,” you simply replied, smiling.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You don't have a boyfriend?” he blurted out.

You shook your head, laughing softly.

“Oh, good,” he smiled brightly, “because, honestly, I can't stop thinking about you.”

You immediately lose your smile, staring at him dumbfounded.

“W-what?”

“Ever since we've been assigned our first project together, three years ago, I've really liked you. Like, a lot, Y/N.”

You scanned his face, trying to see if he was joking. He looked honest, and that confused you even more. Jeongin liking you?

“A-and I thought the feeling was mutual,” he continued, doubt glinting in his eyes. “But if not, it's completely okay, I understand, no biggie, okay?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, looking away from your face. You felt like your heart was going to burst.

“I-I like you too, Jeongin,” you whispered, still shaken up.

“Really?” he leaned closer, staring directly into your soul. “Thank God, otherwise, this project presentation would've been really awkward.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Your whole body seemed to relax as he laughed with you, his eyes not-so-subtly looking down at your lips.

“So, can I,” he paused, licking his lips. “Wow, sorry, my heart is beating so fast right now,” he chuckled to himself. “Can I kiss you?”

You shyly nodded your head. He shot you a soft smile before closing the gap between you two, pressing his lips on yours.

You closed your eyes, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Maybe winter won't be as cold this year.

[trashmouthkid]

“Surely not…everyone?”

Eddie’s eyebrows twist in a conflicted mix of amusement and doubt. In the cubicle across from him, Kay straddles her office chair, chin resting on the back rest. She eyes Audra next to her, who bites down on a smile.

“I mean, not Stan,” Eddie says, as if it’s obvious, but he’s given another try again look and his confidence shakes. “Okay…But Bill’s only just got here.”

“Yeah,” Audra agrees, “but Mike’s been here for five years.”

That was five years less than Eddie’s been here. He sighs. He shouldn’t have asked. What the deal with the conference room on Thursdays was. He really didn’t want to know. 

But he was nosy, and starting to feel out of place for it.

And, well. The deal with the conference room on Thursdays was that there were no conferences on Thursdays at all. And yet the room still found its place, found a purpose, a reason to be around, five days a week anyway.

“Look, Eddie, its—it’s no big deal, or anything,” Kay says. “We know you have a thing about germs and all.”

“We’re not kicking you out of trivia night or anything,” Audra agrees. “It’s just…what happens.”

Eddie stifles a scowl. A moment or two of silence passes between the three of them, and then he says: “I could do it.”

He’s got that look on his face, he knows by the worried glance Kay and Audra share. That stubborn determinism that gets him in trouble more than anything else. “I could!”

“Okay,” Audra says, bemused. “Sure. With who? You don’t exactly have a great track record with one-night stands.”

Eddie’s lost his reasonable train of thought by now and stands to look around their office floor irritably. The people he knows, the people he doesn’t. For all he’s learned about himself in the last few years, he can’t figure out which would be the better option. Or worse, still, which would less likely leave him rejected. He bites down on the inside of his cheek at the same time his eyes fall on someone with whom he’s never heard the word “no” from in his entire life.

He grimaces, then shakes it off.

“Richie,” he says, matter-of-factly.

When Eddie takes a direction, apparently he takes it sharp, because he’s known Richie longer than anyone else here. Longer than Stan—longer than Bill, even. And the gawky, curly-haired man, who’d been hunched over his keyboard in some sort of hyper-focused work-a-thon until now, swivels around in his chair like a dog perking up it’s ears at the sound of its name.

“Hmm?” he says, eyebrows raised. He sees Eddie on his feet and the two women pulled away from their cubicles out onto the middle of the floor and looks between the three of them. Eddie comes over and grabs his wrist.

“We,” he says stubbornly, “are having sex in the conference room. Right now.”

“Oh,” Richie says to himself. “Sweet.”

Eddie pulls him away from his cubicle, past the other desks filled with coworkers who glace briefly in their direction before getting back to their work. He shoves Richie into the conference room and closes the door behind him.

In the dark, he catches glimpses of his thoughts again and immediately feels embarrassed.

“Christ” he mutters. “How the hell—”

There’s commotion behind him and when he looks back, Richie is tugging on his belt buckle at the same time he’s toeing off his shoes, face scrunched up in frustration.

“What are you doing?” Eddie says in a harsh whisper. Richie looks up at him, startled. He feels his face heat. “Oh my god. Did. Did you think we were actually going to have sex in here?”

Richie furrows his brows.

“No,” he whispers back, and the sarcasm is noted. “When you said we were going to have sex in the conference room, I thought you meant we were going to start a book club.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I just want them to think that I am,” he says after a moment.

“Sure,” Richie says, like it makes all the sense in the world, in the way that it makes no sense at all.

Eddie sighs. Rests his forehead against the door. When the quiet goes on for too long, he turns around to face Richie.

“You were really going to have sex with me in a conference room?” he asks doubtfully.

“Eddie,” Richie says, and holds out his empty hands like he’s giving something to him. “If you haven’t yet noticed, I would have sex with you in the rain. I would have sex with you on a train! I would have sex with you in the park. I would have sex with you in the dark. Do I have to keep going? Because it’s about to get weird.”

Eddie swallows. “Oh,” he says, and fights a smile. “Well, that’s…really flattering. And totally inappropriate.”

In response, Richie gestures between the two of them, alone in the conference room with the door locked on behalf of Eddie. Eddie throws his hands up in surrender, but is still thinking about what Richie said. He would be thinking about it the rest of the workday. He would be thinking about it when he got home—late, in bed. He would be thinking about it tomorrow, when Richie came over for movie night like he always did. Richie. Who makes a bed of his couch without even asking.

Eddie wonders who he—

“Okay, I think we’re good now.”

“Hey now,” Richie argues. “Give me some credit. I deserve at least another five minutes.”

It is, technically, the least Eddie can do. So he sighs, presses his hip against the wall, and absently checks his definitely broken watch for the next couple minutes.

“Alright,” Richie says eventually, and Eddie reaches for the doorknob. “Hang on.”

Eddie stills and Richie comes over. Reaches out with steady hands and first, loosens his tie. Then undoes a button—just one—and Eddie can feel the brush of his fingertips on his bare neck. He runs his hands through Eddie’s hair and Eddie holds his breath. He steps back to look at Eddie, and Eddie closes his eyes.

“Wow.” Richie’s voice is low again, and when Eddie opens his eyes, he’s shaking his head. “Okay. You first. I’ll be right behind you.

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

winter in itaewon || Choi Beomgyu

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x gamer!fem!reader

Genre/s: Fluff; Angst; Humor (if you squint)

Word count: 5,0k

Warning/s: it is implied that reader was subject to violence (once); although it says the reader is a gamer, there are not that many references towards to actual gaming lmao; this was proofread like once (😭)

Hyunjin and Jeongin take Beomgyu out to the PC Room in Itaewon for his birthday; a year after their last visit. As he reminisces the events of the year before, every corner of his mind is revisited by her — as if he were capable of forgetting her anyway.

a/n: happy beomgyu day!!💞 the inspiration to write this hit me in the middle of the night, coming from these kickass headcannons by sumi, and it's completely different to the initial idea i shared with amie sksjsjs alsothislowkeysucks. nevertheless, i hope you all enjoy!!

12 March 2021, 23:30

Despite being embraced by his thick padded coat, the freezing air still managed to disrupt the warmth in annoying, sharp gusts every time the wind blew. Itaewon was always more alive while the rest of Seoul slept soundly, and tonight was no exception. The streets were aglow with the lambent signage of the many stalls and establishments which lined it’s pavements, and were filled with clusters of people who either visited the stores, window-shopped or were simply enjoying the night-life.

Beomgyu wasn’t very enthusiastic about joining Hyunjin and Jeongin when they had initially posed the idea. He’d been spending much of his time in the studio and practice room, so the plan was to get some sleep when he had some free time. His conscience eventually got the better of him, though – he hadn’t been able to meet up with his friends in months due to work and the pandemic, and his scheduled birthday live thwarted the possibility of holding it off until the following day.

“Are you good?” Jeongin asked, pulling Beomgyu out of his thoughts, arching a brow at his dazed friend. He noticed that he had been lagging behind the two of them, and that their features were now etched with concern. Beomgyu pushed the bangs out of his face before waving them off, mumbling that he’s okay.

There was a look in their eyes that Beomgyu couldn’t quite decipher, but pushed it off as nothing when Jeongin draped an arm over his shoulder and lead him further down the street. His feet stopped squarely when they made it to the PC Room, cementing themselves before the front door. Jeongin looked at Beomgyu and smiled.

“Are you coming in?”

It wasn’t that Beomgyu didn’t want to respond, he simply couldn’t. Sure, it may have seemed like a trivial thing to answer, the words just wouldn’t formulate coherent sentences – his mind didn’t have the capacity to make them. Her. That was the only thing it could manifest. Her. 

The pressure of a years-worth of his bottled emotions had finally blew it’s top – thoughts, images and memories which had been ingrained into his subconscious coming forth to hit him like a train.

“We’ll wait for you inside, then.”

31 December 2019, 22:00

Laughter ringing through the air, Hyunjin, Jeongin and Beomgyu pushed open the door to the PC Room. Beomgyu stopped at the door while the other two signed in, arms rubbing away the remnants of snow on the arms of his black coat. Removing his mask, he smiled into the warmth of the heated building. Their schedules after debut had left no space for any recreation, so it was liberating to spend New Years Eve with his friends, doing what he does best.

“Ready to have your butts kicked?” Beomgyu cackled, with his whole chest, as they took their seats next to one another in the isle, earning him much-deserved glares. As soon as he’s logged on and the headset is donned however, his usually playful demeanour is replaced by one of a much calmer nature – studying the map, observing enemy tactics and carefully directing his support as his fingers glide skilfully across the keyboard.

Hyunjin groaned after the umpteenth attempt to beat him, dropping the headset onto the desk as Jeongin whined into his hands. A smirk rolled onto Beomgyu’s lips as he leaned back into the swivel chair, flashing his brows at them. “I refuse to believe this is possible, it’s got to be rigged!”

“Ah, after all this time I’ve still got it,” Beomgyu retorted, chuffed with himself for doing as well as he knew he would. Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ranked first with the amount of times I kicked ass on this server.”

Jeongin, who had taken it upon himself to do the fact-checking, smirked at the screen before calling the two of them over. “Actually–”

Beomgyu screamed in frustration, tossing the headset onto the desk before pushing against it, sending him flying across the floor in the chair. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the strategy he just couldn’t beat the player in first place. The commotion startled the other two, who had fallen asleep waiting for Beomgyu to finish up, the satisfaction of witnessing his losses long past.

“Just one more game, I swear!” he whined as they dragged him away from the PC screen.

Hyunjin seethed, “that’s what you said three hours ago! No, we’re leaving. Jeongin’s parents have been waiting up for us.”

Beomgyu huffed at the front counter. While the older took care of the bill, he found that the room was completely empty – almost. The light emanating from a desk directly across from where he stood, lit up the face of a young-looking girl. She seemed to be in high school (that’s what the uniform she wore indicated atleast) and the big, round, metal-framed glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, mirrored the computer screen. The sight pacified Beomgyu, for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, a smile stretching across his face.

He sauntered closer, eyes searching around for nothing in particular, trying not to look like a creep as he approached you. His smile only grew when he found her eyebrows knitted together, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in concentration. And then he saw it. The graphics reflecting from her glasses seeming all to familiar to him, he rushed around the desk, eyes darting to the top corner of the screen.

ID: winter996

12 January 2020, 22:30

Beomgyu’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited at the desk closest to the entrance, checking his watch every few minutes, before running a frustrated hand through his soft silvery locks. He had finally gotten the chance to visit the PC room again, most of his time having gone into practice and rehearsals for award show season, and he wasn’t leaving until he saw you again.

He ran out of the practice room as soon as he heard that they would have the following day off; he was exhausted and had been waiting for almost two hours – but he refused to leave until he saw you again.

The owner noticed the boy sitting at the desk he usually reserved for you, lips curling at the sight of the fidgety youth. He had visited on three prior occasions; once with his friends, and the remaining times himself, sitting in exactly the same spot he was now sitting. Instead of chasing him away as he did everyone else, he simply waited to see how this turn of events would unfold.

You pushed open the glass doors with a huff, adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder before blowing the stray hairs from your face. Keeping your eyes fixed on the ground beneath you, you nod to the owner and he returns the gesture with a smile, although he knows you won’t see it.

Beomgyu, who had almost surrendered himself to the fatigue, sat up straight when you pulled back the chair next to him. He watched as you scrunched up your nose in attempt to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose before putting the headset on, and chuckled softly.

He watched in awe as you cleared level after level, climbing the ranks as you went along, with seemingly no effort whatsoever. You kept the mic off and communicated with your group though the chat, which was probably why he never realised you were a girl. Your strategy seemed way too complex for him to understand, and his amazement never faltered for even a second, as you dominated each and every position you played.

It was a little over an hour before you decided to take a break, wondering where the owner was since he usually brought your snacks around that time. Pushing the headset around your neck, you stretched upward to see where he was, only to find yourself roughly pushed back down and turned toward a strange boy whom you’ve never seen before.

His eyes, sparkling with absolute wonder, coaxed your surprise and made your heart race with a feeling as unfamiliar as he was.

“You have to tell me how you do that! Teach me, please, Winter996!”

25 January 2020, 22:30

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” you voice rang from the speaker of Beomgyu’s phone. He never questioned your reasons for not turning your mic on during the game, but insisted that you speak directly to him instead. “On your left, be careful.”

“I know, I see them. And yes, but I have some time before the next session starts.” After much pestering, about something having to do with ‘senseis’ and ‘disciples’, you agreed to let Beomgyu play with you. He was rather beside himself when you told him you never really used any strategy, though; you ‘just did what felt right’.

An adorable smile had tugged at your lips during his three hundred-and-fifty paged slideshow about the importance of strategy and observation, one he would not soon forget.

“You could just wait until Itaewon.”

“Is it my fault you only go when your rank drops?”

Soobin’s dark head of hair popped into the studio, and he glared upon finding Beomgyu tapping away at his laptop on the sofa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The break as been over ages ago–”

“(Y/n), (Y/n), go, go! I’ll cover you!”

“Beomgyu, I think–”

“You’re playing again?! With a girl?!”

5 February 2020, 22:00

You’re quieter than usual and Beomgyu noticed right away. Over the phone, you never had any qualms in conversating with him– when you were playing the game, atleast. The thought that it was because of him does cross his mind, but he catches the frown you’re desperately trying to hide, by biting the inside of your cheek.

A thick scarf is wrapped around your neck, your chin buried into the red woolly folds, and your hair frames your face,  but he sees the light swelling on the side of your face and around your eyes that you’re trying to hide. The feeling in the pit of his stomach makes his nails press crescents into the palms of his hands, but he fights the urge to ask.

“Beomgyu! What are you doing! They’re coming!” you yell, pulling him back to reality, hearing the sound of your voice at long last calming him a tad.

“Right, sorry.”

You played together straight through into the early hours of the morning, sharing victory after victory, with him right by your side. You froze up when he instinctively pulled you into a hug upon your last win, gulping as he slowly removed his arms, laughing it off as his adrenaline high peaked higher.

The van’s horn blared outside, catching you both off guard. Beomgyu quickly grabbed his coat before making his way back up the way he came, but paused before he opened the door. Craning his head back to look at you once more, he smiled.

“I’ll text you later.”

12 February 2020, 23:30

Beomgyu’s hands move quickly across the controls, your voice shouting orders to him through the headset as the current game hit it’s climax. Playing with Beomgyu all the time had made you a lot more comfortable with engaging with the other members of your group, so although you were still pretty anxious at first, you made the decision to turn on your mic.

“We did it!” Beomgyu cheered as your team cleared yet another level.

Gaming was something mundane to you and winning was easy; but sneaking out to the PC Room from time to time helped alleviate the pressures of your personal life. The life which you would rather die than share with Beomgyu. But after being swayed by his nonsensical attempts at convincing you, logging onto the server had become your favorite thing to do.

Every victory felt extraordinary when shared with him, and you could have sworn that at that very moment, you could see the way the ends of his eyes creased as the edges of his lips pushed up his cheeks. The way his arms would be stretched up in happiness, as his intoxicating laugher filled the air.

On the other end, Beomgyu leaned back into his desk chair, smiling into the darkness, envisioning the way you’d be pretending it was no big deal whilst your eyes sparkled with happiness and a smile dug into your rosey cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

You hummed into the mic, your head rested on the desk and your eyes closed, just listening to his voice, savoring every second of it.

“Do you...have a Valentine or something?”

14 February 2020, 18:00

From the moment the car pulled up down the street, Beomgyu was unable to take his eyes off from you. His eyes travelled up from the scuffed white sneakers which tapped against the pavement nervously, to the washed out jeans, to the oversized cardigan, which bunched up around the wrists of your hands, which shifted between nervously tucking your hair behind your ears, to pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, to straightening out your outfit.

You were going to be the death of him.

He hurried toward you as soon as he saw you shiver. The sound of his soles against the wet concrete caught your attention and you turned in his direction, the look in your eyes nearly resulting in a fatal blow – the way they bewitched nearly had him hitting his head against the sidewalk.

Your hands tightened around the strap of the bag slung around your shoulder as you watched the dark-haired boy make his way down the street to you, a stupidly giddy-looking expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the way you did about Beomgyu – even though you knew you shouldn’t.

You were never really interested in fan culture, but some of the girls in your cram school were very invested. When you heard them gushing about a group called ‘Tomorrow X Together’ and it’s members the previous afternoon, a knot formed in your stomach. The first thing you did when you got home, was do research. You decided to listen to all of their albums and watch all of their music videos, interviews and content videos. Unsure what to do with all the new-found information and conflicting emotions, you pulled the covers over your head and tried to sleep instead. But you couldn’t.

Beomgyu flicked the side of your head, bringing you back to the present, and your cheeks flushed upon realization of his proximity. He smirked, wrapping his brown scarf around your neck. “It’s still winter you know, Winter. You should dress warmly.”

You clicked your tongue and pouted at his teasing use of your in-game alias, and marched off without him. He trailed behind you, laughing and relieved that you were no longer frowning as you were before. You froze when he caught up with you, feeling the warmth of his hand as it slipped into yours, tucking it into his coat pocket. Burying your face into his scarf, which smelled just like him, you smiled giddily, letting him pull you along with him.

He took you to dinner and the amusement park after that. He was thrilled to know you liked rollercoasters as much as he did and embarrassed to know he couldn’t even beat you at the kid’s games. He ended up going home with a truckload of new plushies, and you, with ever-increasing feelings that you had no idea what to do with.

28 February 2020, 23:42

Beomgyu burst through the doors of the PC Room no longer than 10 minutes after receiving a call from the owner. He still wore his sleepwear, over which his coat was thrown, his hair was disheveled and his bare left foot was stuffed halfway into a sneaker, while his sock-wearing right foot was slipped into a black slipper.

The owner, with worry painted across his features, cocked his head to the desk where the two of you usually sat. His heart ached at the sight of your curled up figure beneath it. Your bloodshot eyes widened when you realized his presence, the surprise enabling him a few seconds to examine you up and down before you turned away from him. Your bottom lip was cut and bruised, your cheek was swollen and bruises were littered across your face and the length of your arms and neck, your hair as messy as his was.

You insisted that you’re okay, even though he took you into his arms without asking anything at all. You insisted that you’re okay, but as his warmth enveloped you, tears began streaming down your face. He felt the way your body trembled in his arms, so he begins rocking you back and forth slowly, pressing soft kisses into your hair, whispering a single phrase over and over again.

“I’m here.”

4 March 2020, 19:00

Due to the pandemic, one of the award show ceremonies the boys were supposed to attend had been cancelled and moved to a later date. Worried that they’d feel disheartened about their performance, you decided to host a little award ceremony of your own. His friends were as welcoming as he was, so you quickly got along- even more so since Beomgyu stuck even closer to you since that day.

“The first award of the evening,” you announced, clearing your throat in the middle of the living room. The boys, who were cheering your on from their seats on the dorm sofa, quieted down as Yeonjun hushed them, gesturing for you to continue, “goes to a very versatile young man. The winner of the ‘Fourth Generation It Boy – In Everything Except Braincells’ Daesang, goes too, you guessed it, Choi Yeonjun!”

The rest erupted in laughter as an exasperated Yeonjun made his way to where you stood, empty wrappers crackling under his feet. He threw a glare at the boys before he bowed before you in the most formal way possible, and you handed him the pretty mediocre, handmade certificate, before enamored laughter spilled from his lips.

Soobin received an award for being the ‘Best Leader of the Greatest Global Shookies’, to which he sighed. Taehyun received the Grand Award ‘The Best Son, Our King, Vocalist Kang’, which the rest labelled unfair and favoritism. Kai received the ‘Gotta Hit That High Note Like-’ award, which he proudly accepted with absolutely no complaints, beaming at the poorly made certificate.

“And last, but not least,” you started, peaking at Beomgyu from the corner of you eyes, determination almost faltering at the sight of his anticipating countenance. Peering down at the clipboard in your hands, you frowned, “well, I guess that’s all we have for tonight, folks-”

The sound of their hearty laughter filled the dorm once again, Yeonjun nearly toppling over the armrest of the sofa. Beomgyu nodded, tongue in cheek, clearly bothered by the whole ordeal. You joined in on the laughter, before glancing back to the clipboard, your heart rate picking up a little.

“Oh, what’s this?” you feigned surprise, “We have two more awards left! To Choi Beomgyu,” you said, pausing to steady your breath, refusing to make eye contact with him, “goes the award for ‘The Most Annoying Amateur Gamer-” laughter once more, Beomgyu joining in this time, “Best Friend and Utterly Talented All-rounder’. And lastly, to Tomorrow X Together for ‘Best Group of All Time’!” you cheered, relieved that they all got up and cheered as well, without teasing you.

Beomgyu took your hand and slipped the certificate from the board. You may have been embarrassed at the self-proclaimed ‘lousy’ attempt at decorating his certificate, but within seconds, that sheet of colored board became the most important thing to him in the world - his most prized possession. He pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and the rest all joined in without a second to spare, endlessly praising you and expressing their affection as you giggled in response.

Later on that evening, after you left and the others were fast asleep, he laid on his bed, limbs splayed across the comforter. He sighed dreamily up at the ceiling, bringing his hands up to cover the bashful grin playing on his lips. He turned his head ever-so slightly, and peeked through the spaces between his fingers at the certificate perched on his night-stand and sighed again.

What was he going to do with you.

13 March 2020, 20:00

You pushed aside everything that had been happening in your life to be happy on your best friend’s birthday. You were convinced it was the least you could do in return for everything he did for you. Deciding to host something small at the PC Room, the owner was pretty enthusiastic to make a contribution to the happiness of his ‘favourite patrons’, you invited his members and some of his closest friends.

Although Beomgyu would have loved to spend the day with just you, he was extremely grateful to know efforts you had made to make him enjoy his day. You had been chattering away with the owner at the front desk, but somewhere amidst conversation with Taehyun, he had lost sight of you. He frowned, apologizing to Taehyun before excusing himself.

Ready to grab his coat and leave, he stopped in his tracks when the lights were shut off. Slowly, the room was illuminated once more, by the flickering flames atop birthday candles, and the enormous smile across your face as you sang, “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,...”

The cake, in the shape of a bear and embellished with chocolate decorations of every variety, was placed on the table in front of where the rest had seated him. Eyes not once leaving you, absolutely entranced by your beauty, Beomgyu gulps, his heart racing a million miles an hour.

“Make a wish, before the wax gets onto the cake, Dummy.”

He pulls his lip between his teeth and flicks the top of your head gently, chuckling softly, before clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. For a reason unknown to him, Beomgyu couldn’t think of something to wish for. No, rather, he knew exactly why he had no idea what to wish for. He opened his eyes once more, and grinned at your anticipating face, the pining in his chest only running deeper and deeper.

He blew out the candles.

“What did you wish for-”

Beomgyu grabbed your hand and pulled you with him as he ran out onto the wet Itaewon streets. You didn’t run too far, before he pulled you into one of the alleyways. Completely lost for words and a little out of breath, you stood there, staring at him. The same puzzled look you had given him when you first met is etched into your face and his lips curl upward. Your breathing hitches as he takes a step closer to you and he pushes the rain-soaked hair from your face, eyes flitting to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

He pulled your chest flush against his and it was quiet for a moment. Quiet, save for the sound of the rain pitter-pattering across the rooftops and the alley floor; quiet, save for the sound of your thumping hearts.

“I love you.”

He feels you tense up, so he tightens his embrace. There is a silence again, and it is a lot less pleasant than the first. The sound of your sniffling alarms him, so he brings your face to meet his, his heart aching at the tears dripping down your face. You start making attempts to break free of his hold, shaking your head and him, whimpers escaping your lips every time you tried to speak.

Tears now streamed down his face too, a piece of him torn away each time you pushed him away. Beomgyu fought desperately to keep you in his arms, but before he knew it, you had slipped right through his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” was the last thing he heard you say through persisting sobs, before you disappeared down the street, without a trace.

30 June 2020

Beomgyu smiled before the cameras and press, laughing along with interviewers and staff members like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

You had been missing for over three months. You blocked his number. You didn’t log onto the game, someone else had long taken your position on the leader board. After composing himself that day, he had bolted after you, but it was as if you had vanished off the face of the earth. Beomgyu stopped by the PC Room as much as he could in the following days, his condition only worsening each time he did, but due to the growing numbers of positive cases and the increasing amount of work scheduled for him, the time he spent there was limited.

When he did go, he sat in your chair, staring at the front door until he had to leave. The owner, who had been watching him in sympathy, called him up to the desk one day before he left – the last day the owner saw him. He looked sleep-deprived and downcast, the same pained expression drawn into his features every time he left.

“She... came here a lot. I think her first visit was around the time she was in middle school. She never spoke much, and never seemed to have any friends,” The owner told him, looking out to the isles of computers in front of him, before turning back to Beomgyu. “The first time I saw her talk- no, the first time I saw her smile, was with you. She liked you...alot.”

Beomgyu sighed, with a short, hollow chuckle.

“I know.”

12 March 2021, 23:55

The room was empty and dark when Beomgyu finally walked in, eyebrows knitted together as he tried to see through the darkness. He tried calling out for Hyunjin and Jeongin, but the only replies he received was the wind rattling the window-blinds.  

The flickering of candles illuminate the room, just like they did many months ago, and Beomgyu’s heart stopped. He tried to not look disappointed when it turned out to be his members with Hyunjin and Jeongin carrying the cake, singing happy birthday to him with the most excited expressions on their faces, but his throbbing chest betrayed him.

They brought the cake up until where he stood and Yeonjun arched a brow, a knowing smirk rolling onto his lips. “You really do have a wild imagination, don’t you? Ow!” he cried, when Beomgyu hit his arm. “Ugh, just make a wish already.”

Beomgyu clasped his hands tightly before him and squeezed his eyes shut, just as he did before. Only this time, he knew exactly what he wanted. The subject of his pining, worry, and love. Her. He would give anything to see her, just one last time.

And when he opened his eyes, that was exactly what he found in front of him.

“Happy Birthday, Choi Beomgyu.”

The lights went back on, and Beomgyu blinked repeatedly, making sure that it wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him. But there you were, with tears brimming your eyes, in all your glory, the love of his life. 

He takes in all the little changes, like your trimmed hair, and that fact that you seemed to have lost weight – which made him frown. And then there was that smile, that dazzling smile, which only seemed to shine brighter now than it did before.

Your hands tremor a bit, the way he just stares at you making your heart leap. “I-I’m sor-”

The cake hit the floor with a plop, eliciting laughter from the others as he wraps his arms around your figure and he reels you into his arms in one swift movement. You feel his tears soak into your blouse, and you hold onto him tighter, your eyes already wet from your own tears. You were finally with him – you were finally home.

The owner gathered everyone together for a photo towards the end of the celebration, Beomgyu following suit wherever you went, refusing to let go of your hand for even a second. You offered him a loving smile when Hyunjin teased him for it, and placed a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

Beomgyu lead you up to the rooftop to see the sunrise, momentarily letting go of your hand to flush your back against his chest, before grabbing hold of it, and the other hand, again. The bright orange and yellow rays peeked from behind the mountain in the distance, and you had never felt more at peace.

You recalled the way your chest tightened and the way tears burned at the corners of your eyes upon receiving his confession a year ago. You had been so happy. So, so happy. But you knew you could not accept him. At the time, you knew that you were in no place to be with someone like him. He was, and is, too wonderful for someone as messed up as you are. You didn’t want burden him with your issues, not when his career had just taken off.

“Beomgyu?” he hummed from where his head against yours, “I love you.”

You stepped away from his embrace, giggling when you noticed the way he pouted. Your turned to face him properly, before attaching your arms around his waist. “Back then... I was in a really bad space. It’s not excuse, and I certainly shouldn’t have run away from you. I...have gotten help ever since, and I want to tell you my story. Would you like to hear it?”

He leaned back and thought for a moment. He then cupped the side of your face with his hand and ran his thumb across your cheek, before pulling you in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Whatever you’re willing to share, I will listen to and accept with open arms. I love you for who you are; and that includes everything that has shaped, and will shape you into the amazing person I already know you are.”

“That includes the way you absolutely kick my ass at gaming.”

[ragingpancake]

Hotel California

A/N: An Earthside AU wherein John is a college student on his way to Spring Break and Rodney is a hotel receptionist. NC-17. Reposted from my old AO3 account.

The midnight sky is gray and muggy, thick with heat and humidity. The air conditioner stopped working over a hundred miles ago and even the air flowing through the open windows isn't enough to cool the sweat beading on John's forehead.

In the passenger seat, Teyla's stretched out, humming along quietly with the static on the radio as Ronon sleeps on in the backseat, oblivious to each passing mile.

John reaches out and changes the station.

"I was listening to that," Teyla says dryly as the low twang of a country guitar fills the car. John gives her a sleepy smile in return and thumps his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming along with the beat in a last ditch effort to keep himself awake. "Perhaps it would be wise if I took over for awhile?"

"I'm good," John says dismissively. He trusts Teyla's driving almost as much as he trusts her cooking, which is to say not at all.

"I have been practicing."

"Not nearly enough for my liking," John says, grinning to take the sting out of the words.  Teyla just rolls her eyes and goes back to staring out at the endless stretch of empty highway in front of them.

Driving out to California in Ronon's grandfather's beat up old station wagon hadn't been John's best idea. He's cutting two full days off their spring break with the drive there and back, but since Teyla had apparently grown up under a rock and had never taken a road trip, John and Ronon decided that their yearly trip to Long Beach was the perfect remedy.

"If you will not let me drive, maybe you would at least consider stopping for the night? We still have another five hours ahead of us and I would like to make it alive."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"Much like your faith in me," she smirks. "Now please, find the nearest motel and pull over. I'm sick of looking at the inside of this car."

John can't argue with that.

---

It's another twenty miles and another state line until he finds a motel and by the time he climbs out of the car, he has to admit that stopping was definitely the right call; there's no way he would have made it another four hours and forty minutes.

Ronon grunts and snorts as Teyla smacks him awake. He's annoyed that they've stopped and he wants to take over driving so they can keep going, but John trusts his driving less than he trusts Teyla's. He's seen what Ronon has done to the trash cans outside of their apartment just trying to back out of the parking space.

"It's stupid to stop," Ronon grumbles as they trudge into the lobby of the seemingly deserted motel.

"I would rather get a few hours of solid sleep and then hit the road. If we continue to drive, we will be no good for anything tomorrow," Teyla says solemnly.

"Don't need sleep to surf."

"This is true, but I need sleep to finish the drive, so I say we're staying and sleeping," John says. Ronon stands just a little straighter and blinks lazily at John in what's most likely an attempt to intimidate him. It would work under other circumstances maybe, but John's just too tired to care so he waves Ronon off and slouches against the front desk, slapping his hand down on the bell.

It reverberates, echoing throughout the empty lobby.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, I'm coming." The voice comes out of nowhere and whoever it belongs to sounds annoyed at the interruption. Seconds later, a skinny kid stomps out from behind a curtain, looking harassed and harried. He's wearing a pair of dark slacks that are at least a size too big and a white uniform shirt that's partially untucked and stained. His name tag reads 'Rodney'. "What do you want?"

"You get many people in here lookin' for something other than a room?" John drawls lazily.

Rodney snorts. "You'd be surprised. Double beds or...?"

John grins. "Double."

John watches as his fingers fly over the keyboard seemingly of their own accord. "Unfortunately, the only available room I have is a king with a pull out couch. Sorry." He doesn't sound very sorry about that.

It's not ideal, but John's exhausted and he'll be damned if he's getting back in that car. At least not until he's had a good five hours of sleep.

"John," Teyla says.

"We'll take it."

"Suit yourself. That'll be thirty five for the night."

John makes quick work of paying Rodney but he has to force himself to ignore the slight tingle when the tips of their fingers brush together. It has nothing to do, he tells himself, with the kissably crooked mouth or the hair that's curled almost delicately just above the nape of Rodney's pale neck.

Rodney stares at John for just a moment too long and John knows that he felt it too, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. "Right," Rodney says, clearing his throat. "If you'll just... follow me, I'll take you to your room."

It isn't easy, John thinks, to not stare at the barely-there outline of Rodney's ass. The baggy pants do a good job at concealing what's really underneath, but John sees enough to know what he wouldn't mind sliding into it.

He's halfway hard when Rodney slips the key card into the lock and pushes the door open. The hotel room is as nondescript and boring as every other hotel he's ever stayed in and after a quick once over, John's eyes return to Rodney just in time to catch Rodney staring. Again.

John can't help but smirk just a little.

Rodney flushes beautifully; he turns pink from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck as he averts his eyes. "I um... I'll leave you to it, but if you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John says.

Rodney nods, turns away and practically sprints down the hall.

---

The couch is worse than the one in their apartment, John decides as he tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position. Teyla and Ronon are already fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably on the large bed. John hates them just a little; he would have been more comfortable sleeping in the car.

He gives it another ten minutes and when he's no closer to sleep, he climbs off the couch and stalks out of the room, cursing Ronon and his ability to sleep anywhere and Teyla for being... well, for being Teyla.

He doesn't know where he's going and he's not sure what he's doing until he steps into the lobby.

Rodney's sitting at the front desk, hunched over something and John's cock twitches to life almost immediately.

"Hey," he calls before he can stop himself.

Rodney startles and looks up, blue eyes wide in surprise. "Uh... what... did you need something?"

He does, but John really doesn't know if it's something Rodney's willing to give but it doesn't stop him from slinking over to the desk. "What are you working on?" He asks conversationally. Mentally, he's kicking his own lame ass.

"Nothing that can't wait until later," Rodney says and then he flushes again and John can read the worry on his face; he's wondering if he's misjudged the situation.

"Cool," John says lazily. "You know, the couches in these rooms really suck."

"Yeah," Rodney agrees, clearing his throat just a little. He looks nervous and excited so John relaxes just a little bit.

"Don't happen to know a place that's a little more comfortable, do you?"

"As a matter of fact..." Rodney says.

---

Kissing Rodney is exactly like John thought it would be; his lips are incredibly kissable, but he's clumsy and awkward. It should turn John off, but it strangely enough, it doesn't. It just leaves him wanting more.

When they break apart, Rodney's breathing heavily, shoulders and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mousy brown hair is soaked to his forehead because even though it's a million and five degrees outside, apparently hotels don't believe in air conditioning their employee break room.

"It's hot as fuck," Rodney complains.

"Gonna get hotter," John says and leans forward, capturing Rodney's lips again.

---

The next time they break apart, Rodney's naked and writhing beneath John. He's about two thrusts away from shamelessly humping John's leg as John takes his time undressing himself.

"Torture," Rodney wheezes.

John responds by leaning over and swallowing Rodney's cock.

It's effective in shutting him up.

At least for a minute.

--

John has had a series of one night stands before. Plenty of college guys--and girls because he's not picky--but none have been as vocal about being fucked as Rodney.

When John finally slides in between those round ass cheeks, Rodney moans and whines and pleads and begs. He arches against John, crying out for more, more, more and John doesn't hold back. He thrusts against Rodney over and over, burying himself deeper and deeper each time.

"Fuck, Rodney," John gasps and he can already feel the orgasm building low in his belly. It hasn't been this quick since the first time Kenny Lewis blew him in the passenger seat of his uncle's van, but it doesn't matter because he can feel Rodney already trembling beneath him, his cock red and weeping between them.

He's close, but Rodney's closer.

Rodney's whimpering now and clinging to John harder with every thrust. He'll have marks and bruises for days, he thinks, but it's worth it when Rodney cries out and John feels the warm spray of come on his chest.

He leans down and buries his face against Rodney's neck as he rocks his hips desperately, torn between needing to come and wanting to prolong it.

He tries to hold out, but suddenly he's coming hard enough that his vision goes hazy and when he's finally spent, he collapses on top of Rodney, breathing heavily.

John rolls off of Rodney after a minute and reaches for his discarded boxers to clean himself up. It feels wrong to just dress and go, so instead, he slumps back against the couch beside Rodney, their shoulders brushing occasionally. John thinks he should say something, but he isn't sure what.

It's Rodney who breaks the ice.

"That was..."

"Yeah," John agrees. "I should..."

"Yeah."

John doesn't move.

---

When John jogs into the lobby late the next morning to check out, he's surprised to find Rodney still hunched behind the counter, staring at a text book. He doesn't seem to hear John approach, so John clears his throat, grinning when Rodney jumps at the sound.

"What?"

John drops the key card onto the counter and slides it towards him. "Just thought I'd come say goodbye. We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Long Beach... four days of nothing but surf and sand."

"Thrilling," Rodney says dryly. He takes the key card and clicks the computer keys. "You um... come this way often?"

"Just once a year," John says and he thinks he imagines Rodney's face falling just a little.

"Well then..." Rodney says.

"Yeah," John agrees. "I uh... my friends are waiting for me at the car, but I just..."

"You should go."

"Yeah. I..." John sighs and turns. He takes a step toward the doorway and then stops. "Hey Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe... maybe on our way back through..." He trails off.

Rodney looks hopeful. "If you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John grins before he turns and walks out of the lobby.