#I enjoy the way the needle pokes through the bottom like its peeking out and then retreating upon being in the wrong spot

[sysig]

I am attempting embroidery

So far?

This shit fucking rules

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2022: Quiet Moments

Day 6 of Kataang Week 2022 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Quiet Moments!

Links: AO3 || FF.net

Summary: Do I seriously have to come up with a new one of these every year? Kataang Week 2022 Day 6: Quiet Moments. Sometimes, Katara and Aang didn’t need words.

Word Count: 2.4k

Air Temple Island was known for its quiet nights.

During the day, there was always a large humming of activity. The acolytes would be bustling about the grounds, the foghorn of the ferry would be blaring every hour or so, and people from all over the world would come to see what was left of the culture of the Air Nomads. Something always seemed to be happening.

However, by the time the sun painted Yue Bay in its crimson, orange, and golden light, things were different. By sunset, most of the acolytes had retired to their dorms. The ferry rounds slowed down as most visitors had already come and gone. The only distinctive sound that could be made out was the waves crashing against the rocks on the cliffside as the stars slowly came out to light up the night sky. 

This particular night seemed to be no different, Aang noted to himself as he landed Appa near the stables. He took a quick peek inside to ensure that the bison would have enough hay, water, and apples for the night before grabbing his staff and flying up to his and Katara’s bedroom balcony, letting himself in through the window.

Aang frowned as he entered. The room was dark, and the bed was made, pillows neatly up against the headboard with the sheets below it smoothed out. Three books and a pen lay on top of the waterbender’s bedside table, but she herself was nowhere to be found. 

Careful not to make too much noise, Aang walked across the room and carefully poked his head through the doorway, raising an eyebrow when he saw light coming from near the kitchen. The smell of tsampa and steamed dumplings filled his nose, but it was an awfully odd thing for such a late hour. 

He quietly and quickly made his way down the stairs, curious as to what was going on below. His airbending kept his steps light, almost inaudible. He paused once he reached the bottom of the staircase, sighing happily when he saw her, cloth and needle in hand, as she sewed by the candlelight. The soft sound of his breath startled Katara, and she looked up when she heard the soft sound, smiling wearily when she saw the airbender. 

“You shouldn’t have waited,” Aang whispered as she stood up and walked over to him, her arms quickly finding their way around his neck as he kissed her sweetly. 

“I wanted to,” Katara murmured in reply, unable to take her eyes off him. It felt like it had been far too long. 

Aang’s arms slowly found their way around her waist as he took a moment to enjoy her presence. It had been an arduous day of meetings, and Katara wasn’t just at their home, she was his home. 

“Come on, you’re probably hungry.” The waterbender took Aang’s hands in hers and guided him towards the covered plates of still-warm food on the kitchen counter. She took both dishes in her hands, motioning for him to bring their utensils as she walked back to where she was sitting and placed the food gently onto the table with a soft cling. Wordlessly, she waved for him to come sit in the empty space next to him, smiling and leaning into him as the airbender happily obliged.

Once the two had taken their plates in their laps and had begun to eat, it was as if no amount of food in the world would’ve been enough. Dinnertime had been hours ago, and they were starving, both cleaning their plates ravenously in a matter of minutes.

Katara was the first to finish- she had never quite grown out of the habit of having to eat quickly that she had developed on their adventures before the war had ended. She sighed, hunger satiated, and placed her head on Aang’s shoulder, closing her eyes and absent-mindedly humming an old Water Tribe song.

The airbender smiled as he too set down his plate and listened to the folk song. In their years of living and traveling together, Aang had discovered quite a few things about Katara: One of these things happened to be that she knew a lot of Southern Water Tribe songs. Another one of these things was that the Water Tribe songs she sang and hummed tended to be very indicative of her mood. 

Sometimes, when she was feeling nostalgic and just wanted to be with someone, she’d hum the lullaby that her mother used to sing to her and Sokka with a soft, sad smile on her face. Other times, she’d sway from side to side to the tune of a sailor’s song that filled up the room, laughing when Aang grabbed her hand and spun her around in their own little dance. 

This song, however, was different. 

It wasn’t one he heard often, but he could recognize its slower, slightly haunting, melancholy notes anywhere. It was the same song, he had noticed, that she had hummed before sleeping the night of the full moon after they met Hama. He had asked her that night where it came from, just to take her mind off things, and she had told him that it was the song of one of the spirits of the sea, who was mortal before being cast out into the ocean by her father. The spirit had become a guardian of sea creatures following, but the song mourned the life she once had on land. 

Aang had since learned that Katara would hum that song on nights when she didn’t really feel like talking but still wanted someone to be with her. She was quiet those nights, but she expressed her affection in other ways, not needing words to let him know of her love and appreciation. 

And so they sat next to each other on the sofa, relishing in the feeling of being with one another as the candlelight flickered and Katara’s humming caused Aang’s eyelids to droop halfway. 

“Ready to go up?” he whispered when she was interrupted by her own yawn. He gently kissed her temple as the waterbender nodded sleepily. She turned her head and pressed her lips softly to Aang’s cheek, returning his kiss, as the two stood up and walked back up the stairs. 

They headed to their room, Aang dramatically opening the door and bowing for Katara to enter first, making her chuckle. He gently closed it behind him and groaned as he sat down in his desk chair, various papers strewn about in front of him. Katara stepped into her closet for a few minutes as she got dressed in her nightclothes, but she shook her head when she emerged and saw Aang muttering at a particularly high pile of documents.

“You work too much,” she murmured. She slowly crept up to him, taking care that her feet landed softly and quietly against the cold, stone floors, and began rubbing his shoulders with her hands. 

His body practically screamed at the relief from all the tension that had been building up for the last few weeks of nonstop meetings and events- creating an entirely new, independent republic was no small task. 

Katara sighed. She hated that Aang had to do this to himself. All she wanted was to spend as many hours as she needed to relieve him of all his tension, but unfortunately that wouldn’t be possible anytime soon. She soon moved her hands lower, now working on massaging his shoulder blades and back, though she knew there was plenty more work to be done where her hands had been a few seconds prior. 

“You need to relax,” she said softly as she pressed a few fluttery kisses to his exposed neck, hands still working their magic if Aang’s closed eyes were any indication. “You can do all this later. Come lie in bed with me.”  

“Katara, I can’t-” 

He turned to look up at her and faltered when he saw the look on her face. Her lips were pursed, her eyes refusing to meet his gaze. Her hands had fallen from his shoulders to hug her torso. 

To anyone else, she would’ve seemed annoyed, maybe even angry and overreacting, but Aang knew better. Her normally lively eyes were solemn- they were sad, almost hurt. She wasn’t recoiling from him on purpose or trying to punish him, but rather was simply trying to hide the fact that she had missed him and just wanted to be near him. 

He exhaled deeply and stood up, Katara’s eyes darting up to his at the sudden movement. 

“You can bring your work if you want,” she murmured, her gaze flickering behind him as she saw the pile of all he had to do.

He gave her a small smile and kissed the top of her head, quickly gathering all the papers he would need for the night, and gestured for her to lead the way. Katara grinned, running and leaping under the covers to allow the airbender to nestle himself in the crook of her neck as he began reading over King Kuei’s latest “grand ideas” for the Republic.  

Katara couldn’t help but sigh, her fingers tracing the edges of the blue on his arms. It was things like this she missed the most when he was away on trips or came home long after she had fallen asleep- the little things, the quiet moments, being able to just lie together, cuddle, and enjoy each other’s presence. 

She pressed a few soft kisses to the tip of the blue arrow on his head and reached out her arm behind her, fumbling around until she felt her pen and crossword book. 

It was a hobby of hers that she had only picked up recently, after Aang had brought her the thin bundle of paper from a trip to Ba Sing Se. She hadn’t been very good at it to begin with, loathing it with a passion as a result, but, on a night like this a few weeks ago, she decided enough was enough and gave the innocent booklet a chance. She quickly grew to love the puzzles, even asking Aang to bring her the newspaper when he went out into the city so that she could solve their daily ones, and she brought Aang no shortage of amusement from the maniacal giggles that escaped her after solving the next page in her workbook. 

She squinted at the puzzle she was on, only three words left to figure out. “Six letter word for a tree that giraffalopes loved…” she thought. Suddenly, it came to her. “Acacia!” The waterbender grinned, furiously scribbling in the answer with her lucky pen when she felt Aang staring at her.

She looked at the airbender, who was watching her with a loving sparkle in his eyes, and raised her eyebrow at him as she made eye contact. Aang’s eyes widened when he realized he’d been caught, immediately averting his gaze and drawing himself closer to her in hopes that she wouldn’t see the warm pink tint covering his cheeks. (He failed, much to Katara’s amusement.) 

The waterbender chuckled, returning to her book. Two words left. “Seven letter word for a slow-moving mass of ice… iceberg? No, the ‘e’ is the second-to-last letter, not the third-to-last. Hmmm…”

Aang caught a quick glance of the booklet when he heard Katara’s hum of confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Seven letter word related to ice… 

“Glacier.”

The waterbender looked down at him in surprise, jotting the word down when she saw it fit in the spaces given. Aang winked at her in response before he turned back to the parchment, continuing to write his rebuttal as to why Bosco’s birthday would not be made an international holiday in his tidy scrawl.

Katara narrowed her eyes at the last clue, the clue that had been stumping her for the last two days. “Five letter word for a small, thought-to-be extinct flying mammal…” What flying mammals did she even know of that were extinct? Dodo-pig? Too long, and they couldn’t even fly! Flying gecko squirrels? Too long, not extinct…

“Wait a minute.”

Thought-to-be-extinct flying mammals? Katara lived with three of them! 

The waterbender grinned and quickly wrote in the last five letters of the puzzle. “L… …E… …M… …U… …R!”

“Hehehehe,” Katara said with a giggle as she closed the book and made a satisfying thwip noise. Aang looked up at her, an amused glint in his eyes Katara noted as she spotted the pile on his bedside table, every document highlighted and annotated. Had it really been that long already? 

Katara angled herself slightly to the side, setting her book and pen back on her side table before turning again to resume her tracing of Aang’s arrows. 

“You’re adorable when you finish those, you know.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Please, the maniacal giggle at the end? It’s so weird to hear yet strangely very ‘you’ at the same time.” 

“I do not maniacally giggle!”

Aang gave her a look.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” she said sheepishly, making the two of them dissolve into (not maniacal) laughter.

“I missed you,” she whispered when their explosion of joy died down.

“I know.” He took the hand so gently stroking his tattoos and pressed a long, soft kiss to it. “I missed you too. And I’m sorry.” Aang frowned as they got comfortable underneath the blankets. “I’m sorry for all the late nights and long meetings.” 

Katara shook her head, taking his hands in hers and squeezing. “The world can have its Avatar, just as long as I have you.” 

She pressed a soft kiss to each of his knuckles before wordlessly turning around to turn off the light, letting him hold and bury her in his embrace. 

Did they need words to say what was already implied as they drifted off into the dream realm? 

No. 

Did they say it anyways? 

Of course. 

“I love you, sweetie.”

[kentos-filmcamera]

10 times, 1 occasion - Inumaki Toge

2. Gift

A/N: aaaaa i woke up to a lot of notifs, i’m so glad everyone is liking it so far! thank u sm for reading! just a quick clarification, I’m setting the reader as non binary; i will be using mostly they/them pronouns and sometimes she/her but i will avoid to do so. happy reading!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Megumi!” You called, waving to the underclass man. He offered you a tiny smile and a wave back. You let go of Toge’s hand to pull him into an embrace. “You’re taller! How much you’ve grown, my boy!” You’ve known him since forever, way before you met your fellow second years. And you always loved to pester him. 

“I’m the same exact way since you last saw me” He deadpanned as you pinched his cheeks, his voice as plain as you remembered it to be. You only laughed and ruffled his hair, earning a groan. 

“Where’s my hug?” You heard the voice of Gojo Satoru resonate through your ears for the first time in a while, and the most annoying phrase in existence was what he chose to say. 

You turned to look at him, unimpressed, your expression matching Fushiguro’s. You were met with his usual cheeky smile and raised brows. He extended his arms and did ‘grabby’ hands as children did. Oh my. This man was annoying; and to think you even considered you missed him in the first place. 

“Up your ass” You replied and moved his arms away from nearing your torso. He gasped dramatically and pouted like a wounded puppy. You only gave him a pat in his shoulder “Glad to see you’re...  Well, alive” 

“Don’t speak to Gojo-sensei like that!” You heard a foreign voice, the same one you heard from a far moments ago. You turn to look at the boy with the pink hair with a raised eyebrow. Something in your head clicked, as did your tongue. You pointed at him. 

“Sukuna’s vessel” You said. Even up in the mountains the hottest gossip was the kid that ate one of Sukuna’s fingers and actually withstanded to house the spirit inside him. It was the talk at the dinner table for weeks. Your sister was specifically interested in it one night, making her spill hot soup all over your lap when she was in charge of serving everyone that night. 

“Itadori Yuuji” He corrected. You stared at him up and down and gave a tiny smile and a nod. 

“And this is Nobara Kugisaki” Panda indicated to you, as you turned to face the ginger that looked at you with gleaming eyes. You waved shortly before introducing yourself to both. 

One of their faces lit up “You got attacked by a special cursed spirit last year right?” The boy you recognized as Itadori spoke. Your face blanked and drained of any color as you tensed. The only remedy you found was to nod, your jaw clenched shut as Inumaki reached in to rub his hand through your shoulders. It relaxed you, but you didn’t remember him being this touchy before. 

“Idiot! You don’t remind other people of their trauma!” Kugisaki hit him in the back of the head, noticing how your attitude shifted in seconds. 

“But! It was awesome! You were the first first year ever to expand a complete domain!” Itadori protested, but he slumped realizing how far you were. Your eyes looked as if they were in another galaxy, your mind taking them far as you spaced out. You hated doing it, but it came rather involuntarily when you were avoiding getting hurt. “You’re so skilled” 

“It wasn’t awesome. I—“ You sighed, and accepted the compliment, your mind returning back to the scene. “Thank you. I’ve been training since I saw my first curse” You gave a light thankful bow to him before turning to Toge “Walk me to my room?” 

“Sake” He nodded, and led you ahead. Panda passed onto you the duffle bag and gave Inumaki the remaining handbag as you two walked in silence towards the second year building. 

Your room was exactly as you left it, except for the made up bed. You remembered that morning clearly; you had always been an organized person, but when Maki pulled you out of your bed for what would be your last mission for a while, you didn’t have the time to fix it before leaving. As you looked around, you heard the sound of bags hitting the floor and the generic sound of typing on an electronic keyboard. Then your phone vibrated shortly on the pocket of your jacket. Taking it out, you read the new message. 

[ Inumaki Toge: i laid the bed after you left. i knew you wouldn’t like to find it all messy after all this time ] 

“Thank you” You spoke as a response. You stood in place, arms crossed and thought. Inumaki chuckled at your tongue poking out from the corner of your lips. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked to find the bed unmade after months” You smiled briefly at the warmth spreading through your chest, opened the windows and looked at your space. 

On the bed, your new uniform was laid down, awaiting your return. You asked for both the option of wearing pants and a skirt, depending on the type of mission, you settled with what seemed more comfortable. Your closet was empty, as you didn’t know for how much you were going to be away, except for a few pieces you stole from Maki’s closet. Everything Toge gave you, you took with you, and you wouldn’t take things from Yuta without his permission. You looked at the picture on your nightstand of the five of you, taken by Gojo as you exited a training session. You laughed with Panda as Maki, seemingly angry elbowed you in the ribs, Inumaki and Yuta enjoyed the moment quietly, both smiling. Fitted on the inside edge of that picture frame was a strip of pictures you took at a carnival, in a picture booth with Inumaki before exorcising a curse haunting the house of mirrors. One of the most difficult, terrifying missions you could have ever taken, in your first year nevertheless. But getting some Italian food sponsored by Gojo’s wallet at 2 AM on a Saturday was a great way to end the night. 

“Heh, look, you had spiky hair” You mentioned, taking the picture strip out of the frame and handing it over to the boy, who passed you another picture from your board by your desk in exchange. It was a selfie Gojo took with you and Maki, as he found you both sneaking in after getting piercings and tempura in Shibuya, taking Ijichi as hostage to drive you there. Remembering the event, you flipped down your septum, and checked for your five lobe piercings and your helix. Due to your family’s cursed technique, piercings were more than cliche, but on the ear, not on the nose. You opted for a septum for whenever you had to hide it. Your phone vibrated again. 

[ Inumaki Toge: i always liked that piercing on u. u look very cool ]

[ Inumaki Toge: you’ve always looked cool :)) ] 

“You flatter me too much, Toge, thank you” You turned away to hide the blush on your cheeks. Soon, you received a tap on your shoulder. You faced a flustered Inumaki with a dianty box in his hands. “Uh, you shouldn’t have, I—“ You were perplexed, trying to find the reason why he would give you a present. 

“Bonito Flakes” He insisted, shoving the gift into your hands and pointing to the door with his head. He wanted to give you some space, to read the letter and to change back into your uniform. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise” You gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before he rushed to leave the room. 

You prioritized changing into your uniform, deciding for the navy high rise wide pants with slits on their outer sides going from your mid-upper thigh to the bottom of the piece, made for better movement in battle. You buttoned up and tucked the navy jujutsu high jacket, of which you wore a shorter version, with a classic white collar from your button up peeking out from underneath. You scouted your bag for the tiny chain you hung from the eyelet of the collar, it was a family heirloom, a protection chain; if anyone touched it in battle, your cursed technique of choice would come into effect. Besides, it made you look more classy. 

You fixed the puffy long sleeves, the form and the material more breathable, flexible and comfortable for you. You reached out to your closet and fitted the white patent ankle boots, almost tripping while doing so. 

“I’m okay!” You shouted back, responding to a soft knock on the door. They were similar to Inumaki’s own shoes, but more stylish. In general, you were more stylish than him; or anyone else in both campuses. You finally fitted your black arm band, which had strapped in a box of needles, a rather thin rope and some thread. 

You sat in your bed and took the box between your hands, circling around your fingertips. You removed the decorative bow and cut through the sealing tape with your fingernails. In between the folds of tissue paper, you found a golden ring. Your lost ring. It looked different, but you could recognize that oval shaped emerald anywhere. You touched it several times to check if it was real or not. And it was. You rushed to find an explanation to this, prying the letter open with your fingernails. 

“Hi,

As I’m writing this, I’m not sure when you’re coming back. Or if you’re even doing so. Writing this letter gives me hope for your return, as so did getting you this welcome back gift. It’s the ring you took so much pride in owning. Oh, well, part of it. I remember how you got rushed to the infirmary, wailing, touching your damaged hand to see if you had your ring.  But you didn’t. I went back to the scene myself that same day, and the next, and the one after the other to find your missing jewel. When I found it, it looked terrible. It was dirty, bent, and the emerald had a crack in one of its corners. It took me some work, but I found someone that could restore it. It’s the original stone, and the original material but it had to be reshaped. I know you like signets, so I hope you can find appreciation in this one too. 

You looked once more at the piece and let out a teary chuckle. You had suffered so much the loss of that ring. It was a present from your grandmother, now deceased. You hated yourself incessantly for losing it. But now, it was back in your grip. You slipped it into your ring finger and before continuing your lecture, you fanned your under eyes to avoid ruining the hint of makeup you currently wore. 

If you’re reading this, I am so glad you’re back. I missed you, so so much. I’m glad to see you in good health. And I’m sorry everything happened the way it did. You didn’t do anything wrong. I know how you feel. Please trust me. Thank you once more for allowing me to speak to you through written words. You’re the only one I want to write to, anyways. I don’t have the patience for anyone else. Welcome back, cookie. 

I love you. 

Yours, Toge” 

[kokkoro]

Just like Heaven

Living large in a fresh and exciting new relationship, Clarke decides there’s no harm in joining her girlfriend of a month and half on a camping trip into the mountains. Little does she know it’s not the camping she’s used to.

Will she survive? Most likely. Will she enjoy it? That’s still up in the air.

(enjoy a sneak peek of the fic below. Coming maybe soon to an ao3 near you)

-

She should have said no. Is the immediate thought that crosses Clarke Griffin’s mind upon exiting the passenger seat of her girlfriend’s jeep wrangler with a severely under-prepared bag of camping essentials. When she pictured camping, she thought of those tightly packed sites with their numbers and pre-placed picnic tables dented and nicked by previous visitors, a minute walk away from the nearest bathroom--three if you were unlucky. Definitely not the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center of the white mountain national forest with only the trail in sight.

“I’ll be right back,” Lexa says, reaching out to touch her elbow, and Clarke feels a little betrayed by the way her heart skips as she watches Lexa bound up the steps into the visitors office, the lanyard with her keys dangling from the back pocket of her shorts.

Two other cars pull into the small parking lot as the door swings shut with a sharp wire-like groan, squeaky on its hinges. Clarke only takes one glance, seeing the vaguely familiar faces of Lexa’s friends as they roll up their windows and turn down music, before turning back around.

Lexa appears another minute later, and she smiles at the sight of Clarke still by the bottom of the steps. She quickly closes the distance.

“We’re all set,” Lexa says, practically a whisper as her hand finds Clarke’s hip and she steals a kiss.

“Cool,” Clarke whispers back on the exhale, opening her eyes just in time to see the soft curve of Lexa’s smile.

“Do you need help with anything from the car?”

“Uh...” She thinks, unable to piece together a coherent thought in the wake of those very nice lips smirking at her. “No. I’m good.”

Lexa eyes her, and Clarke feels her fiddling with the belt loops of her shorts. She comes to the conclusion pretty quickly, wrapped up in Lexa’s arms, that there’s no way in hell she’s making it out of this alive.

-

“So you’ve… done this before?”

Clarke’s head turns, looking back behind her on the trail. Anya, Clarke remembers Lexa telling her, tall and stupidly in shape much like the rest of Lexa’s close friends. Adidas tank and hiking boots, camping gear all rolled up neat beneath a backpack that has a holder attached to the strap for a water bottle. There’s not one sign of exhaustion halfway through their trek to camp and there’s that spark of jealousy at the ease of motion Clarke watches her weave along the trail.

“I, uh--” Clarke reaches for a tree, pulls herself up forward along the steady incline of the trail. “Can’t really say it's ever been on my to do list.”

Probably would have never been had it not been for Lexa. It’s nice, Clarke guesses, smells fresh. So much so that the outdoors seems to have crawled up her nose, decided it liked what it found, and pitched its own tent.

“Jumped right into the deep end,” Anya says, following step for step. “I’m surprised.”

Clarke glances ahead, around Lincoln and his girlfriend, past Echo and a guy she didn’t bother learning the name of, trying for a glimpse of Lexa leading the way to camp. What she finds is Lexa stealing glances. Head turned, peeking between the others as they wander up the trail. There’s this unmistakable smile in her eyes.

“Me too.”

--

To be honest it reminds her a lot like how they met. Maybe not so much the particulars, but the essence--that fits. Refreshing. New.

Warm.

It’s pretty, too, Clarke will give it that, though it's impossible to ignore the aching burn in her thighs and the way her knees wobble as the group disperses among the clearing, footsteps soft among dirt and crushed pine. Through the break in the trees, the lake isn’t far off, glinting enticingly underneath the afternoon sun, and the gentle murmur of the nearby stream sits just under the breeze that filters through branches. It leaves Clarke pleasantly at ease even as she struggles to (under her breath) regulate her breathing following that last rigorous mile of their hike. Clarke hopes going down is a lot easier than it was going up.

Lexa stops beside her, thumbs hooked around the straps of her backpack, watching as the group squabbles about claiming spaces, dumping bags of clothes and gear and stretching the soreness of muscles.

“What do you think about over there?” Lexa points with her right hand, discreet, to a small patch of cleared forest floor a little further away and closer to the water than the others. Clarke studies it, but finds nothing really to write home about. She chalks it up to the aesthetic.

Bags unzip, this small compact fold out picnic table is assembled in three minutes flat thanks to Lincoln, a small cooking station set up on top that consists of griddle and a couple of pans. The good thing about traveling with near professionals, it seems, is that these tasks are completed without much need for her help, and Clarke is more than happy to be supervisor as Lexa pitches the tent with little interference on her part. Helpful or otherwise.

Clarke doesn’t complain.

--

The fire crackles, roars as it's prodded and poked and fed. Clarke watches the sparks with this kind of weary eyed acceptance, Lexa on the ground in front of her between her legs. She’s draped herself against the plane of Lexa’s back, arms tucked in between for optimal warmth, face pressed against the smooth slope of her girlfriend's shoulder, and the smell of the smoke and what remains of dinner is more than enough to make her drowsy. Her eyes open and close and minutes seem like seconds between them.

The fire is warm, but Lexa is warmer.

“--and he just wipes out, face first.” A ripple of genuine laughter rises from the earth.

Clarke opens her eyes, peering over Lexa’s shoulder at the fire and the way the flames flicker and gasp. The coals glow bright, and Lexa uses the stick she holds to push things around in the lull that follows. Clarke readjusts, unfolding her arms and wrapping them around Lexa’s waist. She feels the little hum Lexa exhales, resting the palm of her hands over Lexa’s stomach, feeling the residual heat from the fire.

Lexa shifts, and Clarke’s eyes drift closed in what she knows to be bliss. A second later she feels the kiss Lexa presses to her forehead. “Are you falling asleep?” Lexa asks, voice quiet.

Clarke nods.

“How long have you guys been together?” comes Echo’s voice from across the fire and it’s enough to sever the illusion of privacy she thought she had tucked close to Lexa’s back.

When Lexa doesn’t answer, Clarke responds, “two months,” and it comes out muffled into Lexa’s shirt. No one needs to know she’s rounding up.

“Two months? That’s it?” Echo responds and Clarke isn’t quite sure how to take the surprise that crosses her face. “Two months and you let this one drag you halfway across the country and six miles into the mountains? Must be love.”

“It sounded nice when she offered,” Clarke half-heartedly defends with a shrug, and she feels Lexa chuckle. No one needs to know that week ago she had been distracted enough that the thought of saying no hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Lexa pats her leg. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Clarke nods again, breathing in the earthy scent that clings to Lexa’s shirt. She lets go when Lexa moves to stand, her arms falling to her sides, and Lexa stretches once on her feet, languid and prolonged and Clarke watches because she can.

“Is the food taken care of?” Lexa asks no one in particular as she helps Clarke up. Once Clarke is standing, Lexa distractedly brushes the bits of dirt and grass off Clarke’s shirt.

Anya waves her off. “I’ll hang it up, don’t worry.”

“Please,” Lexa says as she reaches for Clarke’s hand.

“Hang up the food?” Clarke whispers once they’re out of the main cast of light. The pine needles crunch softly under foot and Lexa flicks on a battery powered lantern hung along the main support of the tent, plucking it from its hook. Behind them the voices carry as the conversation continues without them, but the quiet ring of Lexa’s laughter is unmistakable.

“Bears.”

“Bears?” Clarke squeaks. Her grip on Lexa’s hand tightens.

Lexa glances back at the noise, and Clarke can see bits of fire dancing playfully in her eyes before she turns back around. Lexa gently coaxes her right hand from Clarke’s grasp, reaching for the zipper of the tent and tugging. The zipper whirs. “We’re in the open woods, Clarke. Of course there are bears.”

Lexa ducks inside after slipping off her shoes and Clarke sticks close, scrambling in under the flap. The soft glow of the lantern spills out into the nooks and crannies, and Lexa places it near the edge and then neatly goes about stripping from her tank. She pulls a loose t-shirt from her bag, slips it over her head.  

Clarke follows suit. She finds a pair of sweatpants that are most likely Lexa’s, clothes thrown together, split between two backpacks when they hastily packed the night before. Things pile in the little divot around the perimeter of the tent, shirts Clarke doesn’t have the energy to wrestle back into her bag, stepping out of her pants and into the sweats as Lexa begins laying out the sleeping bags over the air mattress.

“It gets cold at night.”

Clarke lets out a huff of laughter, precariously balanced on one foot as she peels off a sock. “I’m cold right now.”

“There’s something to be said about consistency, then,” Lexa says with this quiet, teasing smile. “I have an extra blanket.”

Clarke shakes her head, tossing her socks in the general vicinity of her bag. Lexa watches them sail past their mark.

“Not a word,” Clarke says as she plops down at the edge of the mattress, glancing towards Lexa but her eyes find the insufferable quirk to Lexa’s lips. There are no words, just the widening of Lexa’s smile as she trails after her, bending over to brace her hands on either side of Clarke’s thighs. The mattress stiffens under the extra weight as Lexa leans in to kiss her.

“I’m glad you came.”

--

She sleeps like the dead, though according to Lexa that isn’t really anything new. It is a surprise considering the current... accommodations, but all things considered, Lexa is with her. Sleep is going to be as good as ever.

And for once when she wakes up Lexa is still beside her.

Clarke blinks, half of mind to think it’s a mirage. She doesn’t bother clearing her throat, and her voice comes out as gravely as coarse sandpaper. “You’re still here?”

Lexa smiles even though she doesn’t open her eyes. “Were you not expecting me to be?”

“I figured you’d be taking advantage of having basically the entire wilderness at our doorstep,” Clarke says, sneaking a cold hand under the hem of Lexa’s shorts.

“We’re here for a week,” Lexa drawls, the sound turning into this low hum somewhere deep in her throat. “I have plenty of time.”

[lunatens]

sunrise

word count: 1380

genre: magic au, fluff

pairing: gender neutral forest nymph!reader x water nymph!chan

summary: you always watch the sunrise with your bff chan but today you accidentally slept in

song rec: sunrise - got7 (jb) (haha wow i really tried hard with this one huh but the lyrics and everything work perfectly so!!)

a/n: okay i finallY wrote this after a billion years and i’ve decided i’m in love with chan anyways hope y’all enjoy!!

~

“wake up, sleepyhead,” chan’s voice fills your ear, and you pry open an eye to see his face hovering in front of yours. you jump in shock, suddenly wide awake, and chan sits up with a laugh. you shoot him a glare and rub the sleep from your eyes, then brush the morning dew from your shoulders. the early sun is just peeking over the horizon, golden rays of light streaming through the forest, and the sky is wearing faded pinks and blues and oranges, the subtle colours all melting into each other in the way that you love.

“i wanted to sleep more,” you grumble, but you aren’t really upset. you sit up from your little den in the bushes, and chan sticks out an arm to help you up.

“well, good morning to you too,” he says sarcastically. he grunts a little with the effort of pulling you up before continuing.

“we’re late to watch the sunrise; i’m surprised the birds didn’t wake you,” chan says, nudging you as the two of you walk barefoot over the soft layer of dirt and pine needles covering the forest floor.

“they’re my friends, they let me sleep in. sometimes.” you say with a smile. now that you’re awake, the birds of the forest have begun singing their melodies, choruses of chirps and tweets bringing life to the forest as they greet you good morning. you pause when you spy the tiny bright green tip of a plant trying to poke its way up from the soil, larger, leafier plants blocking it from the sunlight it’s desperately trying to reach. you crouch down and help it grow, feeling satisfied as you watch the plant wind it’s way up from the ground. it’s new leaves unfurl to catch the rays of sun, and you feel the plant’s relief. you reach back to lightly tap at chan’s leg, asking for his help. he gets the message and you smile when you see the dirt around the bottom of the plant grow dark with dampness.

“it says thanks for the drink,” you say as you stand back up, brushing off the dirt from your palms.

“i don’t know how you do it,” chan says, smiling and shaking his head at you as you continue walking towards the river.

“well i mean it’s not that hard, chan, growing little plants like that is nothing! you should see what it takes to—“

“no, not growing the plant; you take such good care of the forest, y/n. how you even noticed that little plant beneath all the undergrowth is beyond me. without you, this forest wouldn’t even be half as beautiful as it is right now,” he says, almost mumbling that last part. you blush at his words, suddenly taking interest in a toad sitting in a small patch of sunlight. “ooh, bet you think he’s the most beautiful thing in this forest; i saw you eyeing him when y’all were swimming yesterday, i KNOW you were staring at his abs,” its croaky voice mocks you, and you scowl at it (probably because it’s right), prompting chan to laugh at your suddenly sour face.

“what’s that face for!!” he asks, squishing your cheeks. you swat his hands away.

“nothing important, the toad just made a stupid comment.”

“what did it say??”

“it’s a secret,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him. he pouts at you in return.

“oh come on, that’s no fair; i always tell you what the fish say!! like yesterday, the minnows would NOT shut up about about how good your hair looked,” he protests. your cheeks burn even more red; it’s not like compliments from chan never happened, but recently he’d been making more and more little comments that made the butterflies in your stomach go wild. you try to ignore it, pretending like your best friend’s comments just fly over your head. in reality, they most certainly do not, but you are definitely not ready to risk confessing to chan (which you sometimes are very close to doing, like yesterday when you were sitting beside him on the riverbank dipping your toes in the water and the way the sun caught his hair made it look like spun gold and his eyes sparkled like the water of the creek and his lips looked soft flower petals and you just wanted to KISS him) because you don’t think you could handle it if he were to reject you, his flirting merely just him being kind; no, best not to risk it and to just settle for best friends with chan for now.

“oh look, we’re at your pond already,” you say, trying to change the topic, and chan responds with an annoyed huff. you go to step out onto the surface of the water, then pause. “don’t let me get drenched this time,” you warn. yesterday, chan had gotten distracted by a butterfly that had landed in your hair and forgot to focus on helping you walk across the water, so you were unpleasantly submerged in the cold water of his pond.

“oh yeah, sorry about that,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry. you cautiously place your foot on the water, letting out a sigh of relief when you stay upright. the cool liquid moulds to the shape of your foot, supporting your weight as you skip across the pond towards the waterfall. you reach the other side and begin to nimbly clamber up the rocks to the top. chan follows suit, and you sit together on the big flat rock at the top. the sun is fully in the sky now, and you let its rays hit your faces—up here, higher above the trees, it’s much brighter than in the thickly canopied forest below.

“yeah, we definitely missed the sunrise,” chan comments, sounding mildly disappointed.

“it’s okay, we see get to see it pretty much every day, i’m sure missing it once doesn’t hurt,” you say. you feel a little bad, but it shouldn’t really be a big deal. “besides, it didn’t look like it was going to be anything extraordinary,” you say to try and make chan feel a bit better. he merely sighs at your words, gazing off towards the horizon and thinking in silence before turning to look at you.

“it’s always extraordinary,” he says, and you look at him in confusion. there’s a quiet pause while you sit there, your legs dangling off the rocky ledge, little droplets of mist from the waterfall speckling your skin (it’s not a big waterfall by any means, but it’s definitely large enough to still make your head spin a little from the height). chan tentatively reaches his hand up to cup your face, his thumb softly caressing your cheek.

“it’s always extraordinary because you’re always here with me,” he says, voice barely audible over the rushing water. your breath catches and your heart beats double time. chan’s eyes flicker down to your mouth then back to your eyes, hesitating, almost as if asking permission. in perhaps your bravest moment yet, you close the distance between you and you press your lips to his. they’re soft, just like you thought they’d be, and they remind you of how it feels when you run your fingers along the dainty petals of a newly grown wildflower. he tastes of the purest water imaginable, refreshing and cool, like when you step in the shallows of chan’s pond on a hot day and giggle as the minnows tickle your feet. chan moves his hand to the back of your head, and he deepens the kiss.

eventually the need for air prompts you to pull apart, breathless and grinning wide from ear to ear, both of you giggling softly.

“i’m sorry we missed the sunrise,” you say, although it feels silly now. chan let’s out a laugh, eyes wrinkling with his smile and dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“it’s okay, i think this was much better than a sunrise,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing a kiss on your forehead, and you can’t help but agree as the two of you sit there looking over the forest as if it’s your kingdom, a realm for you and chan to rule together for eternity.

[clumsydarknut]

The Spirit of the Hero - Chapter 1

My take on the AU by Jojo over at @linkeduniverse . I loved the design and the idea, but did some tweaking to the character ages and origins to better fit my plot. Hope it’s good. Enjoy.

Beginning (That’s this! Hi!) | Next | Most Recent (more to follow)

               Link jolted awake. The cold air forced its way into his lungs more than he inhaled it. His heart pounded in his chest as he panted. Wha-? Where-?

               Above him was a dark piece of sky outlined by thick branches. As the shock wore off he became aware of the chilled earth beneath him. He grasped at the soft pine needles on the forest floor to bring some life to his limbs. Bending his frozen fingers stung, but at least they still worked.

               With some effort he sat up, putting a hand to his head. Soft moonlight outlined a small clearing, rimmed by towering pine trees. Only small tufts of grass poked up through the thick bed of needles and pinecones. Obviously, very few beings had ever set foot here, meaning that whatever forest this was, he was very deep into it. But where exactly is this? More importantly, how did I get here? He squinted at the patch of stars above him, tracing from star to star in the hopes of finding a familiar constellation. None appeared, but very few were visible anyway.

               Sighing, he turned his attention away from the sky. His fingers, though cold, were far from frostbitten, and none of the forest dust had seemed to settle on his soft green tunic. With further inspection he found the soles of his boots spotless, and his hair mostly without tangles. However he had gotten here, he hadn’t been here long. What was I doing? Where was I before?

               Images of a castle interior flashed through his mind. Warm smiles, laughter, music. Next to him, a woman in pink with beautiful auburn hair. That’s right. The feast. Her awakening feast. The Princess had just given a toast, and then… Link gasped and began searching his pockets. Sword, shield, bow, potions, but where is it? It can’t be gone.

               At last, in the bottom of his rupee pouch, his hand clasped around the small wooden box. It’s still here. Good. His relief quickly turned into confusion. But if I still have it, what happened? I was about to make my toast, and… Try as he might, the last thing he could remember was clinking his goblet with his spoon. This is all too strange. An invasion? But I seem unharmed. Magic, perhaps? But I wasn’t wearing this tunic at the feast. What magic would change my clothes but also provide me with my weapons?

               The wind licked his face and sent a chill down his spine. Whatever had happened, trying to puzzle it out here would do little good. There was little in the way of shelter. Traversing the woods at night wasn’t ideal either, but the moon was at its peak. The light wouldn’t be this good for much longer.

               Link pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his equipment. With another glance at the sky he found south and started off. Though the forest was dark, it was certainly not empty. Crickets chirped and a creek bubbled in the distance. If this was the forest he was thinking of, the nearest town would surely be south. Few pine forests grew so thickly in Hyrule as the ones on the northern border. Of course, that was on the assumption that this was, in fact, Hyrule. He tried to ignore that thought and instead take comfort in the familiarity of forest travel.

               Several hours in the forest was not a bother to Link. As a child he had loved exploring the woods. Handy with a sword and fascinated by wildlife, it was one of those many adventures that led to his meeting with Impa. He had never really returned from that adventure. Then again, he hadn’t much to return to in the first place. By then, the wilderness had become more of a home to him than… well, he couldn’t remember much about his life in the village. Both life in the village and life in the castle seemed equally foreign to him.

               But I can learn to live in a castle, he chuckled, ducking under another branch. For her, I can learn to live in a castle.

               As the moon began to dip the trees began to thin. Pine needle carpets gave way to more underbrush, and animal tracks became more common. He was entering a younger portion of the woods where the trees weren’t quite so tall, letting him see further ahead. In the distance he could see the gleam of water. No rumble of waves, so probably not a river. A lake, maybe? The water source was a good sign that civilization might be nearby. But just as the forest could harbor wolves and monsters, so could towns harbor thieves. He caught sight of a plume of smoke and tightened the strap on his wallet.

               Link crept from the tree line into what appeared to be a traveler’s town. The dirt road, winding along between cottages and small gardens, was well worn. The heavy wheel ruts told him it had seen many wagons. Other than the lake, the village seemed absent of any valuable resources. Likely a halfway point between two larger towns. Far enough apart that a rest stop is warranted. There must be an inn of sorts somewhere.

               Walking along the path, he quickly found what he was looking for. In the center of town, right on the waterfront, stood the town’s only three-story building. Above the main doors hung a sign bearing “The White Wolfos Inn” in cracked blue and white paint. Propped up in one of the windows, a slate read “Home of Hyrule’s Best Ale!” So I am in Hyrule. He reached for the door.

               “It won’t open. It’s after hours.”

               The voice made Link jump. Left of the door on a bench sat a young man roughly the same age as he. About a head shorter, he sported a traveler’s cloak, well-worn boots, brown trousers, and leather gauntlets. His golden hair was straight and cut off at the jaw, but wavy tufts here and there made it appear as though it took a lot of work to keep it that way. Across his forehead was tied a deep green headband, and beneath the cloak Link could see what looked like a tunic pieced together with four different colored fabrics – green, red, blue, and purple.

               “I tried knocking already, and no luck,” the boy continued, “but I’m not surprised, seeing it’s about three in the morning.” He gestured to the bench. Link took the seat but made sure to keep a hand on his wallet.

               “This may seem like a strange question,” Link began, “but may I ask what town this is? I seem to have gotten somewhat… turned around while hunting.”

               The boy raised his eyebrow. “Funny you should say that. I’m in a similar situation myself. Then again what other reason is there for arriving at an inn so late at night?”

               Link chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.” Both fell silent. A few minutes passed and a slight wind gave Link a chill. He clenched and unclenched his fists and his fingers cried out for relief from the cold.

               “Perhaps I will try knocking,” he said at last and got to his feet. He gave three solid raps on the hard wood and paused to listen.

               Just as he was going to knock again the door latch clicked and a figure pulled the door open enough to peek through. The other young man got to his feet at the sound. A curly-haired woman holding a lit candle peered through the gap.

               “What do you want?” she asked firmly. Obviously this woman was in charge.

               “Just lodging, ma’am,” Link replied calmly. Best not to appear suspicious. “There are two of us out here looking for a bed and a warm fire, if they are to be had.”

               The woman sighed and opened the door further. Scanning both Link and the young man up and down, she swung the door wide and beckoned them inside. “Come in, come in, jus’ be quick about it. God knows how many more o’ ya will show up ‘tween now an’ sunrise. Every time I open this door it’s another log on the fire and my husband won’t be ‘appy if he ‘as to go cut more before breakfast.”

               “More of us?” the young man puzzled. “How do you mean?”

               “Oh,” the woman chuckled as she shut the door, “Nothin’ by it young master. There’ve just been a few other travelers arrivin’ tonight after hours. Seems as though that storm yesterday afternoon caught some by surprise and got a fair number o’ people lost.”

               “Ah,” Link said. I suppose that’s a lucky coincidence.

               The woman led the two of them up to the second floor and down to the end of the hall. “I hope you masters don’t mind sharing a room. We’re hosting a party what got stranded by the storm and so we’re a bit short on space. If it’s any comfort to ya there are two cabinets that lock solid fer any of yer belongings need safekeeping.” She pulled a large key ring out of the pocket of her wool robe and fingered through until she found what she was looking for, poking the key into the lock and giving it a twist. The door swung open to reveal a simple, cozy room with two beds, a hearth, a washbasin, and two large chestnut armoires. “There ought to be firewood, and the bedding is all fresh. Regular pricing is 30 rupees a night wit’ breakfast, but we can discuss tha’ in the mornin’. Would the masters like me to send someone to start the fire?”

               “No, thank you ma’am,” the young man replied. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

               The woman nodded, satisfied. “Well, best of rest to ya. Keys to the room and the cabinets should be on the pillows. If ya need anythin’, housekeepin’ is the door at the top o’ the stairs.”

               The woman retreated down the hall, leaving Link and the stranger to settle in. Neither seemed particularly comfortable sharing the space, but both found the alternative – sleeping out front in the cold – undesirable enough that neither mentioned their discomfort. He seems polite enough, Link thought. Still, better lock up my things.

               Link took the closer bed and began removing his equipment. The young man set to lighting a fire, giving him the opportunity to stow his more valuable items in secret. Most travelers had wallets, but few had rarities like his magic rod. It was better no one knew he had such an item; locks were only meant to keep honest people honest, as thieves could and would pick locks. A prize like that was one no thief could resist.

               He kept a wary eye on his roommate as he too began settling in. When the stranger removed his cloak, Link was tempted to stare. The tunic he boasted was pieced together from four different tunics laced with gold embroidery. Link would have been convinced he was royalty if the four colors weren’t stitched together so haphazardly with thick brown yarn. The boy was also quite spindly. The only thing that told Link they were the same age was the lack of baby fat on his jaw. Something about him seemed familiar, too, but logic kept his curiosity at bay. When the stranger laid a gold-hilted shortsword on the bedspread, Link pretended not to notice. Just another traveler. It isn’t as if my blade is any less impressive.

               Link considered locking his blade in his cabinet, but instead propped it against the bed. The silver, ruby-encrusted hilt shimmered in the dim light. If the stranger noticed it, he hadn’t let it show.

               Finished settling in and itching for warmth, Link slipped off his boots and crawled into the soft feather bed. Now, with only the crackling fire to break the silence, the strangeness of his situation came to the forefront of his mind. Where exactly was he? How had he gotten here? Most importantly, how was he to get back? Were his friends okay? Was she okay? What of Hyrule? The innkeeper had let them in in the dead of night without a lick of suspicion, so if Hyrule were in crisis, she didn’t seem to know. The frustration of trying to remember what had happened didn’t lend itself to easy sleep, but he was warm. Warm and alive. That would have to do for the night, and he could figure out the rest in the morning.

               In the other bed, unbeknownst to Link, the stranger lay plagued by the same questions.

[written-s0ul]

Finding Home (5)

Summary: Avengers High School AU. Gender neutral reader-insert. You, the new kid, just want to be left alone. But instead, you get the Avengers gang – and maybe, a new home too.

Warnings: Cursing. Hangover. Vomit. SO MUCH ANGST OMG.

Author’s Note: I am SO SORRY THIS TOOK A WHILE. I’ve had a hella busy week, so I only managed to finish it today. This was supposed to be uber fluffy, but it ended being uber heavy, omg. Get ready for that! Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Finding Home: Part #1: beginning. Part #2: accusation. Part #3: restless. Part#4: coin. Part #5: haze.

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5: haze

n. a state of confusion

Light exploded on your eyelids. Stinging and blinding, you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the abrupt burst of brightness. A few moments passed before your vision cleared, and you were met with a gray sky. Wait – what?

You sat up, alert, and – fuck. A dozen knives stabbed your brain, the world around you hazy and tilting, forcing you to shut your eyes and rest back on – some pillows? You frowned. Looking around with greater care, you realized you were on a single-bed mattress, thick and soft despite being on the carpeted floor, with a fluffy blanket on top of you, at the corner of some kind of white room.

With your hands, you propped yourself up against the wall, wincing when your joints cracked, then ached to a dull throb, and the stabbing in your brain multiplied and intensified to several dozen needles. Now with a better view of the area, you realized it wasn’t even a room. It was an entire floor, like a studio apartment, but expansive enough to install maybe two or three rooms. Scattered around it, in reasonable distances from one another, were other mattresses, a few neatly made up but most not, and a lot of sleeping bags – five of which were occupied.

With most of them were wrapped in their sleeping bags and their backs to you, distorting their figure, deciphering who they were was a challenge. But across the room, low snores drifted from a massive figure, sprawled across a mattress. Then, you recognized the golden tresses. Your eyes widened. Thor.

Your eyes flitted to the other figures, recognizing them one by one: Sam, Scott, Pietro, Clint – the last of which was so tightly enveloped in a blanket he looked like a cinnamon roll with blonde hair poking out at one end. Memories flooded your throbbing brain: a blazing campfire, a glinting coin, several cans of beer, laughter and laughter and laughter. The Facility. You were at the Facility – at their own hang-out whatever. This must be the second floor, if the staircase leading downstairs was any indication.

But how did you get here? To this frameless bed?

Pushing yourself up, you rose from the mattress, and swayed a bit before catching yourself and fixing your relationship with gravity. Then – fuck – another light explosion. You looked up, squinting at the glass ceiling. Thick and heavy clouds with dark backsides rolled into the dusty gray sky, hiding the world’s greatest source of illumination. But not even that could stop it, as it appeared once again, peeking it from a gap between the clouds, brilliant in spite of the depressing colors of everything else. It still hurt.

You shuffled towards the staircase, tip-toeing in between sleeping bags with immense caution. With all the alcohol these folks consumed last night, no doubt they’d have chainsaws splitting their skulls once they wake up – and you’d rather be damned to hell than be a part of that.

Reaching the railing by the staircase, you caught the faint sounds of silverware hitting porcelain and the distinct scent of coffee. Now leaning over it, you spotted a few familiar heads sitting around a kitchen island, their soft hum of chatter drifting up to you, the aroma of grounded beans much stronger. Just the smell of it cleared the brain-stabbing, like a gust of wind blowing away leaves strewed around an unkempt yard, and stirred something in your stomach, making its lack of nourishment prominent–

“Looks like it’s going well,” a timid voice asked from the bottom. You looked down, squinting. It sounded like Bruce.

“I’m kind of proud us,” another said, somewhere distant. A soft click, like the satisfying sound of a kettle being returned to its place, resounded in the room. A figure stepped out, taking one of the bar stools around the kitchen island with a mug in hand. You realized it was Rhodey. “Never knew we could pull that off. Oh, nice brewing, Vis.”

“Thank you,” Jarvis said, stepping out with a mug and the clanking of a spoon against porcelain. He settled himself against the counter across them. “Natasha, I have noticed, has talent in matters such as these. She plans them well. Otherwise, Y/N would not have opened up so willingly.”

Your brows furrowed. Pull what off? Plans? You opening up? What could they be talking about–

Something stirred in your stomach, fluid and heavy. It rose and tickled the back of your throat – oh, shit.

You wasted no time padding down the stairs. One foot after the other, fast and urgent, despite the occasional creak of your worn joints. You had to press a hand against your lips, just in case you opened them on instinct.

Someone called out your name. “Hey, g’morning!” Looking up, you were greeted with Rhodey’s grinning features, followed by a smile from Bruce and a nod from Jarvis. Something felt strained with the way they were looking at you. “You’re up early,” Rhodey said.

Whatever was on your throat has receded, leaving a bitter aftertaste, just as you reached the ground floor. Your features twisted, disgusted. “Guessing the morning isn’t good for you?” Bruce said, corners of his lips falling.

You shook your head, but stopped immediately when it made the brain-stabbing worse. No more head moving, alright. Then, there it was again, shooting up your throat like a canon, and you pressed a fist tighter against your sealed lips. Lurching forward, you scrambled towards the bathroom.

Just as you grabbed the doorknob, it swung open, Tony in his crimson robes stepping out of it. He threw a look at you, but you only pushed him aside, another wave hitting you, rising from your stomach and spilling onto your tongue. In a heartbeat, you were kneeling in front of the toilet, arms around it. You poured it all out.

Heaving out a few more times, you felt fingers sweep away the strands of hair stuck on your sweaty face, gathering them to a bunch above your head. Now, you felt the hand making circles on your back, reassuring and somewhat calming. You wretched out some more. “Get some painkillers,” a voice said behind you – Tony, you realized – “And an entire pitcher of water. Pour a glass too.”

You heard hurried footsteps, the open and shut of cupboards, then your own dry-heaving. His hand patted you on the back. “Right, let it all out. Flush it before we scar ourselves.”

Lifting your head from the bowl, you complied, watching as the indistinct matter you’ve just disgorged spun against the white porcelain in sickening hues, until, like a breath being sucked in, it vanished. You rested back, only to feel a hand stop you. You squinted up at Tony’s towering figure, just as he lowered himself and reached out with a towel, wiping whatever was dripping at the corners of your mouth. Heat shot up to your face, your cheeks pinking. “I–”

“Do us a favor and keep your mouth shut. Your breath can kill us,” he said, rising and setting the towel aside. Immediately, you pursed your lips. “C’mon, let’s get you up.” With his arm around you, you managed to stand, swaying a bit at first before finally straightening, and both of you lumbered out of the bathroom. “How’s your head?”

Like it was being drilled through with a hundred nails, you thought, but only managed some unintelligible groans. After some shuffling across the room, you were back on the kitchen island, on a seat someone pulled out, in front of a few pills and a glass of water, surrounded by the other three boys. “Drink up. It’ll help with the headache,” Tony said, gesturing to the pill.

Without hesitation, you tossed it into your mouth, then downed the whole glass of water in one gulp. Setting it down, you winced, tasting the leftover bitterness of your vomit. You felt a hand on your shoulder. “You alright?” Rhodey asked, lips twisted.

Your gaze fell on your now refilled glass – which you downed again without much of a breath; less bitter now – then to a nearby, yellow mug. You squinted at it. Holy shit, that’s hella white coffee. So blindingly pale; not even a taint of the brown powdered bits. “Why is your coffee so white?” you asked, following the length of the arm from the hand gripping it.

Bruce’s brows shot up, along with the edges of his lips, amused. “It’s milk,” he said. “I like warm milk in the morning.”

Someone patted you on the back. “Get some rest, bud,” Tony said, as he shuffled away to a desk at a corner you haven’t noticed before. It was loaded with some pretty, techy stuff. “You’ll feel a shit ton better after a long nap.”

Nap, you thought, yearning, as your head throbbed, duller than before. Your gaze drifted back to your glass, now again refilled. How does that happen? Brows furrowed, you spotted the pitcher of water, held by long and lanky fingers. Oh, Jarvis owns that hand. Yep, he does.

“Want to go back upstairs?” someone said. You shifted your head to the voice, saw Rhodey’s concerned face looking down at you, his hand still on your shoulder.

Upstairs. You squinted up at him, blinked a few times, perplexed, then raised your hands to rub the exhaustion off of your eyes. How did you even …

“You fell asleep while Thor was telling another glory story,” Rhodey said, sensing your confusion. Beside him, Jarvis nodded, adding: “Subsequently, Natasha and Bucky brought you upstairs. I’m afraid Thor was not pleased.”

That made sense. The last thing you remember was the sound of Thor’s guffaws and his enthused gestures. You hummed in response, raising your glass of water and draining it once more.

“Thanks so much, by the way,” Rhodey said, glaring at Bruce. “For leaving me to clean up their mess.”

“I believe I provided adequate assistance,” Jarvis said, raising a brow.

He patted him on the back. “Which I’m grateful for, bud.”

Lowering his mug, Bruce’s eyes widened, mouth gaping as he raised one hand, as if to appear innocent. “I had to go to bed early. Otherwise, I’ll be like–”

“Scrooge from A Christmas Carol,” Tony said, perking up from his tinkering. “Or Thor when he’s craving poptarts. Pietro without weed for a week. Vis when he hasn’t seen Wanda all day–” Jarvis frowned at this. “Oh! Steve when Bucky misses another one of their threesomes with Wilson–”

“You made your point, Tony,” Bruce said, unamused.

“Gimme a new category,” he said. “I can do this all day.”

Your body swayed, shifting your gaze to the couch. The couch. So big, so soft-looking, so comfy. You stood up from your seat.

“Going up now?” Rhodey asked, brows knitted. But you only waved him away, and shuffled down towards the couch, its plush cushions so inviting, so tempting, so welcoming.

“Do you require any–” Jarvis said, just before you threw yourself on it, head first. So big, so soft. Mmmm. “I suppose not.”

Curling up on the couch, Jarvis’s voice and everything else faded in the background, as your eyelids fell, and the world was dark. Soon, it was quiet too.

Riiiiiing, riiiiiiiing!

What the hell – can someone kill that, please? It was buzzing, vibrating on something solid, somewhere nearby. You groaned, and pulled the soft, cotton blanket on top of you above your head, but it did little to mute the noise. Wait, when did you get a blanket –

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders, shaking you and calling out your name. “Sorry about this,” a voice said, soft and regretful but urgent. Was that Bruce? “But it’s your dad.”

Your eyes opened wide. Oh, shit. Jumping off the couch – Bruce stumbling back, having been leaning over you – your head whipped around for the vibrating device, and – on the coffee table! You grabbed it, pulling it towards you, until it came up short. The corners of your lips fell, just as your gaze did, dropping onto the edge of your phone and spotting the cable shoved onto its battery hole. You pulled it out, pressed answer, and brought your phone onto your ear. “Hey–” You stopped, cleared your throat. Still dry. “Hey, Dad,” you said, attempting nonchalance.

He called out your name, surprised. “I’ve been calling you all morning! Where are you? Are you still at that Tony Stank’s house?” he asked. Wait, did you send him a text message of your whereabouts?

“Stark, Dad, his name is Tony Stark,” you said, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. The last thing you could remember was jotting down a mental note to text him where you were. But did you? “And yeah, I am … at Tony’s house.” Technically, you weren’t. But it was close enough. “I would have told you earlier, but my phone ran out of battery. Just charged it now.” Your gaze followed the cable, trailing to a socket. Who charged this?

Shoes tapped against linoleum, and you looked up, finding Bruce’s retreating figure, heading back to the kitchen island. There, Rhodey and Jarvis sat, with a textbook and a few notebooks, the former looking at you with furrowed brows and the latter immersed in whatever he was scribbling on paper. Rhodey raised a questioning thumbs-up. You returned it, weak but reassuring, just as a memory popped in your mind–

Your father breathed out a sigh, relieved. “Oh, okay, good. I was already thinking of coming by to pick you up–”

“Oh, god no!” you said, jumping up from your seat. Everyone perked up, Rhodey and Jarvis from their homework, Bruce from pouring a mug with coffee and Tony from his desk. It would probably be better to have this conversation outside. Heading to the back door, you slid it to the side and stepped out onto the back porch.

You cleared your throat. “I mean, that’s unnecessary, Dad. Really. I’m okay.” With your free hand, you rubbed circles on your temples, straightening out the creased skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to sleep over here. Got carried away, I guess.”

“You had fun, didn’t you?” he said, voice softening.

Stepping onto the gravel ground, you raised your head, gaze landing on the fire pit. Practically spotless, the remains of last night’s burnt wood have been dusted off, as if nothing had even happened last night. But it didn’t feel that way. Not with the surrounding logs and chairs still around it, almost untouched. In a blink of an eye, you were back: sitting at that log with Natasha and Clint, Pietro and Jarvis offering you s'mores, Sam and Rhodey passing by beer cans, Thor telling his tales of adventure, Tony and Peter piping up with sarcastic commentary, Steve calming everyone down when it got too loud. The edges of your lips tilted up. It was more than just fun.

Your father’s voice pierced through your thoughts, calling out your name. Looking up at the gray sky, your lips stretched wider, warmth settling into your chest despite the passing, cool breezes. “Yeah, Dad, I had fun. Lots of it.”

“Well, that’s good. Good you enjoyed the party,” he said, kinder now. “And made friends! You made friends now, huh?”

You froze. Party? How did he know it was a party? “Dad, did you get a text from me last night?”

“Hmm?” he said, sounding distracted. It sounded somewhat strained, as though he knew he just did something he shouldn’t have. “You didn’t send me anything.”

Your brows furrowed. If that’s the case … “Well, I never said I was going to a party at Tony’s.”

For a few moments, the only sound was the hum of the communication line between the two of you. Then, he sucked in a breath. “Okay. Mr. Coulson told me.”

Your brows shot up. “Mr. Coulson?”

“He – he told us about the party the other day. We were supposed to convince you last night to go, but you, well – apparently, you went ahead,” he said, tone resigned. “He called last night. Told us where you were.”

You frowned. But it didn’t make sense. How could Mr. Coulson have known? About the party, about where you were? Not once did you contact him last night; you’re sure of it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, love,” your father said, piercing through your thoughts. “I – well, your mother and I, we weren’t allowed to interfere, since you were progressing so well.”

Progressing? What the hell does that mean? You pressed your lips together. Looking down, you kicked a pebble, watched as it bounced across the others, disappearing behind ankle-high grass that led to the surrounding forest. “I don’t get how he knew all of this.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I thought you knew.”

Your brows knitted together. “Knew what?”

“That girl – what’s her name? The one he assigned you to?”

“Natasha?”

“Yeah! Her,” he said. You could imagine him nodding along with his own words. “She lives with Mr. Coulson, hun. He adopted her.”

Your heart slammed against your eardrums, booming and silencing the world around you. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. Something tugged in your mind, a memory. Natasha told me everything, you remembered Tony saying yesterday. Then, Jarvis, this morning: Natasha plans well. Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t have opened up so willingly. “She – he – they planned this?” you asked, voice hushed. The world suddenly fell silent, all sounds – even your own heartbeat – shrinking to a low hum in the background, lower and lower until it was nothing, sucked away by a vacuum.

“Ever since you were assigned to Natasha. Mr. Coulson had to check on me before they went for it, but it sounded like a good idea.”

Ever since … what? It’s like you’re back at the house, last night, listening as the voices of your parents sparred. Your lungs stuffed with smoke, clogging up your nose, your throat. Air wasn’t coming in right, not at the sound of your shallow breaths. Your knees quivered, your legs weak. It was so hard to breathe. Why was it so hard to breathe?

The sound of your father’s voice calling your name took you out of your reverie, your eyes fluttering as you returned back to Earth, gasping for breath. “Are you there? Hey, hun?” You shook your head, one hand running through your hair and tugging on the strands hard enough for your head to throb at every pull. Spinning around, you froze as your gaze fell onto a hooded figure at the side of the house. He stood with his ancient iPhone in hand, mouth gaping. Bucky, you realized. How long has he been standing there? Does he know? Does he know about this?

“Okay, your mom just woke up. I can hear her getting ready upstairs. She’s probably not going to be happy that I let her sleep in today, although technically, it’s just a half past nine. But anyway, come home soon, okay? Love to hear how the party went. Oh and I have last night’s dinner heated up already!” your father said. Click. The line went dead.

You stared at Bucky, just as your arm went limp, lowering your phone to your side. He stepped forward, then hesitated, unsure. He must have heard. He must have.

“I …” he said, swallowing. “It was …” He pressed his lips together, jaw clenched, as he looked away, eyes hardening at his inability to explain himself.

“Did you know?” you asked. Then, suddenly surging with fury, something inside you breaking, you rushed forward, shoving your phone in his face. “Did you know about this?”

His long lashes fluttered, flinching, before he moved his head to face you. He opened those stony, blue eyes, and it said it all. I’m sorry.

“We’re back!”

Both of your heads spun to the house, as a cheer erupted, familiar voices in varying volumes and degrees of joy drifting to where you were. You glanced back at Bucky, before climbing up the steps of the back porch and pulling the back door to the side.

They were all there. Rhodey, T’Challa and Bruce, with piles of homework, and now a sleepy Scott, Pietro, and Sam on the kitchen island, nursing mugs of coffee; Steve took out styrofoam containers that smelt something like shawarma from a plastic bag, Tony and Thor eagerly opening it, the amorous odor filling the room; while Jarvis and Wanda removed canned goods, chips and pastries from Walmart shopping bags. The refrigerator door slammed closed, and there she was. Natasha.

Bruce looked up at your entrance, gesturing to a mug nearby. “I made you coffee–” Something in your expression caught his eye, and he frowned. He called out your name, a perplexed lilt in his tone.

Catching this, Steve looked up at him, then at you, his firm hands folding up the now empty plastic bag. One corner of his lips perked up. “Hey! Breakfast’s here. Sorry, we took so long, we had to pick up T’Cha–” His eyes glanced behind you, and the smile fell.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Bucky enter the room, shaking his head ever so slightly. “What – what’s going on?” Steve said, the confusion and concern in his tone grabbing attention. You looked back at them, just as everyone fell silent, creases on their foreheads and brows knitted together, their eyes on you.

“I need–” you said, voice dry. You swallowed, thick rolls of saliva moistening your desert-crisp throat, then tried again. “I need you guys to tell me the truth.”

Thor let go of the plate in his hand, turning his body to face you, his unruly yet glorious, golden mane swaying at the movement. “What troubles you, table-tosser?”

You winced at the nickname, memories of your past resurfacing, but pushed it aside. “Is it true?” you asked, facing them with steel eyes. “Was this all planned?”

Sam frowned, nose scrunching. “What are you–”

“You know what I’m talking about!” you said, stepping forward. Your hand gripped your phone tight, practically squeezing it, your fingers trembling. “The party, everything you told me last night. Did you plan it all?”

Everyone exchanged glances, their gazes having a conversation in their minds that you couldn’t hear. You looked at Natasha. She kept her eyes down, face unreadable. This was an answer enough.

“You kept pushing us away, bud,” Tony said, breaking the silence. He leaned against the kitchen island, folding his arms beneath his chest. “There weren’t many options.”

“So, you set up all of this?” you said. Something boiled in your stomach, shooting lava into your veins, and the hair on your arms jumping upright. But Tony only averted his gaze, huffing out a sigh.

Beside him, Steve shared a meaningful look with Natasha, before he turned to you, his face solemn as a grave. “We didn’t know how else you were going to open up to us.” You could hear it: the crack of your heart, like the land splintering at the first tremble of the earth, threads of opening cracks snaking around the surface. His brows furrowed, and his eyes glinted, begging you to understand. “We did it for you.”

We. He said we. “You were all in on it,” you said, voice soft. “Ever since the beginning.” And they did it for you. They lied, they pretended, they deceived you for you. The lava inside you flared, your limbs thrumming with its blood-boiling heat.

Natasha looked at you now, stepping forward, calling out your name–

“Was any of it real?” you asked, stopping her. You stared at her, at her usually composed features, now flitting through various emotions, but even as you watched her open her mouth, ready to respond, it dawned on you: you weren’t going to believe her. You can’t now, not after all that you’ve learned. You can’t.

Shaking your head, you stepped away from her, away from all of them, and turned around, heading out the backdoor. You kept your head down, shutting the sliding door behind you with a hard shove that rang in the house, the absence of your presence now suddenly, prominently felt. A hush fell over the room.

The sound of a toilet being flushed broke the silence. The bathroom door opened, and Clint stepped out, adjusting his pants. He looked up, and seeing the look on everyone’s faces, cursed under his breath. “Gone for a minute, and everything goes to shit.”

The Facility wasn’t far from your house. Probably only fifteen minutes away, if you hadn’t gotten lost in the woods for half an hour. But you made it. It wasn’t exactly the number one place you wanted to go to, but it wasn’t like you had a lot of options. Besides, your comfortable bed would be waiting, ready to swallow you whole and away from the world.

Climbing up the front porch steps, your hand reached for the doorknob.

“–trying, okay? I have been trying, for the last three years!” Your father’s voice drifted from the door, his voice rising, trembling in frustration. “Why can’t you see that?”

“Because you haven’t tried hard enough,” your mother said, in a much lower volume, yet with the same amount of force. Her voice sounded close, though–

The door was pulled open, revealing your mother already in her office wear, composed and neat. Her stone eyes landed on you and widened, just as your father appeared behind her, looking like he had just gotten out of bed, with an apron tied around his waist. Both of them froze.

Your father was the first to move. Straightening up, he cleared his throat and gave you a watery smile. “Hey there, hun! Good you’re back! Have you eaten–”

“I’d like to speak with you,” your mother said, stepping aside.

You glanced over at her, at her stony expression, then at your father’s forced smile, and shook your head. Walking inside, you unzipped your boots and kicked them off. “I’d say I’m sorry for running out all of a sudden last night without much of an explanation, but then, you agreed to have my friends to set up a party to fool me into thinking I belong somewhere,” you said, setting the footwear aside. You straightened, heading towards the staircase. “So, don’t blame me if I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now.”

“You keep pushing everyone away, forcing yourself into isolation,” your mother said behind you. Was that a hint of – frustration? You paused mid-step, turning around to face her. Her features were set in unreadable lines. “We didn’t know how else to help you.”

Help you. You clenched your jaw, sensing the boiling in your gut returning, spewing lava all over your insides. “How is it–” you said, locking your eyes on her. “That last year, you complained when I went out too much with Quill and Gamora and the gang, and then now, you’re complaining I don’t go out at all?”

Your mother pressed her lips together. Beside her, your father stepped up, hands clasped in front of him. “This isn’t like you, hun.”

“Like me?” you said, eyes wide in disbelief. You descended one step, falling eye-level with them. “You don’t even know me! Both of you have been too caught up in your pretending everything’s okay world to even see me.”

Your father furrowed his brows. “What–”

“My room is right there, Dad,” you said, gesturing to the first door upstairs at the end of the staircase. “And I’m not deaf. Or stupid.”

Shaking her head, your mother breathed out a sigh, waving away the topic. “This is beside the point–”

“The point is why, Mom,” you said, tilting your head at the side. The flame in you was dimming down, watered down by waves of pain and resentment, leaking from the opening cracks all over the surface of your fractured heart. “Why did you do this to me?”

She stared at you, and something in her composure has broken down, corners of her lips pulling further down and her stone eyes softening. She brought her gaze down, glanced at your father. He caught this, exchanging messages through mere eyes. He looked at you. “We just want you to be happy.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. Wrong answer. “No, don’t, Dad,” you said, eyes opening, flashing with fury. “Don’t lie to me. You didn’t do this because you wanted me to be happy! You did this because you wanted to find out what was wrong with me, why I’ve been getting into trouble at school and throwing tables and locking myself in my room.”

“So, why?” Your mother stepped forward, arms crossed beneath her chest and back ramrod straight. She stared at you, dead in the eye. “Why have you been behaving like a–”

“Fuck-up?” you said, arching both brows. When they opened their mouths to protest, you raised a hand. “Don’t even deny it! Don’t pretend that’s not what you’ve been thinking, because that is what you’re thinking.” You stared at your mother. “You want to know why I’m acting like a fuck-up? Look at how you look at me, Mom, look. It’s the same exact look you give Dad.”

Her eyes widened, brows knitting. But your father looked down, fingers playing with a loose thread on his apron. You turned around, ascending the staircase with heavy footsteps. “Like we never do anything right,” you said over your shoulder. “And it doesn’t fucking help that you forced people to pretend to be my friends!” Reaching your bedroom, you made sure to slam the door behind you, locking it in case anyone followed.

A few beats passed, and – slam! Even from here, you could feel the front door trembling in its frame.

Throwing yourself onto the soft, sweet cushions of your bed, you gripped the blanket like it was the only thing holding you together. Then, finally, your heart burst. You’d think it would be an explosion of lava, but really, it was the rupture of a dam.

A/N: Well. Everything just went to shit. How you guys doing?

Tagging: (If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!)

@addictivewriter @taxesareallthatsurroundus @thatweirdgaygirl @1022bridgetp @cry-me-a-fkin-river @punkfaress @avengersandchill @do-you-mind-if-i-slytherin1 @hairdye-enthusiast @emilarose

[millie-ionaire05]

love The way You lie

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Mature (18+)

Series warnings: Mention of mental hospital, therapy sessions, mentions of past trauma, mentions of death/loss, mention of other mental hospital patients, mentions of verbal abuse,  mentions of grand theft auto, public sex (technically it’s in the office, but still in public?), gagged, oral (reader receiving), slight overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie,  I DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS.

Status: Discontinued, Last part published February 16, 2017

word count: 3,054

Synopsis: Consumed with guilt over your death, Yoongi’s trial wound him in a mental hospital, surrounded by bright white walls. The judge has ordered he receive therapy, but the therapist is….different. She brings up all of his memories, forcing his mind to relive every painful moment of your existence, and it only worsens as she digs too deep. But she has a secret of her own, and Yoongi’s determined to figure it out.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 

   Yoongi had not been as eager this time for his session, just the mere thought  of going made him want to lay down and curl in a ball. Even if the darker walls of JangMi’s office provided a more secure feeling for him, he didn’t think it would provide him any consolations when he would still be interrogated by her. 

   He sat on his bed, staring at nowhere in particular, wondering if there was a way to avoid the session. He had not made an effort to even think about questions to ask her, and after what had happened the previous week, he assumed she wouldn’t let him have that reign again. 

   His body almost sags with defeat when the knock on his door sounds, and he takes his time from rising off of the bed, dragging his feet. He made no attempt to look around the corridors they walked along; made no effort to increase the pace of his steps, and no one said anything. He wondered if he could avoid the session by pretending to be sick, but he knew they would just make him put a face mask and move on with it.

   The figure stops in front of the door, moving over slightly and gesturing for Yoongi to enter through, but Yoongi just stares. 

   Just two more sessions, he chants. Just two more sessions. 

   Yoongi reaches out, grabbing the surprisingly frigid door knob, the cold seeping into his bones and draining his already depleted energy. He twists the knob and pushes the door open, letting it swing until he hears it bang against the wall. 

   Yoongi knew he had startled JangMi, because a small squeak of surprise had come from inside the room, the sound making his heart quicken for some strange reason. Some part of him knew he should apologize, but why should he bother? By the end of the session he would be an emotional mess, and he just wanted to hurry up and skip to that part so he could just curl back up in his bed. 

   “Yoongi?” JangMi calls from the room, and Yoongi finally takes a step forward, peeking his head in to find her standing at her desk, eyes wide. 

   Yoongi’s heart starts to bang against his chest, begging to be freed from its confines, screaming so loud that his mind can’t hear its thoughts. His eyes widen on their own, roaming over her body a million times before he starts to feel dizzy. 

   Her eyes direct themselves to the figure standing just behind Yoongi. “You may leave now,” she says, before gesturing for Yoongi to come in, her figure coming around the desk, walking around him to close the door. 

   Yoongi can barely take a step towards the couch he had sat in many times before, his bones rigid and his body shaking. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It had to be a trick. He was being tortured. He was probably locked up somewhere in the building, being strapped down and poked by needles so he could be in hell. Or maybe he was finally getting his heaven. 

   “Yoongi?” she says, coming around his body to face him, her eyes wide with worry. 

   Not her eyes. Your eyes. Big and round and shining with life that he had only imagined about a million times in his head. It couldn’t be real. The blue contacts he had seen the past three times were gone, showing your true eye color. Your hair stripped of whatever dye had been in it. His hand reaches up slowly, unsure if his fingers would pass through your figure, and if he really was crazy for seeing ghosts. 

It's so insane cause when it's going good, it's going great

   Sure enough his fingers touch your skin, a breath leaving his mouth, shaky and rattled. 

   “This can't be real,” he mumbles, his hands encompassing your face, and he watches the way you lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his skin as his thumbs brush over your cheeks. 

   “Yoongi. Do you recognize me?” you ask, looking deep into his eyes. 

   You always had a way to look into his soul, to know his answer before he even knew his answer, and he could tell by the look in your eye that you knew what he’d say. His thumb runs over your bottom lip, pulling at the supple flesh, and he watches your eyes close, a shaky breath leaving your own lips.

   “How?” is all he says, incapable of forming any other words, a deep hunger starting to form inside of him as he lets himself absorb your presence.

   You sigh, stepping back from his touch and turning away, making him frown. Immediately he steps forwards, his hands trying to find a way, any way, to touch you, to make sure you weren’t going to disappear from his sight. His hand touches the base of your back, just to keep the contact, but he stays silent as he waits for your answer. 

   “After the car hit me, I died. I was dead for a solid eight minutes before they brought me back. From what the police had told me, they had to rip you away from my body so the ambulance could take me to the hospital. When they wouldn't let you see me, you tried to take one of the cop cars...,” you stop, your body starting to shake, and Yoongi could only assume you were trying to hold in your tears, the memory flashing across his eyes quickly before fear settled in and he made himself focus only on you. 

   “I spent the last two years finishing my degree so i could find you. So i could come here, and help you get out,” you finish, your trembling body leaning against the desk for support.

I'm Superman with the wind at his back, she's Lois Lane

   You turn around to face him, and his hand catches your waist, his fingers digging into your skin so he could pull you to him. His lips crash to your own, a moan immediately leaving his lips as he pushes you back against the desk. 

   His hands swipe against whatever lies on it, everything clattering to the floor before his palms slide under your thighs, lifting you so he could set you on the desk. His hands roughly grab your ass, bringing you to the edge so you can feel his hard member rub against your clothed core, a gruff moan leaving his lips. 

   His teeth bite onto your bottom lip, pulling until you whimper, his hips grinding against you until you whine, your nails running against his back. He growls, his palms roughly groping your chest, attempting to pull at your flesh with all of the clothes in the way. 

   He abruptly pulls away, his eyes blown out, filled with lust that it could make you drown. You whine again, about to get off the desk so you could touch him, but you stop, your eyes narrowing when his hands go straight to the hideous white scrubs he had to wear. He pulls the pants down, your mouth dropping open when you see he’s not even wearing underwear, his dick springing free.

   He was completely hard, his pale hand gripping himself and pumping once, bringing precum to the tip. He knew you were mesmerized, you had once mentioned wanting to watch him jerk off, because you loved the way his hands looked, and you loved the way his dick looked. He strokes himself once more, blowing air through his teeth. 

   “Get undressed,” he commands, and your body still answers in the same way.

But when it's bad it's awful, I feel so ashamed

   You rip off your blouse, letting the buttons fly, but you couldn’t care less. You maneuver yourself so you can shove your tight-as-hell pencil skirt down your legs, letting it drop to the floor. You were about to reach back to unclip your bra when Yoongi lifts his hand. 

   You stop, staring into his eyes, waiting for his cue. Yoongi’s heart was pounding, his mind racing as it attempted to process the information you gave him, while also processing what was going on right in front of his eyes. It was hard for him to keep up. And if this really wasn’t a dream, did he actually want to fuck you fast, after he thought he’s lost you? Did he want to fuck you so hard that it would leave you screaming, begging him for more so he knew you’d never leave? He needed to back track, take in where you both were, because you couldn’t get caught. 

   “Get up,” he growls, his mind reeling as you do what he says. 

   He turns you around, unclipping your bra for you and you let it fall away, his hands moving to your underwear, pulling it down your legs. You whimper when his fingers graze your clit, and he was sure you were already soaked for him, and that thought made his mouth water.

   Reaching for your now broken blouse, Yoongi rips the fabric even more, making it into a long, thick strip. He brings his arms around your body, taking the fabric and gagging you so you couldn’t make sound. 

   “Wha-,” you try before he completely ties it behind your head, your body turning so you could look at him with wide eyes. 

   “We can’t get caught baby girl. Not when i have you in my hands for only an hour,” he says in a rush, his hands shaking with excitement at the prospect of getting caught banging you in the place he had been locked in, in the place he’d had no hope in but here you were, proving him wrong like you always did.

   He makes you face him, lifting you once more so you sat on the cold desk, and he places his hand on your chest, commanding you to lay back. You stare with wide eyes as you lay back, your hands grabbing onto his own, it being only freedom you had because you knew he would have his way with you.

   Yoongi drops to his knees on the floor, his hands moving away to instantly spread your thighs apart, and you feel his breath travel up your legs, occasional wet kisses being placed to compensate for getting you worked up. It was a sweet gesture he was sure you were remembering, one that was quickly  carrying into something more desperate as he abruptly places his open mouth on your clit. You cry out into the gag, your hips bucking up into his face, but his fingers tighten against your legs, holding you down. 

   He doesn’t waste any time sucking, licking, dipping his tongue into your wet entrance to then do it all over again, and he knew you were loving it. Your hands immediately sought for his hair, pulling the strands and making him groan into your clit, adding to the pleasure. He could feel your thighs quake, and he immediately moves one of his hands, his fingers playing with the wetness at your entrance. You whimper into the gag, obviously telling him to keep going, and he does, but only with one finger. Oh, but he knew you could get off to his finger, knew that if he curled it, stroked that spot you had as he sucked ferociously at your clit that you would come. 

   Your thighs trembled beneath his free hand, and he lets his fingers knead your soft skin, coaxing you to the edge because he wanted to taste you on his tongue so badly. He could practically cum himself just because he was getting you off. He stops the torture by sticking another finger inside of you, stretching you slowly before curling his fingers and shoving them in and out as fast as he could go. 

   His eyes rise in time to see you throw your head back in pleasure, your hands moving the the edges of the desk so you could grip them for dear life as you rapidly approached your climax. Yoongi groans into your clit over and over again, loving the way you tasted, and wanting to intensify the pleasure you were experiencing. 

   He sucks desperately at your clit when he feels you tense, your lungs sucking in one huge breath as he drives you over the peak. You cry out into the gag, your walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers as your legs quiver from the intensity of your orgasm. 

   Yoongi doesn’t stop sucking up your juices until your fingers are painfully pulling at his hair, attempting to signal to him that you couldn’t take it anymore. Taking your sign, he pulls back, his mouth shiny and moist before he wipes it with the back of his hand. 

   Weakly leaning up on your elbows, you watch as he gets up from the floor, his erection looking so painful that he could see in your eyes that you wanted to suck him off. Oh, he wanted you to. Wanted to watch the way your mouth swallowed his cock, expertly taking him all the way in so that you could hear him moan. He loved how loud he could be when he was with you, but not with the environment you both were in.

   Shaking his head, he grabs the desk chair, rolling it into the middle of the room before sitting on it. Your eyes stare curiously, meeting his own right when his eyebrow lifts. He bites his bottom lip to hold his chuckle as he watches you scramble up from the desk, rushing towards him so you can straddle his hips.

    “Can I feel you ride me baby?” He begs, eyes blown out like an explosion of galaxies, his cheeks flush from eating you out.

    You respond by lifting slightly, your hand going in between your bodies, gripping his member to guide him to your entrance. The moment your fingers grab him, he sucks in a breath, eyes closing when his tip touches your wetness, sliding inside of you to caress your walls as if two puzzle pieces were being put together.

    His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in your skin to prevent you from moving so he didn't blow his load. He was so close already, his mind racing with the foreseeable pleasure he was going to get from you. He was sure he only had roughly twenty minutes left with you, and he wanted to make it last.

    Taking another deep breath, Yoongi’s grip on your hips tightens further, his veins popping out as he moves his arms, forcing your body to grind against his member. His teeth trap his bottom lip, his breath coming roughly from his nose as his cheeks deepen its shade of pink.

    Your hands rise, gripping the back of his head, your fingers forcefully pulling the strands of his hair in what Yoongi could only assume as pleasure. He knew he was hitting your spot, the way your voice rose increasingly into the gag, your thighs tensing once again, your eyes rolled back in pleasure.

   Yoongi stands abruptly, your eyes popping open in surprise at his movement. Yoongi hooks his arms under your knees, his fingers finding their place at your hips again, and your hands move to grip the back of his neck in support.

    Yoongi looks down, seeing his cock buried deep inside of you, taking a deep breath once again before moving your body away from his. His member slides out to the tip, ramming back in before repeating that action.

    Glancing up, he watches your head lul back, your nails jabbing into his skin and breaking his concentration to not cum. He shivers, hesitating for a second before taking a few steps forward and slamming your back against the office wall, your hands falling to his tensed biceps in an attempt to stay held up as he continued fucking you. His pace never wavered, groans starting to fall from his lips as he realized he couldn't prevent himself from cumming anymore.

    “Fuck. Baby, I'm gonna cum,” he groans, burying his face into the crevice of your neck.

    He feels your walls tighten, pulling his face back to see your eyes open, your shining, blown out pupils meeting his own. You give a small nod, the only permission he needs to lose himself inside of you. He continues fucking you until sensitivity kicks in, his cock half hard as he pulls out and gets you settled on your feet.

I snapped

Who's that dude?

"I don't even know his name."

    Feeling courageous, Yoongi let's his hand slide down to your entrance, cupping it with his fingers. Your eyebrows draw together in what he assumes is confusion, but he merely smirks.

    Leaning forward, he brings his lips to your ear before saying, “Keep me inside you today, and maybe I'll reward you.”

    Drawing back, Yoongi relishes the way your mouth opens slightly, your cheeks becoming flushed as he pulls his hand away and he watches the way your thighs clench together. He chuckles, reaching for his clothes on the floor before sliding them on.

    He notices how you continue to clench your thighs even while you attempt to put your clothes back on and gather yourself.

   Once gathered, you both stare at each other in silence, eyes taking in each other's form as if you had just met for the first time. In a way, it kind of was. Yoongi’s loss of you had knocked his angered, jealous conscious to the depths beyond reach, and he had spent the last two years reliving everything he had done to you. He had been living in hell until now, and he felt as if he didn't deserve you back.

    Yoongi watches your body jump, the sound of the alarm ringing through the room for only a moment before you rush to turn it off. He watches the way you adjust yourself, taking a spare shirt from a drawer and throwing it on just as a knock on the office door sounded.

    “Until next time, Yoongi,” you say, grabbing the desk chair and putting it back in its place before taking a seat as he turns and walks out the door.

   A/N: I know some of the lyrics don’t really make sense in this part, but bear with me, i was not originally going to have this part like this, and i am just getting settled moving in to my new place. Hope you guys still enjoyed it though. Love you all~!