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moon-lv3r · 9 months

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when in sickness ~ ⚔️

🦋 category: one-shot

🦋 characters: yamada asaemon tenza

🦋 summary: in which you got sick after running under the rain, and tenza just so happened to be paying you a visit

🦋 warnings: ooc? bad writing? (come on i was sick)

🦋 notes: i’m so salty over his death 😔 LET ME COPEEEEE

totally didn’t come up with this idea while i was being such a sick bitch that i ended up bedridden for two days. yes i have a thing for wet hair pls don’t question it. how sick the reader was here was basically how sick i was. i somehow wrote half of this while sick so i wrote the other half while recovering, i am still coughing but better now

The weather seemed to do you no favour. The blazing sun made you feel so weak and unmotivated. Running under the rain for a delivery had to have been one of the worst ideas you have ever gotten. Now, you were bedridden with horrible coughs. The worst part was that you lived alone. That must be nice…

Growing up a troublemaker that was later abandoned by your own parents. You could remember little from your own childhood. Except for your only friend, Tenza. He had been taken in by a swordsman while you finally got your life together and managed to make a living for yourself. Though you and Tenza still kept in contact as he often visited.

When Tenza was taken in, you were off somewhere busy robbing someone. It was only when you returned to find him missing that you finally realised there was more to your own life, though you had no interest in the way of the sword.

Designing clothes has always been what your mind dreamt of.

The fever was really making it hard for you to work. You could barely walk. You puke up almost everything that enters your digestive system, it was horrible. It had to have been your worst fever ever. Your brain felt like it could explode any second. You could barely even speak due to your throat being as unwell as ever. You could only lay down and hope for the best, hope that it would go away. You did not like to visit the doctor, not once did you enjoy a visit or the taste of medicine going down your throat.

“Y/n?” The sound of your door sliding open, followed by the familiar voice calling out your name caught your attention. You could only weakly stumble across your home to greet Tenza.

“H-hey…” You mumbled, leaning against the wall with all you could muster.

Tenza stared at you in shock before rushing up to hold you, “Oh my… what happened Y/n?” He asked while leading you back into your room, allowing you to rest.

“I’m f-fine,” you replied, though your body had long betrayed your lies and exposed your true status to Tenza a while ago. Tenza might be a little stupid from time to time but he wasn’t that big of an idiot to not realise it when someone was sick.

“Your legs were shaking!” Tenza pointed out, “Did you run under the rain like old times?” He asked.

Of course, the days when you would run away together after causing yet another trouble. It didn’t matter how dirty the both of you got, so long as you had each other. No consequences shall matter. Except maybe sickness as a consequence from time to time…

You nodded in response to Tenza’s question, to which he could only sigh and shake his head in disappointment. “How many times have I told you to stop that? You fall sick more than me!”

“I’ll b-be fine,” you replied before a violent coughing fit started to hit you. Tenza patted your back as though you were a baby as you kept violently coughing. It seemed to be never-ending and it was making it harder for you to breathe regularly. You definitely need someone to take care of you at this stage. The coughs sounded rough and almost like a growl from a bear. Tenza’s face only grew more worried as he saw your coughs grow more violent each passing second.

“Hmm…,” Tenza mumbled as your coughing slowly ended, this had to have been one of the very few times you saw Tenza carefully thinking something over. “I think I’ll stay and take care of you. I’ll be worried if I left you like this.”

“Don’t you h-have duties?” you asked, trying to speak normally after the series of coughs you had just gone through.

Tenza rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, “I’ll be fine! I’ll let master Shion know. I am sure he will understand! He’s a nice man.”

“No…,” you replied, “I can’t prevent you from carrying out your duties and let you trouble others.”

Tenza shook his head in disagreement as he got ready to send out the message to his master. He rummaged through your room to look for a parchment, brush and an ink. Tenza did not leave your room a mess, he always ensured that everything looked the same, like he had never touched it. He sat down and began to write, though it did not take long for another trouble to strike.

“Eh…,” Tenza rubbed the back of his neck as he flashed you an awkward smile. “I don’t know how to write…” Of course, the both of you had never stepped foot into a school. Your minds never understanding the complexity of things. That included words. Both you and Tenza had never really learned how to read and write. You had thought that Tenza would receive education while learning how to properly swing a lethal weapon. You had thought wrong.

“I will just… ask someone!” Said Tenza enthusiastically, his smile still plastered onto his face.

“My neighbours know how to write, ask them,” you replied, while still laying down on your futon weakly. You watched as Tenza hurried out of your home and listened as the doors slid shut. He was trying to get the paper written as soon as he could.

What a good friend he was…

You had fallen asleep by the time Tenza returned. He was panting like he had just run about the country. He had to ensure that the letter got sent to his master. He did a lot of things. In his hands were some medication that he had bought.

“Y/n?” His voice echoed in the house. No answer returned to him as he walked towards your room and slid your door open.

In there you were, laying on your futon, sleeping. Yet it was anything but peaceful. Sweat pooled on your forehead as your eyes seemed to be squeezed shut. You looked like you were having some troubles as Tenza rushed towards you. He gently placed a hand over your forehead and soon realised the rising temperature. A worried look washed over his face as he ran around your home, fetching all of the towels he could and filling up the largest bucket he could get his hands on. Your chest kept rising and falling, every breath could be heard. One does not have to be a genius to see that you were in pain from your fever.

It had to be your worst sickness in years.

Tenza returned to your side, one hand full of towels and the other carrying a bucket filled with water. He soaked one of the towels in the bucket, squeezed the excess water out, folded the towel into a rectangle before putting the strands of your hair covering your forehead out of the way, and placing the towel on your forehead. Next, he placed a hand on your chest, on top of your blanket, in hopes of helping you to regulate your breathing.

“Hmm,” you mumbled weakly. Your face still seemed stressed as ever.

“Yes?” Tenza asked, thinking that you wanted to ask him something. He leaned in closer towards you, hoping to be able to hear what you had to say.

Instead, your face started to look more uncomfortable as your body turned to face Tenza, the towel falling from your forehead. Tenza slowly placed it back while watching you with worry and concern plaguing his mind. Tenza had changed for the better ever since meeting his master Shion. Shards of his old self replaced with shiny pieces of the new man he was.

It was pleasant seeing him improve into the man he was now. You couldn’t be happier for Tenza. One of the best things about growing with someone was seeing their growth as a person. The way they mature and grow given the circumstances around them, how they chose to adapt to it. You were glad to have seen that change within Tenza.

He was kneeling beside you as you curled your body into a fetal position, your hands reaching out to grab onto his hakama. Your breaths remained irregular, each time you took in a deep breath, it could be heard loud and clear even if one was in another room.

“Don’t leave me… please,” you uttered, taking in another deep breath. Tenza could not tell at all if you were awake but he could tell that you were unwell. Beads of sweat dropped onto the wooden floor as your grip slowly weakened.

“Alright alright I won’t go anywhere,” Tenza reassured as he slowly moved your hand away from his hakama and repositioned you. Next, he took another towel to wipe the sweat away from the areas he could reach. He did not want to move you around too much in case you actually fell asleep. Yamada Asaemon Tenza was not the sharpest tool in the shed after all.

Tenza made a mental note to himself to give you your medication as he soaked the towel that had dropped on the floor earlier before placing it back on your forehead. The sun was nowhere to be found at this point. Tenza still hasn't showered. He had just spent the past few hours tending to you. Maybe he should even make a small meal in case you wake up feeling hungry? He had tried to make a few dishes while he was learning how to slash around.

He looked about your home, trying to look for anything that he wanted to wear. There were just so many robes of fancy design that he could not just pick one. It did not take him long to just… try on everything before picking his favourite, and off he went to shower. The water greeting his face has never felt more refreshing. His yellow hair flowed down his face, sticking to his skin as he washed himself. It was a relatively quick wash up as he still wanted to see what he could make for you, he wasn’t the best chef but he was willing to try his best. He could not just let you live with an empty stomach.

Your kitchen did not seem to have much for Tenza to work with. He frowned as he dug about every corner he could. He might have to cook up dust as dinner at this rate. You had rice, but every sensible household had them. Maybe a few vegetables but there was no fresh meat anywhere. Maybe he would have to ask the neighbours for some? You hadn’t bought any meat recently as you did not feel like eating them. Those go bad in a few days, if only there was a way to preserve them…

Tenza decided to work with the things you had in your kitchen. A true man does not blame his circumstances, right? They work around it and make the best they could out of it, creating the best possible outcome. It was just cooking, it cannot be harder than swinging the sword. All there was to cooking was just washing the rice over and over, heating it over water, right?

Tenza would be correct, except he had failed to realise just how tiring the task would be. He did not know how long he should wash the rice for. The water kept coming out cloudy so he just gave up, he had washed it five times. Next was the vegetables. He just had to fry them right?

Tenza was never cooking for a sick person ever again.

It was like hell. He would rather die than to cook again.

He had managed to make a simple dish. Porridge with vegetables. He just hoped that it would taste better than it looked. There was too much water in the porridge and he had poorly placed the vegetables into the bowl, some were sticking up. He had also chopped them too long. Cooking was such a chore. You had the honour of being the last person he has ever cooked for.

Maybe having that honour wasn’t the best thing.

The sound of the vegetables frying had woken you a while ago. When you made your way into the kitchen, Tenza was already finished with his cooking. It took you a while to realise that he was wearing a robe you had recently designed, which was supposed to be a gift to him. It was red with wild flowers embroidered onto it. The wild flowers were supposed to represent the days you and him spent as troublemakers. The flowers were mostly spring flowers.

Aside from the robe, Tenza’s hair was also dripping wet, his headband out of the way. It was those two things that had caught your attention, not the bowl of porridge he was holding, nor his concerned face.

Why did he suddenly look… much more dashing with his hair in that state.

“You should be resting!” He uttered as though he was a father. His eyes examined the kitchen for any seats so that he could force you to sit down and eat.

“I’m a-alright,” you replied as he found a spot and placed the bowl in front of you.

“Eat up,” he said. Tenza was ready to feed you, like you were some child.

You tried to take the spoon from him, “I can t-take care of myself.”

Tenza shook his head, the spoon still in his hands. He was adamant on taking care of you. There was no choice but to listen to him. You slowly opened your mouth as he slowly fed you, it was starting to be embarrassing. You just snatched the spoon from him and started to feed yourself.

“Alright,” he said, getting up and got your medication from another room, which he left it in. “Eat these once you’re done alright?” “Are you… leaving already?” You asked, a part of you not wishing for his departure. A part of you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him.

Tenza laughed and shook his head, placing a hand on your hair and ruffling it like you were a little pet, “I am not going anywhere until you recover.”

You could only respond with a small smile of your own.

You were lucky to have him around.

After your meal and the medication, you went back to sleep. Your body just can’t seem to function during awake hours. There was something wrong with you. Really, there was. It has been a tiring day for your body. You were out like a rock in minutes.

Tenza was amazed at how fast you fell asleep, despite waking up mere moments ago. He was tired as well but he did not have the ability to knock himself out. He still placed a soaked towel on your forehead. Next, he decided to sleep beside you, having nowhere else to lay down. Besides, he would rather be as close as possible, so that he could take care of you if something went wrong in the middle of the night.

Things did go wrong.

You suddenly shot up, hours later, eyes wide open as the towel fell from your forehead. Tenza was fast asleep however. So much for sleeping beside you to take care of you. You did not know why you woke up, but your body felt hot all over. Not wanting to trouble Tenza, you slowly soaked the towel and squeezed it dry before wiping parts of your body that you could reach. You soaked the towel again, squeezed it and placed it on your forehead before falling back asleep.

It was such a weird sickness.

The next morning, you were the one who woke up first. Somewhere in the night, your body had turned to face Tenza, making his face the first sight to greet your eyes in the morning. The rays of the sun resting gently on his soft skin, luminating his peaceful expression as he slept.

The towel was the only thing in between both of your faces. A strand of your hair fell out of place as your vision rested on the man in front of you.

A soft yawn from Tenza broke the silence as his eyes slowly opened to meet yours. He shot you a sleepy smile before moving the hair strand away, his hands glazing past your cheeks. The skin to skin contact suddenly making your body freeze. “Are you feeling better?” He asked.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, stammering for no good reason after being brought back to reality, your thoughts lost in Tenza’s smile. Was your brain as sick as you? Something was not normal about how you seemed to be feeling towards him.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea seemed to hit you from nowhere and you rushed out, leaving a stunned Tenza behind. He shouted and ran after you, only to see you crouched down and vomiting the contents of the previous night. He walked closer towards you and held your hair together, ensuring that they were out of the way as you continued to clear your stomach. You could feel Tenza gently patting your back as he held your hair together. You kept coughing as the contents left your body.

A pile of vomit rested in your backyard, everything you ate was now out there.

“Better?” Tenza asked, you shrugged.

Tenza took you to wash up as he too, took the opportunity to freshen himself up. This sickness was really something else. Tenza decided to ask your neighbours for something small that you could eat. You couldn’t just be empty all day. You could only eat half of what was given to you, however, your appetite was nowhere to be found, but at least your body temperature was now back to normal. You just had coughs and your head also felt like imploding.

But at least you were getting better?

Tenza fed you your medication after you finished eating. You just laid down, your head seemed to be too much for you. Your vision seems hazy and the light seems to be too bright somehow… Maybe you were dying and seeing heaven? You just wanted it to all be over soon. You somehow fell asleep again. How did you keep on falling asleep like that?

Tenza had no idea if he should be amazed or worried. He was just glad that at least your temperature was down. That was one trouble down, he just had to take care of you until everything else returned to normal. Then he would finally feel alright to leave you by yourself.

You woke up after a mere hour, feeling hungry and rummaging about to find something to eat. You found Tenza in the kitchen as he greeted you with a smile and knife in hand, he was cooking again. You could tell that he barely knew what he was even cooking. He was struggling. He was putting in so much effort into taking care of you… It really made your heart soften, to see him put so much care into you. He had really improved as a person.

“Sit down,” Tenza ordered, in the sweetest tone a man could manage. “It will be done soon! Oh I am finally getting the hang of this!” He continued happily. You enjoyed the sight that had welcomed your eyes. It was so heartwarming, if only this was something you could have everyday…

Your mind wasn’t in the best state, considering the fact that you had just woken up and still suffered from sickness. Your body moved towards where Tenza was. He laughed as he saw you move towards him.

“Come on now,” he said. “I may be an idiot but a sick person should not be near when preparing a meal!”

“I know,” you muttered, leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulders. “I just… kinda like… the way you look right now.”

Tenza stared at you, eyes widened as his cheeks got flustered. He quickly turned back, facing away from your smile. He was trying to distract himself now, on the food that was brewing in front of him. Good thing that it was almost done.

“Tenza,” you continued, dragging the sound of his name. “I’m not wrong.”

“I think there’s something gravely wrong with your brain right now,” he muttered, presenting your lunch right in front of you, motioning for you to eat up. He went ahead and retrieved your medication. Something was going on.

Tenza watched as you slowly forced yourself to eat. Your appetite was still incredibly small, it was a miracle that you could even eat half a bowl. To Tenza, that was enough. He took the bowl away when you were half way done, sensing that you could not go on anymore, then he fed you your medicine.

“Thank you Tenza,” you grinned. He patted you on the head.

You slowly met his eyes, suddenly lost in his soft, innocent gaze on you. His eyes stared into yours, the tension suddenly deepening between the both of you. You were lost in the moment, his eyes just looked so beautiful, you could get lost in those any time of the day. His sweet smile was something you’d kill to see as well. He placed a hand on your shoulder, resting ever so gently there. “Are you sick out of your mind?” He asked suddenly.

“THat’s so… out of the blue,” you replied. “I–”

The next thing you felt was a soft kiss on your cheeks. You stared at Tenza, whose cheeks was even redder, beyond what was even comprehensible. You could feel the heat entering your cheeks, spreading all over your face, even your ears. Tenza looked away from you, hand rubbing the back of his neck out of embarrassment.

“I uh… just felt like it,” Tenza finally uttered a word, breaking the silence.

“My entire face feels hot,” you answered. Tenza sighed.

“Another fever?” Tenza asked in disbelief, “I’m going to have to stay longer? Wait, that's actually not so bad.” You wanted to laugh, “It’s not fever you idiot. Do you enjoy taking care of me so much?”

Tenza laughed, “If we take out the vomit, yes. And isn’t fever the reason why you would feel hot?” It was your turn to break out into a series of giggles now. He was one of the best swordsmen you ever knew and yet, he thought fever was all there was to body heat. The both of you had never stepped foot into a school, yet one knows more than the other.

Though it was thanks to him that you were now feeling better, and more flustered than you ever have in your life. Though you now know one thing thanks to Tenza’s action.

#hell’s paradise #jigokuraku #yamada asaemon tenza #yamada asaemon tenza x reader #tenza x reader #sickfic #sickness #fever #i miss tenza #he was my fave #THEN HE FUCKING DIED #i was so upset #but yuzuriha <333 #x gn reader #well the hair part might not apply to everyone #it’s just implied to be at least long enough to reach the mouth when you bend down

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nonstoplover · 3 years

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protagonist ~ joe liebgott (band of brothers)

my masterlist | my hbo war masterlist

pairing: joe liebgott x female reader

short summary: joe's assigned to search for the perfect house for easy's hq in the new town they'll soon arrive to on their way through germany and finds one with a girl in there who's like the protagonist of one of the comics he's read - courageous, fearless, heroic.

words: 2.5K

a/n: first of all, sorry for disappearing, exam season has started at my uni and i've been hella busy these past weeks (and gonna be for the following few as well, u g h ).

anyway this fic came around from a conversation i had with the lovely @now-im-a-belieber when i was telling her about an idea i had and she technically came up with the base of this. thank you, Pearl, i love you xx (i hope i did justice to your idea)

oh and let's just say i have no clue if this would have been possible, at least the exact way i wrote it.

taglist: @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @50svibes @pennyllanne @nowinnablewar

gif credit: @basilone

Four loud bangs sound against her front door right as she starts washing the dishes after they finished lunch. With her eyes widening in surprise she rushes back into the room, telling the family of three to hide as she's drying her hands in her apron before making her way to the door.

After taking a deep breath she grabs the handle and opens it. The next thing she knows is being pushed to the side as a figure storms in past her without a word. A gasp leaves her lungs as her back lightly collides with the wall, head turning to watch as the soldier barges in the house.

What is going on? Has someone found out about them?

With a hand reaching behind her back she pushes herself off the wall and hurries behind the man. Trying hard to sound completely calm and innocent she asks him what is going on, but he only barks back something almost inaudible - only a few German words reach her ears.

The soldier is moving with such speed that she hasn't got a single chance to get a better look at his uniform as he's entering every room one by one. Who is he? Worry swiftly floods her veins - more importantly, what is he looking for?

She can only pray the family has had enough time to properly hide.

As he reaches that door, she holds her breath back, repeating her little prayer like a mantra inside her head. The man comes to a sudden halt just as he steps through the doorframe and in an instant fear makes her blood turn freezing cold. She carefully moves closer to glance inside next to his body, not knowing what to expect.

And what she sees makes everything else in her mind disappear - just the thoughts of all hell breaking loose any time now move around inside.

Her best friend crouches on the other side of the room, clearly frozen mid-movement as her body is still half out of the hiding spot, eyes wide as she stares at the soldier, not a single muscle moving. It's like everyone's got frozen in time, none of the three people makes a move.

Liebgott's mind slow to catch up to what he sees - he didn't expect to see that as he rushed through the house. He's only been trying to decide whether it's a good place for Easy's HQ, as he has been ordered to do when Winters sent him ahead of the company.

His eyes then start moving around the room, trying hard to find a good reason as to why that girl is half inside the wall. A book is laying on the table next to the door, open at around the middle. With one glance at the pages he recognises the letters of the hebrew alphabet, and suddenly it all makes sense.

She's a Jew.

His breath hitches in his throat as he struggles to comprehend this new information, and just in that very moment the silence is broken by a voice. And it's not coming from either of the two girls in the room - more like it's coming from inside the wall.

One simple sentence, ending with a Yiddish term of endearment - one he can perfectly understand. It came from a woman, asking the girl crouching facing him from across the room why she's stopped moving.

There are more Jews in there.

His lungs fill with a sharp breath he's taken and he spins around, staring straight at the girl who opened the front door only minutes prior. The question must be clear in his eyes as she starts stammering in defense, her voice audibly shaking.

Joe shakes his head, stopping her mid-sentence. "No, they're Jews, I can see it," he says in perfect German, and the already pale girl suddenly seems even whiter.

He swiftly grabs her arm and pulls her in the direction he remembers finding the dining room in, trying to find a chair for her to sit down on, as she's visibly close to fainting - though the reason behind it he can't find.

(y/n) flinches with utter fear, weakly trying to resist being pulled away - he most probably is now taking her away to kill her, right? He's a German soldier, that's what his job is. But no matter how hard she tries to wiggle away, his grip is too tight around her arm and she can't do a thing.

Just when they arrive to the dining room and he kind of pushes her into one of the chairs is when Joe realises that she's scared of him - she immediately pushes the chair further away from him as soon as he lets go of her. So that's why she's shaking so bad.

"No, wait, don't be scared," he rushes to say. "I'm a Jew too."

This finally breaks the scaredness - instead her eyes fill with utter confusion. Her forehead wrinkles as she tries to make sense of what he's saying. How can a German soldier be Jewish? It makes absolutely no sense.

With a sudden wave of suspicion she moves her glance down to his uniform, examining every detail she can lay her eyes upon.

Is he not German?!

Suddenly she can see differences - details about his uniform that she's never seen on a German soldier before, and she's seen her fair share of those in the past years.

But if he's not German, who is he and what is going on?

She takes a still shaky breath and looks back up into his eyes - seeing the waiting expression on his face as he's standing there in patient silence for her to say something.

"Are you-" Her voice cracks mid-sentence. It's not good. She clears her throat and tries again. "Are you German?"

All of a sudden he bursts out laughing - so loud, and somehow so dark that her eyes widen once again. She just can't decide if it's from fear again, or only surprise.

A minute or so goes by with nothing but Joe laughing - this must be one of the most hilarious things he's heard in the past couple years. That he is a German.

Then his laughter finally quietens down to slight chuckling and he speaks up once more to confirm the truth. "No, of course not," he shakes his head in amusement. One look in her eyes tells him that somehow she still has no clue about his nationality, so he opens his lips again to give an answer to her question in advance. "I'm American. Don't worry, you're not in trouble for that," Joe points back in the direction of the room with the hiding spot above his shoulder.

A loud sigh escapes her lungs, her shoulder visibly falling a bit as she slumps more into the chair. It feels like years worth of stress and nervousness have just come to an end - it's truly like an enormous stone has rolled down from her chest and shoulders. She somehow feels free again for the first time in years.

Relief completely replaces the worry and fear in her veins as all other thoughts leave her mind. She's not gonna die. At least not today.

"They're Jewish," the soldier speaks again - and it's not a question. More like a statement.

(y/n) nods, unable to say a word as she's still overwhelmed with her new feelings.

"You're hiding them?"

She just raises an eyebrow, and Joe mentally slaps himself - what a stupid question. He could've might as well just asked her the colour of the wall.

"Since when you've been hiding them?" He corrects his question.

"Ever since the whole thing has started," she answers, her voice so quiet it almost disappears in the air between them.

"Wow," Liebgott breathes out before he can stop himself. He stares at the girl in disbelief. She looks so innocent and young - she's probably one or two years younger than him. How could she pull off something such a thing? Such a dangerous and pretty reckless thing?

"Esther is my best friend, she's been ever since we were little kids, they all are like a second family to me, I've spent most of my days with them," (y/n) explains, the relief causing her to ramble and Joe - for about the first time in his life has to struggle to keep up with the German words that come flying out past her lips. "I just had to help them, you know. I couldn't just leave them here."

"Where's your own family?"

"My parents left to France to be further away from the chaos, and my brother joined the Luftwaffe, and since then I haven't heard from none of them."

"Why didn't you leave with your parents as well?" The young soldier keeps asking, moving closer to the table and sitting down on a chair on the opposite side, facing her. Pushing his M1's strap down his shoulder he places the weapon on the table, pushing it only a little further in order to calm the girl more. He knows he probably shouldn't do this - and keep Winters waiting, but he's too curious to stop himself, he has to hear the rest of her story.

"I love this town, I was born and raised here," she shrugs as if it's obvious. "But more importantly, I didn't want to leave and let innocent people like my best friend's family suffer. I wanted to stay and fight back as good as I could."

Joe subconsciously mumbles under his breath before he can stop himself - words that praise her absolute bravery, words that give away his true feelings he suddenly feels towards her - then he has to move his gaze away from her, fearing that she sees the embarrassment in his eyes. He tries hard to think of another question while also trying hard to forget the look of the half-smiling expression that took over her face just a moment before - it does nothing good for his heart.

"Did you make that hidden room yourself?" He asks in the end, thinking back to what he saw in the room.

"Oh," she giggles - and it's the prettiest sound he's heard in a very long time. "No, my father made it when me and my brother were young and often played hide and seek. I just improved it a little so they can fit in more comfortably."

Liebgott hums, not knowing how to tell her - or if he should even tell her in the first place - how absolutely super impressed she left him with every single thing she's told him and what he's seen. It's one of the craziest things he has ever heard, and he had a fair share of unbelievable stories told to him in his life. He simply couldn't even imagine how on Earth this girl could manage to do this - and not get caught. Throughout the whole war.

In that very moment he swiftly decides that he'll go and find another house for the HQ, and that he'll somehow get back to this particular one, no matter what it takes. He wants to get to know her better. He has to get to know her better.

She's the most incredible woman he's ever heard of, read about or met. She's a woman who fits in the stories of the comics he's been reading his whole life - as the protagonist, the hero. He can't leave this town without hearing more about her, seeing her face more. That would be the biggest regret of his whole life, he can already tell.

But for now, he has to leave. It wouldn't be a good idea to keep his officers waiting even longer.

He stands up, fingers reaching out to grab his M1 before looking back into her eyes. Damn, he doesn't even know her name.

"I have to head back to my company, but I'll come back later, if that's okay with you."

Her eyes are already on his, seemingly staring straight into his soul with that intensity that lays in her (y/e/c) orbs. The girl then rises to her feet - still never breaking the eye contact.

Thoughts race inside her head, and it's like an angel and a demon are sitting on each of her shoulders, one telling her to say no whilst the other trying to convince her to say yes.

What if he only wants to use her? What if he only wants to sleep with her? Maybe force her to do so, threatening her with his knowledge of the Jewish family. He might not even be who and what he says he is. How could she know?

But on the other hand, there is this feeling she has about him. A feeling that tells her that nothing she previously thought will happen. She doesn't know what it is, but it's there, right in her chest, and she can't fight it. He seems genuinely curious and impressed, and honest. And she feels a pull towards him. She wants to see him again.

In the end, the devil on her shoulder wins, and she simply nods - right before she could change her mind.

"I'm Joe," the young soldier moves around the table, one hand held out towards her.

A glance cast down and right back up to his face she takes his hand and gives it a shake, holding onto it tightly, as if only to let him know how strong she actually is.

It probably works, 'cause he raises an eyebrow, slightly tilts his head and the corners of his lips curve up into the smallest smirk she's ever seen - but it's there.

"(y/n)," she eventually answers with her own introduction.

A few seconds pass and neither has let go of the other's hand, not yet. They just stand there, staring into each other's eyes, only the small noises of them breathin breaking the silence.

Then Liebgott blinks, clears his throat, pulls his hand out from her grip and instinctively places his fingers upon his weapon hanging from his shoulder whilst nodding towards her as a gesture of saying goodbye without words.

She watches as he turns around and walks out from the room, and after a tiny, happy sigh she follows the sound of his steps.

Just as he opens the front door and moves through it is when she arrives to the hall. Joe glances back over his shoulder for one last time, offering her a small smile, then looks back ahead of him and continues his walk as if nothing has happened. None of the past dozen of minutes.

(y/n) leans against the doorframe and watches him right until he disappears in the distance with a dreamy look in her eyes.

She can't wait until he comes back again.

.::the end::.

(might write a part two if i'll have time and you'd like to read it)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Tied With a Bow

A Holiday Drabble! I wrote this on my break so hope y’all enjoy it (please let me know what you think!)

Warnings: nonconsent/rape, kidnapping, mentions of stalking.

You open your eyes but the world remains black. You smell a fire and hear the crackle; the warmth waver against your bare legs. Your jeans are gone, the rest of your clothes too. All that hides your body is an unseen bra that tickles the front of your breasts and a thin, barely discernable thong.

You shiver. Your blindfold is thin and cool. A thick length of ribbon knotted at the back of your head.

You remember slivers of what came before. Christmas Eve. You just finished up with your mother for the night. Your parents left the next morning for a Caribbean getaway and you were content at a quiet day to yourself.

You never made it home. You recall that much. The footsteps just behind you and a glimpse back revealing nothing more than the snowy yard and your parents' glowing decorations.

It happened in the car. The engine rumbled and you drove off without haste. You remember a rustle behind you and suddenly a hand around your mouth. You lost control and it all went black.

Then you were here. You sit there for what feels like forever in the din of the fireplace flickering on the other side of your blindfold. You smelled pine and felt the nip of snow as it rattled the windows.

Then voices. Deep, unfamiliar. You hold your breath and wriggle in the chair. Your hands are bound behind you and your ankles to the wide legs, you can do nothing but listen as the strangers come nearer.

"If you weren't do damn late," the words grow clearer and your veins sear with adrenaline,

"Your present's just in there."

You're frantic as footsteps sound on the floor.

"Oh? You actually got me something this year?" A sardonic chuckle dies halfway as the steps stop. "Buck?" His tone turns to surprise.

"All yours," the other man responds, "a few scratches but she's in good shape."

"How--" he clears his throat, "wait..." suddenly the footsteps are marching towards you. You panic and struggle to free yourself. The chair rocks and is caught before it can fall over. A hand grabs your chin and stills you. "It's...her? You know?"

"All those solo missions. Always distracted. You usually catch on when I tail you but," the clap makes you flinch, "Surprising but I suppose you need something."

The hand falls away and you feel the stranger move past you. "And?"

"And what?"

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"She's cute. Sweet. Hell, if I'd seen her first, I might have been the same way." A sniff between words. "How did you find her anyway?"

"Just... chance. I..." the man is hesitant. You're petrified. He's been watching you but you don't know who he is. "She has a family. They'll look for her."

"Let me worry about that," a snicker.

"I..." he's breathless as your heart is pounding.

"Hear that," the other taunts, "go on and introduce yourself. Maybe she won't be so nervous."

There's a silence and you sense more movement. He's in front of you, you know it even though you can't see him. He says your name and you scrunch your nose to keep from crying.

"Get away from me," you utter, "go!"

"Sweetie," he touches your knee and you try to shake him off. His hand grips you tighter. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sighs. "What did you do to her? You have to tie her up like this?"

"Got in a bit of a bender but she's fine," the other assures, "you can untie her but she's your problem then."

The man lets go of your knee and reaches around your head to untie the ribbon. He kneels before you as he looks you over, rubbing the ribbon between his fingers. You know him. You've seen him before, but never in person.

Steve Rogers is even bigger in real life. He smiles. Those blue eyes that always seem warm in pictures are startling.

"Please, let me go," you whine.

His brow twitches and he tilts his head; confused, pleading, you cannot tell. But you know from that look he won't oblige.

"You're scared?" He leans back on his heels. "You know who I am?" He watches you and all you can do is gape back at him. He holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."

He realises his mistake as you only blink at him and he drops his hand. He rubs his palms together and hesitates before he stands.

"I'm sorry about my friend," he looks to the doorway, "Buck, can you get her a blanket?"

The other man huffs but you hear him go. Steve turns to the fire and stoops to move a log from the metal basket onto the dwindling embers. He turns back and shifts his weight on his feet.

"I... I want to untie you but you can't run." He says carefully.

"If you think I'm going to run, why would you want me to stay?" You hiss.

"You can," the other man speaks as he enters. "One of us will catch you."

You glance over your shoulder as he nears and hands Steve the blanket. He watches and lets out a breath.

"I dress her up all nice for you and you’re coverin' her up?" he tuts.

You recognise him too. Captain America's ever loyal sidekick, Bucky Barnes. He grins as he meets your gaze and winks.

"Isn't she cute? Maybe I should have put her in white." Bucky sneers and smacks Steve's shoulder.

"You're scaring her," Steve smacks him with his knuckles, “sweetie," he turns back to you, "will you be good if I untie you?"

You look between him and Bucky. You squirm and blink away another wave of terror.

"Please," you whisper at first then repeat yourself louder.

Steve nods and rounds you. You feel him picking at your binds as Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Don't say I didn't try to help," Bucky grumbles and goes to the fireplace. "Any plans for her? I'm sure you've been thinking about it for a while."

"Enough, Buck," your hands fall loose and Steve comes back around to free your ankles. He looks up at you. "Please, don't listen to him."

You don't say anything. The whole situation is too confusing. Surreal. Your ankles come away from the chair legs and you slide forward. Steve stands and catches you by your shoulders before you can stand.

"You okay?" He plays with the fringe at the edge if the blanket as it rests over your shoulder.

You sit back and shrug away his touch.

"I don't understand," you say, "I really don't."

"I didn't think it would be like this--" Steve is interrupted by a scoff and sends Bucky a sharp look. The latter raises his brows and strolls from the room with a sarcastic salute.

Steve backs away and you watch as he passes the chair you sit in to sit on the long sofa. He pats the spot beside him.

"Can we talk?" He asks as if you could day no.

You rise and sweep the blanket around you before it can fall. You near him and sit as far from him as you can.

"I didn't think he would... it's my fault. I just could never build up the to-- to--" he looks down bashfully and drags his nail along the faded denim along his thigh. "To say hello."

"How do you... know me?" You ask.

"MrsRogersTeddy?" He smiles as his eyes flick up. The username, almost forgotten, has you pressing yourself against the arm. You shake your head at him in disbelief.

"I haven't posted in years," you murmur, "how..."

"Well, that's why I went looking. The blog was inactive but I love your stories. They're so good."

"They're trash. Sometimes you just get so bored that living in dumb fantasies is better than anything in the real world. They were just stupid fics. They didn't..." his face falls and you speak slower, realising you've said you much, "mean anything."

He frowns and sits back, deflated. His fingers tap on his jeans. “They mean something to me.” He says deliberately. Slowly, he turns. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

“I don’t know you,” you regret your words the moment they hang in the air before you.

“Then why would you write about me? Why?” The vein in his forehead sticks out and his jaw squares. “I don’t get it.” He grabs you before you can react and pulls you to him. The blanket slips between your bodies. “You wrote about us!”

“No, no, they were all made up. It wasn’t about--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as his hand stretches across your throat. He flexes his fingers as he pushes you onto your back and lowers himself with you. He crushes you beneath him as he frames your faces with his hand. “You love me.”

“No,” you murmur, “Steve…”

“Don’t.” His voice is harsh as you stare up into his eyes. His pupils dilate and he smashes his lips into yours.

You push against his chest, the blanket twists at your waist. The bra, a dark blue with white fur trim, threatens to reveal all. His hand brushes down your neck and arm as he traces the length of your body to your hips. He pulls your leg around him as he moves between your thighs.

A rush of panic rises within and you whimper into his mouth. Your head is spinning and you can’t breath. You can barely think. You’re trapped with a stranger. Smothered by THE Captain America. And for days, weeks, months, who knows, he’s been stalking you. You never knew. How could you? It was unthinkable.

He draws away and gazes down at you. “Say you want me,” he purrs.

Your lips part but you can’t speak. He doesn’t wait anyway as he kisses you again. He’s tugging at the thin string of the thong, exploring your body with his hands. He shoves his thumb beneath the cup of the bra and teases your nipple. He grinds against you like a puritan.

You gasp as you turn your head away. You gulp for breath as his lips continue to your throat. He’s ravenous, unstoppable. He’s kissing, nipping, and sucking your flesh. You grasp at his thick bicep and claw at his firm chest. He is immovable but you are not.

His hand slides along your pelvis. The thong is scrunched from the friction of your bodies. He hums as he grazes your cunt with his fingertips. He nuzzles your neck and fumbles with his fly.

“No,” you beg, “Steve, please…” you’re desperate. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’m not,” he groans as he wriggles and pushes down the top of his jeans and rolls down the elastic of his briefs. He struggles for a moment and you refuse to look anywhere but the ceiling. “I’m not, I’m not…” he recites more to himself than you.

You kick your heels into his legs but he doesn’t even flinch. His hand is still moving between you. You feel him prod along your soft thigh. You writhe, you need him off of you. You’re sweating, stolid. You’ve never been so afraid. He drags his cock against your folds.

“Steve--”

He claps his hand over your mouth and enters you in a single thrust. You exclaim into his palm as he shakes and holds himself deep in you. His head hangs beside yours and his fingers curl as he muffles your distress.

He rocks his hips carefully. You squeeze him between your thighs unable to do much else. It hurts how full you are. Each time he tilts, he’s deeper inside you. Your walls cling to him and you close your eyes to the world. You want to forget where you are but you can’t as he brings you back each time he moves.

His tempo builds steadily. You ache; for him, because of him. Your body rebels as your mind shouts for rescue. There is no escape. You are caught in his embrace; in his scent.

He lifts himself and his hand falls away from your mouth. You bare your teeth as he pins your shoulders and holds himself over you. He slams his hips down and you yelp. Your lashes flutter open and you see a beast atop you. He is not the saviour painted across glossy magazines and inky newspapers. He is a man, base and bestial.

His flesh slaps loudly against yours. You peek down at the joining of your bodies, his shirt rides up on his firm stomach as the thong digs into your skin. Your tits are out as the bra slides further down your arms and torso.

He growls and your eyes meet. He hums but not for long, instead grunting with each thrust. He licks his lips as his gaze ventures down. He sits back and holds your hips. You cover your face with your arm. You’re cumming. You don’t want to but you can’t stop the tide that swirls around you. You’re drowning. You’re lost. You cannot find your way back in the storm.

His voice is louder. His groans carnal. He raises your left leg to rest against his chest. He hugs it as your muscles strain. You’re quaking, the entire couch is trembling. He bites his knuckles to stifle a cry. He bucks wildly as he spills into you.

When he is still, you feel as if you are still moving. Your thighs tingle and your vision clouds. He drops your leg and bends over you as he catches his breath. He blindly cradles your face as his breath washes over your chest.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” a shadow appears behind him. You see Bucky watching you with a grin. “So… where’s my present?”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes x reader #drabble #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #one shot #holiday #captain america #mcu #marvel #fic #dark!fic #dark fic

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Love, Hate, Love: Part two

Part One // Part Three

Pairing: Spike x fem!vamp!reader

Request: Spike and the reader really dislike each other until she recalls his human "identity". They were best friends as kids and wrote poetry together and upon remembering this their perception of each other begins to shift. This is part two of three.

Originally requested by: @therapieliteratur

A/N: Head’s up: The timeframe is switched up a bit, Angel left earlier and Spike stayed in Sunnydale since like Lover’s walk or something. It’s vaguely set in season 3 but with very little season 3 written about.

You smiled, skipping through the tall grass. Your best Sunday dress was starched rigid. Binding. But you had not wished to change, anticipation getting the better of you.

You were going to meet him again. It was a youthful love, you had only been a teenager. It was three, maybe four years before your death. Aged twenty.

The summer was uncharacteristically warm. Your eyes viewed this dream in sepia.

There he was. Your love. He averted his gaze as soon as you approached. He did this every time. He was shy, with a poet’s heart. You had always been the more confident one. He had caught your eye, he had been in awe of you growing up. Watching you from afar.

Ever since he could remember, his eyes had only been for you.

You had started to meet this way. Stolen moments. You sat under that large oak tree, on the hill. You could see for miles from up there, but your entire world was right there beside you both.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to meet him this way, you knew it. People would talk. But your hearts had sung when you were together. You sneaked glances at each other, your faces bathing in sunlight.

God, you missed the sunlight. Those youthful eyes transfixed on your own. Sparkling in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

You both wrote poetry, that had been how your minds connected. With your hearts following. You were well-educated for the time and he adored that your wit matched his own. That he had someone that could appreciate beauty and every other emotion you could find in nature. In life. Even in death.

You hid the last one close to your chests. It was macabre and others may have laughed. Others did laugh. When you spoke of life and love and death.

You had been viewed as outcasts but nothing mattered when you were together. When you had affirmations of his blossoming love.

Oh, you wrote such poetry. Together you could change the direction that the Earth would turn. Your love, your sweet and undying affections could stop the world on its very axis. You often read aloud. Your own work and others. You gushed over the others beautiful prose.

But this day, this one was special.

He had asked you to marry him that day. Through his carefully thought-out poem. You were both young, but there was no question in your mind. You had known him since you were a child. Your love growing from childlike friendship to subtle affection, before weaving into this unquestionable love. The foundations of your adoration so solid. There was no doubt in your mind.

This thought stuck with you, in your dream. You remember it now. This was a memory, no mere dream.

His love had made you weep like a baby. You could feel the salty tears welling, threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your hand grasped his, so tight.

Yes.

This was his turn for tears to well.

You were just smiling at each other now. You leaned in, initiating this. He had been anxiously awaiting this moment. Had written of it over feverishly. And you felt this now, where you hadn’t in reality. You felt his emotions, knowing they were pure. A pure love.

Your lips met, in a sweet kiss. It was simple and quick, but it was new to you both. Your lips barely grazed his and you found yourself instantly wanting more.

But, you pulled back to look at him. I mean, really looked at him.

Your decades rushed back to you. The wisdom of your age, all you had seen. Growing out of your naivety and the promise of this sweet matrimony. The wedding that never was.

You suddenly recognised him. You knew who was looking back. And you noticed he was doing the same thing. Scanning your face, trying to recall more of this forgotten youthful romance. This innocent love you had shared.

Something shifted as the penny dropped. The recognition. A storm started around you, one that had never occurred on that day. It had been a happy day, you hadn’t known what was to come.

You both started to be pulled in opposite directions.

You tried to cling to him, your hands grasping for him and he reached out. Trying to take your hand. You screamed, being pulled out of the dream backwards.

You recognised that look in his eye. Those crystal blue eyes that had seen you with such favour in your youth. Was the man, no, vampire you now detested.

And you knew it was him. Really him. He was dreaming the same thing. You didn’t know how, but you did.

You woke up with a start. You sat up instantly in bed, breathing heavily despite there being no need. You ran your hand through your hair in disbelief.

Oh no. Oh, God, no.

Don’t let it be him.

It stung. That your only true love could be the root of your current hate. This man, this infuriating man who stood for everything you now fought against.

Oh, you hated him so. For making you feel this way. All these contradictions weaved into the crumbs of affection that were starting to surround you. Leading you to a path you hadn’t travelled since. It was overgrown now, your heart protected by thorned bushes. By barbed wire and electric fencing.

You had let nobody in the same since. Had hidden yourself away, made yourself more reserved. Especially since regaining your soul.

Dreams are funny things. Sometimes abstract. Often a reflection of your subconscious. And apparently, today, they were shared memories of a lifetime ago. You hadn’t even thought about until it all came rushing to the surface that day.

Neither of you knew why now. Why had your minds hidden such glorious moments of your youth?

Of course, you both knew the answer. It was too painful. To remember what happened. The love. The loss.

At the same moment as you, he woke up with a start. His hand still outstretched for you as if he could have pulled you back out of that dream with him. Back into his bed, the way he had dreamed of having you all those years ago.

Oh no. Oh, God, no.

Don’t let it be her.

“Anybody but bloody her” He muttered, pulling the covers from his body in disdain and stalking towards his mini-fridge to get out some blood.

He hated thinking about who he had once been. William. He could barely remember much of that life anymore. He had consciously ignored that part of himself. But now it was all he could think of.

You. Oh God, how he had adored you. He couldn’t recall even now feeling as elated as he had when you had agreed. That summer’s afternoon. Sneaking around after and finding places to kiss you. To hold you.

Stupid, lovesick idiot. That was all he had even thought to do at the time.

His mind swam with such contradictory thoughts. Of course he had tried to reach for you, yesterday. To comfort you. Because you were her. God, he hated you for that.

You both spent that night walking directionless through your own memories. Ones that only now had been unlocked again. It was painful, bittersweet.

The gnawing realisation that your hearts were tugging you closer towards the other was ignored. Pushed away.

You couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not again.

You were sat in the demon bar. You had steered well clear for a few weeks but there really was nothing like drowning guilt, sorrow and now a fixation on a vampire you had thought you hated like drinking alcohol beside demons that loathed you as much as you loathed yourself.

And, of course, just as you ordered your drink he arrived.

You caught each other’s eye briefly. Both snapping your gaze away immediately once the other met your eye. He didn’t make a beeline towards you straight away like he usually would. You didn’t keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid this time. You wouldn’t dare let him see you looking.

It had been every day since last you saw each other. The same, or similar dreams. Of your youth. Your love. It was hard to face someone after that.

After a long while of arguing with his own mind, he moved to look at you. His silent strength (that you had loved about him) now showing. He would have to study your face, he couldn’t not. He had to check that it was you.

He sighed, taking a massive gulp from his drink. You were so different. Not in appearance but in character. You looked almost broken now. Melancholia pumped through your heart rather than blood. He could tell, his heart almost ached, knowing you were wracked by guilt or whatever it was that happened when vampires gained souls.

You looked up, glaring at him before dropping your look to your drink despite it never doing anything to you. He couldn’t not say anything. What had once been a quiet courage was now a bolder one.

“Oh, look it’s the Slayer’s pet. She loosened the leash tonight, did she? Let you walk around all by yourself?” He prodded. But his heart wasn’t in it, you could hear his usual amusement was failing him tonight. You stayed silent hoping he would just go. For very different reasons than from your last interaction.

You had been exhausted last time, indifferent.

Now it was because it was starting to mean too much. Hurt too much to look at him.

“Pet?” He asked, knowing you didn’t like it. Usually made you talk to him when he called you that. You just continued to stare into your drink, but words started to form in your mouth. A way you wouldn’t speak anymore.

“My heart is leaden, to my grave the thoughts do beckon.” You recited the line from memory. A memory you hadn’t been aware of until recently. You didn’t look up from your drink, you were aching. Guilt and sorrow and him.

His eyes widened, he knew those words. It was you. It had only ever been you.

He couldn’t stop the words that left his mouth, the desperate grasping at the past, “Y-you saw it too, didn’t you?” He pressed. His voice wavered and his jaw tensed at his own nature. His eyes willed you to agree, willed you to show him that you hadn’t changed beyond repair. Hadn’t hardened the way he never thought you could.

“I don’t know what you mean” You said shortly, getting up and downing your drink before moving to walk away.

He swung you around to face him. Your fist clenched expecting a fight. But there was no more fight. You just stared at each other, feeling the proximity more intimately than you ever had before.

Your faces started to soften and you felt it. Because his touch was now reminding you of how he had held you. Stolen kisses and silent confessions of affection. Handwritten love notes and poetry that would make you fall deeper in love. Sunkissed faces and those freckles he used to get when the summer was particularly warm.

Oh God you just wanted to lean in and kiss him and now he was feeling exactly the same. Your minds fought against the embrace.

He dropped your arm as if it was white-hot. Scolding him. As if he couldn’t bear it.

It hurt you both. Stung. His action. You were both in your own heads though. Your minds in turmoil, a tsunami of your own making.

You hated that it was the other. You hated that your hearts had started to hope. You hated that a part of you would easily trade in everything to be back in your dreams. Or to really be back there. Together.

How could it be him? How could that beautiful man, with that beautiful heart, be him. The killer of slayers. The evil, big bad that tried to kill the only people that had been kind to you since you moved here.

How could it be her? How could that once confident, glowing woman be you. The miserable, brooding souled vampire. The one that shone with arrogant self-righteousness. Tried to be good.

Without a word you just walked away from each other. No fight. No subtle jabs at the others opposing nature.

Words failed you now, but your minds spun. Such discordant unending lines of jarring poetry. Cut and spliced together. Love and hate and hope and dread.

It was all-consuming.

Because neither of you were so sure that you were these opposites. Not anymore.

The next day you were sat in the Sunnydale school library. It was a lot different from the education you remember. For the better, you decided.

You were supposed to be lending your expertise, what with the age and knowledge of the demon you were facing this week. But you weren’t really contributing.

You could get quiet sometimes and Angel had warned them not to press you too much about it, understanding why. But you weren’t usually like this. You didn’t brood like Angel did, but you were very obviously troubled by your past.

The group had taken you in, they were fond of you. You had lived through most of their troubles already so you gave them advice when you could. Even with Giles, you offered assistance that he took gratefully. You were the one vampire with a soul he could actually rely on after what happened with Angelus last year.

You were staring at a book as if it were written in gibberish. You were like a statue, you weren’t breathing or blinking.

“What’s up with spooky the soul-haver?” Xander whispered, as if you couldn’t hear it. The boy thought you would have a romance like Buffy and Angel’s. You told him otherwise. He was working on accepting it. Still.

“She’s been having dreams” Willow shrugged, it was all she could get out of you. Buffy looked up, slightly worried. She knew Angel had struggled with visions and bad dreams.

“Spooky can totally hear the human gremlins when they speak words” You muttered and Xander went red, and the others’ eyes scattered away from you which made you half-smile. You began to explain a quick excuse but you were quickly cut off.

“Don’t wig, it’s so far beyond nothing-”

“Slayer!” A familiar voice shouted, “Slayer, come out and face me!”

He had become tired of hiding in the shadows. Since Dru left. He wanted to beat the Slayer. Do something to take his mind off you. He slammed his hand on the walls as he stalked along looking for her.

Everyone shared a look and Buffy took the nearest weapon to her, a sword, and sped off through the corridors to find him before he ran into a teacher who had stayed behind to catch up on their lesson plans.

Both fought, hard. Trading blows with Buffy nicking his skin with the sword. You uncharacteristically stayed to the side.

It was equally matched until Buffy held his shoulder, he had cast an eye towards you. She took the chance and slid the hilt deep into his torso. He groaned in pain. You felt it as if she had struck you herself. You clutched your own body, where the wound was on his.

She didn’t stake him, as if he weren’t worth it. Merely warning him to give up. Buffy turned, satisfied and the others began walking away. Leaving him wounded, his knees buckled and he was on the floor.

All you could think was that he was hurt.

“William!” You shouted without thinking. It was him, no matter what had happened since. It was him.

Your mask had slipped. He saw those kind eyes. You used to look after him, the one that would try to fight any of the bullies of your youth. He had held you back more than once, fearing you would get a reputation. For being improper. And he, for being laughable. Emasculated.

“Didn’t think you cared, sweet” He said, his tone still hard. So different from the lyrical assurances he would whisper in your ear. But the moniker gave him away. Sweet.

He had always called you that. His sweet.

“I-I don’t…” You lied. This was the first time you understood properly that those feelings hadn’t been lost in your youth. They had been hidden. Repressed. Because it was so painful. There had always been something missing, only now you realised.

Losing his favour had been more painful than your own death.

William was waiting at the chapel, the entire day was thick with humidity. The skies grey and threatening to spill.

You had chosen an intimate service. Something that was yours. Just you and those that would witness the union. You would leave your hometown and make a life together. Away from the hard eyes and cruel tongues.

“Oh, I am the very spirit of vexation! Where is my wife to be?” William paced, the sun was starting to set. Darkness settling in.

“She will be timely, do not fret” the vicar spoke with assurance but he was concerned.

Time spun. It slowed and started to stop, dying as his hope did. You never came. He waited into the evening but you never arrived.

He wept, his heart broken and leaking. Salt water rubbing into the wound. Unimaginable pain. He ran. Sobs echoing around the empty chapel.

#Spike x reader #Spike btvs #Spike #Spike x you #Spike imagine #btvs #btvs x reader #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #female reader #female #x reader #btvs x you #btvs imagine

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ibijau · 3 years

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Part 2 of Lan Xichen refusing to listen when Nie Huaisang tries to tell him about Jin Guangyao’s crimes, this time post canon. As a quick warning... don’t go in there expecting a reconciliation ahah :D

In all his years of acquaintance with the Nie sect, this is the first time that Lan Xichen is made to wait at the gate, and the insult smarts. This is how a merchant or the servant of a noble family begging for help might be treated, not the leader of one of the Great Sect, and certainly not an old friend. Then again, it has been many years since Lan Xichen last came to the Unclean Realm alone. Perhaps he would have received such a welcome all along, after he and Nie Huaisang...

They never broke up, not exactly, not in such a manner that Lan Xichen could pinpoint an exact date to mark the end of their intimacy. But Nie Huaisang became more closed off in the months after his brother's death, more reluctant to tolerate any sort of affection, and Lan Xichen, tired of being denied again and again, stopped visiting alone. He only came alongside Jin Guangyao, in whose company Nie Huaisang was always a little less cold. For a while, Lan Xichen even wondered if his former lover's affection hadn't shifted toward a new target.

He wishes now that it had been something so easy. The truth, he fears, might be more unpleasant yet.

After nearly a shichen of waiting at the gate, Lan Xichen is brought inside by a disciple. Not Qinghe Nie's first disciple, but one of lesser importance who takes him to a sparse room and offers him subpar tea. He is then informed that the sect leader is currently busy, but will make time for him as soon as possible.

In a way, Lan Xichen finds this already answers the questions he has come to ask. Just a few weeks ago, Nie Huaisang would never have dared to be so rude to anyone, least of all one of Nie Mingjue's sworn brothers. He used to always drop everything for Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, throwing himself at them with heavy tears... but then again, he was always the one begging them to come as well, whereas Lan Xichen is now here uninvited.

Another shichen passes, and then some. The tea Lan Xichen was offered is worse cold than warm, but he still finishes it as darkness creeps on him. Night, outside, is coming close, and Lan Xichen regrets not booking a room at some Qinghe inn. He has never had to before, and quite foolishly he hoped this wouldn't have changed. A mistake he will not repeat, if he ever visits again.

At long last the door opens, revealing Nie Huaisang who looks...

It would be only polite for Lan Xichen to rise up and bow to his host, or salute him in some manner. If he doesn't it isn't in protest of the long wait, but only because he can hardly recognise Nie Huaisang. The man in front of him might as well be a stranger. It might just be that it has been so long since Lan Xichen has had cause to truly look at the man he once loved. It might also be that for the first time in nearly a decade, Nie Huaisang isn't playing a role. Either way, Nie Huaisang seems taller than Lan Xichen thinks he ought to be, even accounting for the fact that one of them is standing and the other sitting. That might be because he is standing so straight, his shoulders squared rather than hunched. He looks, as he has for this past decade, a little too thin, but rather than making him frail and delicate, Lan Xichen finds the other man's features now bring to mind a carefully sharpened blade. Nie Huaisang's eyes are certainly as cool as steel, his narrow smile threatening in a way his sabre never managed to be.

“Er-ge, I'm surprised you've come here,” Nie Huaisang calmly states, looking down at Lan Xichen as he puts down a candle on a chest near the door. “I suppose I should ask the reason of your visit.”

“I think you know it already,” Lan Xichen replies without thinking, too startled by this stranger bearing a face he once adored to be polite.

Nie Huaisang smirks. “Do I? I don't think I do. Please do tell me, Er-ge. I am but a stupid man, I need things stated plainly.”

Not so long ago, Lan Xichen might have unkindly agreed.

“I'll ask this before all else: the other night, did Jin Guangyao really move?”

Nie Huaisang's smirk curls a little higher. “I've said already that I can't be sure, haven't I? Maybe he moved, maybe he didn't... I was tired, and I was wounded, and I was so terribly scared,” he explains in a mocking tone. “Weeks after the accusation was first made, I just had it confirmed that one of my very dear friend had murdered my da-ge, and you expect me to have been clear minded enough to remember every inconsequential detail?”

“You already knew he had killed da-ge,” Lan Xichen retorts.

Nie Huaisang's mouth slowly opens in a artful 'Oh' of surprise too deliberate to be anything but artifice, while his hand sets on his heart as if wounded by the accusation. He looks right out of a picture, beautiful and elegant and insincere.

“Er-ge, I'm not sure I quite understand what you're saying.”

Lan Xichen frowns. He had not expected this to be easy, of course, but he hadn't prepared himself for such coldness either. In his mind, Nie Huaisang ought to have been shouting at this point. But then, he was thinking of Nie Huaisang as he lives in his memory, young and spoiled, rather than the man he became while Lan Xichen wasn't paying attention.

“I am saying that I have given due consideration to what Wei Wuxian said last month in that temple,” Lan Xichen says. “I believe that he might have been right.”

Even an actor as talented as Nie Huaisang can break character. For a brief instant, he appears to struggle to contain a smile, though that problem is solved when he quickly opens a fan with a sharp yet graceful gesture. Lan Xichen is left breathless when he recognises the fan. It is one he bought for Nie Huaisang, when they were young and not yet crossing the line between friends and lovers. When they finally did, they wrote together a few lines of poetry on that fan, because Nie Huaisang, so sweet at that time, wanted to do like the couples in those stories he so enjoyed reading, and Lan Xichen of course couldn't have done anything but indulge him in this caprice.

It cannot be an accident for this particular fan to have been chosen as Nie Huaisang's shield.

“Er-ge... no, sorry, Zewu-Jun, that is a serious accusation you're throwing at me,” Nie Huaisang saying, almost sounding hurt. Almost. “So, I must ask... do you have any proof? You can't say this without some serious proof.”

Something in Nie Huaisang's tone is a little odd, as if it matters to him whether Lan Xichen has anything concrete to show.

“No more than you probably did when you started all this, Huaisang.”

“But if I had done that, I would have had proof” Nie Huaisang retorts, his eyes burning from behind his fan. “Plenty of it. If I were to have gone on the path of revenge, it might have been because Baxia had become restless in the weeks after her master's death, and started causing problems in the sabre's hall,” he explains, dropping the fan to reveal a feverish expression. “So of course I would have checked my brother's tomb, and found it empty. That's when I might have become suspicious of foul play, and turned to you for help. I wonder, would you have listened to me, or would you have rushed to defend someone you clearly valued more than me?”

Lan Xichen's eyebrows rise high in surprise. He knows for a fact that Nie Huaisang never mentioned his brother's corpse being missing, he certainly would remember that.

“If this is your excuse for never letting me know the truth...”

The fan comes up again. “Er-ge, this is purely hypothetical of course,” Nie Huaisang says pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. “I suppose if those things had happened, I wouldn't even have had a chance to make a case against Jin Guangyao before you'd make it clear on whose side you were. You've always been so quick to defend him, haven't you? Even when da-ge was alive... they were both your friends, but you only ever seemed to side with one of them, didn't you?”

It is an unfair statement. Lan Xichen used to defend Jin Guangyao in front of Nie Mingjue, yes, but he made no less efforts to mend that relationship on both sides. Many times he tried to explain to Jin Guangyao how their sworn brother's personality worked, how Nie Mingjue meant no harm by speaking the way he did, how he was truly trying to help by offering chance after chance for Jin Guangyao to prove his good faith, especially in that business with Xue Yang, and how Nie Mingjue's education and personal experience made it hard for him to understand that Jin Guangshan wouldn't be swayed by the demands of a bastard son he half openly despised.

Lan Xichen had done all that he could to be a bridge between two men whose affection was so disturbed by deeply different worldviews. Many things had escaped his attention at that time, but he had never been so foolish as to think every problem in their friendship came from Nie Mingjue alone.

Just because Nie Huaisang had borne witness to only one side of his efforts didn't mean the other side never existed.

“Someone had to defend him,” Lan Xichen coldly points out. “I realise now that some of his enemies were right to hate him, but how could I not dismiss them when their first impulse was always to attack him for his birth?”

“But I didn't!” Nie Huaisang explodes, closing his fan to furiously point it at Lan Xichen. His hand trembles with rage, and there's not art to his expression now, only raw emotion of unexpected intensity. “I didn't come to you calling him a son of a whore!” He cries out. “I didn't call him a bastard, or a servant unworthy of his title! All I said was that I suspected murder, and instantly you defended Jin Guangyao, before throwing it to my face that maybe it was my fault if da-ge had been so unbalanced!”

Nie Huaisang waves his fan at Lan Xichen, heavy tears staining his face.

“Do you know how terrified I was to share this with you? You'd been on Guangyao's side so often, you'd been the reason he'd had access to da-ge even in his unstable state! Everything was telling me that you could have been complicit in da-ge's death, that you and Guangyao could have been working together! But I loved you!” Nie Huaisang shouts, his voice breaking on the words. “I loved you, you were the only thing I had left and I loved you, certain you loved me as well, so I trusted you and tried to come to you with my discoveries, and for what?”

Laughing hysterically, Nie Huaisang reopens his fan to hide his tears.

“You don't even remember that day, do you?” he croaks. “Everything changed for me that night, and it wasn't even worth remembering for you.”

Lan Xichen stares down at the table in front of him, desperately trying to recall the conversation that left such an impact on Nie Huaisang. It must have been before they drifted apart, he guesses. To his shame, he truly cannot remember.

He tells himself that he too was grieving, that Nie Huaisang doesn't remember well, that he was perhaps less clear in his accusation than he now thinks he was. Lan Xichen easily finds many excuses for not remembering, but he knows them for what they are: excuses. The truth, ugly as it might be, is simply that he paid little attention to what Nie Huaisang had to say at that time. His grief, raw and exposed, had been uncomfortable to witness, and Lan Xichen had only held on to the good parts of his lover while waiting for the bad ones to go away on their own.

“So Wei Wuxian guessed right, then,” Lan Xichen whispers, unwilling to dwell on his past failings at the moment. “You did all this...”

“Did I?” Nie Huaisang asks, regaining control of himself, his expression turning distant again in spite of the lingering hoarseness in his voice. “Everything I said was hypothetical of course. Who knows what I did or didn't do? After so long, who knows what could have been prevented if you'd only trusted me half as much as I might have trusted you? But I will say this...”

He lowers his fan, revealing a sharp smile, more like a beast baring its teeth than anything.

“Er-ge, supposing I did any of the things Wei Wuxian accused me of the other day, then you would bear as much fault in my supposed crimes as you do in Jin Guangyao's,” Nie Huaisang says, almost sweetly. “The mighty Zewu-Jun, so pure and good, so untouched by dirt and blood, having enabled so much pain and chaos just because it's easier to look away when things are unpleasant.”

Lan Xichen doesn't answer. It is an unfair accusation, he tells himself. Jin Guangyao's actions were never under his control, and neither were Nie Huaisang.

What happened wasn't his fault, and he refuses to react to Nie Huaisang's very obvious taunting. It is clear now that the other man will not give him a straight answer regarding anything that has happened. Perhaps it was foolish to ever hope that he would, considering what Wei Wuxian said he might have done.

“It's getting late, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang remarks, glancing out the window as if he only now realises how dark it has become around them. The candle he'd brought with him offers little light. “You should get going. I hope you'll understand why I don't offer to let you stay the night.”

“I wouldn't accept even if you offered,” Lan Xichen replies as he stands up. “I suppose we'll meet again some other time, Nie zongzhu.”

“Only if I have no other choice, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang says. “I'll call for someone to take you back to the gate. I've already wasted enough time on you.”

With how often he has been here as a guest, Lan Xichen doesn't need a guide to find his way inside the Unclean Realm, not even in the dark. He keeps that remark to himself, unwilling to deal with Nie Huaisang longer than necessary.

Soon enough he is outside the gates of the Unclean Realm, free to breathe again, and starts walking into the night, toward Qinghe. Lan Xichen knows he could fly, but walking gives him a better chance to think and consider what he has just learned, and to analyse this conversation with Nie Huaisang.

It is the first time in many years that he gives this much thought to his former lover's words and actions, he realises, and something like guilt curls coldly into his chest. Perhaps this really could have been avoided, if he had paid more attention to the changes in Nie Huaisang's personality... but in those years after the Sunshot Campaign he'd seen too much grief, accepted too well that it manifested in odd ways, that someone people would wallow in it and let it become the core of what they are. Nie Huaisang had seemed only another example of this. Having always been so expressive in his joys, it felt unsurprising that he would fall as eagerly into his despair.

Lan Xichen, busy with his own trouble, with a sect to run, with his brother's punishment only then lifted, cannot be expected to have dedicated all his energy and time analysing the changes in a lover who kept pushing him away.

Can he?

He also cannot be blamed for the crimes of others, Lan Xichen eventually decides. All he did was consider the information at hand, and trust people based on their actions. Anyone else would have done the same, his actions were measured and reasonable, and though he was wrong in his judgement, everything he did was in good faith.

What happened wasn't his fault.

Was it?

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs

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jae-daddy · 4 years

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Chubby (20) (Final)

Jaebum AU Series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / / eighteen / nineteen / twenty (final)

pairing: jaebum x reader genre: romance, mature, drama plot: you are getting bullied and im jaebum, your crush, decides to help you by fake dating you a/n: at the end, hope y’all like it <3 not edited... thank you for everything <3

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Jaebum through your blurry tears. You couldn’t watch what you had done to him. You didn’t want to see how much you had broken him.

Your hands tightly clutched onto your skirt as tears fell from your eyes.

Something about Jaebum had always soothed you. Something about him always made you forget your haunting memories. There was something about the way Jaebum’s eyes shone that always told you that he understood.

You had seen ghosts similar to yours haunt his smile before.

But now, you realise they were the same demons. You were the reason for them; you had created those demons.

Your cowardness was the reason why he would miss his sister forever. You were the reason why a part of him would always remain broken.

You had done this to Nora. You had done this to Jenny. You had done this to Jaebum.

You had done this to the boy who smiled with sunshine, and whispered summer wind into your heart. You had done this to Jaebum. You have given him wounds that he would carry forever.

You bit your lip as you thought of last night. When your biggest worry was Jenny, now it didn’t seem that significant. It was nothing compared to the pain in your heart as you thought about the ache in Jaebum’s.

He had told you he loved you. He told the girl who killed his beautiful sister, Nora, that he loved her.

You hated yourself.

“Jaebum,” you whispered, your voice so soft. You were scared to speak any louder. You weren’t scared of Jaebum, but you were scared of something else. You were scared to break the delicate calm sticking to the air.

You knew it was the silence before the storm. You knew whatever happens next will be painful and messy. You knew you were standing in front of the storm slowly creeping towards you.

But you didn’t want to run away.

Even as disgust for yourself ran through your veins, you wanted to remain next to Jaebum. You didn’t want to leave him alone. You wanted to be there for him, no matter how he reacted, you wanted to be there for him.

It didn’t matter if the storm coming tore you to pieces, if it meant not leaving Jaebum alone, you would stand through it.

“I know,” Jaebum spoke breaking the silence.

You bit your lips as you closed your eyes tightly.

Did he know how you felt? Did he know how your heart was breaking into a million pieces? Does he know how every inch of your body and mind was telling you to run away, but you remained on his couch because your heart couldn't move?

You peered up at Jaebum, your vision clear for a second before new tears sprung in them.

Jaebum was looking at you now. His face dark in thought, his eyes burning and his lips drawn into a frown.

You hated seeing him like this.

“I knew it from the beginning,” Jaebum finally said.

Your whole world rung with blinding white as everything in you froze. You blinked through your tears as you looked at Jaebum who lifted his gaze from the ground to look at you.

The way Jaebum looked made you hold your breath. His face pained with guilt and sadness as he looked at you with distant eyes.

“I knew from the start that you knew Nora... like that,” he spoke carefully. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. All you could do was look at the messy-haired Jaebum in front of you, sitting on his knees as he carefully watched you.

“Well, not from the start,” Jaebum continued in your silence. “I didn’t know when I first moved schools, or really, I didn’t know until that Valentine’s Day. My mum-”

Jaebum stopped as he took a shaky breath.

“The first time I saw you was at her funeral.” You met his eyes when he said this. “I went outside because it was suffocating in that hall, with people telling me how good of a person she was, and how much she would be missed. I just couldn’t stay there, so I went out for a smoke, and then I saw you.

“You looked so broken. You couldn’t go inside the building and I just felt bad for you. The way you were crying...” Jaebum trailed off at the memory.

You remembered the day clear as yesterday. You were outside the old building, your mother going in to give her condolences, but you couldn’t bring yourself too. You cried on the steps at the side of the building; you had cried so much you were sure you were going to die. You didn’t know it was possible to feel so much pain and still be alive.

You sat there crying. You sat there missing your best friend.

When your mother showed up, you found an umbrella placed over you. You didn’t realise it had started raining. But there was a big dark green umbrella placed above you on the higher steps protecting you from the rain.

“I couldn’t talk to you then,” Jaebum pulled you back. “I couldn’t comfort you or ask you what was wrong. I didn’t know if I could handle your pain, I knew I couldn’t take your share of the pain when I was feeling... so much. So, I just left you an umbrella and walked away, hoping it was enough.

“I went back to live with my dad once again, but nothing was the same. I would end up coming here every other day because my mum stopped eating and just living. She would cry and mourn, until one day, she- she tried to end it.”

Your heart hurt. Your heart for the boy sitting in front of you for being so strong by himself.

“She was hospitalised, started to lose her memory slowly. On good days she can recognise me, so that’s nice.” Jaebum gave you a weak smile, making your heart shatter. “After a few years, my dad got remarried and started to make his new family. I decided to move in with my mum, but when she worsened, I wasn’t enough to take care of her anymore.

“I couldn’t live in that old house anymore. So I decided to move here. It was a week before school started when I moved here, and then I saw you again by the supermarket. You weren’t crying anymore, but you still looked so sad. And then, we ended up in the same class,” Jaebum snorted at the joke fate, destiny, or his unlucky stars were playing on him.

“You still looked so weak. Every time I saw you I couldn’t help but remember you crying that day. I was jealous of you,” he laughed humourlessly. “I was jealous that you could cry so easily. I was jealous of the way you could still smile and talk to Jin. I was jealous that despite crying like that, you still were nice to me even when I did nothing for you.”

You wanted to interrupt him and tell him that he shouldn’t be jealous of you. That even before this all started Jaebum was already helping you through the pain. He was the only thing that gave you happiness and made you feel something other than numbness and pain. You wanted to tell him that him stacking books that were scattered as you sat there crying on the floor with bruises was more than enough for you.

That somehow, Jaebum had become the thing keeping you going.

But you couldn’t say it. Your voice stuck somewhere under your sinking your soul as you listened to Jaebum show his heart.

“And then that stupid Valentine’s Day came,” Jaebum looked up and stared into your startled eyes. Apology swam in those warm brown eyes as his lips thinned into a frown. “I didn’t mean what I said that day. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You almost smiled thinking back to the first words Jaebum had said directed towards you.

Tong-tong.

The word that had haunted you ever since you could remember. When Jaebum had said those words, you felt as if your whole entire world had dulled and become grey. All the dreams and hope in your mind burst with that one sharp word.

“I said it without thinking it, but I didn’t say it to hurt you,” Jaebum pleaded. “When you ran out of class I felt like such an asshole. And then you didn’t come to class for the next few days and I felt like the worst person. When Mr. Kim was making the new seating plans, I told him to make me sit next to you so I could learn from you.”

You stared at Jaebum, who smiled slightly at the surprised look on your face.

“That weekend, I was finally clearing out boxes from the old house when I found her diary. She wrote about you. In the beginning, it was her and her other friends, and what they did to you. She wrote about how she couldn’t look at you when your tears mixed with your cries. How she couldn’t stand there watching you beg to be let go, and then give up and look at the ground. She couldn’t look at the same ground as you so she always stared at the sky, hating herself for not being strong enough to help you. For not being strong enough to tell her friends to stop.”

The eyes fell from your eyes carelessly. You chocked back a sob threatening to escape. You knew how she felt. You knew how she felt. You knew how she felt.

And you forgave her. You forgive her because she was your first friend. She was the first to look at you and smile kindly. The first to make you laugh and laugh at your jokes. The first to talk to you about boys, the first who sleepover at your house. The first friend you studied with, cried with and laughed with.

“Her book slowly began filling up more and more with you. She wrote about the times you would jump in and try to stop them when they were hitting her, but end up getting hurt worse than her. She wrote about the countless times you would wake up at the nurse's office with new bruises. She wrote about the promise she made you take with her; to not jump in.”

You sniffled as you furiously wiped the tears at the memory of her. You missed her. You missed her so much.

“When I read the diary I knew I had to make it stop. I knew I had to stop you from getting hurt. I wanted to protect her like you tried to protect her. But I didn't know, but I could help you.”

You dug your nails into your palm as your mind roared inside you. You didn’t protect her; if you did she would’ve been alive.

“I told Jenny to stop, I showed her the diary. But she wouldn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t think of any other way to protect you. I needed to keep you by my side. So I made up the whole fake dating thing as an excuse to keep you around me.”

Jaebum looked at you again. He slowly got up and walked towards you. He knelt in front of you, his warm brown eyes watching you. It felt as if he was almost caressing you with his gaze as if that was all he could dare to do.

He took your cold hands in his warm ones.

He gazed into your eyes and for a moment, you forgot everything once again. You forgot what was happening, where you were or the pain ripping through your heart.

All you knew, all you could do, in that moment, was love Jaebum.

In that moment, all you could do was love Jaebum so much that filled it could fill all of space and time.

“Even if it started with a lie,” Jaebum said with the gentleness of the moonlight. “Even if it started from a hopeless place, what this is right now, is real and it's beautiful. Every moment that I spent with you, every moment that you have smiled at me. Every time I held your hand, every time you would look at me with those eyes. Every minute that I spent with you doing the simplest thing or doing nothing at all. Every second with you, y/n, I have done nothing but fall in love with you so deeply and hopelessly that it terrifies me like nothing ever has.”

“I want to spend every waking moment of my life with you. I want you to meet my mum and dad. I want to wake up in the mornings and see your face. I want to talk to you as I go to sleep.” Jaebum smirked at himself, as he rolled his eyes through the tears that glistened in them. “I can’t believe I am actually being like this, but when it comes to you this is all I can do. All I can do is love you and want to be with you.”

Jaebum searched your face for any sign of acceptance or rejection, but all you could do was look at the beautiful man in front of you.

“I understand if you want to stop,” Jaebum nodded, his voice sincere. “I understand if all this is too much. I know all this started in a dark place, and I get if you have your doubts. But if for a single moment, you have felt the same as me. If you felt this was real, please don’t walk away from this.”

You stared at Jaebum as tears rolled down your cheeks. Jaebum reached up with shaky hands and wiped them away.

“Jae,” your voice scraped against your dry throat. You glanced at your hands as your lips frowned shook a little as you cried.

“You don’t understand,” you rasped meeting his eyes. “If I had jumped in that day, she would be here. I hid.

“While they beat her up- while she was coughing up blood and crying in pain. I hid.”

Jaebum didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“She gained conscious in the hospital for a brief moment,” Jaebum spoke his voice raw. “Nora was able to say goodbye to all of us. She had even asked for you, but none of us knew who you were. She said that she loved you.”

You didn’t hold back the sob that rose out of you this time. Jaebum was instantly next to you, hiding you in his arms as he gently ran his hand over your back.

“The only reason the paramedics were able to bring her around was that they got there on time,” Jaebum whispered, holding you tight. “Someone had called them. You had called them, and that’s the only reason she could say goodbye.

“The doctors said she already had a ribcage shattered,” Jaebum’s voice broke as he spoke. “It had pierced her lungs causing it flood. She wouldn’t have made it. All the head injury did was black her out so she didn’t feel those last painful moments.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t say anything.

All you could do was hold onto Jaebum as you cried your heart out.

“I’m sorry Jaebum. I am so sorry.” You cried. “I am so sorry Nora. I am so sorry. I’m sorry.”

You cried.

You cried for the friend you had lost. You cried for the daughter her parents had lost. You cried for the friend Jenny had lost. You cried for the sister Jaebum had lost.

You cried for the pain they felt. You cried for how much they missed her.

You cried for Jaebum.

You cried for how much Jaebum had gone through.

You cried for everything.

You cried.

And finally, you cried for yourself.

__________________

Your whole entire life you had always believed that you were bullied for a reason. At first, it was because you were weird, then it was because you weren’t pretty. Then it was because you were a little chubby, and lastly, it was because you deserved it.

You believed you deserved all the pain she felt in the moments your friend took her last breathe.

But then, you met Jaebum. He made you laugh, he made you smile. You spent so much time with him that the way he treated you was how you started to believe you should be treated.

He showed that you didn’t deserve the pain. You deserved happiness, kindness and love. You deserved to laugh and love without guilt. You deserved everything in the world that Nora did. You deserved all the happiness that anyone else would accept.

It had been almost two months since that night in Jaebum’s apartment.

You were nervous, your palms sweaty as the plastic-y paper crumbled loudly in your hands. You took a deep breath as you looked at the flowers.

You smiled bittersweetly.

It was the same kind that Nora had seen that day. It was made entirely of filler flowers, and it was beautiful. It was simple, unique and breath-taking; just like her.

“Are you ready?” Jaebum asked as he stood next to you, straightening his button-down shirt.

You quirked an amused eyebrow at him making him roll his eyes, “You’re wearing a dress, y/n.”

“But that’s because it’s my first time meeting her,” you frowned at Jaebum, making him smile in return. You let out a deep breathe before straightening the dark skirt. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Ms. Im, your son is here,” the nurse said as you followed behind Jaebum. You watched as an older lady, in her late forties, rise from her seat.

You halted in your steps as you saw her smile. It was almost as if Nora was standing there with the light beaming in from behind her.

“My baby!” She greeted her son, giving him sloppy kisses on his cheeks. “You look so handsome!”

Jaebum flushed at the compliment, swatting it away, “Aye, eomma, you’re only saying that cause I’m your son.”

“Of course,” the lady laughed, her eyes almost disappearing. “All your good looks are from me.”

The two laughed before Jaebum’s mother noticed you standing there awkwardly.

“You,” her smile dropped a little. “You were a friend of hers.”

You nodded, gulping nervously.

Ms. Im pushed back the sorrow that flashed on her face for a moment before smiling at you brightly.

“I’ve seen you in her photos,” she ushered you closer to her. She wrapped her arms around you as she patted your back, “thank you for being a good friend to my daughter.”

You closed your eyes and hugged her back. Before you could say anything, she pulled back and looked at the bouquet.

“Oh, how pretty! Are these for me?” She cooed, as she took them off you. She smiled at you lovingly before turning to Jaebum who watched you both silently. “Tell me who’s prettier, me or the flowers?”

Jaebum tsked his tongue playfully, “Of course, my mother.”

You laughed along with them, as you settled on the sofa. Jaebum and his mum began talking and you watched them.

“So is she your girlfriend, Jaebum?” Ms. Im turned to you, with a warm smile. “I like her.”

You blushed, your cheeks burning, but before you could answer Jaebum jumped in.

“I’m trying to convince her to date with me,” Jaebum sighed, his eyes peering into yours playfully. “But she won’t accept me.”

Your cheeks flushed more as you looked at his mother.

Ms. Im laughed harder as she patted your knee, “that’s right, dear. Don’t give in easily.”

“Oh,” Jaebum smiled, groaning playfully. “Not you too, mum. Now, she’ll never say yes.”

You looked at Jaebum, his eyes watching you.

Ms. Im began telling you both about the new flowers that she planted in the garden, but you couldn’t concentrate. Jaebum listened to his mother, but his eyes remained on you.

He winked at you after a minute.

You rolled your eyes in return.

The smile on your lips not going away no matter how much you tried to push it away.

______________________

Authors Note:

after more than two years, chubby had finally come to an end. thank you to everyone for reading and loving this story so much. i hope everyone who reads them realises they are worth so much more than how people see them, and learn to forgive themselves. you guys have honestly been so kind and patient with me and my slow as writing lol. thank you for everything, I hope you enjoyed it <3

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with-love-anu · 4 years

Text

Quills and Ink

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: Sirius gets anonymous letters from someone really sweet and falls for her. Warnings: It’s just fluff, no warnings to give! Word Count: 1,903

Sirius sat grumpily eating his breakfast. His head was throbbing due to last night’s endeavors and he wanted to gobble in all sorts of grease he could get. He piled his plate with bacon and fried egg when a school owl landed in front of him. He furrowed his brows. Who would write to him? He carefully took the letter out and opened it reading.

Dear Sirius,

Charms’ not an easy subject. The summoning charm they taught us yesterday is no different. For performing a summoning charm, you must clearly, and I mean clearly visualise the object you are summoning, like your favourite cookie. You could see it in your mind the sandy coloured biscuit full of dark brown choc chips, some edgy some melting. You could practically sniff its sweet smell and you want it right now, you need it. You say accio cookie with a small hand movement, imagining it coming towards you. And there you go, you have it. You can practice it over and over again and I am sure you’ll get used to it.

I just, I have always seen you excelling in every single class, and when you couldn’t do the spell yesterday, I thought maybe I’ll help. The professors having taught the same things a million times already, aren’t enthusiastic and somewhat, vague. Anyways, happy learning!

A fellow student.

Sirius smiled at the odd letter. He turned it around to find a name but there was none. The owl had already flown away.

Sirius closed his eyes taking his wand in his hand. What’s the harm in trying again? Accio muffin! Sirius grinned as a muffin zoomed towards him. Finally. He had done his best yesterday, but couldn’t perform the spell. He munched on the little cake happily. He felt satisfied; thinking about the sweet letter reading it again. Who could it be? He smiled, he wanted to meet this anonymous helper.

***

Sirius was sitting on the quidditch stands when a school owl came in. He smiled and his eyes widened. The person wrote him another letter? Telling the owl to wait; he opened it. It hooted indignantly but did just the same. He smiled realising he was right.

Dear Sirius,

I know you love teasing the Slytherins, but you need to understand that the group you hate is rather small. My friend who is in Slytherin was exhausted ridding their supplies from the red paint and gold glitter which you drenched their common room in. You know, this friend I am talking about is so damn sweet and couldn’t even hurt a fly. They have been loyal to me since the first year and have gone out of their ways to make me smile.

I am not asking you to stop pranking, but make your targets specific. Let me be honest here, I hate Mulciber’s gut as much as I hate sardines, and that’s a lot. And you know, harmless pranks are good too; specially if they make the targets smile and laugh along with you.

A fellow student

Sirius quickly summoned a sheet and started writing. Whoever this person was, was funny, and seemed to have a great personality.

Dear fellow student,

Firstly I want to thank you for your help in charms. I could do it on the first try after reading your explanation. *wink*

Secondly, I am sorry about your friend, maybe we do take it too far at times. I’ll make sure me and my friends don’t allow our pranks to affect ~innocents~. Speaking about pranks, I would love to hear more about those harmless ones you were talking about.

And thirdly, don’t you think it’s bad that you know me well enough to notice how I do in charms and I don’t even know your name? You seem like a fun person, sign the next letter with your name?

Sirius.

Sirius tied the letter to the owl and said, “Give it to the person who gave this to you”

***

Time passed and Sirius and a fellow student continued to exchange letters. Sometimes they were short, sometimes long and there wasn’t one where Sirius didn’t plead to find out who it was.

He showed some to his friends, others he kept to himself as his own little box of pleasure. James never failed to tease him and Remus would give him a knowing smirk whenever he didn’t let anyone touch those pieces of paper which had somehow become very close to his heart. No one missed the crimson blush that coloured Sirius’s cheek whenever he was asked about this very adorable fellow student. He kept every single one of the notes, trinkets, and gifts in a shoe-box hidden under his bed.

An empty box of an exclusive collection of handmade treacle tarts shrunk in size with the note which came along with it was tucked neatly in the box. Sirius had received it when he had got a nasty letter from back home during one morning. He had thought no one noticed but apparently he was wrong. The note said-

Dear Sirius,

You can never change people, make them see you or appreciate you or love you for that matter. Nothing in this world is fair and we take what is given to us. I know you got a letter from your parents this morning and over the years I’ve come to assume that they aren’t the most loving ones. We need you to remember you are an amazing person. So, gobble up these amazing chocolates while writing down things that are great about you. Let me start-

1. You are funny / sarcastic. I don’t know anyone who could make McGonagall crack a smile and the moment you did it, I knew you were special

2. You’re VERY intuitive. I saw you damn so many times calming down or walking various students through breakdowns, anxiety attacks; you know just what the person needs.

3. Smart, that’s one thing about you not everyone sees, but come on; people should know those mischievous ideas need a brainy person behind them.

Your turn now, be as selfish as you could be!

A fellow student

A bouquet of lavender on which Sirius casted an everlasting spell, and an empty bottle of Chamomile tea made by an American company had come with a short note- “Put those flowers under your pillow, they help”. He ran his hand through them remembering feeling so touched when he received; he actually shed tears because he hadn’t slept all week and was exhausted to death.

There was a pile of books too. They contained all the famous muggle comics, which he had received when a fellow student had rambled on about their favourite superheroes and Sirius had admitted not understanding a thing in the long write up. He had read every single one of them more than thrice. Along with them, there was a detailed magazine on different motorbikes; their prices, their quality, talks about their engine. Sirius had gasped when he received it. The small note on it had said- “Even though I am sure I am going to regret this; because these are dangerous machines and you are one reckless person; I know your fascination with them and always love to see you smile. Just promise me you’ll read everything on the safety precautions page.”

There was a small key chain with paws on it, he got on Easter. He had barked out laughing seeing it (pun intended). He didn’t think you would remember something he wrote so offhandedly about. The note had said- “Since you were so adamant that you would be a dog if you were an animal!”

It was becoming incredibly frustrating. He was cautious of all the people who noticed him in classes, trying to guess who it was, which was futile since a major part of school turned to him whenever he entered the room. He was desperate, he was falling, hard. If the love they all gushed about, wasn’t what he felt; then he didn’t know what was. And he didn’t even know who it was! All he knew that your nickname was (Y/n/n) and you were in (Y/h) house. He felt stupid wanting you.

He had tried and failed trying to follow the owl to find you. Halfway to reaching you the owl had turned and bit him until he was forced to stop stalking it. Yeah, that had hurt. He tried to cast a monitoring spell on it so as to track it on the marauders map. The owl had realised something was going on as it fluttered and scratched his face red with it’s claws.

He took a pen and paper and ran to the owlery. As he entered the owlery, he saw someone was already there. (Y/n Y/L/n). She was a fellow student. They attended various classes together. Her eyes widened seeing him, and she quickly turned to what she was doing. Wait a fellow student! Can it be?

“Hi (Y/n), what brings you here?” he asked noting her reactions.

She stumbled.

“I… Just posting a letter.”

“Oh, how’s Abernathy’s health?” Sirius asked nonchalantly. Abernathy was (Y/n/n)’s sister who had caught a bad case of dragon pox.

“She’s better. The healer said- “(Y/n)’s mouth opened in realisation. Sirius smiled. He had finally found her.

“I…I…” (Y/n) stuttered looking at Sirius’s wide grin.

“I’m gonna go.” She said flustered and turned to leave.

Sirius quickly ducked in and grabbed her hand. “Don’t go” he pleaded.

(Y/n) slowly turned. She looked everywhere but him.

“Why did you not tell me?” Sirius asked quietly making her look up.

“I was afraid. I am really shy and I accept it. I’ve had a crush on you since forever and was quite sure I wouldn’t be able to talk to you face to face. I- I thought that when you realised that it was me writing you all those letters, you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?” Sirius asked frowning.

(Y/n) let out a scoff.

“Oh come on! I see the type of people you are always with. Tall, beautiful, smart. Why would you even look at me!” She said mirthlessly.

It was Sirius’s turn to scoff.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius asked incredulously. “Do you even own a mirror? That little (Y/f/c) colour dress you wore last weekend. Darling, I am sorry to inform you but you turned heads. I’ve always noticed you. You just light up when you talk to your friends and have that brilliant smile on your face. Before, you started writing to me you were just pretty; now I know you’re beautiful. You’re so full of kindness and generosity. Your letters never failed to bright up my day. You’re funny, sarcastic and motivated. I love that you could make me smile at the worst of times. I love that you constantly talk about made up heroes and heroines who could take on the world. I love that you care so much about your family that you write to them every other day. I love everything about you. I love you.” He breathed.

“You what?” you whispered.

“I love you” Sirius repeated.

“Good, cause I don’t know what I would have done you hadn’t told me soon” you sniffed a little, smiling.

“Come with me to hogwarts this weekend, you know, on a date.” Sirius asked as you gulped and nodded. Sirius smiled widely and you were sure your own expression mirrored his.

A/N: Let me know what you think!

#sirius #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius imagine #hogwarts imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #marauders #my work #Anu writes

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cinnamonbun-dai · 4 years

Text

truth of villainy

(tamaki amajiki)

(｀・∀・') angst (｀・∀・')

Amajiki was fuming, hell even more than fuming at this point.

"Why didn't you tell me you were working with the P.L.F?" he shouted, accidentally finding out you, out of all people and heroes, was working along side the most wanted villains in Japan. "I'm undercover! Don't you get that! I'm trying to figured out a way to destroy them, to stop them." you try and reason, making sure to keep your cool. Yes, you were working undercover in the P.L.F, along side Hawks, deciding that having two people undercover would help with information, but with time, you started to agree with their ideology. "Then why hasn't this undercover stuff been talked about with other agencies, I would of thought that my agency or FatGum's would of known about it!" he started to feel his eyes water. "The only agencies that know about the case is Hawks and the gouvernement! They didn't want to put anyone else in danger." you raised your voice slightly, trying to get your point across. "Y-you're just a vigilante! I saw how you and Hawks' talked. You know what, how about you just run of to Hawks, be vigilantes or villains together!" he started crying, his angers getting the best of him. "I love you Tamaki, fuck, I didn't tell you cause I wanted to keep you safe. The P.L.F are a big organisation, bigger than you could ever expect! I don't want you to get hurt!" you start crying yourself, gripping the edge of the table. "I can't even look at you in eyes anymore (Y/N), you were a great hero, but I guess you fell from grace, you flew to close to the sun..." he cried, the use of your name and not the pet name he called you nearly all the time sent shivers down your spine. "You're on your way to becoming a villain..." he continued, the words you and Hawks' shared resonating in his mind. 'To be honest the P.L.F has a good point in society.' 'People rely on heroes too much, overworking everyone.' "I'd never become a villain, if I did I would end myself on the spot!" you shouted, your hands now moving up to your sleeves to grip tightly at your arms. "Just go some place else for the night, please... I-I need space to think." he said, more calmly than before. "O-okay..." you shakily say, taking your wallet and keys before putting your jacket and boots on. "I'll come back t-tomorrow or something... Love you Tama..." you don't hear him answer you, so you shut the door.

"H-hey Hawks, can you please stay at yours for a night or two?" you ask Hawks once you arrived at his apartment, your eyes watering more from the fact that this was real, you and Amajiki might of just broken up over some stupid mission, over your opinions. You loved him so much, it hurt so much to see him not anymore. All you wanted to do was to protect him and you never thought your ideologies would put an end to something you thought would be infinite. He nodded, opening his arms for a much needed hug. "It's gonna be okay angelwings... There,there... Now come on, I made chicken wings earlier." he patted your head, his comment on food making you laugh through your sobs. Maybe things happen for a reason.

A night had passed since you ended up at Hawks after your fight with Amajiki. And just because it was a new day didn't mean that your feelings weren't stirred, and you still had work to do. You managed to ignore your feelings during patrol mostly, avoiding certain areas you knew he would be patrolling at the same time. But of course, you had to stumble onto him.

"Angel, get down to area 13, Haroyu Street now! Emergency, 3 high-end Nomu, 4 regular Nomus!" you heard your ear piece say to you. You both knew it was going to happen, so there was no panic or hurry in his voice. "On it Hawks!" you reply, soon flying over the area he noted, seeing a high-end Nomu on the ground beneath. You started blinding it, hoping it would help the other heroes at taking it down since it's sight would be taken away. But it didn't. Which meant you had to swoop in and attack with the other heroes. After 5 minutes of fighting, managing to take one down with the help of Ground Zero and Uravity you saw a tentacle slam a regular Nomu into the ground. "Oh fuck me..." you mutter, sending a dagger to the Nomu to destroy it's brain. Seeing Amajiki right now was the last thing you wanted but you knew not to let feelings mess with work. "Suneater! Once you've finished knocking down that nomu, come and help us with the high-ends, two people have already been knocked down and we need at least 4 please!" you shout at him, he quickly looked at you and nodded before getting to his previous task. The fight against the nomus lasted a while, and a good number of people got injured and you ended up breaking a bone in your left wing (which wasn't really a big deal, it happened often) and a good number of bruises and scratches.

"So, what ya gonna do if you and Amajiki have fully broken up?" Hawks asked, walking back to the agency with you after quickly meeting with Dabi. "I honestly don't know, in a perfect world: take a hiatus until I'm over him and get back on track with everything but shit doesn't stop so I can't take a break. I should really go over and see him after dinner." you explained. You recently had a meeting with the hero security agency about ending the missions since all the info you needed was now known.

After dinner you went over to Amajiki's apartment, either to go get the rest of your stuff or to make up. You opened the front door carefully in case he was sleeping. You go over to the kitchen to get a glass of water, trying to ease your anxiety with some water. "Y-You were good out there today..." you heard his voice behind you, making you jump. "Ah Tamaki, thanks, you too!" you turned the compliment back, turning to face him. You both stayed in awkward silence, not knowing what to do or say. "The mission is ending soon..." you finally speak up, breaking it. He looked at you confused. "The mission with the P.L.F, we're gonna be ending it soon. The means of ending it won't be pretty but at least it'll be over." you explain. You knew ending the mission meant risking your lives and breaking trusts that you spent months building. "Why couldn't you tell me about the mission sooner?" he asked, sitting up on the counter. "Because I couldn't, if I did and someone found out you would be in danger." you sigh, looking at him. "The P.L.F is bigger than we thought, they find things out with out you even being aware. And they have a nasty rep of going after their members loved ones and blackmailing them to giving them funds or more." you continue, remembering all the acts you ended up seeing during meetings. "Look, last night I might of overreacted. But I still think we need a break. It made me realise how much hero work and relationships don't mix. I really love you, even a bit too much, but I don't think we shouldn't continue our relationship, we barely see each other outside of work anyways, I mean when was the last time we were intimate sexually? 2, 3 months? And when was the last time we went on a date?" Amajiki words made a ball form in your stomach. Five years of love, of laughs, disintegrated by some words and missions. "Just because we're heroes doesn't mean we aren't allowed to love. I understand where you're coming from, but we still love each other, don't we? Yes there's issues with us not seeing each other due to hero work and missions, but, fuck Tamaki, I would give up anything to be able to call you min-" you were cute off by feeling lips on yours, easily knowing they were Amajiki's from their shape and taste. The kiss deepened from a mix of anger and desperation, both of you hungrily grabbing at each other like it was the last. Hell, it probably would be. You felt him lift you up from the counter, bringing you to the bed you knew so well.

3 hours later, you woke up on the bed, without Amajiki. "Tama?" you called out, maybe he was in the kitchen, but you had no answer. You got up, getting redressed. You noticed a sticky note on the mirror you use to leave little love notes on when you started work earlier than him.

'I am sorry (Y/N), Please pack your bags and leave I shouldn't of slept with you again It was a heat of the moment thing. It is for the best that we split up. You will always have a special place in my heart but we both aren't in the right moment or lives to have a significant other, no matter how much we love them I do hope we can stay friends, see you around Tamaki Amajiki '

Your heart broke even more, you quickly took your bags and packed your stuff, tears threatening to spill. Before you left, you quickly wrote a note.

'You'll always have a place in my brain and heart, but i guess being friends isn't that bad, See you around Amajiki'

You placed it next to the one he wrote you before you left, calling Hawks on your way trying to find a place to stay. "What's up angelwings? Did ya make up with Amajiki?" "No Takami, can I please stay at yours until I find a place of my own? I'm sorry." "It's all good, ya can stay for as long as you like angelface, tell me the dets when you get here. See ya!" you heard him beam before hanging up, smiling slightly at the new nickname. You knew once you got there you would allow yourself to cry your eyes out while he tried to reassure you by making corny jokes or feeding you some sort of chicken, making you chuckle at the way he didn't know how to deal with other people's emotions.

Maybe bad things are followed by good things?

(unedited)

#tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki #amajiki tamaki #tamaki amajiki x male reader #angst #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha angst #hawks x reader #bnha amajiki #bnha hawks

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didsomoneonesaydracomalfoy · 4 years

Text

We Don’t Talk Anymore

Draco Malfoy x Reader

*gif not mine*

Warnings: just a bit angsty?

Song: All Coming Back - Cèline Dion

It started in your fifth year. You hadn’t been able to sleep and you thought a walk might help, so you found yourself walking up the steps of the Astronomy tower. He was stood leaning against the rail and you gasped in shock, not because it was him but because you didn’t expect anyone to be up here.

“Sorry.” You whispered, he turned to face you and watched your dark hair blow across your face.

“It’s okay. I’ll leave.” He almost snapped at you, but just as he was about to pass you spoke.

“You don’t have to.” The two of you were somewhat friends, both being Slytherin and in the same year, that was the extent of it. “Company would be nice.” You offered as you walked to the edge and sat down. He did stay, but he didn’t say anything.

These meetings carried on most night for a couple of weeks, and then it changed. You would sit next to each other at dinner, and he would help you with your Potions homework in the common room.

Then, one night in the common room when it was just the two of you he placed a gentle kiss on your lips. Which was the first of many, many kisses in the dark corners of Hogwarts. It wasn’t a secret, he didn’t try and hide your blooming friendship but no one really spoke of it or gossiped because he was so private, you liked it that way. You wrote letters over summer as your relationship progressed and you couldn’t wait to see him again but mid August as you sent off a letter, you didn’t realise it would be the last. You waited, and waited to hear from him but got nothing back.

So, sixth year was different. By the time it was the start of the next school year you didn’t want to see him, or speak to him or even hear his voice. You were angry, and you felt like you had every right to be, who did he think he was just dropping you after almost a year together?

The train ride was awful, you could hear Pansy Parkinson cooing his name every opportunity she could. Your friends not loud enough to drain out the trio sat just behind you, you were late so you hadn’t seen him as you rushed off the train but you knew he was there.

“Y/N, are you taking Potions this year?” Your friend asked making you sigh,

“Yeah I chose it last year. I wish I could drop it now though, I’m awful at Potions.” You told her dreading it, knowing exactly who would be in most of your classes this year.

“Oh you know Malfoy will be there to save the day.” She joked unaware, and soon that was all that you soon as you waited to just get to Hogwarts and start a completely new year.

It was hard not to notice the way Pansy stuck close to him, a little too close. They had always been friends but she kept her distance, watching her place her hand on his forearm, once more you stood from your spot at the table. You gained quite a lot of attention doing it so suddenly, feeling the grey pools you were so familiar with watching you, you felt hot and wanted to get out.

“Sorry I’m just so tired. I’ll see you later.” You told your friends and walked to the common room and straight up to your dorm, finding your record player set up you played some of your music. Muggle Music, and maybe you blasted it a little louder because you knew he hated it.

The next couple of weeks were torture, you tried to ignore the hurt when you’d see him in the common room, and you tried to act like how you did before everything. Like he wasn’t there. You hated how Pansy would wear his scarf to Quidditch games, and how Draco, Blaise and Pansy would always sit in the same place in The Three Broomsticks having a good time. He was doing a really good job at acting like you didn’t exist.

One Sunday night in The Three Broomsticks you were stumbling out to get back to the castle as you couldn’t bring yourself to have fun, and as you walked out the door you bumped into his chest. His scent far too familiar and the need to touch him again came flooding back as your senses were overwhelmed by his familiarity. The way he steadied you with his hand on your lower back almost scolded you through your coat and jumper as you remembered the nights you’d both be tangled in each other and the sheets. His rings leaving cool streaks as his hands ran over your body. The flashback making you dizzy as you wanted to melt into his bold once again.

“Sorry.” He gasped out suddenly caught in a moment he wanted to avoid. Not because he didn’t want her, not because he wasn’t helplessly in love her, but because he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t get her involved in what he’s got to do this year. And he knows her, she’ll want to help him. Finally having the guts to take her in properly for the first time this year his chest tightened painfully. And the way her hair fell around her shoulders made him want to run his fingers through it, the way he always had done without doubting you wanting his touch for a second.

He pulled his hand away from you after leaving it for a second too long knowing that could very well be one of the last chances he gets.

“It’s fine.” You finally managed to say finding your voice after a minute or so. Avoiding his eyes you looked down to your feet and trying to move past him.

“Y/N-“ cutting him off from saying anymore you didn’t even stop as you headed back to the castle alone.

The next day you had overslept, throwing on your uniform and quickly doing your hair you rushed to the classroom. Slughorn was already talking to the class and you rushed out an apology.

“That’s okay, it’s fine sit down at the back.” He ordered as you fell onto the desk alone, great you’ll have no help with whatever today’s task is.

“Amortentia.” He declared. “It’s a potion that allows you to smell what you truly desire.” Raising your eyebrows you were interested in knowing what you’d smell.

However, you were rubbish at potions. Rather than yours being the deep velvet red colour it was supposed to be, it’s purple and bubbling.

“What does yours smell like Y/N?” Hermione asked interested making you frown.

“Mine hasn’t exactly worked.” She peered into your cauldron and Draco had to stop himself from smiling.

“Here come and smell mine.” She offered, and he watched as you took in the scent. Your eyes darkened in admiration at what you could smell, his jaw was clenching as he waited to hear what you smelt.

“It’s uh, peppermint. And, cologne, with uh burning fire.” You gulped knowing exactly who you smelt, it was the familiar smell of Draco and his dormitory on those particularly cold nights. Stumbling back to your desk you didn’t dare look at him, but if you had of done you’d of seen the guilt in his eyes, his heart was screaming out to you but he just couldn’t.

That night there was a small knock on your door, if you hadn’t of been so quiet and concentrating on your homework you’d of barely heard it. Pulling it open you saw Draco on the other side. You hand flinched as you thought about slamming it shut in his face but the look in his eyes told you not to.

“What do you want?” You asked, your eyes immediately filling with tears.

“I need to explain, I need to tell you everything.” He pleaded making your chest grow tight, he came in and fell on your bed, you close next to him.

“It’s been months Draco.” You whispered looking down at your hands watching as a tear fell splashing onto your fingers.

“I know, I’ve been going through some stuff.” He told you vaguely and you wiped your tears saying nothing. He carefully watched you as you waited for him to speak, you needed him to tell you why.

“I was stupid, and what I’m doing is so selfish because I need to leave you alone, you need me to leave you alone-“ you cut him off angry.

“That’s my choice!” You snapped making him breathe in deeply through his nose.

“Y/N, my parents want me to do something. Well it’s done.” You frowned at how calm he is. “I’ve been chosen, I don’t have a choice. He’s going to kill us if I don’t do this and I don’t want you around to see me become this person, and I don’t want you around for him to use if he knows-“ all the dots started to connect in your head and his words became white noise as you finally looked up to him.

“Draco..” you started your voice cracking and breaking his heart. You reached for him, grabbing his cheeks as his eyes couldn’t find yours. “Draco no you can’t, it’s not you, it’s not right!” You begged crying making his chin wobble as he grabbed you pulling you flush against him and tight.

“It’s already done. And I can’t risk losing you.” He said into your neck making you shake your head.

“You never lost me. And you won’t, we’re going to win this war and you’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it.” You said between sniffling and tears. Pressing his lips against yours desperately you melted into him, pulling away slightly you looked into his eyes.

“You’ll always have me.” You promised making his grip on your hips tighten just a bit more as your breath fanned his lips.

“I’ll fight for you. I will.” He promised finally having some sort of hope that he will get out of this the other side.

“You’re good Draco. You’ve always been good.” We’re the final words spoken between the two of you that night. You spent the rest of the evening making up for lost time, lost promises and lost hope and making new promises in between kisses as you promised each other the world after the war.

#draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x you

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drarry-with-a-side-of-harry · 4 years

Text

THAT WAS ONE OF THE GAYEST EPISODES IN A HOT MINUTE LMAOOOO WTF

so i’ve just watched series 4 episode 10 ‘A Herald of the New Age’ uhhhhhh

wait wait wait so gwen’s gone for two (2) seconds and Arthur and Merlin are flirting like they’re in a school playground all over again lmaoooo i’m so done

so first of all they get back to Camelot and Merlin’s falls back into his concerned boyfriend routine 🥺🥺🥺🥺 SIDE NOTE THE KNIGHTS ARE JUST FULLY AWARE OF THESE TWO AT THIS POINT THEY ALWAYS FLIRT AND ARE REALLY TENDER IN FRONT OF THEM I CANNOT BE ARSED anyway Merlin asks Arthur if he’s alright and Arthur’s all sad and brooding 🥺🥺🥺 so Merlin says he was being quiet and Arthur just answers him with a snide remark but with none of the laughter and ARTHUR, KING, SWEETIE WHY WON’T YOU JUST LET THIS BOY HELP YOU???? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

SO THEN WE SKIP AHEAD A BIT AND OMFG LET ME TELL YOU I WAS CACKLING WITH LAUGHTER AND KEPT HAVING TO PAUSE IT. THIS SHIT IS GOLDEN

so Merlin walks in on Arthur asleep at his desk. if you’ve watched the show you will remember this scene because it’s too iconic but am i gonna run through it anyway?? you’re damn right i am because i am obsessed lmaoooooo

SO MERLIN JUST STRAIGHT UP BANGS ON THE DESK REALLY FUCKING LOUDLY TO GET HIM TO WAKE UP HAHAHAHAHHAA AND ARTHUR HAS FOOD ALL OVER HIS FACE I-

who fucking wrote this shit it’s too good man

Arthur jumps out of his mind and Merlin the little shit has the audacity to say “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to scare you” HAHAHAHAHAHA YOU ABSOLUTE DICKHEAD MERLIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and he barely even cracks a smile how this man holds it together i will never know. honestly how Colin Morgan managed to deliver that just once without cracking up is beyond me.

OH BUT WE’RE FAR FROM FINISHED

so Arthur responds “you didn’t scare me, i was asleep” LMAOOOOO YEAH BITCH WE KNOW HAHAHAHAHAHA IM STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THIS

so now Merlin starts to laugh a bit but he’s holding it together. you know when you’re in school and something funny happens with your mates and you shouldn’t laugh because you’re meant to be working but you can’t not laugh and you’re all just snorting to stop yourselves from laughing??? yeah same energy

Arthur: “why’ve you got that stupid smile on your face?” baby i don’t know what to tell you anymore

Merlin: “it’s nothing. why were you sleeping with your head on the table?” and his face just drops to confusion HOW DOES HE NOT KEEP LAUGHING

Arthur: “i fell asleep while i was reading” uh huh okay sure thing

Merlin: “what were you reading?” this is turning into the most mundane conversation you’ve ever heard but it’s priceless because Arthur’s still half asleep and Merlin’s just fucking with him i’m so done

Arthur looks around trying think of something and realises be can’t lie anymore so this bitch just has to say “i am the King of Camelot i do not have to answer to the likes of you” LMAOOOOOOOO KING JUST ADMIT YOURE AN IDIOT AND LEAVE and Arthur’s almost cracking a smile at this point too we get it you love him

Merlin: “oh you’re in a good mood, you obviously got out of the wrong side of the table” AND THIS MAN JUST STARTS PISSING HIMSELF AT HIS OWN JOKE I-

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

AND ARTHUR’S DEADPAN STARE IS PRICELESS

and Merlin explains the joke while he’s still laughing and Arthur replies “that’s extremely clever and funny Merlin there really are no limits to your wit now will you please just get me some breakfast” HAHAHAHAHHAA MATE WHEN I SAY IM HOWLING WRITING THIS POST

‘there really are no limits to your wit’ sent me

so Merlin goes to get breakfast and Arthur (who has loads of food on his face remember) uses the plate as a mirror OH BOY

THIS SCENE COULD NOT BE ANY FUNNIER I SWEAR

he lowers the plate with another deadpan stare aimed at the door. boy is FUMING LMAOOOOOOOO

he shouts Merlin and i will suck my own big toe if there is anyone in the castle Camelot that didn’t hear him MY GOD THAT WAS PRICELESS

me current state: deceased

OH AND IT DOESN’T STOP THERE OH NO NO NO

so the very next scene we’re at training Arthur tells the lads to pair up and Gwaine asks what’s in his hair. Arthur’s face is just a picture. Merlin helpfully answers that it’s stew. Leon asks him why he’s got stew in his hair. Merlin quickly responds “because he was reading” in that tone when Merlin’s being a right snarky little shit oh you know

the lads just turn to look at Arthur like “wtf man??”

Arthur takes a minute and says “change of plan. i think we’ll try something different” lmaoooo you just know what’s coming next

so Merlin’s used for sword practise

Arthur has first go and the lads are smirking at them and each other like “oh these two had another domestic” “about the stew this time ahhh right” lmaooooo

JUST GOLD

there was a whole two (2) minutes of just solid flirting, taking the piss and just generally annoying the shit out of each other i-

OH AND THERE’S MORE

it’s nighttime now and this cheeky bastard asks “would you like me to make up the bed Sire, or will you be sleeping on the table again?” with a little smile on his face HAHAHAHAHAHAHA it just keeps getting better this episode really is a gift

Arthur doesn’t respond because he’s all moody again and Merlin all but roles his eyes all he wants to do is cheer up his boyfriend 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so he sighs “is this about Gwen” and Merlin looks kinda irritated and sad and Arthur won’t even look at him and Merlin says “we all miss her. you more than anyone” and Arthur cuts him off with “you can go now” maaaaate the feels

Merlin: “Arthur”

Arthur: “get out” oh so now you look at him

omfg you were happy earlier can you please just let him help you ffs you’re just making each other really fucking sad and it’s not helping anything

and Merlin leaves and Arthur kind of looks over his shoulder and almost shakes his head like he doesn’t actually want him to go 🥺🥺 and every damn time something like this happens i expect him to say “no, wait” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

and now Arthur looks even more sad. well baby i don’t know what to tell you but you did just do that to yourself a little bit. just leT MERLIN HELP YOU ffs

SO Merlin storms in and dad Gaius is at the table reading and Merlin’s just ranting that he’s done being nice to Arthur and he doesn’t get any thanks and he’s saved his life so many times and all he ever does is shout at him. yeah boy we know aND SO DOES GAIUS because this man does not look up at him!!!!!! tell me that’s not Merlin ranting to his dad about his crush i swear-

Gaius tells him there’s more important things to worry about like the plot of this episode perhaps??? lmaoooo this is getting out of hand now. dad’s so done with Merlin’s lovesick bullshit lmaoo

so we move on a bit and Arthur tells his uncle that Merlin thinks Elyan’s possessed oh so now dad’s dead you value Merlin’s counsel huh king?? we love to see it

we love that Merlin can speak up a bit more now ehehehe

so uncle says that Merlin’s just tryna protect his friend and Arthur just looks at Merlin like “i believe you don’t worry but we need evidence man”

oh my christ we’re only half way through true episode i’ll try and speed things up a bit i think the main Merthur action’s done anyway

Merlin breaks Elyan out. arrives back at Camelot and walks into the throne room. Arthur’s drinking and reading something and just looks up when Merlin enters with the most glorious look on his face like “oh this bitch is back finally” and carefully considers what he’s gonna say to him 😂😂😭😭😭

Arthur: “Merlin! good of you to join me. perhaps i should fill you in on all that’s been happening while you’ve been... that’s a good question. what the hell have you been doing??” LMAOOOOO these two i can’t

Merlin: “i was...”

Arthur (cutting him off): “choose your next words carefully. they may be you last” pahahahahahaha alright king pipe down

Merlin: “i was searching.. in the woods.... for some herbs for Gaius” boy’s just rambling about herbs and says he got lost

Arthur: “you mean to tell me that you’ve been wandering around in the woods all night???”

and the look on this man’s face. WONDERFUL

Merlin says yes and Arthur asks what happened to his head because it’s bruised and i just knew it was coming ffs “i tripped over a root and hit my head on a tree and knocked myself out” this fucking moron. this fool i despair

Arthur just toys with him and offers him some food with him at the table is it a joke though Arthur if you actually just want to have a lunch date with him and Merlin realises he’s joking and we get another golden deadpan stare from Arthur and it’s the funniest shit damn this episode is blessed and Arthur just stares him down as he fucks off out of the room lmaooooooo 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and then to finish it off dramatically picks up his paper again so we all know he’s back to ‘important reading’ uh huh Arthur sure you’re not just thinking about that interaction?? like the rest of us clowns

fast forward and Arthur let’s Elyan go and somehow Merlin’s there again???

anyway Arthur talks to his uncle and when he’s gone Arthur confides in Merlin and Gaius i’m sorry but we have to stan some A+ development (also i really hope Arthur’s starting to lose trust in his uncle because i was sort of getting that vibe from this scene idk we can only hope)

Merlin’s in Arthur’s chambers that night clearing up and Arthur says “that’ll be all Merlin” anD MERLIN REPLIES “are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” UMMMMMMM FOR WHAT????? I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT ARTHUR WAS GOING TO SLEEP UHHHHHHHHHHHHH IDK MAN SEEMS KINDA SUS TO ME WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO MERLIN JUST SLEEP IN HIS BED WITH HIM??? HMMMMMMMMM THE PLOT MAJORLY THICKENS BECAUSE ARTHUR DOESN’T EVEN FIND THIS AN ODD SUGGESTION BECAUSE HIS RESPONSE IS JUST “think i’m gonna get an early night” OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL THAT IMPLIES THAT HIM AND MERLIN WOULD BE- *BIG COUGH COUGH*

AND SECONDLY THAT IMPLIES THAT THIS IS SOMETHING THEY’VE DONE BEFORE I REALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION THE EVIDENCE SEEMS PRETTY CONCLUSIVE TO ME YOUR HONOUR

then they have a nice little joke about Merlin not getting an early night lmaooo we do love to see the bants

so later on Merlin follows Arthur into the woods lmao of course he does would you really expect anything less at this point?? and they have this whole why are you here?! no why are you here?! moment lmao

Arthur tells him he’s free to go back to Camelot at any time sweetie you really think that’s gonna happen?? you fool Arthur Pendrgaaon because obviously Merlin’s not going anywhere AND THEN ARTHUR’S BACK TO BEING A SELF SACRIFICIAL LITTLE SHIT AGAIN BABY YOU’RE KING NOW YOU CAN’T BE SO WILLING TO DIE AT EVERY FUCKING PROBLEM WTF we find out that this whole thing’s Arthur’s fault but this whole scene is honestly so nice and lovely and warm and he knows what he did was wrong and that he was a stupid young man 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and the druid boy forgives him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and he’s CRYING omg recently Merlin’s constantly on the verge of tears but when Arthur cries you know some bad shit’s going down and the music omgggg 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 “from this day forth the druid people will be treated with the respect they deserve, i give you my word” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i love him your honour

so then we’re back in Arthur’s chambers and Merlin says “you know that was incredibly moving what you said at the shrine” Arthur says “it served it’s purpose” because Elyan’s alright ARTHUR STOP PRETENDING YOU DON’T CARE TO LOOK COOL FOR YOU BOYFRIEND MERLIN KNOWS YOU’RE 10X THE MAN YOUR FATHER EVER WAS

Merlin says “you meant it” and then Arthur gets a bit snappy because he’s embarrassed 🥺🥺🥺 and Merlin says “i don’t ever think i’ve seen you cry before. well not like that. you had tears running down your cheeks it’s nice to see this new sensitive emotional side to you, it suits you” doesn’t it just baby???? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 then we get a classic shut up Merlin and this is the first time Arthur dares to look at him throughout this conversation 😭😭😭 and then Merlin mocks him *gasp* “i really thought you’d changed” lmaoooo “then you’re as stupid as you are ugly” lmaooooooo Arthur just tell him he’s pretty and leave

and just to finish things off

Arthur’s walking to the door

Merlin: “so there’s no chance that we could have a hug?” and he’s half 🥺 and half smiling/laughing ready to play it off

Arthur turns back to him and starts play running towards him and Merlin runs away and Arthur tackles him off screen aND YOU CANNOT TELL ME ARTHUR DID NOT GIVE THAT MAN THE BIGGEST HUG WHEN THEY WERE BOTH DOWN ON THE GROUND AHHHHHHHHAHAHAHA THEH ARE SO PURE I LOVE IT 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 can you not just imagine these two giggling and chasing each other round the room i-

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years

Text

You must be he I was seeking

Summary: Roman and Logan have been best friends as long as they can remember, but will it stay that way?

Roman and Logan are huge idiots.

Pairings: Logince, backround (but still a lot of) moxiety and dukeceit.

Warnings: mentions of bullying, friends fighting, there is quite a lot of angst but with happy ending :)

word count: 5690

a/n: Hello everyone, it’s been quite a while since I posted any fic, I am quite proud of this one so I hope yall enjoy it. I originally wrote this for @sanderssantas fic exange for the lovely @therealmoshar! (go check them out!!). I have always wanted to write enemies to lovers and a soulmate au so I absolutely loved writing this.

The title comes from “To A Stranger” by Walt Withman.

you can also find it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804592

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

Roman was practically bouncing in his seat at lunch, or more than usual anyway. It seemed today he was surpassing even his sibling in hyperactivity. His mom smiled softly at him.

“You’re going to Logan’s later?” She said knowingly.

Upon hearing his best friends name Roman’s face lit up.

“Yeah I’m gonna, “ he said between haphazard bites of his sandwich “Imma pick him up from his house, after lunch!”

Remus rolled their eyes next to him.

“It’s tragic to be the only one with manners here,” they said.

It is to be noted that they said this while practically covering the entire table and themselves in peanut butter and jelly.

Roman playfully shoved them after he finished his food.

“Shut up, Ree,” he said.

To which Remus responded by sticking their tongue out, before going back to their food. Then Roman looked at his mom with his best pleading puppy dog eyes.

Carmen laughed at her children fondly, shaking her head.

“Fine,” she said “You are excused, Roman.”

The moment she said it, he bolted from the table to put on his shoes.

“Be back at seven!” she shouted at him.

He ran back into the room, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and raid rushed:

“Will do, thank you, bye!”

“Love you!” she called out in the general direction of the hallway.

She heard a very loud “Me too!” and a slam of the door.

She couldn’t help but laugh. He reminded her so much of when she had been young and met her soulmate; she and Isa couldn’t get enough of each other either. Absentmindedly she touched her arm where a garden of flowers is tattooed on her skin and she smiled.

Then she turned back to the table.

“Remus! Do not feed peanut butter to the cat!”

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

Roman knocked excitedly at Logan’s door.

They were going to go to their secret clearing in the neighborhood park. Well “secret”, technically anyone could come there, but there were never any people there.

It was a small clearing with a bench and overgrown plants all around. Roman insisted that the place had to be magical, Logan on the other hand said it was simply forgotten due to poor municipal planning.

Whoever was right didn’t really matter in the end, it was their favorite place to be.

Logan’s dad opened the door, he always looked very similar to Logan, with his dark skin and black curly hair, although Logan’s was shorter. The biggest noticeable difference was his tattoo on his neck that consisted of various little birds, the very same that his mother had.

Anyway, Logan’s dad smiled at him and said:

“Logan’s upstairs, you know the way.”

“Thanks Mr. Sanders!” Roman said, and ran up the stairs.

He practically stormed into Logan’s room.

Logan looked up from Foundation and Empire, annoyed, until he realised who had just charged into his room.

“Roman!” he said, a little too enthusiastically considering they had seen each other yesterday.

“Yeah, now come on Lo! We gotta go to the park!” he said grabbing his friend’s hand and pulling him downstairs.

Logan shook his head at his impatient friend, but did not stop him.

“You do know we still have about six hours of playtime, right?”

“Yeah yeah but the dragon witch is not going to defeat herself!”

Logan could not really argue with that.

He quickly put on his shoes and could only say a quick goodbye to his dad before Roman grabbed his hand and took off towards the park.

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

They played happily for hours, occasionally Logan would point out inconsistencies in Roman’s stories which he always answered with a variation of:

“It’s magic, Specs!” or “we are playing pretend, calculator watch”.

Roman liked nicknames.

And Logan would give in and follow Roman’s nonsensical plot. Logan always liked Roman’s stories a lot, secretly.

They played until the sun started setting, then tired out and content they sat on their bench, surely late for curfew and not bothered by it whatsoever.

Logan rested his head on Roman’s lap, to be able to properly point at the stars and show them all to Roman.

And although Roman couldn’t really remember all that he was told he always listened carefully, slowly threading his fingers through his friend’s hair, smiling at Logan’s beaming face.

It was time to go home and a comfortable silence fell over them.

Roman sighed content and said.

“We will always be together, won’t we Lo?”

Logan sat up and looked at his friend.

“Always is a very long time, Ro.”

“You think we won’t?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Roman laughed

“It's almost as if you like me, nerd.”

Logan tried to give him an annoyed look, which ended up looking more along the lines of “desperately fond”.

“For the record,” Logan said. “We will be together forever.”

Barely above a whisper but with the conviction one could only have when speaking an absolute truth.

It was strong wording, but such are the things you say when you have yet to turn nine and the world seems simple.

And they believed it, with all of their hearts, they really did.

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

Then middle school rolled around, and everything went wrong. And as far as Roman is concerned, it was all Logan’s fault.

A few months after they started middle school Logan already seemed to change so much. He was quiet and reserved, which is something he had always been, but never around Roman. He was also always seemingly busy.

Roman didn’t know about how kids made fun of Logan in class, how slowly but surely Logan began to believe his only redeemable quality was his grades.

It’s not like Logan told him.

What made it harder is that they weren’t in the same class anymore, so they only saw each other after school.

More and more often Logan would be studying, or taking extra classes, which he didn’t even need in Roman’s opinion.

Roman got increasingly sadder, and quietly wondered what happened to his best friend.

As far as Logan was concerned it was all Roman’s fault, because he had replaced him.

One day Logan arrived at Roman’s house, unannounced, sure, but they did that all the time.

Or they had done that once.

Remus opened the door and seemed genuinely surprised to see him.

“Logan…” they said, pitifully?

“Hello, is Roman home?”

“Yes, but,” they hesitated “he has a friend over.”

Logan’s brain short circuited, a friend? Of course Roman could have other friends, many people at school liked him. He was allowed to have other people over that weren’t him.

It still didn’t sit right with him.

He walked up the familiar staircase to Roman’s door, which was easy to find because it said “Roman” in cursive red and gold and covered in stickers.

He heard Roman’s loud laughter mixed with someone else's.

He opened the door to find Patton Jones in Logan’s usual spot, next to Roman on his bed laughing at a joke only the two of them understand.

The two on the bed stopped abruptly when they saw Logan at the door.

“Logan!” Roman said excitedly, because they hadn’t seen each other in more than a week.

“It’s good that you are here,” he continued.”Now you can meet Patton!”

Patton smiled in a way that seemed to light up his freckled clad face, he seemed lovely with his sunny smile and golden curls, Logan felt something akin to anger bubbling in his chest, he immediately did not like Patton.

“You must be Logan,” Patton said happily “Roman talks about you a lot.”

Logan completely missed Roman blushing, and instead realised that the feeling bubbling up in his chest was something as stupid as jealousy.

“I can come by another time.” he said.

“No, no its going to be fun!”

The rest of the evening was awkward. Roman and Patton had jokes and stories Logan didn’t know. Logan couldn’t shake the horrible feeling in his stomach.

Logan left before dinner in a hurry.

Roman was extremely confused, why couldn’t Logan even be just nice to Patton.

Patton was sweet and if Logan didn’t appreciate that, Patton was Roman’s friend.

“I am sorry Pat, I have no idea what’s up with him.”

“I think he might just be jealous, Ro.” Patton said softly.

But Logan was not an idiot, there was no reason to be jealous, Roman was sure Logan knew that. But of course he didn’t tell him that.

“No, I think he is just being a jerk.”

Patton shook his head sadly, he didn’t like it when people were hurting.

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

Roman and Logan saw each other less and less through middle school.

They didn’t talk about the things that bothered them or anything really, and soon painful silence fell over them when they hung out.

Things didn’t completely get ruined until about a week before summer vacation.

“My parents agreed for you to come along with our vacation.” Logan said, pretending very hard that everything was fine.

They had always gone on vacation together, he saw no reason for it to be different this year.

Roman shifted uncomfortably.

“Still the week of the 11th?”

Logan eyed him dubiously.

“Yes? It’s always been that week?”

Roman looked at the ground guiltily.

Logan stared at him baffled.

“You forgot?!” Logan said, way too loud, his fists clenched, his body tensed up.

“I am so so sorry Logan! I am going camping with Pat that week but maybe-”

Logan saw red.

Of course he thought what did I expect?

“Fine! Go hang out with Patton then!” he yelled, trying very hard not to cry.

Roman threw up his hands.

“I don’t know why you hate Patton so much!”

“I don’t! I just-”

“You do.”

Logan clenched his jaw so hard he wondered whether he could break his teeth like that.

Roman looked at him with a challenge.

“This is preposterous Roman, we are not toddlers anymore.”

“So you admit you dislike Patton.”

Logan slowly breathed in and out.

“I do not.”

Roman shook his head.

“Oh yeah? You merely hate when I hang out with him? God forbid I want to have a friend that doesn’t ditch me because he is a such a fucking nerd!”

Roman regretted the words the moment they left his mouth and saw Logan flinch.

Logan looked back at him as if he had just been slapped.

Kids at school said those things, but Roman, Roman wouldn’t.

Yet he had.

Logan felt tears prickle in his eyes.

“Logan...“ Roman said softly.

“I hate you!” Logan shouted, before storming off.

Roman did not run towards him, nor did he try to reason with him.

He just shouted “Fine!”

And ran back home choking back tears.

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

3 years later.

Pretty much everyone at Gainesville High School knew Roman Reyes and Logan Sanders.

Roman Reyes was known as a semi-popular theatre kid, that many people knew either because he constantly got the lead role in the school’s play or because he was signed up to at least 10 different extracurricular clubs and activities. Most people liked him well enough, although he usually sat at lunch only with Patton Jones and occasionally his twin.

Whom was another reason he was known across the school, people tend to remember you if your sibling blew up the lab, on multiple occasions.

Logan Sanders was a genius, who had won more science contests than anyone else at the school ever. Everyone also liked him well enough, or at least they said so ever since he started hanging out with Deceit - who did have a real name, supposedly, but made up a new one every time someone asked him - and Virgil Decker. Who were both rather punk/emo and would not hesitate to fuck you up if you messed with their friends. They had a very interesting brand of psychological warfare they had used on Chad Carson when he had spray painted Logan’s locker in freshman year, no one had dared to mess with him since.

Anyway, they had many things in common, Logan and Roman.

They both had a tendency of arguing with teachers, they both had interesting brands of extra, they both liked to wear skirts occasionally.

And mostly everyone knew them because they knew that letting those two in a room together was about as catastrophic as letting an atomic bomb go off.

Some of their arguments and fights were famous.

Like the time they argued for two periods about the correct interpretation of a single line in Hamlet , derailing poor Ms. Chase’s math class.

Or the time Roman joined the debate team loudly announcing to anyone who would listen that he was doing it to kick Logan’s butt. In retribution Logan had auditioned for the role Roman wanted in the school play. They now shared the role, much to the demise of the whole theatre cast and crew and director Thomas Sanders.

Or the time they were doing their standard comparing grades and bickering shenanigans which escalated in Roman pouring water over Logan, which in turn got Roman covered in an unholy mix of coffee and red bull.

Everyone tried to separate them as much as possible, but it seemed somehow those two always ended up stuck together.

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

Patton sighed as Roman shouted yet another stupid nickname at Logan, who was sitting all the way across the cafeteria. Logan shouted back a “burn” that sounded suspiciously like a rap verse.

Patton gave a sympathetic smile and wave at Virgil who seemed to be faking slamming his head onto the table in frustration.

Virgil saw him and blushed timidly and waved back, which in turn made Patton blush.

He looked down at his arm looking at his forming soulmark. He had made friendship bracelets is whole life, he was in fact looping one now. A green one, Remus had bitten through their old one. Now he had the simple design of one on his right wrist, a blue one with a little purple heart in the middle. He really, really hoped Virgil had the same tattoo.

Roman didn’t notice his very obvious crush and instead started ranting about Logan, again.

Patton tuned him off as much as he could.

“You two are like Harry and Draco.” Patton cut him off, hoping Harry Potter might make him stop.

Roman scoffed.

“I hope you mean that he is Draco.”

“You have been talking about him for the past ten minutes!” Patton countered.

“First of all clearly I am a Gryffindor, second of all he is just so-”

“Infuriating!” Logan said to Dee and Virgil who were totally paying attention and hadn’t heard this all before.

“Oh,” Dee said, rolling his eyes “you hadn’t mentioned it.”

“I haven’t? Well in that case-”

They were saved by an impromptu lecture on everything infuriating Roman had ever said and done by Remus, who slammed their lunch on the table. They proceeded to crawl on Dee’s lap casually. Virgil muttered “get a room” which earned him a middle finger from Remus.

“Can’t you shut up about my brother for one second Lolo,” they said “there are more subjects, you know.”

Logan did not give in.

“Doesn’t your brother regard you as a traitor?”

“For sitting with my soulmate?” Remus rolled their eyes “You are so dramatic, nerdy wolverine, besides Roman may be a pain in the ass, but he is also a romantic.”

Logan wrinkled his nose looking at Deceit and Remus’s intertwined arms. In full display was a currently simple, but surely one day extremely extra green and yellow serpent tattoo that coiled around both of their arms, making it hard to make out where each of them ended or started.

They were ridiculous. And so was his mark, it was not visible but it was a simple and way too cartoonish bunch of stars under his left shoulder blade.

Soulmates where stupid, in Logan’s opinion.

“It’s not like any of you like Roman, I am in my right to find him aggravating and-” he saw all of his friends looking at him incredulously. “What?”

He distinctly heard Dee mutter: “Lord grant me patience, because if you grant me strength someone will get murdered.”

“Well, I mean Princey isn’t my best friend but,” Virgil shrugged “ I like him well enough, plus his antics in debate club are always entertaining.”

Logan looked at Virgil disbelieving, then at Dee who smirked a bit.

“He certainly is dramatic and annoying, I’ll give you that but then again,” he gestured vaguely at his company on the table “a lot of people are.”

Vrigil rolled his eyes, Remus simply nodded in agreement.

Logan scoffed.

Since when does Deceit hang out with Roman anyway, well aside from play rehearsal and the fact that he is his soulmates brother and- , Logan thought, realised he was being stupid and shook his head.

“I have seen you hit Roman with a morning star, Remus, you can not tell me you enjoy his company.”

“It was play rehearsal!” Remus defended “and we are siblings, it’s different.”

“I can’t fathom any of you enjoy his company he-”

“Well don’t be like that, you two used to be best friends.” Remus said nonchalantly.

Virgil stared at Logan baffled, Dee burst into laughter.

“I am not joking!” Remus said amused.

Dee shook his head.

“I know, darling, but it's not like we have had to endure daily rants on how dreadful Roman is, and it turns out they were fucking best friends!”

Virgil just kept staring at Logan quizzically.

“Yes, Roman and I were,” he hesitated not sure how to phrase it “..close, but we were children, it was quite some time ago.”

“What happened?”

Logan looked briefly across the cafeteria to Roman’s table, where Patton was tying a friendship bracelet to Roman’s wrist.

“He found new friends.”

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

Logan hadn’t quite realised how much he missed Roman, but now that he had been lying wide awake for quite some time, memories of both of them unable to get out of his head, he supposes it’s a lot more than he initially thought.

He really does like his current friends, but somehow Roman had been different, they had been so very close and Logan had believed they would be together forever.

There was still a picture somewhere buried under books on his desk he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

It was a nice spring day, they had their arms around each other, they were both smiling so wide it seemed impossible, they were probably around ten years old, childhood innocence still in their eyes. And Roman was looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Where had that look gone? What had happened?

Logan’s chest ached with nostalgia,and although he had previously never ever considered sneaking out, on this night with a full moon and thousands of stars he quietly slips into his coat and shoes.

He opens the front door silently and he walks calmly to the clearing in the park.

Their park.

He gets there and goes to sit on the bench.

Their bench.

He looks up at the sky, he looks at the stars that he once considered theirs.

A deep melancholy settles into his chest threatening to blow him into pieces.

Tears prickle in his eyes for times long gone.

He is snapped out of his thoughts by a soft, surprised, achingly familiar voice.

“Logan?” his best friend, his rival, a stranger says.

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

Patton had never been mad at Roman before. Sure Roman could be a bit much, Patton had been frustrated, annoyed, aggravated, perhaps a tad angry.

But today it seemed he had finally crossed a line with him. Roman was, as usual, ranting about Logan.

Patton had sighed heavily.

“Now you are just being mean, Roman, I know you miss him but-”

And ok, Roman may have exploded a little, stating that he was better off without Logan in about ten different ways.

Patton had huffed and said in a tone Roman had never heard from him before: “Fine, see you tomorrow.” and he walked away.

And now in the middle of the night Roman couldn’t shake Patton's words out of his head. Mostly because he had been right.

He did miss Logan.

He looked at the little stars, just under his shoulder blade in the mirror. They always reminded him of Logan, and his ceiling full of glow in the dark stars. Too bad Logan hated his guts.

He put his shirt back on and looked through the window, out to the full moon and the stars.

He made his way downstairs careful not to wake up his moms’. Downstairs he bumped into Remus who snickered at him.

“Sneaking out little brother, I always figured you were too much of a goody-two-shoes for that.”

Roman eyed his sibling dubiously, they were wearing a neon green skirt with suspenders over a black crop-top, knee length boots, and those weird long fingerless gloves.

Roman wondered how they could possibly be related.

“First of all, what are you wearing? Second you are also sneaking out and third we are twins! And i was born first!”

Remus laughed and grabbed a rat out of their skirt pocket.

“Can you believe how easy it is to rile him up, Woody?” they said to the rat. “Isn't he ridiculous?”

“You are sneaking out with your rats?”

Remus carefully stuffed the rat back in their pocket and said: “Dee is having a party!”

As if this was an explanation for the rats. Also Roman knew very well Deceits “parties” consisted of either vandalising public property with anarchist messages or some other sort of public disturbance.

Roman shook his head and walked towards the door.

“Don’t get arrested, I won’t bail you out this time.” he called over his shoulder.

“I make no promises.” they said before disappearing through the kitchen window, for some reason.

Outside he wondered whether Logan joined them in their mischief these days.

Logan seemed like a rational individual, but slap a decent hypothesis to any shenanigans and he will call it an “experiment” and go along gleefully.

Or he used to anyway.

He walked towards the park remembering all the trouble they had gotten into, chuckling sadly at his memories.

He made it to the clearing as if last time had been yesterday, and not years ago.

There to his surprise was Logan Sanders, looking up to the sky and...crying?

“Logan?” he asked, unsure of whether or not he was dreaming.

Logan looked at him, a little bit shocked, but mostly he looked tired.

They stood still for a moment staring at each other tension everywhere.

Finally it was broken by a small, exhausted voice.

“I am tired of fighting, Roman.”

He looked so sad, so small, Roman wanted nothing more than to gather him in his arms.

He didn’t, instead he sat next to him.

“I think I am too.”

Silence fell over them again.

“Then pray tell,” Logan said. “What are we doing?”

Roman looked down at his hands.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “You promised you know.” Roman said bitterly. “Forever.”

Logan looked back at him, anger clearly bubbling right back into his stomach.

“Maybe we would’ve if you hadn’t replaced me!” he spat with venom in his voice.

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise he turned to Logan baffled.

“What?” Roman asked.

“Well it was clear you favored Patton, which I suppose should be fine, but-”

“Hold up! Time out!” Roman said shaking his hands. “You were jealous? You thought I liked Patton better?”

Now Logan looked equally baffled.

“I- yes?” he said.

Roman burst out laughing. Logan really didn’t get the joke.

“What?” he demanded.

“I thought you didn’t like me anymore! I mean we never hung out anymore and you seemed so distant.” he gripped Logan’s hands firmly into his own. “I love Patton don’t get me wrong, but I started hanging it with him because I was so lonely,” he looked into Logan’s eyes “without you.”

“You were?” Logan said his voice so small.

Thus Roman realised he was an idiot, a petty, stubborn, stupid moron .

“Yeah, I was.” he sighed sadly. “I am sorry, for what I said then and well for everything.”

Logan shook his head.

“It was so long ago.”

“I should never have said that.”

Logan smiled just a little bit.

“I apologize too, for everything.”

Roman smiled back.

“Man, I thought you were being a jerk to Patton for no reason.”

Now it was Logan’s turn to laugh, a little bitterly and with bitten back tears.

“Patton seemed so perfect, and with everything people were saying at school,” he looked away from Roman. “I did not think there was a way I could compete with him.”

Roman did hug him then, clutching to the back of his shirt, pressing Logan close and said:

“No one could ever compete with you, Specs.”

Logan’s heart soared, he hugged back and clung to Roman like a life raft, he let out a shaky laugh, a breath of relief and said very quietly but full of conviction:

“No one could ever compete with you either.”

They stayed in the park way too long, remembering old times, making plans for times ahead. Perhaps it should’ve been awkward, but somehow it wasn’t, they fit like two pieces of a puzzle, just like they always had.

They had years to catch up on, but soon they realised that their lives were still intertwined, their friendship group was pretty much the same and they shared extracurricular activities. They had never really been separated at all.

They did still bicker, but they didn’t fight and their words lacked bite or venom.

So they ended up pressed against each other, looking up at the stars. Logan’s head rested on Roman’s shoulder.

“Look it’s Cassiopeia.” Roman said, pointing at the constellation.

Logan couldn't quite bring himself to be embarrassed about the way he giggled.

“I thought I was supposed to be the astronomy guy.” he said.

Roman smiled into his hair.

“I did listen, you know, when you talked about the stars.”

Logan looked up at the stars and held Roman closer, he remembered, now how it had been so easy to promise him forever.

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

The next day at Gainesville high school everyone was fairly sure the apocalypse had just started, because Roman Reyes and Logan Sanders had eaten lunch together, with all of their friends, who all seemed delighted and not at all bothered by it. And not just that they had, supposedly also sat together in all classes they could.

“You are kidding me, babe.” said Remy Katz taking a sip from his starbucks iced coffee.

“I swear I am not!” said a very baffled Emile Picani, “I saw them at lunch!”

“You sure they weren’t try to poison each others food? Secretly murdering each other through pure passive aggressiveness?”

Emile recalled how he had seen them, their smiles blinding, looking at each other as if they hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

“Yes, I am sure,” he said smiling “They seemed happy.”

-----------

Logan and Roman’s friends had varied reactions to finding their years long rivalry had ended with a good conversation and some hugs.

Patton was so utterly delighted he hadn’t been able to be mad at anyone, especially after Logan’s very sincere apology, the gist of which was “I was a jealous thirteen year old, and I am sorry.”

Patton had hugged Logan very tightly and handed him a blue bracelet with a little star in the middle.

Logan smiled surprised.

“How did you know I liked astrology?”

Patton smirked and said: “Roman talked about you, a lot.”

Roman turned cherry red and sputtered some nonsensical words.

And of course all his friends were kind enough to laugh at his expense, really loudly.

After that Virgil offered his reaction which had been something akin of “Fucking finally.”

To which Patton said: “Language, babe.”

And Roman got his revenge by laughing very loudly at Virgil's very red face.

Which was not much of a revenge at all because Patton felt so very sorry that they were laughing at his poor boyfriend and so kissed him quite sweetly.

To which Remus shouted: “get a room!” which they shouted while sitting on Dee’s lap with their legs coiled around each other.

Dee had then shook his head, looked Roman up and down and said: “I suppose we can add another moron to our group.” A statement that no one argued.

Everyone ate happily together, bickering loudly and laughing a tad too loud.

Patton and Virgil tentatively held hands under the table; their bracelet tattoos giving an illusion of hands bound together, content and forever.

Deceit and Remus ate, as always, half on each others laps, their arms twisted together to show the serpent seemingly pressing them together.

As for Roman and Logan? Well I hope it is established by now that they are clueless morons.

Yes, they were friends again, and everyone pretty much assumed they had figured out they were soulmates as well.

But

It took them a week more.

It all happened over lunch at Roman’s house, Roman was eating, or well he was shoving food in his mouth as rushed as possible.

His moms shared a knowing look.

“Are you going to Logan’s later?” Carmen aksed.

Roman’s face lit up and made something of a sound of agreement.

“After lunch!”

Everyone at the table couldn’t help but smile at his besotted face, even Remus.

“Well I am glad I don't have to hear your rants about not having a soulmate anymore, they were getting exhausting.” They said brightly.

Roman practically dropped his fork in shock, eyes wide he turned to his sibling.

“What?” Roman said, trying to process the sentence.

“Wait, you seriously hadn’t figured it out yet?” Remus said dumbfounded.

And when Roman, still shocked, shook his head, Remus burst into laughter joined by their moms’ not so subtle chuckling.

Roman on the other hand was freaking out.

“Oh my Gods! Logan is my soulmate?! Oh my- I- What?!” Roman sputtered.

Which just made Remus laugh harder.

“How do you know?” Roman continued “When did you see Logan shirtless? Wait! Do I want to know?”

Remus waved their hand dismissively.

“I got sulfuric acid on his shirt, doesn’t matter, long story, but like...you really didn’t know?!”

Roman felt like his world had been shaken upside down.

He had to-

“GO! I have to go!”

Carmen, who was still laughing said: “you are excused, Roman.”

As soon as she said that Roman bolted out of the door, nearly forgetting his shoes.

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

Roman knocked on Logan’s door excitedly. Logan’s dad opened the door and smiled down at him.

“It’s good to see you again Roman!”

Roman nodded politely, still practically vibrating from emotion.

Logan’s dad seemed to notice, laughed and said:

“Logan’s upstairs, you know the way.”

“Thanks Mr. Sanders.” Roman said as he dashed up the stairs.

Upstairs he actually barged into Logan’s room.

Logan looked up from his book and did not even try to hide his glee as he said:

“Roman! You are early.”

He also did not hide his surprise and subsequent rush of warmth to his face when Roman blurted out: “Take off your shirt!”

“I- wh- what?” he stammered.

Roman laughed, still bouncing.

“Ok, ok,” he said. “I could’ve frased that one better, wait let me just-”

Then Roman started taking his shirt off, oh Goodness Gracious-

“Roman what in the world are you-”

Then Roman turned around.

And Logan’s heart either stopped or started beating so fast he couldn’t properly feel it anymore. Because there, covering Roman’s right shoulder blade was a perfectly glitterly, stupidly cartoonish little galaxy.

“We are soulmates.” he stated.

And then again, and again and again getting steadily more excited as he went.

Roman looked on at his shiny face and wondered if it was possible to die of fondness and cuteness overload.

“Yeah, L.” Roman said, giggly and breathless. “We are.”

Logan came closer, laughing now, joy clear on his face.

“Oh,” he said shaking his head. “We are such idiots.”

“Oh yeah we are.”

Logan came to his senses only for a second to realise that Roman was still shirtless.

He coughed pointedly, Roman smirked.

“I don’t know, pocket protector, don’t like what you see?”

Logan swatted him lightly and gave him a fake scandalised look

“Put a shirt on, Roman.”

Roman pouted but obliged and put on his shirt, making a whole show of turning around and putting on his shirt as slowly as possible.

He turned around.

“So-” he started and never finished, because Logan grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him.

Roman made a sound at the back of his throat between “delighted” and “please God more”. And he kissed back, practically making them both fall on Logan’s bed.

Their kiss, they both agreed, had to be magical, they were soaring flying and pulling each other closer and closer, practically melting against each other. They giggled and laughed and whispered sweet nothings that meant the world and nothing at all.

They ended up pulling apart only for the insufferable need for air.

They sat up on Logan’s bed,panting, pressed against each other, looking up at Logan’s glow in the dark stars in pleasant silence.

Roman gently brushed the hair out of his soulmates face and said softly:

“We will always be together, won’t we love?”

Logan smiled and leaned into his touch.

“Always is a long time, beloved.”

Roman tenderly brushed his cheek.

“You think we won’t be?”

Logan closed his eyes, smiling contendly.

“That’s not what I said.”

God, I love him so much. They both thought.

“Gosh, it’s almost as if you like me, nerd.”

They both giggled.

Then Logan pulled Roman even closer and whispered into Roman’s ear, very faintly, but with the conviction one could only have when speaking an absolute truth.

“I know we will be together forever.”

And they believed it, with all of their hearts, they did.

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

Text

in my head i do everything right

listen i know everything will be fine and get fixed but i don’t wanna wait til next week (bc lbr it won’t be fixed next week either probably askdjfs) so for anyone looking for a lil bit of hurt/comfort here’s a post 10x08 fic, resolving everything <3

(also look i know some people have justified the punch and some people think it’s horribly ooc. it’s not mentioned at all in this fic and i kind of wrote it with the idea that it didn’t happen and ian just fell down the steps chasing after mickey in mind. but you can read it either way and it should still hopefully make sense)

word count: 1765

title: supercut - lorde

It’s sheer fucking guilt that makes Mickey bring Ian to the hospital. Not concern, he thinks mutinously, telling himself he’s frowning so much because he’s angry. Because he’s still so fucking angry. He can’t believe he thought- He actually thought-

He thought Ian just wanted him.

The cab to the hospital is tense and silent and Mickey is glad he took the front seat because if he’d sat in the back with Ian he wouldn’t have been able to help himself. He would’ve held Ian or let him rest his probably broken leg in Mickey’s lap or- or kissed him probably like the fucking chump he is.

Ian, for his part, seems to be doing his best to pretend his leg isn’t actually as painful as it must be but Mickey keeps seeing the way he winces when he thinks Mickey’s not looking.

When they reach the hospital parking lot Mickey pays the cabbie and climbs out of the car, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood as he helps Ian out of the backseat. Ian tries feebly to hobble onto the sidewalk on his own but it’s pretty fucking clear he won’t get far without Mickey.

Mickey takes a breath, steels himself and wraps an arm around Ian’s waist, taking Ian’s wrist when his arm drapes over Mickey’s shoulder. And he fucking hates himself because his body still leans into Ian’s warmth.

“I text Lip in the car,” Ian mumbles as they stagger inside. “If you- you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

He looks like a kicked fucking puppy and Mickey needs to get out of here, needs to get out of Ian’s orbit for five minutes so he can think. In the end he lets out a gruff, “I’ll wait until Lip gets here,” and helps Ian up to the emergency room reception.

Ian gets whisked off for an x-ray soon after and Mickey’s glad for a second to breathe and try and organise his thoughts. Of course that’s ruined the second Lip bulldozes through the waiting room door.

“What the fuck happened?” Lip demands as he strides over to Mickey. He’d look a lot more menacing if he didn’t have a newborn strapped to his chest.

“He fell down the steps by the courthouse,” Mickey answers, rubbing agitatedly at his forehead and wishing he was anywhere but here. “Think his leg’s broken.”

Lip goes quiet, eyeing Mickey with a scrutinising look. “Okay, now tell me what happened between you two.”

Mickey huffs, pushing himself up off the stiff waiting room chair. “He can tell you himself. He’s getting an x-ray right now. Doctor’ll call you when he’s out.”

He brushes past Lip, careful not to jostle Fred, and stares at the exit door like it’s his fucking safe haven.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Lip calls after him but Mickey just clenches his jaw and keeps walking.

He needs to get away.

Lip texts him about an hour later.

His leg is definitely broken. They’re putting him in a cast now. Be home in a couple of hours

Mickey pockets his phone and continues his aimless walk around town. Clearing his head hasn’t exactly worked but he doesn’t feel angry anymore. He’s just- hurt. Christ, he really thought they’d do things right this time.

Without meaning to he finds himself circling back towards the hospital. When he realises he’s only a block away he sighs, reminds himself that, yes, he is whipped as fuck, and finally gives into the cloying need in his gut to make sure Ian’s okay.

The lady at the reception must feel bad for him because he’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to tell him what room Ian is in but either way he’s making his way down the corridor a few minutes later. Ian’s door is half open and Mickey can hear Lip’s voice as he steps up to it, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob.

“So you only proposed because of the spousal privilege thing?”

Mickey carefully steps out of view, leaning close to the door to hear Ian’s response.

“No,” Ian insists, sounding resigned. “I mean that’s why I asked him today but not- not the reason I asked at all.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“He didn’t give me a chance!” Ian bursts out and Mickey closes his eyes, tightening his hand on the doorknob to give himself something to hold onto.

There’s a beat of silence and then Lip is talking again. “I don’t know, man, you kind of made it sound the other week like marriage wasn’t even on the cards for you two. What changed besides hypothetically having to testify against each other?”

This is news to Mickey. What the fuck had Ian said to his brother?

Ian laughs but it sounds pained. “I didn’t- I thought it wasn’t. When all that shit happened with Svetlana Mickey acted like it meant nothing and I mean, who the fuck do we know that’s happily married? Even Kev and Vee aren’t technically married. I just thought there was too much negative shit around the word, y’know? Like it was something we’d be better off without.”

Mickey swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling a familiar traitorous burning behind his eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life with him though,” Ian continues and Mickey can almost imagine the rueful smile on his face and it’s too fucking much.

He pushes open the door before he fully realises what he’s doing. Ian freezes, mouth dropping open in surprise when his eyes land on Mickey while Lip goes still on the other side of the room where he’d been rocking Fred in his arms, gaze flitting between the two of them.

When no one moves to speak Lip takes it as his cue to go, patting Ian’s uninjured leg as he passes the bed and slipping out the door.

“I thought you left,” Ian murmurs eventually, looking up at Mickey with too much hope in his eyes and it’s not fair. He fucked this up, not Mickey.

Mickey inhales a breath, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

Ian’s lips thin for a moment and Mickey pointedly ignores the glassy look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ian says, quiet but sincere. “I’m sorry I made you think that you being innocent suddenly meant I didn’t want this. I’m sorry I left so many fucking times before that it seemed like it was something I was gonna do again. I’m really fucking sorry, Mick.”

Mickey nods, wetting his lip and taking another halting step into the room. Closer to Ian.

“What d’you want then?” Mickey asks, voice careful and controlled and probably still betraying how he really feels.

“You,” Ian replies quietly.

And that pulls Mickey up short.

“I just want you,” Ian tells him, echoing Mickey’s own internal pleas from earlier with wide, earnest eyes. “I wanna be with you and I wanna marry you if you want to. But I want to do it for us, no extra reasons.”

Mickey swallows down the words he really wants to say and shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid like reach for Ian. “So why’d you stop before?”

Ian looks down at his lap, absently curling his fingers around the thin bedsheet. “Because suddenly we didn’t have to get married and everything I said to you at the diner- I wasn’t lying about any of that but trying to protect you was a pretty big reason for why I was doing it. And I wanted to- I don’t know if that’s how I wanted it to happen, y’know?”

Mickey huffs, taking another step forward and sitting down in the chair beside Ian’s bed. “No, I don’t know. What d’you mean?”

Ian sighs and his gaze turns pleading. “Your last wedding was pretty fucking shit, Mickey, and I just- if we get married I want it to be a good memory for good reasons. I want my family there and Mandy and I want us to fucking celebrate because we finally get to just be fucking happy together. I just- I realised that if we still went through with it today without talking about it it wouldn’t be what we deserve…

“What you deserve,” Ian amends quietly when Mickey stares down at the ground, trying in vain to regain his composure.

He looks up then and he knows his expression has softened, knows he can’t fucking help it whenever it comes to Ian Gallagher. “I’m still mad at you,” he says but there’s no heat behind it.

A smile tilts the corners of Ian’s lips. “That’s fair.”

“But I still love you,” he adds, still not able to help the vulnerable feeling in his chest when he says the words out loud. “And that’s a better fucking proposal than the one at Patsy’s.”

Ian laughs thickly, hand reaching out for Mickey and Mickey’s helpless not to let him, locking their fingers together and feeling something in him settle when Ian squeezes his hand.

“I’m gonna marry you,” Ian whispers. “Just let me do it right.”

“That mean you’re gettin’ me a ring?” Mickey asks wryly, voice too soft to be as teasing as he means it to be.

“’Course,” Ian grins. “I won’t even get it from the pawn shop.”

“You can’t buy my love, Gallagher,” Mickey scoffs, feeling a grin creep onto his face as the tension in his shoulders finally unfurls.

“Not trying to,” Ian denies, pulling their joined hands towards himself so he can kiss Mickey’s knuckles.

“I know,” Mickey whispers.

Ian glances up at him with a familiar smile. It’s the same smile he’s been giving Mickey since he was fifteen and Mickey’s heart is beating too fast and how the fuck does Ian still do this to him?

“Can we get me discharged now so we can go home?” Ian asks then and Mickey suddenly remembers where they are, suddenly remembers Ian’s broken leg. But Ian doesn’t look like he’s pain and Mickey’s so exhausted he feels like he could collapse on the spot so he tries not to dwell on it too much for now.

Instead he stands from the chair, gently pulling his hand out of Ian’s grasp to curl his fingers in Ian’s hair, and presses a kiss to the top of Ian’s head. He closes his eyes when he feels Ian sink into him, breathing him in.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #gallavich fanfic #my fics

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goldenretriever-nicknelson · 5 years

Text

Another Negative \T.H\

A/n: This is the first Tom fic I wrote that I remember being proud of! It’s just an angsty yet cute fluff piece.

Warnings: Angst, Difficulty with pregnancy, implied smut, cuteness

Summary: Tom and Y/n have been married for 2 years, they wanted to start a family but they didn’t realise how difficult it would be.

Silence.

That was all that could be heard in the small bathroom. Not even breathing was heard from it’s two inhabitants, both of them holding their breath. And then a tapping sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tom watched out of the corner of his eye as the leg beside his jittered up and down. He smiled before placing his hand on his wife’s knee. She turned her head from where she had been staring at the sink, her mind clouded with thoughts about the small stick that sat upon the basin, waiting to reveal whether or not their dream would come true this time.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know you’re nervous but no matter what it says, I love you.” Tom reassured, his voice a soothing sound to y/n who he saw release her held breath. He held her hand tightly, his own was slightly sweating as his nerves got the best of him too.

“I love you too Tommy.”

They had been trying for months now to have a family. They had gone to doctors to make sure everything was okay and was told that yes they were okay and healthy to have children, it just took time. That didn’t stop them from building their hopes up as they took their fourth pregnancy test since they had started trying (this was minus the two y/n had took that Tom didn’t know about).

Y/n’s eyes met Tom’s and they smiled at each other, finding an odd reassurance of the nerves behind each other’s smile. They got wrapped up in each other as they tended to do most days, coy smiles and lingering glances still making them feel like a newlywed couple even though it had been 2 years since they had got married. The only thing to break their bubble was the music on Y/n’s phone ringing out in the silent bathroom meaning that it was time.

Their nervous smiles turned to hopeful ones. Y/n took a deep breath and nodded, standing up but before she could cross the small gap from the edge of the bathtub to the sink, she hesitated.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“I can’t do it.” Y/n turned back to face him. “What if it’s negative again?” She shook her head sadly, biting her lip from distress. Tom stood up and connected his hands with hers.

“Then we’ll…” he paused, the truth was he didn’t know. It was only their fourth pregnancy test sure but maybe the universe was trying to tell them something if this one was negative too. He shook off that particular negative thought and mustered up some hopeful confidence. “We’ll figure it out, together.” With his final word, he kissed his wife’s hand making her smile.

She turned back towards the sink and with another deep breath she picked up the plastic stick. She turned it over in her hands.

Y/n was silent, not letting Tom know the result and giving no indication so he peeked over her shoulder and whilst he was no expert on pregnancy tests he was all too familiar with its negative result to know when he saw the single pink line.

He let out a deflated, uneven breath. Y/n’s shoulders sagged as though a weight had been forcefully pushed off and not in a nice way but other than that she made no movement.

“Y/n?” His voice was unsure portraying how he felt towards her reaction.

He’d been with her for the first test, both of them feeling hopeful and excited only to find it was negative, they both felt disappointed but remained hopeful for the next time.

The second time y/n had been a bit more angry and had actually thrown the stick away before Tom could see it not that he needed to based on her reaction. She spent days shouting at stupid movies and tv shows that made trying for a baby look easy. Tom had reminded her it was different for different couples but she hadn’t found comfort in his words.

The third negative test, y/n had cried and so had Tom. Both of them spending time whispering reassurances into the others ear and giving sweet kisses that reminded them of the love they shared.

But now, Y/n seemed to be frozen, stuck staring at the stick in her hand and it’s little line which at this point felt like it was mocking the both of them. Tom tried her name again but she gave no response instead she just put the stick down on the side of the basin and walked out. Tom threw the test away so she couldn’t be reminded later before going to make sure she was okay.

He found her laying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. She sighed with a large breath as Tom tentatively sat on the side of the bed watching her carefully.

“Love, I know it’s difficult-“ Tom wanted to try, he didn’t want Y/n to feel alone.

“I-I don’t want to talk.” Y/n’s voice cracked with unshared emotion. She let out a shaky breath and gulped, her eyes never leaving the ceiling.

“Okay.” Tom nodded, thinking maybe he should just leave and let y/n think whilst he did some of that himself but he didn’t feel like being alone or leaving y/n so he thought of a better idea. “Mind if I lay next to you?”

Y/n’s eyes moved to the corner to better see Tom but she still made no inclination of moving expect for shaking her head letting her husband know it was okay. Truth was y/n needed him and yet part of her felt like pushing him away but she knew Tom would never let that happen.

Tom kicked off his shoes and laid down on his usual side of the bed. His eyes joining in on tracing the minimal patterns on the ceiling. He looked over to y/n before thinking about how excited she had been the first time they’d spoken about trying for a baby and how he could see that excitement dying after each negative result. He remembered the first conversation they had had about starting a family, the first one that had counted.

“Hey, Tom?” He saw Y/n lower her book from the corner of his eye, his mind still concentrating on his script.

“Yes, love?” He said the words etched with concentration. He highlighted each of the words for a particular scene, the colours helping him to memorise the words.

“I want to speak to you about something.” Tom knew she wanted his full attention and he would give nothing less so he put down his script on the coffee table in front of him, his highlighter by the side of it. He turned as much as could with y/n’s feet situated in his lap and smiled, encouraging her to continue.

“Okay so I’ve been thinking. I want to have a family with you.” Y/n was nervous about the topic at hand, Tom could tell from the way her leg gently shook. He was confused, she knew he wanted that too. They had spoken about it before, not at length but enough to know what each other wanted. Y/n must have clocked on to his thoughts because she quickly interrupted them. “I thought maybe we could start trying. For a baby.“ She made sure her words were clear before she started to ramble slightly about how well they were doing in their careers now and how they were financially ready.

Tom looked at y/n with a surprised smile before he excitedly put her legs down and hurriedly scooted to the other side of the sofa and hugged her tightly. "Yes!” He pulled back, excitement spreading from head to toe. Y/n beamed at him, feeling the same excitement. “We’re going to have a baby!”

Y/n laughed at her husband’s enthusiasm. “Well, not quite yet. We actually have to ‘try’ and make one first.” Y/n smiled fondly at her husband who nodded with a sheepish smile but it soon turned to a coy one as Tom raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not right now, Tom.” Y/n laughed, hitting him playfully on the arm as Tom winked at her. He gave a cute pout.

“Why not?” He steadily moved a bit closer to his wife. “We’re both free,” He kissed her neck making y/n sigh. “both looking beautiful - some more than others.” Another wink and a smirk, as he pulled himself away from his trail of kisses and y/n felt herself almost giving in but it was no fun if she couldn’t tease at least a little.

“Well, I was really at an interesting bit of my book.” Y/n smirked and she felt Tom do the same against her skin as he resumed his position, he knew her teasing game so he upped his own one - kissing up to the spot just below her ear that drove her crazy. She giggled with a sigh that turned into a moan as Tom made quick work of sucking at little bits of skin, leaving marks. “I guess chapter five can wait.” Y/n said mockingly dramatic. She yelped as Tom picked her up off of the sofa, her legs wrapping around his waist as they made out and he carried her to the bedroom with difficulty and lots of laughter.

Y/n found it funny how Tom had complained there was no condoms with a pout before she reminded him with a simple utter of his name that they didn’t need them. He laughed as he remembered before joining y/n on the bed.

A smile spread to Tom’s lips at the memory and how many times they had ‘tried’ during their lazy weekend. He remembered the endless, joy-filled pillow talk about pregnancy, names, nursery decoration and whose looks the child was going to inherit. But the reminiscent smile soon faded as Tom remembered the 4 pink lines he had seen on each test and how with each time, the pillow talk got less and less joyful, y/n being so worried that it would just become negative again and all her hopeful thinking was for nothing.

He gave another glance to y/n who looked like she hadn’t moved and didn’t want to any time soon. The only sound in the room was their breathing. Tom thought about going to make a cup of tea or clean the kitchen, something to distract him from the feeling of hopelessness. But just as the thought crossed his mind, y/n’s hand found his. Neither had to look at each other to know this is what they needed. Tom interlocked his fingers and in return y/n squeezed his hand. He saw y/n’s eyes drift close, her expression still blank. He let his own eyes do the same and suddenly he felt a sense of exhaustion creep up on him until he was falling asleep. The feeling of y/n’s hand acting as an anchor letting him know they were okay or at least they would be.

Am hour or so later, Tom blinked his eyes awake to the dull afternoon light that streamed in through the gap in the curtains. His arm was tightly secured around y/n who had moved into his arms, her head resting on his chest like a pillow. He wasn’t sure if she had done so in her sleep or not but he enjoyed the closeness anyway. He kissed her head, running his hands through her locks.

He knew y/n needed some sleep and he of course didn’t want to wake her but the rumble of his stomach sounded, reminding him of how had yet to have dinner. He strategically moved Y/n off of him, laying her head gently on the pillow. He sighed in relief as he sneaked away but just as he’d reached the bedroom door, he heard a little sniffle and a sleepy voice.

“Tom?” Y/n’s head lifted up slightly so her dazed eyes could find her husband in the dulled light of the room.

“Sorry darling, I didn’t want to wake you.” Tom walked back to the shared bed and knelt by the side, close enough to y/n’s face so he could kiss her nose. She smiled at the gesture and Tom thought about how sleep had probably been the thing she needed after today. “I see I didn’t do a very good job.”

“No, it’s okay.” Y/n shook her head and got up with a stretch. Her head rolled back, stretching the marked skin of her neck and Tom couldn’t help but smirk at the traces he’d left. “How long was I out for?”

“An hour I think.” Y/n nodded at his reply, still waking herself up. “I was just going to go and grab some dinner. Maybe takeout?” Tom walked back to the exit, hoping this time he would actually reach the kitchen but he as he looked back to y/n for a response he noticed that she looked frozen in place, similar to how she had looked an hour ago as she stared at the test in her hand.

“Y/n?”

Her head turned towards him. “I’m sorry, I just-” She took a deep breath and shook her head before getting up. “Takeout sounds great.” She kissed his cheek as she passed him to go into the kitchen and Tom was left staring after her knowing that she wasn’t okay and feeling helpless about what to do.

They had ordered pizza. Y/n’s favourite whilst Tom got his favorite side but it didn’t matter as they both shared it anyway, cuddled up on the sofa watching one of those cheesy feel good films on Netflix. Something they both needed that day.

Over the course of the week, Y/n got to feeling a bit better. Apart from one moment when she had near to broken down because everything seemed to be annoying her that day in particular. Tom didn’t bring up the subject of babies or pregnancy, he didn’t try anything, he just stayed with her, waiting until she was ready to talk about it on her own terms.

And that day came exactly four weeks later. Y/n had just gotten home from an extra long shift at work, her body collapsing onto the sofa. Tom laughed as he leaned over the back of the cushions with an amused smile, his chin resting on his propped up hand.

“Long day?”

“You could say that.” Y/n’s voice was muffled as she spoke, her face half buried into the cushion. She soon got up and turned to look at Tom, pecking his lips before yawning.

“Get comfy, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” She smiled gratefully as her tired eyes turned back to the tv which was playing a game show of some kind. Y/n kicked of her heeled shoes and took her hair down as she watched a contestant answer questions about entertainment.

“In film, what is Spider-man’s alter ego?” The gameshow host asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes at the simple question, hearing Tom laugh from where he had overheard. “Peter Parker.” They both said the answer with an obvious tone. It was a habit of theirs as a couple to say the answer to a gameshow question out loud. Joy for if they said it before the contestent and laughter if both of them said different answers.

The woman on the screen got it wrong and Y/n found yourself confusedly yelling at the Tv. “What?”

“Don’t tell me she got that wrong?” Tom laughed as he entered y/n’s line of vision holding two mugs of tea. Y/n nodded with a smile as she took the cup, it was her favourite one that Tom had got her for her birthday.

“Thank you.“

Tom kissed her in response as he placed himself down on the sofa, snuggling into y/n’s warmth. He soon found the remote and flicked to the next channel. Y/n thought for a moment before putting her cup down carefully on the table in front of her.

“Tom?”

He was suddenly reminded of the conversation that he couldn’t stop thinking about, how excited he’d been and how maybe it was his fault that they’d been so excited about all of this. He hummed, his face turning towards y/n’s hopeful smile. He looked at her expectantly with a small smile.

Y/n bit her bottom lip, her smile turning more flirtatious as she inched closer to her husband. She traced a finger along his jawline as her lips met his briefly before pulling back so their lips grazed each other’s. She’d had a long day and Tom had plenty experience of knowing what she needed after a day like that.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we could…” She tilted her head, seeing the faded purple marks on her neck made Tom want nothing more than to attach his lips there and renew them. Her lips drifted up to his ear with a trail of soft kisses until her breath was ghosting over his ear making him shiver. “Ya know…” She didn’t need to finish for Tom to know what she meant.

“Are you sure?” Tom asked as Y/n nuzzled her nose against his with a smile. She nodded before kissing him slowly at first but when Tom kissed back, their lips found a rhythm, the passion increasing as well as their hunger for each other.

They felt starved for one another, not even bothering to move to the bedroom.

They were both filled with giggles as they panted for breath, curled up on the sofa. It reminded Tom of when they had first moved in together, there wasn’t a place in their apartment they hadn’t ‘explored’ in that first month. Y/n kissed Tom’s neck from where her head was nestled on his shoulder. He smirked happily at her before kissing her lips, never being able to get enough of the woman he could call his wife.

“I think we should just stop trying so hard.” Y/n breathed deeply as she looked at Tom. He understood exactly what she meant and nodded. It’s what he had been thinking too. “If it happens then it happens.” Y/n shrugged, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, tracing patterns with her fingertips.

Tom knew it was hard for her to say, y/n liked to be able to plan ahead, to control what she could. He smiled at her and kissed her again, hoping to reassure her whilst agreeing.

After that, both of them felt more relaxed, no more pressure of trying to conceive. They found themselves having more fun with each other like they had when they had first got together and in their first couple of months of being married.

********

"Happy birthday!”

Tom woke up to y/n’s loud voice and the feeling of her covering him in peppered kisses across his face. He yawned, his eyes blinking open. He smiled as he saw y/n’s wide excited smile and the large birthday balloon she was holding.

“Aw thanks darling.” He yawned once more as he sat up straight, propping the pillow behind him so he was comfier and so y/n could come and snuggle beside him. Y/n let him wake up with a coffee she had got from Starbucks.

“So when do you want your presents.” Y/n seemed to be bubbling with excitement which Tom found to be extremely cute.

“I don’t need anything more than you.” Tom knew it was sappy, he knew that y/n would narrow her eyes at him playfully with a groan but it was worth it to see her smile at his words.

“Tom, come on! I think you’ll really like what I got you.” He could sense there was something that y/n wasn’t saying but he ignored it thinking maybe she had gotten him something really cool. She sucked at keeping excitement to herself and Tom could tell because she had been trying to act cool almost all week. He just knew her too well.

He sighed and tried to suppress his excitement as he nodded mocking defeat with a smirk. “Okay then.” Y/n smiled and leaped off of the bed, going to find the present from the closet that Tom hadn’t been allowed to look in all week. Y/n pulled out two perfectly wrapped boxes and handed them to Tom with a glowing smile.

“Darling you didn’t have to get me two.”

“Shut up and open them already.” Y/n smiled fondly, she always tended to go above and beyond when it came to gift giving. Tom laughed and tore open the first box, amusedly admiring the Spider-Man wrapping paper. Inside was the thing he had been asking for since Christmas. He smiled at the present before wrapping his wife up in a hug but she pulled away, anxious for him to open the next one. The most important one, in her opinion.

He gave her a curious smile as he revealed the box behind the paper. Y/n looked both happy and nervous as he opened the lid revealing what he though, at first, to be a Spider-Man t-shirt. He was about to laugh about the ones he already had when he realised how small the shirt was. He looked closely at it and as he read the words, his heart raced, his eyes filling with tears.

My Daddy is Spider-Man

Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he looked back to Y/n who was beaming from ear to ear, her own eyes clouded with unshed tears.

“Y/n?” He needed her to confirm it, needed to be sure. Y/n was just about to nod when she told him to look under the shirt. Tom did so and there inside the box was a pregnancy test like all the others he had seen before but this time with an extra pink line shown on the screen. He looked back to his wife, his hands shaking as he clutched the small onesie. She nodded.

Tom leaped over, tackling her to the bed with a hug. Y/n laughed as tears filled with joy left her eyes. Tom felt his tears do the same, the warm feeling of them rolling down his cheeks but he couldn’t care because he was going to be a Dad and Y/n was going to be a Mum.

Y/n ran her hands through his curly bed hair and lifted his head up so she could kiss him. “We’re going to have a baby.” Her face ached from smiling so much. Tom nodded and kissed her again. After long months (almost a year) of trying they were finally going to be parents.

“Best birthday ever!” Tom laughed as his lips found y/n’s again, all his happiness shining through as he held her close.

#that gif is pretty #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #REPOST #tom holland imagines #reader insert

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littleoldrachel · 4 years

Text

i am burned out (i smell of smoke)

okay, look. I wasn’t gonna post this until it was FINISHED because i am trying to learn to actually finish my wips. but. the world is sorta falling apart and i hope that maybe i can help even one person feel temporarily less anxious about it all.

i wrote this for @gumnut-logic‘s birthday and am now over a month late, so! good! (so sorry nutty, you’re so incredible at blessing us with your words, i just wanted to do something nice for you since you’re so so good to us)

my love for virgil tracy + my silent lurking in this fandom have brought this about. i never thought i’d be writing thunderbirds fanfiction and yet. here we are (my father would be so disappointed in me).

this is my first time writing these characters, as will become painfully clear. pls be nice to me, i am fragile lol. i am horribly aware that my virg is probably too ‘floppy’ as per your post, nutty, so sorry in advance! this is me whumping your boy emotionally and mentally, but i’m gonna fix him, i swear! there are five parts (i have written the first three).

virgil is always written as being very good at taking care of his mental health, and it occurred to me that some of the best people at this have had to learn to be that way, and so I guess this is an exploration of that? anyway, have some virgil aggressively loving his family.

brains isn’t in this and kayo isn’t much either sorryyy. oh my GOd shut up, here you go:

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn't have to do it alone.

word count: 2.8k ish (part 1/5)

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse? jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

He isn’t quite sure where it began. Somewhere between three back-to-back rescues, pulling a child’s body from thick, black mud, and failing to reach the scientist before smoke ravaged her lungs, a weight settles in his chest that none of his usual coping mechanisms can shift.

To say it’s been a hard week would be an understatement, but then again, they’ve had hard weeks before. Any time a rescue mission turns into a recovery mission, they all feel it - how can they not? - but this time, this time is different.

Perhaps it was seeing the kid’s mother break down completely at the sight of such a small corpse. Perhaps it was the abuse hurled at him and his brothers by the scientist’s girlfriend for failing to rescue her soulmate in time. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion and pain, perhaps it was feeling ribs break under the force of his CPR efforts, perhaps it was knowing that in spite of it all, it wasn’t enough.

It’s like he can’t quite draw a full breath. Like his throat has half-closed and tears are creeping at the back of his eyes, but neither is willing to break the damn. It’s the heaviest kind of emptiness he’s ever known.

And so Virgil forces it away - or if not away, then at least to one side - whilst he takes care of brothers who need to talk about the horrors they have just witnessed and the fresh guilt they now bear. He’ll take care of himself later (probably) and then he’ll finally be able to shift that god-awful weight on his lungs. It’s fine.

Alan is easy enough to handle; Virgil’s pedestal will never be as high as Scott’s or John’s but he’s still Alan’s big brother, and Alan feeds on reassurance and praise. Virgil knows that both Scott and John will be in later to check on their youngest too, but for now, Alan needs him.

“You did well today, kiddo,” Virgil says, leaning against the doorframe to Alan’s suite. His littlest brother is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

Alan blinks slowly, twists to meet his eyes. Overly-bright cornflower blues meet steady browns and Virgil catches the tremble of Alan’s lower lip with an aching heart.

“You did, Allie.” Virgil strides across the room and has Alan scooped into a hug within seconds. “All those people are gonna wake up tomorrow because of you.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, Virg,” whispers Alan. “So many people didn’t make it.”

“I know.”

(The weight on his chest and struggle to breathe will never let him forget it).

Alan sighs, rests his head on his brother’s broad chest. “I just - I keep remembering her face. When she realised I couldn’t save her. I close my eyes and she’s just - there.” He closes his eyes and digs the heels of his palms into them.

He’s so young. It’s not the first time that Virgil has had doubts about forcing this responsibility on a teenager, but it is the first time Alan’s watched someone die in his arms and none of Virgil’s carefully crafted words will change that. Especially not now, whilst the pain is raw and jagged and demanding to be felt - no, Virgil and his brothers will be helping him to untangle this over the next few weeks.

“Wanna play something?” he asks instead.

The response is less enthusiastic than usual, but soon Alan has a fragile smile on his lips as he thrashes Virgil’s Princess Peach with Waluigi (and so what if Virgil deliberately chooses the tracks he knows he’s shit at just to make Alan chuckle when he falls off Rainbow Road again?).

His water-loving brother won’t be so easy (though of course, there’s nothing easy about watching someone so young trying to carry the weight of the world). Still, Gordon is at least predictable in his frustrated misery and rolls his eyes as he sees Virgil coming towards the pool with a towel in hand.

“I’m not in the mood, Virg,” he calls, before hurling himself underwater and sinking to the bottom of the pool.

It’s Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes, but he kicks off his shoes, sits on the poolside and dangles bare feet into the water, waiting. When Gordon finally emerges from the water, annoyance flickers across his face at the sight of his waiting brother, and he turns, kicking away from Virgil with a powerful breaststroke.

Virgil waits until Gordon’s swum four lengths before speaking. “How are you doing?”

Gordon’s perfect rhythm barely falters as he grabs his brother’s leg and yanks, pulling Virgil into the pool and immediately swimming away. Virgil shakes the water from his hair, internally cursing his stubborn-ass younger brother and treads water until Gordon reaches his end of the pool again.

“How many lengths is that?”

Gordon ignores him, switching fluidly into butterfly stroke and splashing away from him once more.

Virgil can’t help but sigh; his limbs are aching and his chest is heavy and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed. But his younger brother is hurting - emotionally, sure, judging by the way he’s slicing through the water like it’s done him wrong, but physically too if the minute winces are anything to go by. (And Virgil can’t stand it).

The next time Gordon comes by, Virgil is ready. He seizes his brother around the middle, and bodily drags him to the edge of the pool. He doesn’t often use his size and strength against his brothers, but this time calls for it. Once out of the water, the fight goes out of Gordon, and he staggers, murmuring “ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Come here, you idiot.” Virgil pulls Gordon into a shady spot by the loungers, and begins helping Gordon stretch out overworked muscles. Gordon hisses as Virgil presses down on his calf muscle. “Sorry, Gordo.”

“S’okay.” Gordon glares up at the sky. “Just stupid cramp.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil shakes his head. “Yeah, that or the fact you’re reliving your Olympic training after having been up for forty-eight hours straight.”

“You know if you keep doing that, your face will get stuck.”

Virgil pulls a hideous face, then grins in response to Gordon’s laugh. It feels good to smile, it shifts the weight on his lungs the tiniest bit.

“Flip over and I’ll do your back.”

“Virgil Tracy, you’re a goddamn saint,” Gordon declares, obediently flopping onto his stomach.

There’s a pause whilst Virgil runs expert hands over the rock-like knots in Gordon’s back and Gordon melts into the mattress. When Virgil next speaks, his voice is gentle even as his hands dig in: “You know that punishing yourself isn’t going to bring them back.”

Gordon tenses then sighs. “Damnit, Virg. Can’t a guy get a massage without psychoanalysis?”

But his voice is a great deal lighter than it would have been even half an hour before.

His wrists are aching by the time he drags himself out to the cliff edge where Kayo likes to perch.

His brothers have different uses for this particular stretch of rock: Scott likes to end his morning runs here by stretching in the breeze off the waters. For John, it’s a spectacular place to stargaze, not least because it’s so very quiet and dark up here. Gordon can often be found diving off these rocks, cheered on by Alan, much to the constant stress of their oldest brother, who attributes more than seventy percent of his grey hairs to this cause.

For Kayo, it’s a watchpost. Her stormy eyes skim the horizon for non-existent threats, calculating, calm, controlled. And after a bad rescue (or three), she sits and waits for hours at a time, gazing into choppy waves and brilliant sunsets with the loneliest eyes Virgil has ever seen. He’s supposed to sit with Kayo in silence until she tells him what she needs from him, be it a hug, his presence, or just distance.

This time, she makes it clear the moment he pads towards her, fading into the rocks like she was never even there. Distance, then.

John is possibly the hardest to handle of all his siblings, purely because he’s the hardest to get a hold of. John knows Virgil’s antics only too well, knows that a meaningful conversation about how he feels is coming, and has therefore made himself scarce.

Virgil sighs as John misses (read: rejects) his third call in a row. Two can play at that game, Jonny.

Instead, he dials straight through to EOS.

She answers him immediately, as usual. “Virgil. I have been anticipating your call.”

“You have?”

“You have all had unsuccessful missions. You always call after missions with a body count.”

Virgil swallows, fresh guilt rising in his throat, and forces it back down.

“Please can you put me through to John, EOS?”

“Of course, Virgil.”

Silence for a second, and then John’s hologram appears. His red-headed brother is studiously avoiding eye contact, hands darting over controls in an anxious pattern.

“This isn’t a good time, Virgil, I’m busy rerouting some calls to local emergency services, and-”

“John.”

“-and there’s a call from Tehran that really needs me, so if that’s all-”

“John.”

Silence.

“How long since you last ate?”

John’s eyes meet Virgil’s and he looks away at once. “Uh… this morning?”

“Negative,” EOS chimes in, “last intake was twenty-six hours ago.”

John’s jaw clenches. “Thanks, EOS.”

“John, you need to eat.”

“Smother Brother.”

“I’m serious.”

EOS pipes up again, “John also needs to rest. He has been operating for twice the recommended period of time.”

John glowers, but says nothing.

“Don’t make me set Scott on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows and John sighs loudly in frustration. “I will. I will. I just - thinking about food makes me feel nauseous. Like…” He swallows, looks away. “Like I’m eating mud.”

The sharp hurt in Virgil’s heart twinges violently and he wishes more than anything he could wrap John up in a bearhug and stop the world from hurting him. “What if I’m here whilst you try?” he asks softly.

Another sigh. “Fine. But only if you eat something too,” John says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that your stomach was growling even louder than Two’s engines on the way home.”

“Smother Brother,” Virgil’s voice is hopelessly fond, even as he goes to make a sandwich that he can’t face eating (which for him, is a bad sign - he who has forced down Grandma’s inedible chilli through sheer willpower and love). The bread is hard and tasteless, the filling bitter. He chokes down a half slice, focusing instead on the fact that his younger brother is carefully chewing at his toasted bagel, eyelids heavy. Eventually, John’s shoulders slump, and his head lolls back into slumber.

His work here is done.

Well, almost -

“Hey, EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Can you put that playlist I made him on a loop?”

“Of course, Virgil. Venus Bringer of Peace is now playing.”

There.

His oldest brother is hurting. Virgil doesn’t need ESPN or whatever freaky connection Gordon and Alan accuse them of having to know that.

There was a death toll, and therefore Scott will be hurting. Every life lost becomes a personal fault for the man, and nothing Virgil says or does will change that. They have this argument every two or three weeks, increasingly frequently as the months since their father’s disappearance have ticked into years. And he’s so very tired of rehashing the same words over again and again, he’s so tired of being utterly powerless against his brother’s borderline suicidal recklessness, he’s so tired of his uselessness in convincing Scott to stop treating his life like some replaceable trinket.

(So very, very tired).

And yet, Virgil stands in the doorway to his father’s office, bracing himself for yet another battle with his older brother.

Because taking care of the idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic is what he does best - especially when said idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic least wants it.

Scott is hunched over the desk, poring over debriefs with an almost-empty glass of something amber in his left hand. Virgil makes a mental note to re-encrypt the code to the drinks cabinet - Scott had cracked it far too quickly last time, but he doesn’t stand a chance against John…

“Hey, Scott,” he finally enters the room, but his brother doesn’t even spare him a glance. Virgil takes the seat opposite him - the one he used to sit in as his father waxed lyrical about his dream of an elite rescue organisation (it hurts) - and waits.

After five or so minutes, Scott looks up blearily, blinking in surprise. “Virg? What are you - when did you-”

“It’s gone midnight, Scott. We agreed you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

A muscle in Scott’s jaw twitches. He’s wound tight from alcohol and stress, and it hurts Virgil to see it. “I have to get this done.”

“Not at one am, you don’t.”

“Don’t start, Virg, you know debriefs are essential - you know I have to - to -”

“To what?”

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you have to get done? What’s so important that it can’t wait till you’ve at least slept?”

Scott breaks - quicker than usual (thank you, whiskey) which is a relief, because Virgil’s energy is down to its last droplets; hell, it’ll be a miracle if he even makes it to his room after this.

“To figure out where we fucked up! To explain to the fire services that we did fuck-all for their rescue efforts! To figure out why I wasn’t fast enough to get to those children! I have to - to know,” he flings himself to his feet and begins pacing. “Fifty-four people died today, that’s fifty-four lives we should have saved, and I have to know why we failed so it never happens again.” He slams both hands down on the table, scattering papers to the floor. His eyes are wild and slightly bloodshot, and Virgil’s heart aches for the pain in those cerulean blues.

The fight leaves Virgil’s spirit, because for once, he’s having a hard time reconciling his own failings with the number of bodies he’s pulled from mud and rock today. Usually, he is the first to reassure his brothers that they did all they could. But on a day like today, with the weight of whatever-it-is on his chest, it’s just not good enough.

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave Scott alone in his pain.

“What can I do?” Virgil asks quietly, and Scott stares at him.

A pause. “Just - just be here,” Scott allows at last, sinking back into his chair.

“Always,” Virgil says, and he means it, even through the fog of this exhausted, low, heavy feeling.

“You okay?” Scott says, looking him over with a frown, and Virgil curses internally, because of course, Scott notices what none of his other siblings have.

“As much as any of us are right now,” Virgil answers, as honestly as he can. Scott clearly doesn’t quite believe him, because he keeps shooting Virgil surreptitious glances laden with concern, but he lets it go. Perhaps he too lacks the energy to fight him on this.

(It’s not enough and Virgil knows it. It’s not enough to stop his brother from working himself into an early grave and it’s not enough to blame poor construction work for the collapse of a tower block when he should have been able to save them).

(He’s not enough).

He’s exhausted. He had thought he was shattered before, but now -

The heaviness in his chest is a gaping wide hole, and the edges are raw and ragged from trying to hold himself together. His throat closes and clogs, but the tears won’t come, even as misery wells inside of him.

He looks blankly at the piano he sometimes uses to pull himself back from edges like these - edges that plunge down, down, down into an abyss he daren’t explore. Only the tug in his chest isn’t there. The canvas on his easel remains blank, his paintbrush untouched. Hell, even the idea of a nice, hot shower has him cringing at the effort and self-care involved.

What the hell’s the matter with him?

He can’t quite explain it, and for one usually so attuned to others’ emotions, this awful lowness is startling. Because it’s more than lowness, and it’s more than heaviness - it’s more like a complete absence of feeling, an emptiness that he doesn’t know how to name.

Perhaps, it will shift in the morning. Perhaps, this is the consequence of pushing yourself to over-exhaustion and beyond, and then expelling what little energy remains to support your loved ones. Sleep will help, Virgil tells himself. Rest makes everything better, you will be better in the morning.

#thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #littleoldrachel writes #not wolfstar #happy belated birthday nutty!

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera... Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

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