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scarluna · 6 months ago

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Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapters: 5 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Thank you all so much for the likes and the comments. I did not think this story would become so liked. Again, thank you and enjoy! x

ACT V.

I climbed onto the bus and found an empty seat near the back. The hum of the engine and the faint chatter of passengers filled the air, but it all felt distant. My mind was a swirling storm of everything that had happened, and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I stared out the window as the city blurred past, the gray sky above mirroring the heaviness in my chest.

The tears threatened to spill again, but I clenched my fists and bit the inside of my cheek to hold them back. Not here. Not in front of strangers. I kept my face turned to the window, pretending to watch the scenery, hoping no one would notice how broken I felt inside. I had sunken in that headspace again, where I felt helpless and I didn't felt human at all. It was a nightmare for me. My mind was only stuck in the past and the pain was never ending cycle.

When the bus finally reached my stop, I stepped off into the cool air. My feet carried me the short distance to my apartment automatically, like I was on autopilot. The moment I closed the door behind me, the silence hit, and with it came the flood of emotions I’d been trying to keep at bay.

I dropped my bag by the door and slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My chest heaved as the first sob broke free, and then another, and another, until I was crying uncontrollably. All the frustration, anger, and pain from today—hell, from the past few days—poured out of me in waves. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly, as if trying to comfort myself. Since I was a kid there was no one to comfort me, all the adults I once had believed in were never there for me. My dad was an alcoholic who used to mentally abuse me, my mom and my brother. My mother to this day is obsessed with control and she has always had the mentality of the victim. My brother was always the one who was cherished more, as the only boy of the family. And of course, I was thrown to the side with my emotional needs. So at this point, I had to be there for myself. And as grew up in adult, I felt comfortable crying and picking my pain alone rather than being vulnerable with someone. I knew I was broken, I didn't know how broken until now.

I stayed like that for hours, crying until my throat was raw and my head pounded. Everything became a blur and I felt my body shaking. My breath was cut short and this is when I realized I was having an anxiety attack. I tried to grip at whatever I could find, my bag or my clothing as I sharply braeathed in and out of my nose, counting random numbers. At some point, my phone started buzzing incessantly, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to explain or relive any of it. I was busy prioritizing myself at this very moment and nothing else mattered.

When the tears finally stopped, I felt hollow. My body ached from the tension, and my eyes were sore and swollen. I sat there in silence for what felt like forever, staring at nothing, feeling like I had nothing left to give. Eventually, I forced myself to stand, my movements sluggish and heavy.

I shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripping off my clothes while the water heated up. The warmth of the shower felt soothing against my skin, like it was washing away the mess of the day and all the negative emotions I have felt until now. When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel, drying off quickly before changing into sweats and grabbing Hades’ leash.

My dog greeted me eagerly, his tail wagging as if sensing I needed comfort. “Come on, boy,” I murmured, attaching the leash to his collar. His soft brown eyes met mine, and I felt a small pang of warmth in my chest. At least I had him. Hades was the only one that I felt was giving me the unconditional love I so desperately craved.

We went for a short walk around the block. The cold air biting at my skin but somehow grounding me. Hades trotted happily beside me, occasionally sniffing at patches of grass or barking at squirrels. His enthusiasm was a welcome distraction from the mess in my head, and for a brief moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

When we got back, I gave him a treat and collapsed into bed, wrapping myself in the blankets yet again. My body was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind replayed everything—the picture, Yoongi’s words, Rya’s betrayal, Tina’s cruelty—until I finally slipped into a restless slumber.

When my alarm went off, it took every ounce of willpower I had to drag myself out of bed. My eyes were dry, almost painfully so, but the crying had done its work—I felt an empty hollow shell of myself. I had realized that I slept for more than ten hours which was a record, yet I still didn't feel refreshed at all. I felt the same slump as I did yesterday. I didn't even manage to have any dinner, not that I felt like eating at all. In the last few days I skept meals way too much and I noticed my clothes growing bigger on me, which was odd because I wasn't a person to skip any meal.

I finally went through the motions of getting ready: a quick shower, brushing my hair, slapping on some concealer to hide the evidence of my breakdown. The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me at all. I couldn't recognize the person I had became. I was drowning in my own pain and it was getting harder to keep my head above the water. Grasping the sink, I stilled for a moment to give myself sometime to breathe. In and out. Until I felt I was grounded in my body and in my mind.

The bus ride to work felt endless. I kept my headphones in, the music drowning out the world around me as I stared out the window. I wasn’t ready for today, I wasn’t ready to face anyone, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to hold my head high and continue to push further. I shouldn't run away because these things would keep hunting me.

When I stepped into the office, the usual hustle and bustle felt distant, like I was walking through a dream.The people and their chatters almost sounded as an echo as I made my way toward my desk. It was Thursday now, and all I could think about was how close the masquerade ball was.

I sat at my desk, turning on my computer and trying to focus, but my mind was still a jumbled mess. The excitement I’d once felt for the ball was gone, replaced by a dull ache in my chest. What was the point of pretending to care about it? Everything felt meaningless now.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to start working. One task at a time, I told myself. Just get through the day and go home. I was too mentally exhausted with everything at this point. I typed on my keyboard, my eyes raking over the screen and the e-mail I was typing.

The office felt heavier than usual as I worked, staring blankly at the screen in front of me. The steady hum of keyboards and muted voices of my coworkers swirled around me, but I didn’t register any of it.

“Y/N?”

I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. That voice—soft, hesitant—made my stomach churn. I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge her presence. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, fingers tapping faster on the keyboard in an attempt to appear busy.

“Can I talk to you? Please?” Rya’s voice was quiet, almost trembling.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t even turn my head. The silence stretched between us and I could feel her discomfort, her desperation hanging in the air.

“I just... I need to explain. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“Don’t.” My voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. I turned to her slowly, my expression cold and unyielding. “I don’t want to hear any of it, Rya. What's done is done.”

Her face crumpled, her lips pressing together as if trying to hold back tears. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I—I shouldn’t have sent that picture to Hoseok. I thought it was just—”

“Just what?” I snapped, finally swiveling my chair to face her fully. “Funny? Harmless? What exactly did you think was going to happen?”

Her shoulders slumped, her gaze falling to the floor. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, Y/N. I was just... being stupid. I didn’t think he’d actually—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t care what you were thinking, Rya. You sent something private—something personal—to someone else without my permission. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please, just—”

“Make it right?” I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “You can’t. It’s done. And I don’t want your apology.”

Before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted.

“Y/N.”

I looked up to see Hoseok standing a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked guilty, his eyes avoiding mine at first before he forced himself to meet my gaze.

Great. Just what I needed.

“I want to apologize as well, it wasn't okay for me to do that—” he asked, his voice low.

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I don't need your apology.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “I messed up as well, okay? I shouldn’t have shown that picture to anyone. I just wanted to show off how happy you looked that night. It was immature and wrong, and I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.”

I stared at him, my expression unreadable. “But you did. Both of you did.”

Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair. He seemed worried and frustrated. “I know. I was stupid, and I regret it more than anything. I’ve felt like crap ever since. Please, Y/N, I’m begging you. Just give us a chance to make it up to you.”

I shook my head, standing up from my chair. “You don’t get to feel bad about this, Hoseok. Neither of you do. You made your choices, and now you have to live with them.”

Rya sniffled beside me, her voice barely a whisper. I could see that she has been crying, her eyes were red and her face was swollen. “Y/N, please—”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting her off. “We’re done here. Both of you, leave me alone.”

Without another word, I slowly stood up headed to the break room to escape the suffocating tension. My hands were trembling as I leaned against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. Thankfully they didn't follow me or else I'd have leashed on them even worse than I did back there. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes.

They might have been sorry, but their apologies didn’t mean anything to me. Not now. Maybe not ever. I could feel the entire office's eyes on me as I arrived here this morning, their judgy stares, the way they would whisper about me as I passed by . . . it almost felt like I was in high school all over again. I hated it.

The cool stream of water poured steadily into the glass I had picked from the cabinet as I focused on controlling my breathing. The break room felt quieter than usual, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the space. I brought the glass to my lips, taking a small sip, when the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness.

I turned my head just as Jungkook entered the room, his sharp suit tailored perfectly, his posture confident yet somehow intimidating. He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice even and professional as he greeted. That man was so cold. I could feel the chills in the room. He stared at my face for far too long to be comfortable. I tried to look away, but he grabbed my jaw. My breath stopped for a moment. The way he touched me, so gently, his skin felt burning sensation on me.* "Have you been crying?" he asked, tone low and demanding. I sighed and shrugged. "None of your business if I did." I could practically hear him roll his eyes. My Boss was not a man who tolerated such answers, but in my case, he remained silent. Instead, he changed the subject rather quickly and I was appreciating that, because I was not ready to talk about how I was with anyone. “About the 2 PM meeting today. You’ll need to be ready with the brief.”

I set the glass down on the counter, nodding. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Good.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added, “Make sure Tina looks over it before you hand it to me.”

The words made me freeze for a split second. I turned to him, my expression hardening. “No.”

He looked up from his coffee cup, eyebrows slightly raised. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not giving Tina my work,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’ll present it directly to you.”

Jungkook sighed, leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms. “Y/N, Tina is your direct manager. It’s her job to review your work before it reaches me.”

“And it’s my job to make sure the work is actually done right,” I shot back, my tone sharper than intended. “Every time Tina gets involved, she messes things up. This is important, and I’m not taking that risk.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine. You can present it directly to me. But don’t let this happen again. The hierarchy is there for a reason, Y/N. We can’t just ignore it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t argue further. It was already a small victory.

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes briefly studying me. Then, in a tone noticeably cooler, he asked, “I hope you are feeling better than yesterday. That doesn't mean you should slack at your work, understood?” His gaze was sharp, and yet there was something softer lurking beneath the surface.

“I won't,” I said curtly, my defenses snapping back into place.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a slight nod before turning to leave the break room.

As the door swung shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. My hands still trembled slightly from the conversation me and him had, but I refused to let it show. If there was one thing I had to prove today, it was that I could handle myself—and my work—without interference.

By the time the meeting started, the tension in the room was palpable. Tina sat stiffly across the table from me, her lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, ever the professional, appeared calm, but there was a hint of worry in his expression. Whether it was about Yoongi’s absence that went unnoticed by me as well or something else, he didn’t let on.

As we began, I passed copies of my brief directly to Jungkook and the other key members of the team. Tina shot me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing. Rya and Hoseok looked at me as if they tried to say something but I did not give thim that opportunity.

“Y/N,” she said, her tone clipped, “you were supposed to send this to me first.”

“I decided it was better to present it directly,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral but firm as I reached my seat and sat back down.

Tina’s glare hardened, but before she could say anything further, Jungkook cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Let’s focus on the content of the work,” he said, flipping through the pages. His expression shifted slightly as he reviewed my document, a hint of approval crossing his features. He set the papers down and looked at me.

“Good work, Y/N. This is thorough and well-presented. It shows that you had improvement since last time.” Is he serious? I wanted to roll my eyes so fucking bad but I did not. Soft sigh escaped my lips. At the same time however, I fought to keep the pride from showing too much on my face but couldn’t stop a small, satisfied smile from tugging at my lips.

Jungkook turned to Tina, his tone calm but pointed. “Tina, I understand you’re managing multiple aspects of the team, but when Y/N expresses concerns about her work being compromised, those concerns need to be heard. You should take her input seriously going forward. That said, the two of you need to keep collaborating effectively.”

Tina’s jaw clenched, but she nodded stiffly. “Understood.”

I couldn’t resist. Leaning back slightly in my chair, I fixed her with a steady gaze, my smirk subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes flicked to mine briefly before she looked away, her irritation clear.

Satisfied, I shifted my attention back to Jungkook as he moved on to the next topic on the agenda: the current project documentation.

“The documentation for the ongoing projects needs a thorough review,” Jungkook said. “There have been inconsistencies flagged by the higher-ups, and we need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The discussion continued, but I barely registered Tina’s contributions. The small victory from earlier left me feeling hyped, even as I knew the real challenges lay ahead. Jungkook’s approval meant something, even if his cold professionalism sometimes made it hard to tell.

As the meeting wrapped up, I caught Jungkook’s gaze briefly. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before gathering his papers and leaving the room. Tina stormed out soon after, her heels clicking against the floor.

I allowed myself one more small, triumphant smile before heading back to my desk to finish my current brief.

The night had already fallen by the time I finally managed to clear my apartment. The chaos from the past few days had left my place in disarray—papers scattered on the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, and the weight of everything I was trying to avoid pressed against the walls. But now, as I wiped down the last countertop and took a deep breath, it was like a small weight had been lifted. At least something in my life felt under control, even if it was just this tiny corner of my world.

I collapsed onto the couch, trying to relax for a moment before I had to dive back into whatever would come next. But just as I settled, my phone buzzed loudly on the table. I picked it up with a sigh, already knowing who it was from.

Tae <3

I’d seen his name flashing on my screen in these days, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind, but now, with everything finally settling down a little, I pressed the green button.

“Hey, Tae,” I said softly, my voice hoarse from the days of tension.

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay? I… am worried.”

I let out a slow exhale, feeling a knot form in my chest as I tried to explain what had happened. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… it’s been a rough couple of days. There’s a lot to explain, honestly.”

I spent the next few minutes filling him in on the events that had unfolded at work—about the picture, the drama with Yoongi, Tina’s cruelty, and Rya’s betrayal. Tae listened patiently, his silence comforting. Even though I was exhausted from talking about it all, his kind, calming presence over the phone helped ground me.

“Y/N, that’s… a lot. I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Tae said, his voice tender with compassion. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m here for you, okay?”

His words meant more than he probably realized. Despite everything, it felt like a small lifeline.

“I appreciate it, Tae. Really. It’s just… I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel like I’ve been surrounded by lies. It’s all just been too much.”

“I get it. But know that you have people around you that care and you should not forget who you are, stand your ground, Y/N.” he reassured me.

His voice was steady, and for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope. And then I remembered what my parents had told me. Did Tae actually had feelings for me? Did he stuck around all this time because he felt something for me and I blantantly ignored him, oblivious to his advances and words? I felt like such a bad person. I had to figure out what I actually felt toward him, but deep down I was afraid that I might loose him.

“We should hang out this weekend,” he continued, his voice pulled me out of the trance I was falling into. “Maybe grab a bite, just get out of there for a bit. How about Sunday- I mean, we will still see each other at the masquerade ball tomorrow but still?”

“Sunday sounds perfect,” I replied, the idea of spending some time with him lifting my spirits. No matter how many times I was with him, it always felt like a gulp of fresh air.

“Great. I’ll text you the details. And Y/N, take care of yourself, okay?”

The sincerity in his voice had me biting my lip to keep from tearing up. “Thanks, Tae. I’ll see you then.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up feeling lighter. The weight that had been dragging me down all day wasn’t gone, but it had lessened. I had a plan for Sunday after the ball, something to look forward to, and that was enough for now. I should start prioritizing my life and controlling my emotions better. This was such a vulnerable and cruical moment for me. I had let people peel my skin and expose me so bad that it hurt. I was going to fight and not let anyone do that anymore.

I set my phone down and glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already eleven pm. Time was passing fast when I was lost in my own little world.

Before I could do anything, my phone buzzed again, the screen flashing an anonymous number. I hesitated for a second, but curiosity got the better of me. Who could this be in such hour? I swiped the green button and pressed the phone to my ear.

The line was eerily quiet, nothing but slow breathing on the other end. My heart began to race, a strange chill creeping up my spine.

“Hello?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence continued for a moment longer, making my skin crawl. And then, just as I was about to hang up, I heard a voice.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice came through the phone, gravelly and almost unrecognizable. “Please-” he slurred, "come down, I am in front of y-your apartment."

A cold wave of panic washed over me.

“Yoongi? What the hell are you talking about?” I stood up and my bare feet tapped quickly and hastily toward my large window. I removed the curtain and I saw him. Yoongi's Hyundai Palisade was parked at the front and he was leaning against it. He glanced up but it was as if he was looking straight through me.

The line went silent again. His breathing was slow, labored, like he was struggling to stay awake.

My hands shook as I held the phone, my mind racing. What was he doing here? Why now? How the fuck did he get my phone and address?

I didn’t want to go down there, didn’t want to face him after everything that had happened. But something in his voice, a combination of weariness and something I couldn’t place, made me grab my jacket and slip on my shoes as I headed out of my apartment. My heart pounding in my chest as I walked towards the elevator. There was no way I could ignore this.

When I stepped outside, I froze.

Yoongi was standing there, barely able to stand on his own. His face was bruised, and his clothes were disheveled. His eyes were half-lidded, a bottle of something in his hand. He looked like he’d been through hell.

“Yoongi?” I whispered, my voice shaky. “What happened to you?” I took a few hesitant steps toward him. The view was horrific. It appeared as if Yoongi has fought with someone. And on top of that he was drunk and got here driving. The fuck was wrong with him?!

He didn’t respond immediately, swaying slightly on his feet. His breath was thick with alcohol, and his usually sharp gaze was dull and unfocused. He lifted his head and glared at me, trying to stand on his two feet.

“I… I just needed to see you,” he muttered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. He took a step toward me, his hand outstretched.

“You’re drunk,” I said, my voice rising in panic as I took a step back. “Yoongi, what the hell—why are you even here? Why are you acting like this?”

His eyes flickered to mine, a brief moment of recognition, “I… didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he slurred. I could hear the pain in his voice, it was strained but it was there.

I stood there, shocked and unsure of what to do. My mind screamed at me to walk away, to shut the door and forget this ever happened. But something inside me—something I couldn’t ignore—told me that I needed to help him. Even if I didn’t want to. See, I wasn't a person that would let others in distress or pain. Unfortunately, I'd even help to people who hurt me deeply. It was how I was raised, to always care for other's comfort but ours. It was a wicked game really, I was standing there and stared at his condition. In the months I have been at this company, I have never seen Yoongi drunk and like this. Vulnerable.

"Yoongi, you need to go home," I said, my voice firm despite the confusion swirling inside me. I felt him approach me but for some reason I didn't move. He towered over me, his brown eyes gazed at me but yet again, it felt like he was seeing right through me. Before I could say something he leaned over and pressed his face into my shoulder, sighing quietly. He dropped the bottle and I could feel him grow heavy. Was he about to pass out? Fuck.

I had second to decide what to do. To leave him lay there or drag him inside. "Come on, let’s get you inside." I muttered quickly, wrapping my arms around him.

He didn’t argue, allowing me to help him stumble towards the entrance. He was a mess, and I hated that I couldn’t just leave him out there. I hated that I was a kind and caring person toward people that didn't deserve it at all.

As I guided him inside of the elevators and the doors closed, my mind raced with all sorts of questions.

Yoongi lifted his head and stared at my face yet again. I frowned his way and his lips twitched as he soon gave me a drunkish grin. "You are pretty like this." I rolled my eyes. "You are hallucinating," "I wish I was, then I wouldn't feel like shit for saying all those things to you and making you cry." he muttered lowly.

I dragged Yoongi inside, half-carrying him as he leaned heavily against me, barely able to keep his footing. His breath was labored, and his body seemed to have gone limp. It was like he was a completely different person from the Yoongi I had known—the one with sharp wit and even sharper eyes. This Yoongi was a shell, drunk and beaten, stumbling through the door of my apartment.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I had to get him off the hallway, away from the peeking neighbours and cold night air. I laid him down on my couch, watching as he immediately passed out, his head lolling to the side. He looked so vulnerable in that moment—so fragile—and it made my stomach turn. I hated seeing him like this.

I stood over him for a moment, my hands on my hips as I was unsure of what to do next. My mind was still reeling from the shock of his unexpected appearance, but there was something deeper stirring inside me. I had to make sure he was okay. Or at least, make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself more.

I didn't really know any people closer to Yoongi than Jungkook. So I grabbed my phone and dialed Jungkook's number. After a few signals, he picked up.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the speaker, sounding concerned and confused as of to who that might be. He probably didn't have my number saved at all. "It's uh- Y/N..." I trailed off, "sorry to bother you this late," I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was probably asleep. "No, it's fine. Whats going on?"

“Well. . . Yoongi at my apartment. He showed up drunk with his car parked in front of my place and he’s passed out on my couch.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and I could almost hear Jungkook’s mind racing. I heard faint curses and then some rustling before he spoke again.

“Give me your address, I will be on my way shortly,” he mumbled, I took a deep breath and gave him the location and then the line disconnected.

True to his word, Jungkook arrived fifteen minutes later. He was quiet when he walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Yoongi, sprawled helplessly on the couch. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he said nothing. I noticed Jungkook was wearing his pajamas. This is why he was so fast, he just got up and rushed here?

“Will he be okay?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Jungkook ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sighed, kneeling beside Yoongi. “Yeah. It's not his first time being like this.”

I bit my lip, watching as Jungkook carefully adjusted Yoongi’s position, making sure he was comfortable. The whole situation felt too surreal.

“Why is he like this?” I asked. The question had been gnawing at me ever since I found him outside, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why would he show up like this, covered in bruises?”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered to me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak immediately, as if weighing how much he could reveal. After a long pause, he finally said, “Yoongi doesn’t handle emotional pain well. He’d rather take physical pain than face whatever’s going on inside. It’s easier for him, in a way.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Physical pain over emotional pain. I had always thought Yoongi was this hard, untouchable person, but hearing that made me realize how much he was hiding beneath that façade.

“That’s… that’s not normal,” I whispered, my heart aching for him.

Jungkook gave me a look, as if to say, You don’t know the half of it. He stood up and turned toward me, his eyes piercing right through me.

“I’m taking him home,” Jungkook muttered, his voice a little softer now. “I’ll make sure he’s settled in. But Y/N…”

I looked up at him, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

“He won’t admit it, but he needs help. And I don’t think he’ll let anyone in if he knows they’re worried...”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words.

Jungkook gave Yoongi one last look before he crouched down and gently shook him awake. It took a moment, but Yoongi stirred, groaning as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook said, his voice low and commanding. “We’re taking you home. Can you stand?”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and he winced as he tried to sit up. “I don’t want to go home…” he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Jungkook’s eyes softened for just a second. “We don’t have much of a choice. Come on.”

With a little effort, Jungkook helped Yoongi stand, supporting him as they made their way out of my apartment. My eyes followed them as they left, a mixture of concern and confusion swirling inside me. I had no idea what was going on in Yoongi’s life, what demons he was fighting. But I could tell it was more than just the things I saw at work.

I stood in the doorway for a while after they left, the quiet of my apartment settling back in around me. There was a lot more to Yoongi than I had ever realized, and I couldn’t help but wonder—what else was he hiding?

The night felt long, and I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same after tonight.

I tossed and turned in my bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to escape the thoughts swirling in my mind. Yoongi. What was going on inside his head? Why would he let himself fall to such a low point? I had been so wrapped up in my own problems, so focused on myself, that I failed to look outside my bubble.

Was he suffering just as much as I was? Or worse? His words, those harsh, cutting words, still echoed in my head. I couldn’t ignore them, no matter how much I wanted to. The damage had been done. There was no coming back from that—at least not for me. His actions, his words, they had already crossed a line I wasn’t willing to forgive.

I didn’t trust him anymore. How could I? But despite my resolve, I still wondered—why? Why had he let himself get to that point? Why was he hurting like this? Was he just as lost as I felt sometimes?

But that didn’t change anything. I couldn’t let my guard down. Not now. Not after everything he had put me through.

By the time morning came, I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. I forced myself to get up, get dressed, and head to work, though it felt like everything was happening in a haze. When I walked into the building, everything felt louder, more intense. But my mind was still stuck on Yoongi.

As I walked down the hallway, lost in my own thoughts, I almost bumped into Jungkook.

"Hey," he said quietly, his tone almost cautious.

I glanced up at him, blinking a few times as I tried to focus. "How's Yoongi?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Jungkook gave me a quick glance, and I could tell from his expression that Yoongi’s condition was still on his mind, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. “He’s fine. Just a little bruised up. He’ll be at the ball tomorrow.”

I nodded, but the words hit me harder than I expected. The ball? He was going to attend? After everything that happened?

Before I could process any more thoughts, I heard the click of heels approaching. Tina. Of course, she couldn’t leave us alone. She came up to us with that smug look she always wore, her eyes narrowing as she took in our whispered conversation.

“So, what’s going on here?” she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, arms crossed against her chest. “Are you two flirting?”

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to entertain her question. I had better things to do than to deal with Tina and her constant attempts at stirring drama. "She's all yours." I muttered to him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He snapped back at her harshly, his tone cold. “No, Tina. We’re not flirting. I suggest you stop with the snarky comments or I will make you regret it.”

Tina’s eyes widened slightly, and I could see the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface. She looked from Jungkook to me, trying to read our expressions, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Instead, I just turned and walked away, not bothering to waste my time on her games. Tina was starting to get pathetic even more in my eyes.

Jungkook sighed behind me, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t say anything more.

It was strange—despite everything that had happened, despite the weight of my own emotions, there was something comforting about Jungkook’s presence. Maybe it was his steady calmness, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t play games like Tina. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel as alone when he was around.

But even with that small comfort, my mind couldn’t let go of Yoongi. He was still a mess. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for part of it.

I had to focus. On the work. On moving forward. Because if I didn’t, I might drown in all of this.

The afternoon sunlight streamed softly through my apartment windows, warming the room as I sipped my sugarless coffee, the cup cradled in both hands. At my feet, Hades curled up, his soft fur was shining under the soft rays of the sun. My eyes kept drifting to the royal blue dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

Rya had talked me into it—her determination was unrelenting. “You deserve to look stunning, Y/N,” she’d said, dragging me into store after store until she found the dress.

I reached for the diamond hair accessory on my dresser, its glimmer catching the sunlight. My fingers grazed it thoughtfully as I imagined how it would sit in my hair, which Rya had insisted I style in soft, flowing beach curls. I sighed, setting it down again.

Hades stirred, flicking his tail against my ankle as I took another sip of coffee, trying to ground myself. My thoughts were tangled, looping through the chaos of the past few weeks. Yoongi. Jungkook. The picture. The insults. And now, the ball. A part of me was still so anxious, but beneath it all was a simmering determination to get through this. To face everything head-on.

My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting my thoughts. I picked it up, my heart sinking a little when I saw my parents’ number.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.

“Sweetheart,” came my mom’s familiar voice, warm but tinged with hesitation. "Have you been alright, my girl?" I paused, should I tell her about what happened to me or keep it to myself. I swallowed thickly and forced a steady voice, it was tough not being able to be understood by your own mother. I knew what she was gonna say so I did not bother letting her know about this. "I am okay, mom. How's dad?" "Oh, you know, he has a new hobby which is grilling. He is quite alright per say." I humed in response and there was a pause. “Your brother’s parole was denied.” she served it as if it was the most casual thing ever. I frowned and rose up from my bed, biting on my lips. The words hit me like a dull thud in the chest, but I kept my voice steady. “What now? Should we change the attorney?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “We’ll visit him soon and see how we should proceed.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Alright," I trailed off. I couldn't believe his parole was denied. That probably wrecked him completely.

We chatted a little longer before saying our goodbyes, but the call left a small crack in my composure. I set the phone down and took a deep breath. Focus, Y/N. Tonight is about showing up and holding your own.

The drive to the MNT Media headquarters was a blur. Taehyung had picked me up in his sleek black Genesis GV80 SUV, his reaction when he saw me leaving my apartment still fresh in my mind.

“Wow, Y/N,” he had said, his eyes widening as I stepped outside. “You look... incredible.”

I’d smiled, a little shy under his burning gaze. “Thanks, Tae." I was not used to compliments, but I took enough time to look at myself in the mirror. I did look quite well tonight. That dress hugged my curves perfectly and it showed everything that had to be shown and everything that had to stay hidden. The color perfectly contrasted with my skin. The mask was hiding who I struggled to be, it was made from royal blue diamonds and it shined under the lighting of my apartment. And the jewlery in my hair only added to the effect of luxury.

Tae however, he was wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, with a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. His mask—a gold and black design that made him look impossibly suave—only added to his charm. His brown locks of hair tossled and messy suited him perfectly. He looked like a handsome prince. And for a moment I found the thought of him liking me ridicilous. Why would someone who looked so perfect would like someone like me? As we drove, he threw out compliments like they were second nature, his voice laced with a playful flirtation that made me laugh despite my nerves.

“You’re going to steal the show tonight,” he said, his eyes briefly flicking toward me before returning to the road. "You are exaggerating." I gazed at him with soft grin and my eyes raked over his face and that smug smirk from my response. However, my eyes focused on his veiny hands that held the steering wheel. I stared at them for a little too long as he obviously noticed my stare. "Something wrong?" I snapped out of it and looked away, clearing my throat. "No- not at all." I saw that dumbass smirk smugly at me. I wanted to punch him but instead a small giggle escaped my lips.

When we pulled up to the grand entrance of MNT Media’s headquarters, I felt a wave of anxiety crash over me. The paparazzi were already gathered outside, their cameras flashing incessantly, blinding all the people that passed by. The building itself was a towering masterpiece of glass and steel, lit up like a beacon in the night. It screamed 'you are out of this world, Y/N' in big bold letters.

Taehyung parked, stepping out first before circling around to open my door. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand like the real gentleman he was.

I nodded, placing my hand in his. I felt electricity run down my spine as I felt the warmth and softness of his skin. He held my hand ever so gentle as if he was afraid I'd break. I spared a glance at his face and then my focuse went on my exit from the car. As I stepped out, the flashing lights of the cameras hit me like a tidal wave. I felt overwhelmed for a moment, but Taehyung offered his arm, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” he whispered, leaning close so only I could hear. “You’ve got this.”

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and let him lead me inside.

The ballroom was breathtaking. The lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, their facets sparkling like stars. Guests milled about in masks, their laughter and conversation blending with the sound of a grand piano being played in the corner. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, champagne, and roses.

Round tables draped in white silk lined the edges of the room, while the center was open for dancing. Everything oozed luxury—from the gilded accents on the walls to the servers circulating with trays of expensive champagne.

“Not bad, huh?” Taehyung said, his tone light as we stepped inside.

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, my eyes sweeping over the scene.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter this time.

I glanced up at him, his expression softer now, less playful. It was cute really, all I could do was give him a soft grin in response.

As we moved deeper into the room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the evening settling over me. And whatever happened tonight, I knew it was going to change everything.

I scanned the room, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Everywhere I looked, there were important people—CEOs, celebrities, politicians—all dressed in their finest. The men wore tailored suits with intricate masks, while the women dazzled in luxurious gowns, their jewels glinting under the chandeliers. The anonymity of the masks made it impossible to identify anyone from Jeon Enterprises however.

Taehyung and I found a spot near one of the round tables draped in white silk. He handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbling liquid catching the warm golden glow of the chandeliers.

“You’re doing great,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the soft murmur of conversation.

I gave him a small smile, grateful for his calming presence. “Thanks, Tae.”

We lounged there for a while, sipping our champagne and observing the scene. Taehyung’s easy charm and lighthearted comments kept me grounded, though my thoughts still occasionally drifted to the potential encounters lurking behind the glittering masks.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them—Rya and Hoseok.

Rya looked absolutely stunning, as she always did. She wore a deep crimson gown with a plunging neckline, the fabric hugging her petite frame and flowing elegantly to the floor. Her dark hair was pinned up in a sophisticated bun, and her mask—a delicate creation of red lace and gold—perfectly matched her dress. She exuded confidence, but there was a cautiousness in her eyes as she approached.

Hoseok, by contrast, looked sharp and understated in a classic black suit paired with a sleek white mask. The suit was tailored impeccably to his lean frame, and the silk pocket square matched the ivory tones of his mask. His usual bright smile was subdued as he stood beside Rya, his hands in his pockets, his posture slightly hesitant.

They stopped a few feet away from me, and for a moment, the air seemed to hang heavy between us.

“Y/N,” Rya said, her voice tentative.

I smiled softly, deciding tonight wasn’t the time for grudges or rehashing old wounds. The ball was too grand, the stakes too high for petty arguments. “Rya. Hoseok,” I greeted politely, nodding to each of them. “You both look amazing.”

Relief washed over their faces.

“You too,” Rya said, her smile finally reaching her eyes. “That dress... wow. You look incredible.”

“She’s right,” Hoseok added, his tone sincere. “You’re... glowing, Y/N. Like, really.”

I gave a small laugh, shaking my head. “You two are just trying to butter me up.”

“No, really,” Rya insisted, stepping closer. “I’m so sorry about everything. We are. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand—”

“Not tonight,” I interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop her. “Let’s just enjoy the ball, okay? We can talk about it another time.”

They exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. “Okay,” Rya said. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok echoed, his smile finally warming.

I felt a small weight lift off my chest. It wasn’t forgiveness—not entirely—but it was a step in the right direction. Tonight wasn’t about grudges or misunderstandings. It was about standing tall, embracing the moment, and maybe even letting myself enjoy it.

Taehyung, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “See? You’re a natural at this.”

I gave him a playful nudge, but his words made me smile. The night was still young, and for now, I was determined to make the most of it.

The conversation with Rya and Hoseok had settled into an easy rhythm, the earlier tension softening with every passing minute. I was just starting to feel comfortable when the grand double doors at the far end of the ballroom opened, drawing everyone’s attention.

I turned toward the entrance, my champagne glass frozen mid-air. That’s when I saw him—Jungkook.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his broad shoulders commanding attention even amidst the sea of masked guests. His dark mask was minimalistic yet elegant, fitting his sharp, chiseled features like it was made for him. But what truly caught me off guard was the person on his arm.

Tina.

She clung to him like her life depended on it, her smug expression practically radiating across the room. Her gown, a striking emerald green with a dangerously high slit, screamed of someone desperate to make an impression. She looked ecstatic—proud, even—and for good reason. To show up with Jeon Jungkook at her side? That was a trophy in itself.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I watched her lean closer to him, giggling at something he said. But Jungkook didn’t seem invested in her. His eyes were scanning the room, restless, as though he was searching for someone.

Someone?

Before I could make sense of it my eyes shifted to the second couple that had just walked in.

This time, it was Yoongi.

The sight of him stole my breath for a moment. He was dressed in an all-black ensemble as well, but with a velvet jacket that added an edge of understated luxury. His mask, a rich silver that contrasted against his dark hair, gave him an air of quiet mystery. But it wasn’t just him.

On his arm was Gina.

Gina—the same girl from the cafeteria who had made those snide comments about my weight. The same Gina who had once asked Hoseok to this ball and been pushed away. She had traded in her usual uniform for a glittering golden gown that hugged her figure like it had been poured onto her. Her mask sparkled with rhinestones, matching the shimmering confidence in her eyes.

The sight of her with Yoongi made my chest tighten, though I couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe it was because she had made me feel so small that day in the cafeteria, and now she was walking in like she owned the place.

I stared longer than I should have, my gaze flicking between the two pairs—Jungkook and Tina, Yoongi and Gina. "The hell, Tina and Gina?" Rya asked in disbelief. Hoseok giggled. "Their names rhyme." "They are both equally evil." Rya answered with a flat tone, "that's why." I burst out laughing at this, because let's face it. It was true, both of them thrived on attention. I wonder how the Boss and Yoongi fell for their traps.

“You’re staring,” Taehyung’s voice broke through my thoughts. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t let them see they’ve gotten to you,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm.

I blinked, snapping my gaze back to Taehyung. His brown eyes were warm, reassuring, and I gave him a small nod. He was right. I wouldn’t let them have that satisfaction.

But it seemed I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jungkook’s head turn in my direction. His eyes, sharp and focused even behind the mask, landed on me almost instantly. I couldn’t see his expression entirely, but something flickered there—recognition.

And then Yoongi’s gaze followed.

It was as though time slowed for a moment. Jungkook and Yoongi both stared at me, their attention laser-focused despite the room full of people.

I felt exposed, vulnerable, even though I was fully covered by my mask and gown.

“Looks like you’ve been spotted,” Taehyung said, an annoying lilt to his voice as he lifted his glass to his lips.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Let them look,” I muttered, tilting my chin up slightly.

But as much as I wanted to exude confidence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was about to get a lot more complicated.

A hush fell over the ballroom as a woman walked onto the stage at the far end of the room. The murmurs around me stilled as all eyes turned toward her. Octavia Leeroy, the CEO of MNT Media, stood tall and commanding under the spotlight.

She was stunning—her elegance more commanding than any gown or mask in the room. Dressed in a sleek, black floor-length gown with subtle sequins that caught the light, she radiated power and sophistication. Her mask was a bold gold creation, but her presence alone was enough to command attention.

As she took her place at the microphone, her voice carried through the room, smooth and steady.

“Welcome,” she began, her tone warm yet authoritative. “Tonight is a celebration—a celebration of not only our successes but of the people who make those successes possible. Each of you represents a piece of a puzzle that drives industries, builds communities, and inspires change. But let’s not forget, behind every mask, every polished exterior, are sacrifices, challenges, and battles fought in silence.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as her words resonated. She spoke with a sincerity that cut through the grandeur of the event, sharing stories of her struggles—the nights she worked tirelessly, the people who doubted her and the moments she doubted herself.

Her voice wavered only slightly when she spoke of the cost of ambition, but she never faltered. She had built an empire with blood, sweat, and tears, and now she stood as a symbol of resilience.

A wave of admiration surged through me. This is what strength looks like, I thought to myself, soaking in every word. She was everything I dreamed of becoming—powerful, respected, unshakable. When Octavia finished her speech, a thunderous applause erupted, echoing through the grand ballroom. I clapped along with the crowd, my heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination.

As the applause faded, the music resumed—a gentle, lilting melody that invited couples to the dance floor.

I turned back to Taehyung, who was already watching me with a mischievous glint in his eye. He extended his hand, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “May I have this dance?”

I hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. “You may,” I replied, my voice light. Rya and Hoseok also joined the dance floor and swayed in the slow rhytum of the piano music.

Taehyung led me to the dance floor, his confidence putting me at ease. He placed one hand on my waist, the other still holding mine, and we began to move in time with the music.

At first, our steps were measured, almost formal. But as we swayed, something shifted. The space between us grew smaller, and the intensity of his gaze deepened. His fingers lingered on my waist, his touch light yet deliberate.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmured, his voice low.

“Me?” I countered, my heart fluttering as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips. “You’re the one making all the bold moves.”

He chuckled, spinning me gently. “Maybe I like seeing you off guard.”

Before I could respond, I felt a pair of hands catch me mid-spin, steadying me. The grip was firm, different.

When I turned to look up, I froze.

Jungkook.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. His mask did little to hide the sharp angles of his face, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked, his tone smooth yet edged with something deeper.

I blinked, my breath hitching as I realized I had no choice—Taehyung had already stepped back, a deep scowl at his lips as he let Jungkook take the lead without any other word.

Jungkook’s hand slid to my waist, his other still holding mine as he began to move us effortlessly across the floor. His proximity, the intensity of his gaze, left me completely unmoored.

“You look proper,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. Proper? Really? What should I expect from a man like him.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

His smirk deepened as he twirled me, his movements confident and precise. “I’d say I look more than ‘not too bad‘.’”

I rolled my eyes, despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “Careful, Jungkook. Your ego’s showing.”

He chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And here I thought you’d be too nervous to handle a dance like this.”

I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him rattle me. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

His gaze darkened, his expression unreadable as we continued to move in perfect synchronization. For a moment, the world around us blurred—the guests, the music, the grandeur of the ballroom. It was just him and me, locked in a silent battle of wills. "You came with Tina?" I asked in a hushed tone as we danced. He frowned but then low chuckle escaped his plump lips. Was he amused? "Are you jealous?" "You fucking wish." I spoke out and Jungkook laughed at that. I have never seen him so cheery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another familiar figure on the edge of the dance floor. Yoongi.

He was watching us, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but his eyes told a different story. He was intently staring at me and Jungkook as Gina was tugging his arm to go to the dance floor but by his expression and his stoic frame, he refused. Gina gave up and crossed her arms against her chest.

The tension in the air between Jungkook and me was palpable. I couldn't breathe from the closeness of him. He was intoxicating me, like a bottle of strong alcohol making my knees go weak. I had my breath hitched the entire dance before the music stopped and everyone parted. Jungkook refused to let me go. "You are really beautiful tonight, Y/N." he muttered, his eyes exploring my face. I cleared my throat and pulled away immediately, "T-thanks." He hummed and soon I saw a few guys call out to him. Jungkook turned around to see who it was then back at me. "I have to go. Talk to you later." he said before he headed toward the group of people as I was left alone at the dance floor.

Suddenly, a voice called my name from behind me.

“Y/N?”

I turned around, my steps faltering as I came face-to-face with a man I hadn’t seen in years. Richard Delgrassi.

“Mr. Delgrassi?” I stammered, the surprise evident in my tone. What was he doing here?

He smiled warmly, his salt-and-pepper hair adding a distinguished edge to his polished appearance. Dressed in a charcoal-gray tuxedo and a black mask that matched his sharp features, he exuded the same air of authority and charm I remembered from my childhood.

“I thought that was you,” he said, his tone brimming with familiarity. “My, how you’ve grown. It’s been what—ten years?”

“More like twelve,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m surprised you recognized me with this mask.”

“Your eyes, dear,” he said, gesturing lightly. “They’re unmistakable. Just like your father’s.”

At the mention of my father, a pang of nostalgia hit me. Richard Delgrassi had been one of my father’s closest associates back when our family was still living the high life. My father, Benjamin, had owned one of the most successful car manufacturing companies in the country. His name had once been synonymous with innovation and luxury in the automobile industry. Richard had been his right-hand man, helping to expand the business and secure lucrative deals. But as fate would have it, a series of unfortunate events—including betrayal from within the company—had forced my father to sell his empire and move abroad, leaving behind the life he had built so painstakingly.

Now, Richard was a prominent politician, known for his advocacy for economic reform and his push for ethical practices in business. His transformation from a business mogul’s associate to a public figure had been nothing short of remarkable.

“It’s been ages,” I said, trying to suppress the rush of emotions his presence stirred. “How have you been?”

“Well, politics keeps me busy,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on the industry. It’s hard to let go of one’s roots entirely, you know.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.

“And you?” he asked, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity. “What are you doing these days? Last I heard, your family had moved overseas.”

“I’m working here now,” I said, straightening slightly. “At Jeon Enterprises.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “Jeon Enterprises? That’s unexpected. What are you doing there?”

“I’m part of their marketing team,” I explained, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’s... challenging, but it’s been a learning experience.”

Richard studied me for a moment, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Jeon Enterprises, you say? That’s an interesting choice. They have quite the reputation—for better or worse.”

I tilted my head slightly, curious. “You know them?”

“I’ve crossed paths with their CEO, Jungkook, a few times,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes shifting behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know he was staring at Jungkook. “He’s a sharp one, but his company’s ethos has always been... pragmatic, shall we say. I’ve been looking for an organization that values long-term growth over short-term profits, something more aligned with my goals.”

“And you think Jeon Enterprises could be that organization?” I asked, intrigued.

“Perhaps,” he said, stroking his chin. “If they’re willing to adapt. But enough about me—how do you find it there? Are they treating you well?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, the memories of Tina’s snarky remarks and Yoongi’s cold demeanor flashing through my mind. But then I thought of the moments when Jungkook had, in his own quiet way, come to my defense.

“It has its ups and downs,” I admitted carefully. “But I’m learning a lot.”

Richard nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s what matters. And who knows, perhaps our paths might cross again soon in a more... professional capacity.” I saw him pull out a business card out of his pocket and give it to me. Did I just made the first client join our company? My heart skipped. I accepted it. "Then, we should discuss this over a meeting at our company soon. "Excellent. See you soon, Y/N. And give Benjamin my regards."

A mix of nostalgia and newfound curiosity swirling in my chest. For years, I had tried to bury the life my family had left behind, but seeing Richard here, so firmly planted in this world of power and influence, made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t entirely out of reach for me either.

As he excused himself to speak with another guest, I couldn’t help but feel that this meeting was more than just a coincidence. Perhaps, amidst all the chaos, this was the start of something new. Something I hadn’t even realized I was searching for.

The evening had been going surprisingly well so far. I stood among a small group of representatives from various companies, discussing Jeon Enterprises and its potential as a reliable partner. My nerves had simmered down, and I was finally hitting my stride in the conversation.

“So, what makes Jeon Enterprises stand out from its competitors?” a tall, sharp-suited executive asked, his tone curious yet skeptical.

I took a deep breath, summoning the confidence I had been building over the months. “Aside from our innovative approach to market trends, Jeon Enterprises is focused on creating long-term solutions rather than short-term fixes. We prioritize adaptability, ensuring that our clients’ needs are met even as industries evolve. And with the resources we provide, we’re not just a business partner—we’re a growth catalyst.”

The executive nodded thoughtfully, and I could see that I was making headway.

But just as I was about to elaborate further, I heard the telltale clink of heels approaching.

And then it happened.

A sudden cold splash against my side made me flinch, and I looked down to see a vivid crimson stain blooming across my royal blue gown.

“Oh no!” came Tina’s voice, syrupy and fake, as she stood there holding an almost-empty glass of wine. “I’m so clumsy. I didn’t see you standing there, Y/N.”

Her tone didn’t match her words; there wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her expression. Instead, her lips curled into a smug smirk as her gaze swept over me, clearly reveling in the scene she’d just created.

Around me, the small crowd went silent, their eyes darting between Tina and me. The heat of their stares burned on my skin as I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spreading stain.

Tina’s mockery didn’t stop there. “Oh dear, that dress must have cost a fortune. It’s such a shame, really.”

I clenched my fists, biting back a sharp retort. She wanted a scene, and I refused to give her one.

Forcing a tight smile, I turned to the group I had been speaking with. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

Their sympathetic nods did little to ease the weight of humiliation pressing down on me as I stepped away. As I walked past Taehyung, who had been nearby, he immediately stood and reached for my arm.

“Y/N, let me—”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to draw more attention. “I’ve got this, Tae. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated but nodded, his concern clear in his eyes as he let me go.

I made my way toward the restrooms, my chest tightening with every step. The laughter and conversation from the ballroom felt like it was directed at me, though I knew logically that wasn’t the case. Still, the weight of humiliation was suffocating.

Once in the restroom, I tried dabbing at the stain with water, but it was no use. The red had seeped too deeply into the fabric. Sighing, I gave up and left, heading toward the balcony for some air.

The cold night breeze hit me as I stepped outside, the quiet a welcome reprieve from the noise and judgment inside. I leaned against the stone railing, my eyes sweeping over the city lights below. They sparkled like a sea of stars, but even their beauty couldn’t distract me from the ache in my chest.

I felt humiliated, small, like no matter how much effort I put into proving myself, people like Tina would always find a way to knock me down.

“Thought I might find you here,” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I stiffened, glancing over my shoulder. Yoongi stood there, his mask pushed up slightly on his forehead, his bruised face partially illuminated by the soft glow of the lights. I noticed him not taking off his mask at all at the ball room. Probably because he didn't want anyone to see his bruised face.

“Did you come to add to the humiliation?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He sighed, stepping closer but leaving enough space between us to keep it comfortable. “No,” he said simply. “You looked like you could use some air.”

I turned back to the railing, the weight of the evening pressing down on me again. “Well, congratulations. You were right. I don’t belong here.”

His silence was surprising, and when I glanced at him, I saw something I didn’t expect—regret.

“I didn’t say that,” he said after a moment, his voice low.

“You didn’t have to.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’ve been... a jerk.”

I scoffed at the understatement but said nothing, letting him continue.

“I’ve said things—done things—that I’m not proud of,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I can’t take those back. But for what it’s worth... I don’t think you’re out of place here. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and I stared at him, a cocktail of emotions swirling inside me. Regret? From Min Yoongi? It was almost laughable. Almost.

I turned back toward the city lights, gripping the railing tighter. “You think a couple of kind words will fix everything?” I asked, my tone sharp.

He didn’t respond right away, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and searching.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said finally. “I just... I wanted to say it.”

“Well, you can’t just ‘say it’ and expect me to forget everything else.” I spun to face him, the emotions I’d been suppressing all night bubbling to the surface. “You humiliated me, Yoongi. Over and over again. And for what? To make yourself feel better?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that,” I snapped. “But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is what you did that night. Do you even realize what could’ve happened? Driving drunk to my apartment like that? What the hell were you thinking?”

Yoongi blinked, clearly not expecting the shift in conversation. His face darkened, a flicker of shame passing over his features. “I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I needed to see you.”

“To see me?” I threw my hands up in disbelief. “So you thought, ‘Hey, let me risk my life and possibly someone else’s because I’m having a bad day’? What if you’d hurt someone, Yoongi? What if you’d hurt yourself?”

He took a step closer, his expression pained. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I know it was stupid. I wasn’t in a good place—”

“That’s not an excuse,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to make reckless decisions and then shrug it off because you ‘weren’t in a good place.’”

He looked down, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re right. It’s not an excuse. I just...” He trailed off, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to deal with... everything. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

I let out a bitter laugh, turning away from him. “Clearly.”

Silence settled between us, the tension thick and suffocating. The sounds of the city below seemed to fade as I struggled to rein in my emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “For all of it. For the things I said, the way I treated you, for... showing up that night. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, but I wasn’t ready to let go of my anger just yet. “You’re right, I didn’t,” I said coldly. “And sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he said quickly, his tone pleading now. “But it’s all I can give you.”

I turned to face him again, searching his eyes for something—anything—that would make sense of the man standing before me. He looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before, the usual cool confidence stripped away.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said finally, my voice breaking. “You hurt me, Yoongi. Over and over. And I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I understand.”

The weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, and I looked away, my chest tight with a mix of anger, sadness, and something I didn’t want to name.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if that matters to you, but... I thought you should know.”

I didn’t respond, my emotions too tangled to form a coherent thought. Instead, I turned back to the city lights, the cold air biting at my skin.

Yoongi stayed for a moment longer, as if waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, anything. But when it became clear I wasn’t going to give him one, he sighed and stepped back.

“Have fun at the ball, Y/N. You deserve it.” he said softly before turning and walking away, leaving me alone on the balcony with my thoughts.

I gripped the railing tighter, the ache in my chest growing stronger as I watched him disappear into the shadows of the ballroom.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

400 notes · View notes

taegularities · 10 months ago

Text

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance.

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn��t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair.

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But…

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause.

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex.

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too.

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right.

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

#yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #yoongi fics #myg smut

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ivorydragoness44 · 1 year ago

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Red Hood x Reader: Dibs

Word Count: 1,100 Warnings/Notes: Inspired by an episode of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Minor injury mention for the Reader (a bruise on their knee), some of the Batfam trying to figure out which one of them is the Reader’s favorite, and the Reader getting assistance to walk up a set of stairs. Summary: Walking home for the night, the Reader is found with a slight limp. They are offered a ride home from Batman. After some back and forth, the Reader finally agrees and finds that Batman is not the only one is the Batmobile.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Gotham City. The night was almost as busy as the day depending where you were. For the most part, you were grateful that you were missing any and all villain or otherwise ill intended activities. There was a public text alerting citizens to a delay in public transportation. More notably, a bus that you wanted to use to go home. Walking home, in theory, would take the same, if not less amount of time than the estimated wait time for the bus alone. And walk you did. It would not have been so bad if not for a bruise you had gotten on your knee earlier that day. It made walking a bit more challenging.

Continuing down the sidewalk, you kept a closer eye to the surroundings to the right of you, rather than the streets. However, the slowing down of a vehicle definitely caught your attention. The intersection was further up the street. Hesitantly, you peered over. What you saw made you stop with a small uncomfortable hop. The Batmobile.

The passenger’s side window slid down. With it, revealed the black cowled cape crusader. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you,” he called over, leaning toward the other side of the car. “But, would you like a lift home?” You shook your head slowly as you turned toward the vehicle. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.” “Oh, I saw you limping a little. I only wanted to offer some assistance in case you were injured.” You rubbed your arm in your small wave of awkwardness. “I’m sure the bruise is healing by now,” you said, not missing Batman’s glance into the backseat. “I mean, if you really don’t mind?” Batman smiled. “Not at all.” The side-door swung open. Carefully sitting inside, the door closed on its own. “Automatic?” “No,” he chuckled, “I pushed a button.” “Oh,” you laughed quietly, buckling the seatbelt securely before giving him the directions/address to your home.

Taking a breath, you calmed yourself. It was not every day that Batman asked to drive you home. Unless he was doing that now between vigilante work. You had no idea. What you did know was that every button, switch, and dial on the main console had absolutely no indication of what either of them did. Did he have every function memorized?

“So, um, how’s your night going? I mean, I hope there isn’t a lot of villain incidents or anything, because I’m sure even you need the rest.” “Mister Freeze was out tonight,” a voice replied from the backseat. “We stopped him of course, but man were we freezing.” “If that was you trying to do word play, it was awful.” Surprised to hear other voices, you turned around in the seat. There, squished together in the backseat were four additional vigilantes. Red Robin, Robin, who was sitting with quite the disgruntled expression between Nightwing’s legs, and the Red Hood. Side-glancing over to Batman, you whispered. “Are they in trouble?” He smiled, steering the Batmobile down another street. “No, a… decision could not be made.” “They all called dibs on this seat, didn’t they?” A collective agreement affirmed your humored suspicion. Nodding in understanding, you turned to sit correctly in the seat.

A quiet moment or two passed before anyone spoke again. “So, who’s your favorite?” Asked Nightwing. “Hey.” “That’s not fair to ask.” “Overall, or specifically in the Batmobile?” You asked with a laugh. “Batmobile,” they said rather quickly. “You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t pick favorites.” “Aw.” “But if you had to choose.” “Obviously Batman. He’s the responsible adult driving right now.” “That doesn’t count.” Red Hood’s muffled voice interjected. “Yeah, well, Wonder Woman isn’t in the Batmobile, so,” you laughed with a shrug. They were appearing more normal by the second. With a thoughtful hum, Red Hood replied. “That’s a good answer.” “I thought so. Besides, if I were to have favorites, they’d probably change day to day.”

The Batmobile slowed to a stop by the sidewalk. “Here we are.” “Thank you, Batman. I really appreciate it,” you smiled gratefully. “You’re quite welcome,” he smiled in return. With a press of a button, the passenger side door flicked open and you stepped out. “Will you be all right?” He asked, his voice laced with concern. “Yeah,” you assured, stepping carefully away from the open door. “I’ve been dealing with this all day.” “All day?” The backseat erupted in protest. You gave a tired shrug. “Just another day in the life of an ordinary citizen.” Red Hood pushed the passenger seat forward with a single gloved hand. Climbing out of the vehicle, he joined you on the sidewalk. But before you could ask, he put up a hand to stop you. “You shouldn’t have to struggle on your own.” “It’s not that bad,” you assured, “I can manage.” Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just…can you let me help you?” Genuine. That was the word you wanted to use to describe the sudden turn of events for you that evening. First, an offered ride home, and now this? Were they like this with everyone? “Okay,” you finally answered. Red Hood’s sigh of relief was not subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. He likely thought it was. Shutting the door to the Batmovile, it only drove away after the pair of you started walking toward the steps to your apartment building. Red Hood offered his arm. Previously intending to grab ahold of you for your own stability, but quickly retracted his hands. Holding onto his arm, the initial warmth was a welcoming contrast to the cool night air. And thick. How much muscle did these vigilantes have/ And where did they even find the time? “Easy,” he cautioned softly. You pushed your weight onto his arm with every other step. Other than that, going to your apartment door was quiet and uneventful.

Standing by the door to your apartment, you retrieved your keys. “Thank you for your help. And… I hope I didn’t bruise your arm.” “Ha, I doubt it,” he crossed his arms. “Even if you somehow did, I’ll take it as a temporary momento.” “And despite my better judgement, I’ll definitely be telling my boyfriend, Jason about this.” “Heh, maybe not the best idea,” he advised. You smiled. “I’m going to anyway. Have a good night. And thank you again, Red Hood.” “No problem. Rest that knee.” “I will. Bye.”

In your apartment, door shut, and thoroughly locked, you laughed at the ridiculousness that had became your evening. “Jason might not believe me.”

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you would like to read more imagines and fanfics, check out my pinned post for My Masterlist of Masterlists.

#red hood #batfamily #batfam #wayne family adventures #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #dc x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd x reader #ivorydragoness44

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fanboyoff1 · 8 months ago

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Landoscar College Fic (2.4k words)

Inspired by this post. It was supposed to be a little drabble but it spiraled

@complementaryhalves Hope I did it justice. It’s not really a meet-cute since they both know of each other (or maybe that counts, idk how meet-cutes work) but I tried my best lol

Oscar really needs to set a second alarm.

He’s several months into college, so you’d think he’d have figured out a good sleep schedule by then. Unfortunately, that has not happened, and Oscar wakes up to sun on his face.

“Ughhh,” he groans, rolling over and pulling his sheets up over his head. It takes him a few seconds to realize there’s no annoying beeping that usually greets him in the morning.

“Shit.” He grabs his phone from the bedside table and jolts up when he reads 8:25 on his lockscreen. “Shitshitshit.”

He tosses his sheets to the side, the old mattress creaking loudly as he stands, rushing because his bus is literally about to leave. Why did he sign up for early classes? Why, why, why? Even his professor Mr. Webber told him it was a bad idea once he’d heard about it, but he’d insisted that it would be fine.

Right now, it’s definitely not fine though. He brushes his teeth at lightning-speed in the communal bathroom, and throws on a navy blue sweatshirt and pants, nearly forgetting his watch. He’ll get a bagel or something for breakfast at school.

Thankfully, he likes to pack his backpack the day before, so all he has to do is put it over his shoulders, rushing down the stairs and out the door into the parking lot to see… His bus rolling away down the road without him.

Oscar drops his hands down from his backpack straps to his side in defeat. He curses the ground and his stupid clock under his breath, kicking at a loose rock. What is he gonna do now?

Well, he could call Logan, ask if he can give him a ride. Or maybe Charles drove today? He glances across the parking lot, but there are around three other cars that look just like Charles’, so that won’t be very helpful.

He’s about to pull his phone out when he hears a car pull out of the lot, wheels making a grainy sound against the asphalt. Oscar quickly backs away from the middle of the road and goes back to his quiet crisis.

“Hey, you need a ride?”

Oscar looks up to see the car that had been leaving stopped in front of him. The person behind the voice is a handsome guy with dark curly hair and tan skin, sitting behind the wheel with one hand dangling out the window. There’s a small flicker of recognition in Oscar’s brain, he must have seen the boy around campus before.

The driver seems to have taken Oscar’s silence as hesitancy, starting to talk again. “I-um, I saw your bus fuck off into the distance, and I figured you could use some help. I live right over there.” He points vaguely to another one of the student campus buildings behind them.

Oscar opens his mouth to politely decline immediately, but stops himself. Does he really for certain have another way to get to school? He remembers how he knows this guy now, he’s friends with Charles. Anyone who’s friends with Charles gets an automatic thumbs up from him, but being in a car with them…

“Yeah, I could use a ride,” he finds himself saying, not totally sure the words are coming from his mouth. The curly haired guy seems equally surprised, but masks it quickly. “O-okay. Just come over to the passenger seat.”

Oscar walks out in front of the car, and opens the door. Any move to sit down is paused by the fact that there’s a football in the seat. The boy turns when Oscar opens the door, looking through his eyelashes at him, and his eyes are really blue from up close. A bit of green too- okay, stop analyzing his eyes, he tells himself.

The driver- Oscar decides to coin him Car Guy- notices Oscar’s predicament and grabs the football, promptly chucking it into the backseat and patting the now empty seat for Oscar, who sits.

He twists his body to face the back of the car. “Do you think you damaged anything with that throw?” he asks, trying to find the football amongst the clutter of the car. There’s a few random clothes, a cardboard box on the right.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Car Guy says with a wave of his hand. Oscar turns back to the front, buckling up. Car Guy notices what he’s doing and buckles up himself with a guilty smile. Oh God, Oscar’s totally going to die.

“Just college campus, I assume?” Car Guy asks, adjusting his rear-view mirror that has a car freshener and a necklace hanging from it. The necklace has a big 4 hanging by the end.

“Yeah,” Oscar sets his backpack down between his legs, and braces when Car Guy starts to drive away. However, he actually seems like an okay driver, despite that seatbelt incident that may haunt Oscar’s nightmares.

After a few streets, he chills out enough to get a proper look at who’s driving him. He has a Texas Bulls shirt on, a hoodie under it, and to top it all off, a green letterman jacket with the number 4 on it. Huh. 4 again. Maybe the number 4 has some kind of significance to him.

He’s really pretty as well, especially up close. His long lashes, his freckles, his hair that looks like it's attempting to be a mullet.

Don’t you dare fall for a jock Oscar, he tells himself. Because that’s what he has to be, right? He has a Bulls shirt, a sporty jacket, and a freaking football in the passenger seat. There’s nothing else he could be.

And he’s still terrified about a stranger driving him somewhere, pretty or not. He takes out his phone and pulls up his messages, finding his last conversation with Dad 2.0 (an inside joke the two of them have.) He frantically texts Charles, asking, ‘Is curly haired boy a serial killer??’

A moment later, he gets a response back, a lot of question marks. Oscar sighs, running his hand through his hair and trying not to let his thoughts spiral into how he may or may not be getting kidnapped.

# # #

Lando’s trying to be cool. He really is. But Oscar’s in his car. He wants to squeal and kick his feet and giggle.

He’s had a crush on the Australian-born boy for a while now, ever since he’d seen him actually. They’d just been passing by each other while walking across campus, but it felt like a world-changing event for Lando (okay, he may be overreacting just a little, but have you seen the man?!)

Once he learned that Oscar was friends with Charles, he came out to his friend as bi and proceeded to spend his entire time with Charles ranting about how pretty Oscar was, or what Oscar was wearing today, or could he get some pictures of Oscar pretty-please?

Needless to say, the Monegasque was tired of his pining fairly quickly. “I don’t understand why you do not just talk to him,” he’d said one day during their lunch break.

“I can’t just talk to him, Charles.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird!”

“How? It’s just talking,” Charles had retorted, biting into his protein bar. “You can say it’s because you are both friends with me or something. There are ways.”

“Well, it- it’s complicated.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a good argument for that Charles, but just know that you’re wrong.”

So Lando had just watched Oscar from a distance (not in a creepy way or anything, just in an adoration way.) Until this morning, when he saw Oscar miss the bus, which was admittedly a little funny, he’d gotten the courage to ask if he wanted a ride. He hadn’t been expecting him to say yes, but he was ecstatic that he had.

Now they’re in the car together, and Lando’s tongue feels like lead whenever he attempts to make small talk. Oscar’s aggressively texting someone, and Lando has had to stop himself multiple times from looking at Oscar instead of the road.

Oscar sighs, running his hand through his swoopy hair. Now’s his chance. “Everything okay?” he asks, drumming a finger against the steering wheel as he waits behind a stop sign.

“Hmm?” Oscar looks up, raising his eyebrows, and Lando might die on the spot. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I was just texting a friend. You know Charles, right?”

“Leclerc?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, letting out a breathy laugh. “I was gonna ask him to drive back and pick me up but… Well I don’t know if you know this, but Charles likes to jog to school sometimes. I wasn’t sure if he had today or not.”

Lando barely processes what he’s said, which feels extremely rude even in his head. But Oscar’s smiling and it looks so cute, and the way his voice changes as he’s trying to stifle a laugh is addicting. “Oh, I think I’ve heard him talk about jogging to class sometimes. One time he texted me at like 6 am, I was so confused when he told me he was at school already.”

Oscar laughs again, and Lando tries to stop the butterflies growing in his stomach. “Ha, yeah, he’s like that. I think he just likes to be early.”

“I know, but 6 am??”

“I’m not defending him!” Oscar says, throwing his hands in the air, the two of them laughing together. Lando feels joy spread through his chest, because Oscar seems more comfortable, he’s smiling and laughing and blushing and he looks so cute.

“Oh my gosh, I have this selfie of Charles he sent to me when he was on a run,” Oscar turns on his phone and started to scroll through his photos, eyebrows furrowed in determination. His hair droops down on his face, and Lando fights the urge to reach out and push it back.

After a minute or so, Oscar bursts out laughing. “Did you find it?” Lando asks. Oscar nods, shoulders shaking, and holds his phone out for Lando to see. It's perfect timing, they're stopped at a red light, so Lando turns his head to inspect the picture.

Charles has a headband and glasses on with no shirt. He must have been running when he took the picture, everything’s blurry and the background is just a mass of green and gray. The most noticeable thing is his face. He’s trying to wink, but it’s more like a squint, and his eyebrows are high up on his forehead. He looks partially like he ate something sour, and like he’s getting chased by a wild animal.

Lando snorts, and Oscar pulls the phone back. “I know right? Apparently, he took the photo and sent it to me without checking what it looked like, so now I have this treasure saved in my phone forever.”

# # #

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and Oscar regrets thinking Car Guy was someone scary or a jerk. He seems really sweet and funny. And he’s attractive. But that’s besides the point.

Charles had been blowing up Oscar’s phone ever since his vague text about Car Guy, most of it consisting of ‘who the hell are you with’ and ‘answer your phone, you’re freaking me out.’ Oscar replies to his flurry of messages with nvm. It's fine. I’ll explain later

“Is this a good place to drop you off?” Car Guy asks him, and Oscar’s head jolts up. He parked just a few minutes away from his first class.

“Oh yeah, this is perfect,” Oscar grabs his backpack and opens the car door. “Thanks for this,” he says, turning back.

“No problem,” Car Guy says with a smile. He’s got a little gap between his front teeth. “See you around?”

Oscar gives him a thumbs-up and steps out, walking down the winding sidewalk to Mr. Webber’s class in room 222.

Epilogue

Oscar still needed another alarm. He just kept forgetting. And now he was running late again, this time far too late to even try to catch the bus.

He sits on the parking lot curb, about to call Charles (he’d taken his car today,) when a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Dude, you really need to wake up earlier.”

Oscar gives Car Guy a withering glare. He leans back in his car in response, a look of barely concealed fear in his eyes. “Well, do you want a ride or not?”

Oscar sighs and stands, getting in the passenger seat. “No football this time,” Car Guy says with a grin. Oscar can’t help but smile back.

This car ride is a lot less talkative than the last one, a playlist of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus from Car Guy’s phone playing loudly. Oscar puts on an excellent act of pretending his ears aren’t bleeding from the music.

“Thanks again,” he says once they arrive at his stop. He gets his backpack and is about to leave when Car Guy speaks up.

“Hey um, I was wondering if maybe you could repay me by going on a date? With me?”

Oscar blinks once, twice. Car Guy obviously takes this the wrong way, his face reddening. “Never mind. Just… forget I said anything.”

“No,” Oscar says. “I don’t want to forget that. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Car Guy says, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, here’s my number.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded Sticky-Note, pressing it into Oscar’s hand. Oscar wonders if he feels the electricity when their fingers touch too.

“Uh, this is gonna sound weird,” Oscar says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But can I get your name?”

“Oh. OH. My name’s Lando.”

“Lando,” Oscar says, testing the word on his tongue. “I’m Oscar.”

“I kinda already knew that,” Lando giggles, and now it’s Oscar turn to blush. “You look cute when you blush.” His face gets a thousand times more red.

“OkIgottagoI’lltextyoubye,” he says, almost stumbling out of the car. Once Lando’s car drives away though, he allows himself a bit of a victory dance, before walking to class with a skip in his step and only one word in his mind. Lando, Lando, Lando.

Okay I kinda hate it 😭 But I don’t really wanna work on it more, so *tosses fanfic at the Tumblr gods and runs*

#lando norris #oscar piastri #f1 #landoscar #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fanfic

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f1-disaster-bi · 10 months ago

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9 from the angsty romance prompts ("... why can't.. anybody see--that... I'm tired?... ") screams lando before the summer break to me. or just him when he is struggling and has put in so much effort, and time, and loyalty and just breaks down.

On the outside, Lando was smiling.

Everyone around him was laughing.

Max was cracking another joke, elbowing him in the ribs lightly. The parade bus rumbled under them. The sounds of Lewis's interview washed over them. George was waving at the crowds, looking perfectly put together with Alex by his side, grinning and sipping St his drink occasionally.

Daniel was close enough that his arm was pressed against Lando’s, and Lando could barely move without hitting into another driver or member of staff but he had never felt more alone.

As he stood there, falling apart behind his smile and barely holding his head above the waves of his own mind, Lando wondered if any of them had noticed.

Did they notice how his smile faltered? That is was so fake that he couldn't look in the mirror anymore or at pictures plastered across social media.

Did they see the bags under his eyes, the paleness to his skin or the way that his hands shook constantly now as if he was constantly frightened or cold?

Did anyone notice that Lando was a patch work person falling apart at the seams. Unraveling slowly but steadily, hands burned from trying to hold the ropes of his being in place and failing miserably.

Max cracked another joke.

Lando laughed automatically.

It sounded robotic to his own ears. It was grating and harsh. An unnatural sound. Something ripped from the chest of a hollow man but no one seemed to notice a difference.

"Maybe they don't care" , the little voice whispered as Lando chewed at the straw of his drinks bottle and pretended to listen to Carlos talking to him, "Why would they? You're pathic. Pathetic little man"

It sounded so much like his own voice that Lando didn't block it out. He couldn't anymore. He had spent weeks fighting the negative thoughts but Lando was just one person and the world was so much larger than him.

No matter how hard he tried to be better, to do better, Lando kept failing and falling. He kept tripping up, kept disappointing everyone that counted on him, that believed in him. He was failing them all.

He felt like he couldn't breathe but his chest was still rising as the bus came to a stop, jostling them as it did.

Lando moved automatically.

He wasn't in control of his body anymore more. He was a passenger holding on for dear life and trying to survive as he fist bumped the others and followed after Jon who was waiting to collect him.

Part of him wanted to scream as Jon led him through warm ups.

He wanted to scream and ask them why they couldn't see it. Why couldn't they all see that Lando wasn't a real person anymore? How could they not see the ghost he'd become?

Why couldn't anybody see it?

Jon left.

He was alone.

He was always alone even when in a sea a people. The odd man out. The one that's always saying or doing the wrong thing. The one to pity. The one that was childish and impulsive and so prickly that even his friends had backed away so much that they couldn't see what was happening.

He wondered if they'd ever notice. If they'd ever know.

As he looked in the mirror, taking in his dead eyes and his fake smile that made his skin crawl as he slipped into his race suit, Lando couldn't help but whisper to himself.

"Why can't anybody see....that I'm...", he choked on the words he wanted to say, too scared to think them let alone say them outloud, "....see that I'm tired...."

The answer was simple as shaking fingers pulled up his zipper and Lando looked away from himself, ashamed of the shell he'd become.

They didn't see because Lando didn't want to them to see.

A knock at the door.

Another deep breath.

A smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Lando Norris belonged to the people, to McLaren.

He owed it to them to pretend.

#this is sad #and depressing #mental health issues #tw for mental health issues #tw for dark thoughts #lando #prompt

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shizukaseo · 17 days ago

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Transforming Highways with AI-Based Traffic Management Systems

As our highways grow busier and more complex, the demand for smarter, more efficient traffic control is undeniable. Traditional traffic enforcement systems, dependent on human intervention, are often reactive, inconsistent, and limited in scope. Enter the AI-based traffic management system—a transformative technology that combines real-time analytics, automation, and machine learning to revolutionize how we manage and monitor highway traffic.

This blog explores how AI is redefining traffic management through vehicle detection, violation enforcement, and traffic classification, with real-world applications and insights to understand its growing importance in building safer and smarter roads.

The Core of AI-Based Traffic Monitoring

At the heart of an AI-based traffic management system lies its ability to collect and process vast volumes of real-time data. Equipped with cameras, sensors, and AI algorithms, these systems can identify, interpret, and act upon various traffic conditions and violations in real time.

From detecting license plates to classifying vehicles and tracking violations, AI systems offer unmatched speed and precision. Let’s break down the three core components powering this transformation:

1. Vehicle Make, Model, and Number Plate Detection

One of the most essential features of modern AI traffic management is vehicle identification. Advanced computer vision algorithms now allow for:

Vehicle Make & Model Recognition: Detects and categorizes vehicles based on appearance using trained AI models.

Number Plate Detection (ANPR): Reads license plates using Automatic Number Plate Recognition (ANPR) technology.

This technology is crucial for highway safety and enforcement. Authorities can:

Track Stolen Vehicles: Real-time tracking makes it easier to recover stolen cars.

Ensure Speed Compliance: By linking vehicle IDs with speed detection, violators can be automatically penalized.

Enhance Border Security: Enables region-wise data access and movement patterns of vehicles.

2. Real-Time Violation Detection

Road safety heavily depends on the ability to detect violations and respond swiftly. With AI-based traffic management systems, violations are detected automatically and enforcement actions are taken instantly, reducing the burden on human officers.

Common Violations Detected:

Triple Riding: AI identifies motorcycles carrying more than two passengers, a major road hazard.

No Helmet Detection: Computer vision tracks helmet usage to ensure compliance.

Over Speeding: Speed detection cameras linked to AI algorithms monitor speed limits.

No Seatbelt: Identifies drivers and passengers not wearing seatbelts, especially in high-speed zones.

Wrong Direction: Detects vehicles traveling against traffic flow to prevent collisions.

Wrong Lane Use: Flags unauthorized lane usage (e.g., bus or emergency lanes).

Banned Vehicles: Detects commercial or high-emission vehicles in restricted zones.

No Parking/Stalled Vehicle: Identifies illegal parking or breakdowns to prevent traffic build-up.

The AI system’s ability to issue digital challans (fines), alert authorities, or guide law enforcement to violators ensures more consistent and efficient enforcement.

3. Automatic Traffic Counting and Classification (ATCC)

Beyond enforcement, highway authorities need to understand traffic behavior and infrastructure needs. Automatic Traffic Counting and Classification (ATCC) enables real-time monitoring and segmentation of traffic by vehicle type, time, and location.

Vehicle Classifications Typically Tracked:

2-Wheelers (Motorcycles)

3-Wheelers (Auto-rickshaws)

4-Wheelers (Cars, SUVs)

Light Commercial Vehicles (4/6-Tire)

Mini Light Commercial Vehicles

2 to 6-Axle Trucks

Heavy Commercial Machinery (HCM)

Tractors, Goods Auto, Buses, Mini Buses

Cycles and Light Goods Vehicles (LGV)

ATCC data enables:

Traffic Flow Analysis: Understand volume trends across time slots.

Infrastructure Planning: Identify needs for road expansions or maintenance.

Smart City Integration: Coordinate with broader intelligent transport systems.

Optimized Toll Collection: Dynamic pricing based on vehicle class and time.

Case Study: South Korea’s AI-Driven Highway Monitoring

South Korea has implemented an integrated AI-based traffic management system across major highways. The system combines ANPR, ATCC, and violation detection into a unified control center.

Results:

20% reduction in road accidents due to automated enforcement.

30% improvement in emergency response times.

Real-time updates for commuters through integrated apps.

Significant fuel savings from smoother traffic flow.

This comprehensive approach highlights the power of combining multiple AI capabilities into one intelligent system.

Benefits of AI Traffic Management on Highways

1. Enhanced Road Safety

AI proactively detects and prevents risky behavior, leading to fewer accidents.

2. Reduced Congestion

Traffic patterns can be optimized dynamically, minimizing bottlenecks.

3. Data-Driven Decision-Making

Authorities receive rich, real-time data to inform planning and investments.

4. Operational Efficiency

Reduces dependency on manual monitoring, freeing up human resources.

5. Environmental Impact

Fewer traffic jams = less fuel burned and lower emissions.

6. Smart Infrastructure Growth

Lays the groundwork for autonomous vehicles and future mobility solutions.

The Future of AI-Based Traffic Management Systems

The next generation of AI traffic management will be even more advanced:

Predictive Analytics: AI will forecast congestion and reroute traffic in advance.

Autonomous Enforcement: Drones and mobile AI units will handle dynamic situations.

Vehicle-to-Infrastructure (V2I) Communication: AI systems will connect with smart vehicles to share real-time updates.

AI + IoT Integration: IoT sensors embedded in roads will feed AI models with infrastructure-level data.

As smart cities evolve, these systems will become central to urban mobility.

Challenges and Considerations

Despite the benefits, certain challenges must be addressed:

Privacy Concerns: Data collection must follow ethical and legal frameworks.

High Initial Investment: Infrastructure setup is capital-intensive.

System Maintenance: Requires regular updates, calibration, and power backups.

False Positives: AI models need to be well-trained to avoid misidentification.

Conclusion: The AI Highway Revolution Has Begun

An AI-based traffic management system is not just a futuristic concept—it is actively reshaping how highways function. From identifying violations and classifying vehicles to enabling informed infrastructure decisions, AI is making highways safer, smarter, and more sustainable.

As we move toward a future of autonomous transport and intelligent cities, these technologies will become foundational. For governments, city planners, and law enforcement agencies, adopting AI traffic management isn’t just a tech upgrade—it’s a necessity for the next era of mobility.

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orbitalinstallationtechnologies · 4 months ago

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How Orbital Installs Help Fleets With Automatic Passenger Counters?

In today’s fast-paced transportation environment, precision and data-driven insights have become essential to fleet success. One technology rapidly gaining traction is Automatic Passenger Counters, electronic systems designed to track and record the number of passengers boarding and exiting a vehicle in real-time. Far from a niche luxury, these counters are transforming how transit agencies, event shuttles, and private fleet operators manage daily operations. By providing accurate, real-time data, businesses can streamline routes, optimize schedules, and elevate the passenger experience. At Orbital Installs, we specialize in Counter Installation for a range of fleets, delivering robust solutions that seamlessly integrate into your existing infrastructure. Read on to learn how these systems revolutionize fleet management, reduce operational overhead, and provide a clear roadmap to improved services.

The Importance of Automatic Passenger Counters

Modern fleets are more reliant on data than ever. Traditional manual counting methods can be error-prone, time-consuming, and require additional labor costs. Automatic Passenger Counters leverage technologies like sensors, infrared beams, or even advanced AI cameras to capture boarding and alighting information with high accuracy. This data is invaluable for:

Route Optimization: Identify under- or over-utilized routes and adjust frequency accordingly.

Budget Allocation: Make informed decisions on resource distribution and staff scheduling.

Compliance & Reporting: Provide documented data for government funding, compliance checks, or internal audits.

Enhanced Customer Experience: Monitor passenger loads to anticipate and manage peak times.

By replacing guesswork with real-time metrics, Passenger Tracking fosters an environment of data-driven improvements. Orbital Installs ensures each system is precisely installed, so you enjoy error-free data collection from day one.

Operational Benefits: More Than Just Counting

Some might see passenger counting as a narrow function. However, the real power lies in how this data integrates with route planning, ticketing, and broader fleet management. By merging passenger data with vehicle location and driver behavior analytics, managers gain a 360-degree view of daily operations. For instance, if a particular route sees consistently low occupancy, resources can be reassigned to more profitable lines. Meanwhile, high-occupancy routes can be served by additional vehicles or staff to boost customer satisfaction.

Over time, robust passenger analytics can also inform marketing promotions, including offering discounts on underused routes or adding premium services for popular lines. Our Automatic Passenger Counter Installation packages ensure each sensor is accurately mounted and integrated with your telematics, enabling an immediate, streamlined data flow to your dispatch or analytics portal.

Core Features of Modern Passenger Counting Systems

Real-Time Tracking: Harness advanced sensors to capture boarding events in real time.

Adaptive Sensing: Certain systems calibrate themselves to varying light conditions, bus layouts, or seasonal apparel for consistently accurate counts.

Integration: Combine passenger data with GPS or route software, enabling deeper insights.

Data Storage & Reporting: Automatic or scheduled uploads to cloud-based dashboards or local servers.

Scalability: Systems can be expanded to accommodate more vehicles or integrated with additional modules like seat occupancy or fare collection.

At Orbital Installs, each Passenger Tracking Installation is carefully planned, ensuring sensors are placed optimally for minimal interference and maximum accuracy. We test each device and train relevant personnel on reading and interpreting the data.

Orbital Installs’ Approach to Automatic Passenger Counter Installation

As specialists in vehicle communication and telematics, Orbital Installs employs a proven methodology for Automatic Passenger Counter Installation:

Assessment: We begin by reviewing your fleet size, vehicle models, route complexities, and data requirements. This info guides our sensor and device recommendations.

Scheduling: Large fleets require strategic rollouts to minimize downtime. We plan the installation phases so your vehicles remain available as much as possible.

Installation & Calibration: Our technicians secure each sensor along doorways, calibrating them to filter out double-counting or environmental noise.

Integration: Passenger data merges with existing route management or dispatch systems, ensuring a single, consolidated platform.

Testing & Training: We confirm accurate data capture and train your staff on daily usage and troubleshooting.

Our commitment extends beyond installation, offering ongoing maintenance and updates to keep your passenger counters at peak performance.

Enhancing Vehicle Communication & Data Ecosystems

At Orbital Installs, we see passenger counters as one piece of a broader puzzle. Modern fleets also rely on telematics solutions, two-way radio systems, and advanced route optimization software. By weaving passenger data into your overarching vehicle communication strategy, you elevate the efficiency and decision-making potential. For example, real-time passenger loads can be relayed to dispatch teams via two-way radio, enabling them to route spare vehicles or staff effectively. This synergy between hardware components fosters a unified digital ecosystem, aligning with your daily or long-term operational goals. With each device properly installed and integrated, your fleet transitions from manual guesswork to data-driven intelligence—a hallmark of forward-thinking organizations in the mobility sector.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q1: Why do I need Automatic Passenger Counters when I can have staff count manually?A: Manual counting is prone to human error, becomes costly over time, and isn’t always feasible during peak hours. Automatic Passenger Counters deliver accurate, real-time data with minimal effort.

Q2: How accurate are these sensors in high-traffic conditions?A: Modern sensors are highly accurate—some boasting over 95% accuracy. Our thorough Automatic Passenger Tracking Installation process ensures your device is calibrated for your specific environment.

Q3: Will integrating passenger counters disrupt existing telematics or communication systems?A: Our technicians design integrations that complement, not disrupt, your current systems. Proper installation ensures data from counters flows seamlessly into your dispatch or analytics platform.

Q4: Does Orbital Installs handle ongoing maintenance and updates?A: Yes! We provide post-installation support, including periodic firmware updates, recalibrations, or expansions if you add more vehicles.

Q5: Can passenger data integrate with route optimization software?A: Absolutely. Our approach merges these metrics with route management, enabling dynamic scheduling and resource allocation based on real-time passenger loads.

Real-World Impact: Turning Data into Decisions

What does your fleet gain from implementing calamp or other advanced passenger counters? In short, better data transforms your daily operations. You can:

Optimize Fleet Size: Knowing exactly how many riders occupy each vehicle helps you deploy resources where they’re most needed.

Enhance Rider Experiences: Reducing overcrowding or ensuring peak-hour coverage fosters loyalty.

Improve Profitability: Detailed usage statistics guide marketing efforts and strategic route expansions.

Justify Funding: Government or private stakeholders often require passenger stats to substantiate grants and budgets.

These improvements aren’t theoretical, they translate into actual savings, improved satisfaction, and a stronger reputation. Orbital Installs ensures each system reliably captures data with minimal downtime or staff overhead.

Why Orbital Installs?

Orbital Installs stands out due to its:

Expert Team: Each technician is well-versed in advanced fleet hardware—from passenger counters to telematics.

Comprehensive Solutions: We integrate passenger counters into your existing systems, bridging two-way radio comms, route optimization, and more.

Quality Assurance: We meticulously test each sensor post-installation, verifying consistent accuracy and stable data transmission.

Scalable Deployments: Whether you run a handful of vehicles or a large-scale transit fleet, we design solutions that adapt to your growth.

Combining specialized knowledge, rigorous processes, and customer-focused values, we’re the prime choice for Automatic Passenger Counter Installation.

Conclusion

Data is king in modern fleet operations. Embracing, Passenger Counters goes well beyond counting heads—it ushers in precise analytics, route optimization, and heightened passenger experiences. Yet these benefits only materialize when devices are expertly installed, calibrated, and integrated. Orbital Installs offers a holistic approach that streamlines your adoption, from planning to deployment and beyond. Our seasoned technicians handle complexities like sensor positioning, software configuration, and end-to-end testing, all to transform your raw passenger data into powerful operational insights. If your goal is to enhance efficiency, reduce guesswork, and better serve your passengers, we invite you to reach out. Let Orbital Installs demonstrate how an Automatic Passenger Tracking Installation can significantly elevate your fleet’s capabilities and bottom line.

To Contact Us - https://orbitalinstalls.com/contact-us/

#orbitalinstallationstechnologies #automotive #truck accessories #truck #automotive services #eld mandate #autos #trucking logistics #apc #automotivesolutions #automatic passenger counter

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towncarrentals · 1 year ago

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Cars for rent in brandon

Whether you're exploring the vibrant city of Brandon or venturing out into the scenic Manitoba countryside, having a reliable set of wheels can unlock a world of possibilities. But let's face it, car rentals can put a dent in your travel budget. Don't fret, budget-conscious explorers! Finding cheap car rentals in Brandon is easier than you think.

This guide will steer you towards the best deals, navigate rental options, and ensure you cruise through your Brandon adventure without breaking the bank. So, buckle up and get ready to discover the freedom and affordability of cars for rent in Brandon.

Planning Makes Perfect:

Before diving into the rental pool, a little planning goes a long way. Consider these key factors:

Trip Duration: Will you be cruising for a weekend getaway or embarking on a month-long exploration? Rental rates often decrease with longer booking periods.

Travel Dates: Peak seasons (summer holidays, festivals) see higher demand and prices. Opt for flexible travel dates if possible to snag better deals.

Passenger Count and Luggage Needs: Compact cars are fuel-efficient and budget-friendly for solo travelers, while SUVs cater to larger groups and cargo.

Transmission Preference: Automatic transmissions are generally more expensive. If you're comfortable with a manual, you can save some cash.

Exploring Your Rental Options:

1. Local vs. National Brands:

Local Brandon car rental companies often offer competitive rates and personalized service. National chains boast wider vehicle selections and convenient locations, but prices might be higher.

2. Online Aggregators:

Websites like Kayak, Expedia, and Priceline aggregate deals from various companies, allowing you to compare prices and features at a glance. Be mindful of additional fees and insurance costs mentioned in the fine print.

3. Discount Clubs and Promotions:

AAA members, loyalty programs, and corporate partnerships can unlock special discounts. Signing up for rental company newsletters or following them on social media can also alert you to deals and promotions.

Cheap Car Rental Gems in Brandon:

Now, let's delve into some budget car rental in Brandon companies known for their value:

Town Car Rental: This locally owned company boasts a stellar reputation for friendly service and competitive rates. They offer a variety of vehicles, from fuel-efficient compacts to spacious SUVs.

Enterprise Rent-A-Car: With multiple locations in Brandon, Enterprise offers a wide selection of vehicles and straightforward pricing. Keep an eye out for online coupons and weekend deals.

Budget Rent-A-Car: True to its name, Budget focuses on offering affordable rentals for all budgets. While their vehicle selection might be smaller, their prices are often unbeatable.

Beyond the Price Tag:

While price is crucial, don't overlook other essential factors:

Insurance: Understand the different coverage options and choose what best suits your needs. Consider adding personal liability insurance if your own policy doesn't cover rentals.

Mileage: Unlimited mileage packages might seem like a good deal, but if you're planning a short trip, a limited mileage plan could save you money.

Fuel Policy: Opt for "full-to-full" policies to avoid refueling charges at inflated airport prices.

Read the Fine Print: Carefully review the rental agreement before signing. Understand cancellation policies, late fees, and any additional charges.

Bonus Tips for Budget-Savvy Renters:

Consider public transportation: If your trip primarily involves exploring Brandon city, the local bus system might be a cost-effective alternative.

Carpool with friends/family: Splitting the rental cost with travel companions can significantly reduce your individual expense.

Fuel efficiency matters: Choose a fuel-efficient car, especially if you plan on covering long distances.

Avoid one-way rentals: These often come with hefty drop-off fees. Consider returning the car to the pickup location to save money.

Hitting the Open Road with Confidence:

By following these tips and exploring the cars for rent in Brandon options, you can embark on your Manitoba adventure without worrying about breaking the bank. Remember, cheap car rental in Brandon is possible with careful planning, informed choices, and a dash of savvy negotiation. So, buckle up, hit the gas, and create unforgettable memories in this beautiful corner of Canada!

#Car rental #car rentals in Brandon #Cheap car rental in Brandon

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mind-travel-er · 3 years ago

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The London Daily Ride

09:33

# Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader Jake Lockley x female reader # Synopsis: Before you know him as "Steven from the gift shop", you know him as "Steven from the bus stop". Every day, a new opportunity to discover the lovely little quirks of a stranger; becoming more and more familiar. That is, until someone else shows up. # Warning/Content: Fluff/Angst, Character Study, Accurate DID (can be triggering), Touched-starved!Steven, sex (future chapters). # Word Count: 1.3k [read me on AO3] · [next chapter]

There is comfort in being alone.

A bliss in enjoying yourself endlessly with no prying eyes. No expectations from anyone.

Yet, there’s a fine line between solitude and isolation. Withdrawal. Sometimes, you couldn’t tell the difference between the two, and occasionally, you would slip. Going to bed later than you should, burying yourself in one of your hyper-fixations. Not only avoiding social occasions, but preventing the chance to create them altogether.

Still, there is comfort in that. Even in that. Trepidation. A sheltered world you have been masterly building; the possibility of negative interactions denied at its borders. No trespassing. Only safety. That’s the bubble you’re in, that early morning on the bus. Absently seated, not even aware of your own body, since you’ve spent the last few weeks embedding your mind into passion, like a hammer on a nail, geeking out. You have no energy for anything else.

The bubble is about to burst. You don’t want that. Yet, it needs to. It needs to since, out there, strategies of coping are required. Every so often, even a disdainful look from the local cashier is all it takes to shatter to pieces. And of course, being a woman entails, before all, being sharp and quick enough to know in seconds if a stranger’s eyes should be avoided. Men’s eyes. You’ve read the statistics. Experienced some yourself. You know that even when you know them, there’s a risk.

Such is the world. And thus, such is the need for the bubble. Even when alone merges into lonely.

That’s when you see him.

Not much worth a look.

He's on the driver’s side of the standing area, seated backwards. A countercurrent. A perfect diagonal; opposing your figures. Between, the automatic gates of the bus intermittently opening and closing, as the passengers get to their destination or are entering; taking shelter from the cruel Londoner’s rain. Your eyes caught the head tilting down, as he’s clearly drowsing off, and you smile. That’s the little but meaningful details that you like to observe. When the empty interactions slip to reveal authenticity. Even for a few precious seconds.

When you lie in your bed at night, what will you remember? The day passes in a rush, always occupied or preoccupied by work. If not, responding to emails and messages, watching endless feeds on your phone. All that, the long-term memory part of your brain doesn’t care for it. It is devoid of emotions. During the night, the brain will implacably select what is worth keeping. What will you remember, in the dark of a room, after a long day?

The odd-ish, luminous, mischievous details that made you feel, you bet.

It's what makes the difference between boring repetitiveness of the days and fondness for a new one coming.

So, you observe him with new-found attention. Like witnessing a scene in a theatre. The smell of rain on coats tingling your nostrils. The tip-taping on the windows, insistently conveying a sense of shelter in your chest. Your outfit hugging your flesh into reassurance; humid vest, yet clothes underneath dry.

Not much worth a look. It’s true. His clay-grey gabardine seems to fall too big on his shoulder, even if it isn’t. There, droplets of rain are holding on; still not quite dried. He’s dressed proper, with a shirt almost the same colour; a tad darker. Your eyes descend to his shoes. Navigator shoes. And your smile widens: Typical dad shoes, you think. They are taken care of. The leather has recently been polished, and you nod lightly in appreciation that you know isn’t needed from anyone. However, they aren’t neatly tied as one would expect. Tidy, but distracted, you deduce. Next to the paradox embedded in his shoes, a black saddleback. Effective, yet not remarkable. And you wonder if people, co-worker or friends, would state the same thing about its owner. Your eyes drag across his figure, ultimately coming back to the top. You can’t see much of his face, leaning forwards. Only his mane, a mess of brown -you can only guess- soft curls; damped by the dreadful weather of the day.

He must be narcoleptic, you deliberate. Following the movement of the bus as it takes its turns, you see his head lolling to the side; only to land on the man in his 50s seated next to him; reading a newspaper. The businessman, aquiline and imperious nose, bothers to shoot an exasperated side-eyed look. Still… he says nothing. It’s not really a kindness, but it warms your heart anyway. That alone would have sufficed to light up the coming night. It makes your smile-turned-into-grin need to be tamed. You force yourself to observe the linoleum of the bus, constellated with shoe marks brought by the heavy rain -small dull mirrors- to regain control of the muscles of your face.

The next bus stop comes. The newspaper-man folds its adjective and gets up. The other shoots its head straight up, one eye half hooded, the other wide; a literal sketch from a comic book. Promptly, he’s apologising profusely, running on sudden adrenaline. And you notice two things: One, a lovely, distinct Londoner accent. Two, how the phrases coming out of his mouth sound a bit boyish. "Oh sh -. Oh, So-Sorry about tha’. I didn’t mean to- I-" and he offers a contrite smile. "Don’t get much sleep is all."

And as the older man folds his copy of the London Daily, stepping out indifferently: "Y- Yeah, okay. Goodbye then.” And he waves.

"Thanks for the shoulder!" A full chuckle is menacingly creeping up your throat, as a powerful fondness melts your core. It’s hard not to see yourself in him. Apologising for things that aren’t really serious, or demanding one. Apologising to someone that doesn’t have the appreciation for it. Now living under your chest, something tender has made its home. Despite that, a sting. As you realise that just a few seconds after he has waved goodbye, he turns his head to consider the dreadful weather by the window and his expression falls. A disappointment of sorts, perhaps, to see the disregard in the other’s reaction. And you think again: Why can’t people just be nice? Not nice. Just decent. In the back of your mind, Humperdinck echoes the end of his refrain: "Lonely is a man without love". Any kind of love, you think. Even from a stranger. After that, you don’t allow him out of your sight, but he doesn’t notice. His hands laying on his laps with no purpose, he looks behind him, at his right, then at his left -the empty seat-. Then, he looks up at the bus's hanging screen with narrowing eyes; mouth opened. A new stop, people in, people out. By the time he’s in your line of sight again, he has fumbled a book out from the bag near his feet, adjusting his glasses on his nose and frowning at the pages. The glasses of a librarian. Or an archivist. And you wonder again, if what you imagine somewhat defines the person he really is.

Oh, bless him, you think.

Hardly anyone reads in the bus or the train these days. Yourself included. The dopamine-inducing-apps are too hard to resist. A book always seems too much trouble, with a significant chance of missing your own stop when your brain finally settles into the reading. Instead, you much prefer observing the passers-by, searching for the details. You examine his deep frown. His ravish looks from time to time; as he must be reading a particularly interesting passage. His fingers fumbling to crook a corner, you fantasise, for him to read again later. Undeniably, if not found in others, love can be found in other passions.

And then, the realisation hits you. What you’re witnessing has an intimate familiarity. The bubble. His bubble. Laid bare for everyone to see. Yet, no one is paying attention.

No one, except you.

#steven grant #oscar isaac #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely x you #moon knight #moon knight tv #moon knight fanfic #ao3 #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight x reader #steven grant imagine #jake lockley imagine

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reuinx · 4 years ago

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Red Lights (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: You've been having a tough time lately. It's Yelena's goal to brighten up your day. The day takes the form of an afternoon spent in Yelena's car teasing, laughing, and singing. It looked like the day couldn't possibly get any better until tragedy struck.

Prompt by Anon ask: “Kissing your lover’s forehead as they’re dying in your arms but reader is dying please and thank you “

Word Count: 2,047

Paring: Yelena Belova x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of blood (Gore kept extremely minimal), tragic accident resulting in death.

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Dorogoy (Love)

Masterlist

Have you ever had those days when nothing goes right? You miss the bus, you say the wrong thing, you lose your temper, and you spend the rest of the day wondering what you could have done differently? It was one of those days. Using this logic, you are faced with a dilemma - you don't want to stay at home, but you don't want to stay alone either. You tentatively texted Yelena to see if she was free; she was. Summer heat caressed your exposed arms, leaving you with sun-kissed skin.

Despite the heat of the summer, you kicked pebbles across the ground like a child. The sound of her approaching car preceded your sight. The noise of her exhaust was followed by the blaring of Babooshka by the brilliant Kate Bush on her radio. Typical Yelena. She was driving her obnoxious yellow Ford Mustang; it was convertible. She made sure she knew that. It was her pride and joy, and she loved nothing more than it; well, she did love something more than that car, you.

Parking along the footpath, she had the roof down, and her blonde hair was flowing. While one hand was on the steering wheel, the other was hanging outside her window. In a pure white shirt, she exposed the muscles tense in her arm. Her sunglasses slowly slipped down the bridge of her nose as she peered over at you. She was undressing you with her eyes. She was chewing gum; she moved her lips slowly to match her motion.

“Still moody are we, Malishka?” Yelena called out from her car. The smile on her face was always devilish. Even though today didn't go as planned, you felt like it would be heaven on earth with Yelena.

“No”, You replied flatly as Yelena pushed her sunglasses back up to hide her eyes; she turned to face straight ahead of her as you made your way towards the car.

“I’m going to keep doing it until you admit you’re moody.”

“Keep doing wha-“ Before you could finish, She shoved her hand down on the horn as the already noisy auto began honking. Those who passed by started looking at the car with wonder. Redness flushed your face as you raced to the car.

“Yelena! Stop!”

“Mhm?”

“I’m not-“ You swiftly shook your head as the horn continued its outcry. She was stubborn, but so were you. She always won; there was no fighting with Yelena.

“I’m moody!” The moment you admitted it, she took her hand off the horn, resting her head back against the headrest as she stared up at you with a toothy grin.

“God, I hate you. You know that right?”

“Nah, you love me actually.” She was right about that. Yelena leaned across to open the door for you as you made your way to the passenger side. After entering, you shut the door behind you and automatically turned down the radio.

“Trying to go deaf are you?”

“Mhm?”

“I said are you trying to go deaf?”

“What?”

“I said- Oh forget it! Stop teasing me. I’m just looking after you!”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Feels like it sometimes, El.”

“Ha,” Yelena grumbled. Your laughter today was finally made possible because of Yelena's reaction. You were comforted by her. Talking to your person always made your worries go away. Yelena tutted and pulled your seatbelt into the latch plate as she leaned over your body, grasping your belt to make sure it was secure. Yelena put the car into gear as it began to move, the engine rumbling to life as she drove at the appropriate speed. She would never dream of speeding with you in the car.

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“No no, it was just one of those days.”

“Good, I don’t have to kill anyone...”

“No killing anyone.”

“Unless…”

“No”, You shushed her as you glanced at her with the corner of your eye; Yelena was smiling. She looked genuinely happy, which was a relief to you. She radiated happiness onto you; it was impossible to escape.

“It’s a beach day today.” The comment came from Yelena.

“Are you going to throw me in?”

“Actually… I’m still debating it.”

“What’s the pros and cons?”

“Con is that you’re pissed.”

“What’s the pro?”

“It will make you laugh.” You hadn't encountered anyone with the same kind of personality as her. Selflessness characterized her. Her heart was pure gold. Although she was tough, when her walls were broken, she became the softest person you'd ever met. It was easy to love her. She reached over for your hand; she took it in her hand before placing your hand on the clutch. To change gears, she held her hand yours, moving your hand in the desired direction. She was reluctant to let go but eventually cleared her throat to ask. Freeing your hand.

“Will you change the CD, Dorogoy?”

With ease, you opened the glovebox and located the CD binder. The 2000s saw a lot of popularity with these. Not now. Yelena's argument "It can fit so many CD's in it!" She wasn't wrong. It did. There was tons of CD's from all different genres in it. She bought CDs of the songs you played on your phone, not just the ones she liked. Even though she hid it from you, you started to notice when her binder began to fill up. You flicked through the CD’s until one caught your attention. As you saw a blank CD with writing on it, you paused. "For You" is spelled in Yelena's impeccable handwriting. While her eyes rested on the road, you turned to look at her, returning your focus to the CD. Yelena was smiling softly at you while you were busy changing CDs.

“You made this for me?”

“I did. I wanted to make you a playlist and well, there’s no Bluetooth so I did the best I can.”

“You’re too sweet. But… You do know downloading music and burning it on a CD is pretty illegal.”

“If your worrying over me downloading music, you should see what else I do” Yelena released a chuckle as the music played from the radio. You leaned over as you adjusted the volume up as the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac came through.

“I know you like them wood people”, Yelena murmured under her breath. Suddenly, you felt the excitement in your stomach rise. What else was on this CD? We get so caught up in the big things when we fall in love with someone. The little things are always the most important. You weren't just going to sing; you were going to perform as well. As you sang at the top of your lungs, you began to sway in your chair.

“And if you don't love me now -“ Your hand clenched as if it was holding an invisible microphone as you held it to Yelena’s lips. She smiled, licking her lips as she finished the lyric.

“You will never love me again.” She sang without hesitation, and while her voice is usually harsh, it was smooth and soft this time. When you heard her singing, you burst into laughter and clapped your hands in glee. The music picked up, and your hands moved with the lyrics. You didn't miss a word. Yelena was beginning to tap with the beat of the song on the steering wheel, laughing at how passionate you had gotten.

“I could listen to you forever.”

“Unlucky for you, you have forever with me”, You chirped out as Yelena frowned, turning her head quickly to glance at you.

“Why would that make me unlucky?”

“I’m a pain in the ass.”

“True but you’re my pain in the ass” She sounded more and more sincere with every word she said. Your singing continued unabated. As soon as the next red light came on, Yelena slowed her car down to a stop. It was now possible to see the beach. You were too busy performing for nobody to notice that Yelena was watching you. When she saw you happy, her eyes glowed with childhood excitement. All she wanted was for you to be satisfied. Because you were focused on the big things like the beach, you missed the little things like how Yelena looked at you. Anyone would kill for the kind of look she gave you. Yelena’s expression suddenly changed when you looked at her, her face filled with horror. She wasn’t making a face at you but something behind you.

“What’s wrong?” Suddenly, everything went black. You lost all sense of time and purpose of self. Feeling an overwhelming sense of emptiness, you thought it overtake you. You felt alone. Yelena? Where was Yelena? Was Yelena okay? Had you fallen asleep? There was a noticeable pressure in your chest, almost as if it was being squeezed. You felt your lips tingle, and your lungs fill with air.

"Hey!" A distorted voice echoed inside your head, and you couldn't understand what was being said or even who it was?

"Wake up! Please wake up!" It was beginning to become more legible until a voice broke through the silence.

"Malishika!" Yelena, it was Yelena.

The world was blurry as your eyes snapped open. As you blinked rapidly, flashing lights obscured your view of the figure above you.

"Stay with me, stay with me please." You now knew what the pressure on your chest was; Yelena had been pressing hard and fast on the center of your chest. It was her rescue breaths that tingled your lips. The haze in your vision was clearing as you could see Yelena. It was evident from her face that she had been crying. Spikes of blood could be seen on her face as sweat ran down her forehead. It wasn't her blood. It was yours.

In your disorientation, you did not know where you were. You were lying on the road when you suddenly remembered being in the car. Your eyes focused on Yelena's car as you tilted your head to look past her. Now you know what Yelena saw behind you. As you were sitting on the passenger side, a car ploughed straight into you through the red light. Yelena must have rescued you from the wreck. With growing dizziness and fatigue, your eyes began to flicker shut. The feeling of Yelena grasping your cheeks caused your eyes to dart open.

"Don't you dare close your eyes on me. I've lost everyone, I can't lose you too. I just can't. Please. Please don't go anywhere.. Just stay. Please just stay. I need you, god I need you. Please." She was begging you, pleading with you. The moment you tried to move, your body refused to react; you were powerless. With one hand on your stomach, she firmly grasped it. It was now clear that her previously pristine white t-shirt was heavily stained red. You felt queasy thinking that was yours.

"Hey, I'm okay. I'm okay baby. It's okay." You managed to whisper out as your voice was weak.

"It's not okay, it's really not okay. I don't know what to do! I can't stop the bleeding" Yelena's voice was firm, her jaw extending with the words she spoke as she tried to contain herself. She sobbed, her eyes flicking upward.

"It's okay, El. You can stop. Just stop."

"Don't fucking say that, don't ever fucking say that. You aren't going anywhere, you aren't. This is not a goodbye! Don't give me that bullshit. The paramedics will be here soon, they will! " She snapped.

"Baby, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Yelena? Do you hear me? "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"I love you. God, I love you. Don't forget that, you hear me?" Yelena dipped her head down as she slowly pressed her lips against your forehead. She placed her free hand into your locks of hair as she slowly began to run her fingers through the strands of your hair.

"Baby?" She called out one last time. Your eyes locked onto her green eyes, admiring them one last time. The world around you faded to grey; the last thing you heard was Yelena's scream.

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re-diesirae · 4 years ago

Text

Prologue & Chapter 1

Prologue

Llanbister, Wales. March12th, 2016.

He was running late. He shouldn't have spent those few extra minutes waiting for that coffee, but then again, the traffic today was a nightmare. He had no idea of what was happening, but at this rate he wouldn't make it to the office until past noon.

The man drummed his finger against the glass of the window impatiently. The line of cars was not advancing at all and he could see the irritated drivers coming out trying to figure out what was happening. The man checked his hand watch and sighed. His office was barely a few blocks from where he was right now; he probably would make it less late if he just got off and did the trip by foot.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by poke on his shoulder. THe woman sitting by his side had suddenly dropped her head on him apparently asleep and he couldn't help but feel the annoyance building inside him.

"Ehm...excuse me, miss." he said trying to hide the irritation in his voice "Miss?"

Seeing that the woman wasn't responding to his words, he tried moving her to a better position. She was cold and he noticed that she was holding a bulk in her arms. No matter how much he shook her or called, the woman remained unresponsive.

A loud set of screams made him jump on his seat completely forgetting about the woman for a second. He looked out the window and he could see smoke coming from somewhere a few vehicles in front. Just like him, the other passengers in the bus were also trying to see what was happening outside with curiosity. Suddenly he was distracted by a stir at his side.

So…the woman had finally decided to wake up.

He turned around to see her and screeched in horror. The woman was suddenly covered by blood; it dripped out from any possible body hole: nostrils, eyes, mouth, ears...

She began murmuring some incoherent things that he could not understand, but before he could ask anything the woman had jumped over him with a roar. It was too quick for him to react as she stuck her teeth on his neck.

The last thing he would ever remember were the people running frantically inside the bus trying to escape, the smell of blood, pain and darkness and horrifying screams.

1. CLAIRE

North America TerraSave HQ, Hughesville. March 16th, 2016.

Claire let out a frustrated sigh as she dug into the fresh pile of paperwork on her desk. After her return from Sushestvivanie Island, the North American branch of Terrasave had fallen into chaos. The treason of one of its higher characters had caused the organization to falter, and people were starting to lose confidence in them. As a result, the directives decided that it was time to put a meaningful person in the head, and that was how she got promoted to branch chief. Despite the pretty office and the fancy title, the new rank brought even more problems into her already messy life. As expected by many, Claire had done a magnificent job as chief by proposing new plans and strategic protocols, among other things. She had done such a great job that the Chiefs from other branches asked her for advice regularly.

"Seriously," Claire sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. " I am not sure if I'd rather shoot zombies every day instead of signing all this paperwork."

Claire gave the file she had been reading one last look before signing and shutting the folder. She left the thing on the pile on her right and stretched her arms. It was then that she heard the shy knocking at her door, and the auburn headed sighed and told whoever it was to come in.

"Excuse me, Ms. Redfield," Madeleine, her secretary, said, peeking her head behind the door shyly, "I am sorry, but I've been knocking for about ten minutes. I was afraid that you might have collapsed."

Madeleine had been working as her secretary for a couple of months now. However, for some odd reason, the girl still acted a little nervous around her. Claire was aware that there was an innate Redfield trait that would sometimes make her intimidating, so she gave the girl her brightest smile, trying to calm her.

"Oh, sorry. I've been spacing out a lot lately. Did you need something? Please tell me you bring me something good and not another of those endless reports that I am supposed to sign."

Claire was feeling pathetic and bored, and she swore that if she had to sign another of those stupid reports, she would jump out through the window and hide somewhere away from there.

Madeleine laughed, feeling a little more relaxed, and shook her head.

"Oh, no. It isn't a report, Ms. Redfield," she replied, "And I supposed it counts as good news, in a way."

"Huh?" Claire said, tilting her head.

"You have visitors, Ms. Redfield."

"Visitors?" Claire repeated.

She looked at the clock on her desk and frowned. She was sure she didn't have anything booked in her Agenda for that afternoon. She wasn't even expecting guests that week.

"Well, a zombie may kill me," a familiar grave voice chuckled.

Claire's eyes widened in surprise, and her lips curled into a smile as she watched her brother's form step into the room with a teasing smirk. He was wearing casual clothes, something that was very odd these days. To her shock, Chris hadn't come alone. When the large man stepped aside, she saw Jill, Barry, Moira, and Leon enter as well. The latter was who made her even more surprised, as she had no idea of what had brought the agent to visit her today.

"Chris! What the...? What are you doing here?" said Claire, dropping her pen. Suddenly, a wave of panic ran through her body, and she looked at her visitors in a panic," Oh, no. Please, don't tell me there was another outbreak."

Her question caught everyone by surprise, but it was Moira's laugh that broke the tension.

"See what I told you?" the girl laughed, "She's been like this for a while. Whenever someone stops only to say hi, she automatically assumes you bring news of the apocalypse."

Claire rolled her eyes. The only reason she did that was that she had enough experience now to know when something was off.

"You would, too, if you had my job. I've gotten six outbreaks in the past two weeks..." Claire defended herself, "that ebola case in Congo and the Plagas thing in Mexico still has me on edge, so don't judge me."

"Ok, ok..." Moira said, raising her hands, "No one is judging."

Claire sighed. The woman turned to her brother and tilted her head.

"Please tell me there isn't another outbreak," she whispered, looking at Chris.

Chris scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Tch, do I need to be in a crisis to visit my baby sister?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I supposed not," Claire shrugged, "but considering your history and that fact that Leon is here, too. It is hard not to think otherwise."

Claire stood up and gave both men a questioning look.

Chris let out a chuckle as he pulled his sister into a warm hug. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd felt her brother's hug, and she was happy to return it.

"Relax, Claire," Jill smiled, putting her hand on her shoulder, "We just returned from a mission, and we got a couple of weeks to rest. Since we happened to be around and Barry told us you were overworking yourself, we thought we should come to visit for a change."

"Ok, that's reasonable for you," Claire nodded.

Of course, Barry would tell them that since he probably heard it from Moira. The girl was always complaining about how little rest Claire got, but in her defense, the piles of paperwork kept growing, and she needed to finish them on time.

"What about James Bond?"

"Very funny, Claire," Leon sighed.

Claire smirked at him teasingly, and the blonde shook his head with a faint smile. She often teased him with that, and she was probably the only person from whom Leon accepted it.

" Pretty much the same. I came back from a mission, too. I was in the area and coincidentally stumbled with Chris," he answered, "he said he was going to visit you, and since I haven't seen you in a while, I decided to tag along. Is it true that you've been overworking yourself, Claire?"

Claire laughed.

"I guess that's a plus from my promotion," she sighed, and then she quickly added, as she saw Leon give her a skeptical look, "It's alright. The whole thing is more boring than anything else. Just paperwork and stuff, you know. The sort of thing that Chris hates the most."

Claire punched her brother's muscular arm playfully, and Chris answered the gesture by hugging her by the shoulders.

Jill laughed at the comment, while Barry nodded gravely. No one knew how much Chris hated paperwork better than his partners. Both Barry and Chris would do anything to avoid that, so it was Jill who ended up dealing with that.

"Well, it must be some hellish paperwork, then," Leon said, frowning, "You don't look too well."

"Geez, thanks, Leon, but you are one to talk..." Claire said, rolling her eyes, "No, wait. You never look bad, so how would you know."

Leon smirked at her teasing but said nothing else.

"I know what Claire needs to look livelier. How about we grab a bite?" Barry suggested, "I am starving, and I can swear for my Magnum that Claire needs to put on some weight. Seriously, girl. Are you even eating your meals?"

"Yes, I am, Barry," Claire answered, "Are you here to lecture me on my eating habits?"

"Nah, that's Kathy's thing," Barry laughed, "but you're seriously too thin."

"Blame my quick metabolism for that, but talking about food. I think I can take that offer, but you, Barry, are treating me."

"Sure thing, whatever it takes to put some fat on those bones, girl," Barry smirked, patting her back.

It was rare to have all her friends and family reunited in the same place at the same time, and Claire couldn't deny she felt happy, but Claire's happiness always came with a tiny thorn of doubt. No matter how well things looked, a part of her was waiting for something ominous to happen and make that happiness crumble. She wasn't always like that, but after so many bad experiences, she couldn't help it.

No more than a few minutes had passed since the thought had crossed her mind that she found her prediction coming true. The group was walking out of the office when the harsh echo of the emergency alarm began to ring. They all looked around in confusion, and Claire bit her lip with worry.

"What's that?" Chris asked.

"Isn't that the emergency alarm?" Moira asked, looking at Claire, "That thing has never rung before, has it?"

"No, never..." Claire said with a frown. She picked the radio she carried on her waist and began calling into it.

"Red? Do you copy?" a cracked voice called through the radio.

Claire let out a sigh and answered the call, fearing the news that it'd bring.

"I'm here, Grant. Would you mind explaining why the alarm is ringing?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. There was a security breach. Someone hacked into the system and set out all the safety protocols."

"What?" Claire sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Again? Please tell me you are doing something about that."

"Ah, yeah. I am at it," Grant replied, "where are you now?"

"Standing in front of my office door," Claire said, looking at Madeleine. The girl was sitting at her desk and turning pale.

"I got an S.O.S call from Saya," Grant replied, "Things are a fucking mess. All the security protocols in the laboratories got activated, and people got either locked in or locked out. I tried to help remotely, but the hacking messed up with the system, and it's rejecting me. I am trying to fix things up, so I can't go and reset it manually. Mind lending a hand and taking a look? I think your master code should work."

"If it is rejecting yours, what makes you think mine will work?"

"Well, your code works differently, and even if it fails, I trust you can figure out a way to solve it in situ. Just try not to toast my circuits."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What happened the last time?"

Claire rolled her eyes.

"Fine. You fix up this mess. I'll head to R&D."

"Roger to that."

Claire put the radio away and groaned.

"Sorry," she told her friends. "I hope you don't mind a detour and a slight delay on that lunch date?"

"Well, we don't mind," Barry replied, "Duty is important."

"What happened?" Chris asked, "is there anything we can do to help?"

The group walked to the emergency stairs, followed closely by her brother and friends.

"Ah, never mind. It's just another false alarm," Claire sighed, "It's another attempt to wreck our security system. These pro-terrorists have taken it up against TerraSave, lately. This incident is the first time they succeed, though. No surprise, Grant is so pissed off. He controls the whole cybersecurity system in the building. His pride must hurt."

"Grant?" Jill asked.

"Grant Wallace," Moira chuckled. "Claire's little fanboy and the head of cybersecurity."

"Fanboy?" Jill asked curiously.

"Don't ask," Claire replied, rolling her eyes.

"Hardcore fanboy," Moria smirked, "and not shameful about it. How many times has he asked you out?"

"Out of topic."

Moira smirked and wagged her eyebrows meaningfully.

"So, pro-terrorists?" Leon asked, and Claire innerly thanked him for changing the subject.

"Well, Mr. Government agent, I would have expected you to know about it. It seems there's a significant group of people who believe TerraSave is causing more damage than good. The organization has made its enemies, and the situation with Fisher made our credibility fall apart. We get tons of threats daily."

Claire had, purposely, omitted the detail about the fact that more than 80% of the threats were specifically for her. She could deal with the nuisance, and there was no need to worry about them with silly pranks.

"Those extremists see anyone that goes against their ideas as enemies. Everyone knows the effort that TerraSave has put into helping people in need, Claire," said Chris, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You are all doing a good job."

Claire smiled at her brother. She didn't recall when was the last time she had Chris physically by her side. They spoke regularly by phone unless he was on a mission on some decrepit corner of the world and out of reach, but having the flesh and bones Chris was somehow soothing, especially now. The younger Redfield had been having some issues recently. Her paranoia and neuroticism had been keeping her awake at night. A part of her was unconsciously awaiting a calamity, but having her brother close was a rare comfort.

They reached the fifth level of the building, and Claire led the group through the door and into a corridor with white walls.

"Well, I just had a deja vu," Chris said, shuddering.

Claire snorted. The corridor would surely remind them of many of the bioterrorist laboratories they had visited in their career in the BSAA. However, it was the standard design of any health and investigation facility.

"Don't worry," Claire smiled, "We don't make bioweapons here."

"Fuck no," Moira agreed.

"Where exactly are we now?" Leon asked curiously.

Claire smiled again, this time with some pride. Level five and six held restricted access, so even most members of TerraSave had no access to the place. Chris had visited the building on several occasions, but he'd never stepped into this area either, and Leon had only come once, so she wasn't surprised that he seemed a little confused.

Claire was sure that Leon expected the place to look like a conventional office, but he found laboratories instead.

"Research and development, Level four. Biosafety and Public Health department," Claire explained, "We do some research on disease treatments and control. We work continuously to develop effective countermeasures during outbreaks. Health care systems, communication, medicines, among other things."

"You are developing vaccines?" Leon asked, "here?"

"I had no idea TerraSave could do that," Jill said, surprised.

"No, unfortunately, we lack the resources to develop vaccines. However, we can provide data to companies to help, and we can design treatments for disease, but we don't have enough power to produce vaccines."

"We have the brains, though. Right, Claire?" Moire said, grinning.

"I have no doubt we do. We have many competent researchers."

The group turned around the corner and reached an area with several glass doors. The lights on their electronic locks were red and blinking, and a tall woman with long black hair and Asian features was pacing back and forth in front of the door restlessly.

"Saya," Claire said, surprised.

"Ah, god bless us. You're just the person I wanted to see," the woman said.

"Well, I'm happy to be a sight to sore eyes, I suppose. You got locked out?"

"Isn't that obvious?" the woman asked with a frown, "I went to get some papers from the office next door when the alarm rang. All the doors got locked. I tried my master code, and guess what, it rejected it."

"Any sensible essay I should be worried about?" Claire asked, opening the panel and fidgeting with the buttons.

"Well, not on my part, but some people were working in lab3."

"They will run out of Air if we take too long," Claire sighed, "Let's hope it won't reject my master code."

"I am sure that you can figure out some other way if that happens," the Asian said, "though maybe something less explosive than the last time."

"Are you all going to keep reminding me that?" Claire said, rolling her eyes.

Claire pressed the buttons in the panel. Finally, after tampering with the electronic log several times, the red light turned green, and all the locks chimed, indicating that they were open.

"Bingo," Claire said, closing the panel.

"As expected from Fix-it-all Redfield," the Asian woman chuckled, "You're an angel."

"Oh my god, so the fix-it-all title was for real?" Moira asked.

It was because of Moira's sudden outburst that Claire and Saya remembered that there were other people present.

"Oh, my. Where are my manners," Saya said, looking at Claire, "Who might these be?"

Claire scoffed and turned to her friends.

"You know Moira, of course, this is her dad, Barry; this is my brother Chris, his partner Jill Valentine, and my old friend Leon Kennedy."

"Oh, friends of our chief are friends to me. I am Saya Hiwamura."

Saya shook everyone's hand politely.

"She's a doctor and one of our active researchers."

"You give me too much credit," Saya said with dismissal, "We all know the one doing most of the work here is you, Ms. Fix-it-all."

"Can you stop with the nickname?"

"Why? We know it brings good luck."

"That rumor has been running around the members for a while now," Moira explained to her father and friends, "everyone says that when something isn't working, you must come to Claire. She will fix it."

"Oh, that's a horrible lie, and the reason why my work load keeps piling up."

"Well, that's your fault for being good at this job," Moira laughed, "If you sucked, no one would ask for your advice."

"If I sucked, this branch would sink deeper."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Moira said, "That's fucker Neil's doing."

Claire shrugged. Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of Claire's radio. The woman answered it and got greeted by a lot of static.

"Hey, Redfield. Do you copy?"

"Yeah, Grant. What's wrong with your signal? It sounds so bad."

"Not...sure. Probably interference," the voice answered, "Hey, can you come to the Command Center? I've got troubles here, and I would like you to take a look."

"Me? You are the tech guru, not I. If you can't fix this mess, then I can't either."

"Oh, I am sure you can fix this. Come down here, and you'll see."

Saya gave Claire an amused smile, and the auburn headed caught Moira snickering.

"Fine. I'll be there in a minute."

Claire put the radio away and groaned. She turned to her friends and gave them an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I have got to check this," she sighed.

"Wallace calling for you, huh?" Saya smirked, "He'd use any excuse to have you pay him a visit, wouldn't he?"

"This is purely professional. I don't know what Grant wants me to see, but I am sure it is important," Claire shrugged, "Would you mind entertaining my friends until I'm back?"

"Oh, no. I am happy to oblige," Saya smiled at the group.

"Are you sure you don't want us to help?" Chris asked, but Claire waved her hand.

"I am sure it's nothing. Grant is a dork sometimes, but he knows his deal. The security system in the building is tight. I am sure they just messed up with the alarms and stuff, nothing more than a bad prank."

"Are you sure?" Jill said, "We don't mind helping."

"It's fine. I'll check, and I'll be back in a jiffy. We can get that lunch then."

Claire patted her brother's back and walked down the hallway until she disappeared around the corner, leaving the group behind.

Claire reached the basement, where the Command Center was. The alarm had finally stopped ringing, and the woman was happy to hear silence at last. The loud whistle was starting to cause her a headache.

Everything seemed to be in order, but she had an odd feeling in her gut. However, the woman brushed it off as her paranoia, kicking into action. She had seen several people on her way down, but once she reached the basement, she felt it unusually quiet.

"You are overthinking, Claire," she told herself as she pushed the door to Grant's office open.

The room was empty and dark, except for the tiny lights coming from the equipment. That was the first thing to set off her alarm. From all the rooms in the building, that room was the only one that never looked dark. Even if the lights were off, Grant's monitors would still light it up enough.

"Grant?" Claire called.

There was no answer and Claire's gut twisted. Something was wrong, and she was automatically on edge. Her clear eyes tried to scan the room for danger, but with the little light, it was difficult for her to see if there were any threats.

It was a good thing that her instinct was fast to react. Otherwise, she wouldn't have evaded the dark figure that tackled her from behind the door.

Claire rolled over the ground and stood up in a jump, taking a fighting position. The woman landed a clean kick on the ribs, sending the black-suited person against the wall.

Her attacker was surprised by her reaction, perhaps he taught that Claire was an easy target, but she wasn't. The woman was ready to fight if she had to. Claire hit the man several times, but the man dodged one of her hits and pushed her against the table, slamming her head against the polished wood.

The attacker was sturdier and stronger than her, and he had the advantage in the fight. However, she'd learned to fight from Chris, and he had taught her many ways to overcome that disadvantage. Claire's knee hit the man in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. Using that distraction, she grabbed his head and slammed it against the table several times until the man fell to the floor unconscious.

"Well, crap," Claire gasped, rubbing her head and trying to recover her breath.

She was about to check who the man was when a second man, who she had not seen before, attacked her. The auburn headed struggled against the man, leaving a mess in the small office.

It was at the last minute that Claire realized that there was a third person in the room, but she was too late. The third attacker raised his shotgun and hit her head with it.

The impact was painful, and it made her lose her balance. The second hit knocked her out, and the last thing she felt was a crushing pain on her backs as she faded away.

#Cleon #fanfic #my fanfiction #leon x claire #claire redfield #claire x leon #resident evil #leon s kennedy #chris redfield

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sunshineandcybertronians · 5 years ago

Text

Heart Attack - Knock Out x reader

Word count: 3,670 Warnings: None A/N: This was one of the first TFP fanfics I wrote. I finished it in June 2019. Hope you enjoy! Song: Heart Attack by Demi Lovato

You hummed a song on the couch while watching the older two teenagers play a video game. Not truly paying attention with a big grin and a far off look in your eyes, daydreaming. about your secret friend. Knockout. You met him through your association with the Autobots. He decided to capture you, not too long after you were introduced to them, a few months after the other three kids were. Before the Autobots rescued you, you talked with Knockout. It was enjoyable and you both like to conversing. Thus, you been secretly scheduling time to get together. You loved being with him and talking to him.

Currently, your mind was sitting on a mental picture of him his finish shiny and a beautiful shade of red. His face snow white and handsome. Your imagination switch to him in his flawless alt mode rolling down the road against the sunset. Sighing, your imagination supplied the sensation of sitting in him at that high speed. Your heart began throbbing with a strange feeling. Realizing what you were thinking, you shook your head. No, you couldn't think that. You were just friends with him, that's all.

You were drawn back into the real world by Miko's victory celebration.

"Yes, I won!" Miko jumped up at her car knocking Jack's off the road.

Jack groaned before reminding Miko, "Okay, it's Raf's turn now."

"Right. Here," she handed him the controller.

"Miko, you've made the controller all sweaty," Raf complained, holding it by only his fingertips.

"Sorry," she replied in her cheerful way. "Not my fault my hands decided to do that while I was crushing Jack." She mimicked holding a controller and mashing buttons with one foot up on the cushion.

"How long has it been since you guys cleaned those off?" You asked, suddenly curious and slightly disgusted since you never recalled them doing that.

"Um, we're supposed to clean them?" Miko asked, sitting down and putting a finger on her jaw as if she was thinking.

"I... don't think we ever have," Jack slowly admitted as the realization came over him.

"Then I'll go get some wet wipes from the storage room. I'll be right back." You got up, began to clop down the hard stairs, and entered the Cybertronian sized corridor. "I'll come with," Miko called out while hopping up and running down the stairs with no regard for her own safety.

"Carefully!" Ratchet immediately snapped when he glanced her way.

"Sorry," you apologized for her, sinking into your shoulders.

Miko caught up with you and you both began running done the hall. You wouldn't normally have run, but you unintentionally mimicked your energetic friend, as well as doing so to simply keep up with her. Being in the corridor without someone usually made you feel uneasy, as if you felt that you didn't belong there due to your small size. Miko being beside you helped ease your insecurity.

She kept talking about some random things, like how she defeated Jack, that they need a new video game, and the monster truck rally she and Bulk went to. Most of the time you just nodded while she did the talking. You accidentally tuned out about half of it. Once you reached the storage area, you grabbed the box of wet wipes, cradled it in your arms, and began pacing back.

"So, do you like anyone?" Miko asked you out of nowhere, leaning forward while looking to you expectantly.

"What?" Your pupils became large and you almost froze from surprise.

"Do you have a crush on anyone?" she jumped out in front of you and walked backwards. "You've been acting more happy and daydreamy recently."

"I don't think 'daydreamy' is a word," you avoided the question.

"But who is it?"

"No one!"

She fell into step aside you again, pretending to examine her nails with a smug smile. "It's Knockout isn't it?"

That time you actually stopped in your tracks for a split second. "What?!" you said a lot louder than you meant to.

"Yeah! I saw the way you looked at him the other day when we had a run-in with the 'Cons. You were totally goo-goo eyed. If it were an anime your eyes would have had tons of sparkle and you would have been drooling."

"Quiet," you almost whispered.

"You were! Do you like him?" Miko was the most persistent girl you've ever known.

"No," you firmly answered louder than you meant to. You managed to stop yourself from shouting that you didn't know, feeling frustrated. "Look, I can't like him, he's a Decepticon. I barely know him. So stop asking," your voice had an unintentional edge. Miko even looked shocked and slightly scared for a millisecond.

In reality you didn't care that he was a Decepticon, you just didn't want to have to deal with a crush. They could be so annoying. Plus, it would be hard to do that considering you were on opposite sides, the Autobots might object, and he may not like you back. That last one could ruin your friendship which you valued so much.

"Okay," Miko shrugged and focused on the open room you were approaching. Although you could tell she wasn't convinced, even more so with her sudden calm and cool attitude. She was actually pretty good at acting when she wanted to, provided she's not lying, to the point only someone who truly knew her would be able to see through it.

"Here, think fast," you tossed the box to her as you ran into the wide area with most of the Autobots' presence.

Her pace quicken like yours and she rushed up the stairs. Your course, however, was aimed at the yellow Autobot scout. You slowed and stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Bee!" you called to him, "Can I get a ride back home? I think there's a report I left at home, so I'll just finish it there." With Miko being onto your secret- you mean, her thinking you liked Knockout, you had to get out of there as fast as you could before she told everyone her suspicion. Primus knows she can't keep a secret. You did NOT want to be around if she did so.

Bumblebee beeped in agreement and transformed into a yellow Urbana 500. The passenger door popped opened and you climbed inside.

"Thanks, Bee," you said as he clicked the seatbelt over you.

He buzzed, probably saying, "No problem," and drove through the tunnel and out into the Nevada desert. It was a quiet ride back, the light brown terrain blurred past you. You began thinking about Knockout again. They hadn't figured out that you were friends yet, in fact, all Miko suspected was that you liked him. This meant you were in the clear for now. Although if Miko told everyone, it would not only be embarrassing, they might keep a closer eye on you which would prevent you from being around Knockout.

Deciding you should tell him, you pulled your phone out and your fingers began flying across the digital keyboard.

Me: Wanna go for a drive? I'll be back home in a little bit, but don't go just yet. And be careful, the yellow Urbana's dropping me off.

You tapped send and leaned back in the seat. Normally you wouldn't have referred to Bumblebee like that, but it would make it easier for Knockout to know who you were talking about. Plus, it sounded like something Knockout would say and every now and then you found you were picking up his talking habits.

A buzzing against your skin made you look back at your phone and see the reply.

Knockout: Sure. I'll stick around, unseen, until you give the thumbs up.

You wanted to comment that it was almost impossible for him to be 'unseen' with his shiny, red paintjob and his gorgeous alt mode, but you knew what he meant. Blood rushed to your cheeks and you felt warm when you realized you just mentally called him gorgeous.

"Buzzz, chirp chirp, buzz?" Bee seemed to ask a question and pull you out of your thoughts.

"Huh." Being back in reality you suddenly realized you were only two or three minutes away from home.

Bumblebee repeated himself, but you still had no idea what he was trying to say. "I'm... sorry. I don't understand you."

The seatbelt moved on its own like it was alive. The part that was previously on your shoulder tapped your cheek, then stayed on your shoulder again like it never moved.

"Oh," you let out when you realized what he was asking. "It's just warm today, so that's why my face is turning red," you lied, although it was a warm day and you were grateful he cared enough to ask.

Before you could say thank you, the AC became cooler and the cool air felt pleasant on your skin.

"Thanks, Bee," you smiled.

He beeped another, "No problem," or "You're welcome." You didn't really need a translator to know that.

In no time, you were in front of your house. You waved and gave another thanks before running inside. Once inside, you secretly watched from the window and waited until Bumblebee was gone.

Pulling out your phone again, you typed:

Me: He's gone now. Just left.

You considered painting your nails red while waiting, to look better for him, but would it dry in time? Before you could decide, fifteen seconds after you clicked send, Knockout pulled up and you rushed as fast to him as you could, almost forgetting to close the door on your way out. The door opening, you promptly got in. It closed behind you and he began to drive.

"That was fast. You didn't even give me time to brush out my hair or anything," you joked while reaching for the seatbelt out of habit, but it automatically went over you and snapped into place.

"You still look just fine," he replied somewhat slowly in his suave voice.

"Thanks," you smiled and forced yourself to stop thinking about it before you could begin blushing.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he noticed you were slightly less happy than usual. You had been friends and spent enough time with each other that he could read you fairly well.

"Miko might be onto me."

"She's the girl that's Bulkhead's pet, right?"

"Partner, or charge, whatever you want to call it," you corrected. "But yes."

"She knows about us," there was a slight growl in his words. You could just be kidding yourself, but it might have been fear, in an angry way. Like he was scared of the possibility. "About us being friends and meeting each other, I mean," the red interior lights flashed as he spoke.

"Well not exactly, she..." you paused, looking for the right way to word it. You didn't want to tell him that Miko thought you had a crush on him, because you didn't, you mentally added. "She noticed how I... seemed happy when I saw you the other day. She may guess that I've been meeting up with you, or someone else will if she tells them."

"Would she tell them?"

"Oh yeah. That girl can't keep a secret. Except for the fact that cybertronians exist, maybe she's just bad at keeping secrets from her friends. Anyway," you regained your posture and decided to get back on topic, "even if they don't figure it out, they might think that I'll approach you and get captured or... join the Decepticons," you waved your arms out, careful not to hit Knockout, as you exaggerated. "The point is they can worry and keep a closer optic on me which would restrict me from seeing you." You leaned back with your arms crossed, staring down. "I could always text or call you. But I have no idea how long the house arrest would last. Plus they may wonder who I'm texting so much and see, and I would miss riding with you and seeing you in person."

Knockout stayed quiet as he processed it, wondering what he should say or how he should respond to all of that information. The only sound was the hum of his engine giving the necessary energy to glide across the concrete in the open desert while you waited for a reply.

"Hmm. Wouldn't want that to happen. If the 'Bots learn, Megatron might too. That would be painful. But the chances of him figuring out are slim, so I'd be more worried about you right now." He thought about it. "Maybe if that happens you could run away with me," he suggested.

You laughed, "As tempting as that is, I can't do that. That would be a little irresponsible and only make it worse. If they worry about me being captured or defecting, running away wouldn't ease them, it would make them more desperate. And they're my friends too. But thanks for the offer," you added.

"What should we do then?"

"I think we should just roll with the punches and hope for the best. There's no guarantee they'll find out. Although, we should be more careful." It scared you to think that you could lose Knockout, however you had to hope for the best. That was all you could do, so you hoped you wouldn't be prevented from being with him. The thought of being torn apart from him made your heart ach- you mean, it would be sad. No, you gave your head a small shake. You didn't love him, you convinced yourself.

"If you say so," he sounded a little unsure himself.

"Knockout!" a deep, scary voice burst through the speakers making you jump.

"Yes, Megatron," Knockout tried to mask the fear in his response, not wanting to be caught slacking off with a human.

"Knockout, where are you?" he demanded.

You froze and unintentionally held your breath. You didn't know if the Decepticon leader would hear you if you said anything, but you didn't want to find out.

"I was... just scouting for energon deposits."

"Well you're in luck," Megatron became strangely calm with a bite, like he was attempting to suppress his anger. "Because we have detected an energy signature near your location. Scout out the area and report your findings, IMMEDIATELY!"

"Y-yes, my liege." He turned off the comm. "Sorry, (Y/n), I have to go check it out," he said quietly, as if he was afraid the comm was still on.

You nodded. "It's alright. I understand."

None of you had to mention it to know that you were both terrified that Megatron would find out about your secret, despite only speaking through the comm channel. Your heart was still racing. By the way the engine rattled slightly, while driving off the road to scout the requested site, you could tell he was still shaken up.

Knockout stopped by a rock wall and opened the door for you to get out.

"It would probably be safer if you stayed here and wait for me. No telling if the site is going to be unstable or if Lord Megatron has already sent other Decepticons," he mentioned.

"Right," you hopped out, "I'll wait here." You watched him drive away, turning right and behind the orange-ish brown rock formation you were standing by.

Sighing, you wondered what you should do while waiting. Your feet kicked up some rocks and dirt out of boredom. Your mind wandered and you began to think about Knockout, then Miko's earlier claim. A warm feeling fluttered in your chest. You immediately forced yourself to stop thinking about it to remove the feeling and decided to distract yourself by putting in ear buds and listening to songs on your phone.

Several songs played that you danced or bobbed your head to. Then a song, that sounded strangely similar to your situation, began playing.

Puttin’ my defences up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love

Upon hearing that you knew it was "Heart attack" by Demi Levado.

If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack

Never put my love out on the line

You nodded, since you knew that you wanted to never to risk your heart getting broken or putting yourself in a bad situation when it came to love... want being keyword. You can want one thing, but another thing can happen.

Never said yes to the right guy Never had trouble getting what I want But when it comes to you, I’m never good enough

A laugh escaped your mouth, recollecting that you often never felt good enough for Knockout. He was gorgeous, how could you ever compete or be good enough for his standards? This time you forgot to notice you called him gorgeous and argue with yourself that you didn't think that as your thoughts moved on with the song.

When I don’t care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll Won’t wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear high heels, yes you Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

A hum vibrated in your throat as you began humming the song at the pre chorus. You remembered when you considered painting your nails for Knockout.

You make me glow, But I cover up, won’t let it show, So I’m puttin’ my defenses up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack

Your heart seemed to have taken note of what feeling it produced when you usually thought about Knockout and replay it while listening to the song. This time you didn't fight it and let the nice feeling flood through you.

Never break a sweat for the other guys When you come around, I get paralyzed And every time I try to be myself It comes out wrong like a cry for help

You were so into the song and relating to it so much that at the last line that you began singing along while dancing more vigorously, knowing that no one would see.

It’s just not fair Pain’s more trouble than love is worth I gasp for air It feels so good, but you know it hurts

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear perfume, for you, Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

You recalled how you'd be so much more happier being with and thinking about Knockout, but you'd never let it show because you didn't want anyone else to figure out. Thinking about it now, you didn't want yourself to figure out. You thought that if you kept denying it, then you wouldn't fall for him.

Dummy, you heard a part of your brain or heart say, how could you not fall for him?

The feelings got lost in my lungs They’re burning, I’d rather be numb

It felt really weird suddenly admitting you liked him, that it had become too powerful to deny, like the song was giving it energy. The emotion overpowered you in a way you almost felt weak, yet it somehow had a pleasant sensation.

And there’s no one else to blame

Sighing, the song reminded you that there was no one else you could blame for making you feel like this except for yourself. You let this happen and decided to meet him all the time.

So scared I take off and I run I’m flying too close to the sun And I burst into flames

A spin was the next move you decided to perform. While doing so, you spotted an all too familiar red mech leaning against the rock and white face smirking. This startled you so much that you lost balance and fell down on your bottom, facing Knockout.

Oh I think I’d have a heart attack

Your cheeks heated up, feeling embarrassed that he heard you singing and what you were just thinking about. His arms were crossed, causing the sun to reflect off of his doors, and an optic ridge was raised that didn't help your blush.

I think I’d have a heart attack

You stopped the song as it ended and pulled out the ear buds. "I... didn't hear you. How... much did you hear?" you tentatively asked while getting up.

"Oh, just the beginning of, what I assumed is, the second chorus up until now." He stood up straight and walked closer to you.

You stood still and wondered what he was going to do. An awkward smile played on your mouth while you pretended everything was normal. Although you moved your legs closer together and held your arm, giving you the appearance of being someone shy.

"So, do you have a heart attack?" he asked.

Your heart started beating so fast you thought it would burst out of your chest and your brain stopped functioning. "Umm... Uh, ummm."

Your flustered reaction seemed to please him. He tenderly placed a digit over your mouth to stop you from talking. He leaned down so you were eye to optic. A smile graced his faceplate while you stared into his deep optics.

"I have a spark attack too."

#TFP #Knockout x reader #Knock Out x reader #Knockout #songfic #tfp x reader

143 notes · View notes

seokiloquy · 4 years ago

Text

How Do You Say...? - Oikawa Tooru

AU: Band (kind of - not really) / a low-key songfic (based on If I Could Tell Her - Dear Evan Hansen Musical)

Requested (Heads up requester: I change it up just a tad…sorry)

Tags/ Warnings: GN! Reader

Word Count: 6k+

But he kept it all inside his head / What he saw he left unsaid

And though he wanted to / He couldn't talk to you

He couldn't find the way / But he would always say...

Your hand came down hard on Oikawa’s shoulder — or at least as hard as a five-year-old could hit. “Don’t be rude,” you said.

Oikawa launched forward but caught himself before he fell. He turned and glared at you. “I’m not! He was being mean to you!”

You held the straps of the backpack tighter and held your head high, jutting out your chin, in the opposite direction as him. The both of you were waiting for Oikawa’s mom to pick you up from school and the one time she ran a bit late, a boy in your class came up to talk to you, which was going well until the boy caught a glimpse of Oikawa’s glare and quickly excused himself.

Oikawa’s glare, which mainly consisted of scrunching his eyebrows and eyes while pursing his lips, had followed the boy until Oikawa could no longer see him. He had turned and smiled at you sweetly before he was met with a smack on his shoulder.

“He was talking about the new building he made out of bricks yesterday, Tooru!” You walked a little bit away from him and sat on the newly unoccupied bench, flooding your arms and glazing down at the sidewalk.

Oikawa looked at you. He knew that you weren’t really mad at him and by the time his mom would come, this would be forgotten about and the conversation would move to whatever the two of you were going to do at his house. He hoped that it was watching the new episode of his favourite cartoon that just aired, but he’ll probably just do whatever you suggested. It had always been hard for him to say no to you.

Carefully, he walked over to the bench and sat down beside you, not as close as he usually would, but close enough so that no one could sit in between the two of you.

“I wasn’t talking about what said now,” he grumbled, glaring to the ground. He bit his lip and clutched his hands into fists. “I heard him saying mean things about you during recess.”

You paused and unfolded your arms. “What did he say?”

“Nothing important.” Oikawa’s voice hardened. “It doesn’t matter. I told our teacher after he said it. That’s why he wasn’t at the play station today.”

Oikawa bent forward from the bench to get a better view of your face. You were still for a moment and then a small smile broke out on your face and you began to laugh, a fit of giggles that were so contagious, Oikawa’s frown disappeared and he started to laugh alongside you.

Catching your breath, you reached over and grabbed Oikawa’s hand — still in a fist — and wiggled your fingers into it until your hands were interlocking. You leaned in and kissed him lovingly on the cheek. “Thank you, Tooru.”

Oikawa beamed and held your hand tighter. “Of course! I’m your best friend! I’ll always protect you (Y/N)!”

Oikawa’s mom pulled the car up in front of them and honked the car horn. Both of you jumped at the sound. She lowered down the passenger seat window and smiled. “Ready to go?”

Oikawa nodded as the two of you climbed down the bench and made your way to the backseat door. He reached for the handle and pulled, stumbling backward from the momentum. He let you get in first and then crawled in behind you.

Once both of your seat belts were on, Oikawa reached over and interlocked your hands again, grinning brightly like no tomorrow. His mom pulled into traffic and glanced at the both of you through the rearview mirror. “Are you holding (Y/N)’s hand Tooru? That’s very sweet of you.”

Oikawa raised your interlocked hand as high as he could. “Yes! We’re going to stay together forever! Right (Y/N)?”

He looked over to you expectantly. You were already looking at him with a matching grin of your own. You stared at your hands together and squeezed them. There was no way that your life could get better than this. As long as you hand Oikawa, you had everything you needed.

“Forever!” you cheered.

“Can you hit me with a bus, Tooru?” You threw yourself on Oikawa’s bed and screamed into his pillow.

Oikawa laid on the floor of his room balancing a volleyball between his hands. He pushed his arms out again, flinging the ball high in the air which landed perfectly back into his hands with a satisfying thump.

He was getting better every day. He needed to be better if he was going to make his middle school volleyball club as a setter. Every minute not spent with you was a minute he played and practised the sport.

He glanced over at you. You were kicking your legs rather dramatically on his bed and your face was planted in his pillow. You made the room shake but he couldn’t do anything else besides smile at you.

Oikawa placed his volleyball down beside his guitar and made his way to his bed. He nudged your shoulder slightly and you moved over to one side of the bed, automatically making space for him. He laid down beside you and folded one of his hands under his head to make up for the loss of half his pillow.

“Do you have insurance?” he asked.

You were very close together, but neither of you minded, neither of you ever minded being close together.

In fact, it felt wrong for Oikawa not to see you every day. He treasured these small moments with you, moments where it was just you and him and everything came secondary to that. Only recently he started seeing you differently than when you were younger.

He noticed when you held his hand for longer and a wave of sadness would wash over him when you let go. And he noticed that when you smiled he would wish for a camera to capture you in that moment. He noticed a lot of things lately.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was; he was still figuring it out, but it was something that he consciously pushed down every day so that he would still remain your best friend in your eyes.

“What?”

“I feel like hitting you with a bus would be such a big hassle if you didn’t have insurance,” he said leisurely.

You sighed, flipped over, and kicked him in the shin. Now, you were in the same position as Oikawa, staring at the ceiling. He could feel the warmth of your arm pressed against his and closed his eyes, he never felt more peaceful.

“You need to get another pillow, Tooru.”

“Why? Usually, I’m the only one in my bed,” he said.

You poked him in the arm. “You know that that’s not true. I’m here basically every day.”

Oikawa brought his hand from under his head and rubbed his chin mockingly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You frowned “Tooru?”

He hummed in response.

“Do you think you want to be in a relationship?”

Oikawa’s eyes flew open, his heart pounded hard in his chest. “What?”

You shrugged from your spot. “I don’t know...A lot of people ask you out and you always say no. Like you say no to things like going to the park after school or watching a movie to anyone who isn’t me or Iwaizumi. I was just curious.”

Oikawa swallowed. “I—I haven’t really thought about it…”

“You have a lot of chances though.”

“I guess? But I want to make the volleyball team.”

“Well…” you said, and then rubbed your forehead. He thought that that was a little endearing, the way you would visibly show that you were thinking. “You’re probably going to make the team, but what about after? Like long term.”

Oikawa blinked. “We’re in middle school.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you want to be in love though? That can start at a young age, can’t it?

Oikawa’s mouth felt dry. “Maybe? (Y/N)—”

A knock came from his door. It slowly pulled open and his mom stuck his head through the crack. “Sorry to interrupt. (Y/N), I was wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner.”

You sat up and smiled at her. “I can’t today...I have some relatives coming over.” You glanced at Oikawa’s clock that was on his bedside table. “Actually, I should probably go. I could only come if I promised not to be late.”

You nudged Oikawa to the side and briefly held his hand before slipping off his bed. You looked at him for a moment and whispered, “Are you alright Tooru?”

He nodded stiffly.

You squeezed his hand and then stood up. “I’ll see you later then.” You smiled again at his mom. “Thank you for having me over.”

Oikawa’s mom patted you on the shoulder. “Oh, you’re always welcome here, (Y/N). Get home safely.”

Oikawa turned and waved at you before you left. Once you were out the door, he caught the gaze of his mom. Her eyes were laced with pre-concern, like she could already tell that something was wrong.

“Tooru? Is something wrong?”

He bit the inside of his lip. “When did you and dad start going out?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing as she went to sit beside him. “Well, he first asked me out during our second year at university.”

University? That was so long from now, he thought. He barely knew what love was, his only examples being what he saw on television and his parents. Panic slowly rose to his chest. What if he was already in it and he didn’t even know? Did that mean he would never feel what being in love felt like if he didn’t feel it now?

“How did you know you loved him?” he asked hesitantly.

She spoke carefully as she said, “I’m not sure...It happened kind of quickly. After a while, I just knew I wanted him in my life forever. I knew that he would make me smile when I was sad or just comfort me when I need it.”

Oikawa didn’t meet her gaze; he just twirled his fingers together. “How do you know if it’s different than wanting that but as a friend?”

She sighed and brought a hand up to brush his hair back. He could tell that she knew what he was talking about — or at least what he was hinting at — and appreciated when she didn’t say it. He didn’t know if he physically wanted to hear it out loud. Listening to someone else say it would make it seem more real.

He was too young for this, he thought. Why couldn’t things like this be easy?

“I supposed,” she said, “that you’ll just have to take that chance.” She kissed his forehead. “Just try not to wait too long,” she added, “it’s better to say what you need to than regret not saying anything at all.”

“What if I don’t get a chance,” he whispered.

“Then you make one.”

Oikawa carefully plucked the strings of his guitar. In his mind, nothing came before volleyball for extracurricular activities, but music was a close second. It calmed him in a way volleyball didn’t. He would mindlessly play, letting his fingers — and selected youtube tutorials — guide him through songs. And he wasn’t that bad at it.

As he got older, volleyball became more intense and since it was his last year of high school, he was determined to make the best out of all his matches and practises even if that meant he would run on very little sleep. However, today was an off day. Morning practice had been cancelled, but his body naturally got up at an early time so he decided to pick up the guitar instead of practising on his own.

Lately, he had been trying to write his own songs...but it wasn’t going too well.

So far Oikawa only played for himself and occasionally for you and his mom, but he wanted to play in front of an audience at least once. He wanted to go somewhere he could perform, and if life went the way he planned, he wouldn’t have that much time for music and volleyball would take up most of his time.

His door opened.

Iwaizumi came in and shut the door behind him. He wore his club jacket, track pants, and a volleyball was tucked under one of his arms. His volleyball and school bags slung across his shoulder. A frown was prominent on his face.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows. “Or knock. Or speak.”

“Your mom let me in,” he said shrugging. He walked over and smacked Oikawa upside the head. “I’ve been waiting outside for 15 minutes. Where were you?”

Oikawa rubbed his head and gave Iwaizumi a nervous smile. “Oh...yeah. Sorry. I forgot to tell you to go ahead without me if you were going to practice anyway.”

Iwaizumi glared and threw Oikawa’s club jacket that was hanging on the back of the door at him. “Well, I’m here now. Get dressed.”

“You should tell (Y/N),” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked the pebble in front of him. Iwaizumi had been his closest friend besides you and the moment he found out Oikawa’s feelings for you, he told Oikawa, almost immediately, to tell you.

Oikawa thought about it and then immediately placed it in the box in the back of his mind where he chose to forget things.

It was still early in the day; the sun had just barely risen and long shadows stretched across the street as the two boys walked. Oikawa took a deep breath of the cool air. They’ve had this conversation before and it always ended the same way. He didn’t know why Iwaizumi still brought it up from time to time. He sighed. “Don’t you think if I could tell them, I would?”

“Then why don’t you?” he asked.

Oikawa glanced at Iwaizumi. His head was facing forward and a hard look of indifference was on his face.

“(Y/N)’s my best friend — besides you, of course — and if I tell them and they don’t feel the same way, it’ll ruin our friendship. It’ll be awkward and weird. And that’s the last thing I want to happen. I won’t let that happen.”

They walked in silence until they reached the club room. He could hear the faint thuds of volleyballs hitting the ground and the squeak of shoes on the floor. A scene of happiness went through him. It was confronting to know that there was a group of people who were just as passionate about volleyball as him that they would come in even when practise was cancelled.

Just before they entered the room, Iwaizumi grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“(Y/N) is my friend too,” he said. He let out a huff of annoyance like it was paining him to say the words. “And...they tell me things I really didn’t want to know.”

Oikawa frowned. “Don’t tell me.”

“Don’t you want to know what they said,” he emphasized.

Oikawa thought for a moment. He ignored the pang of pain that went through him that there was something you wanted Iwaizumi to know and not him. “No...(Y/N) told you and you should know. They didn’t tell me of a reason.”

Iwaizumi mumbled to himself and shook his head. “Just tell them.”

“Why do you even care so much?”

Iwaizumi let out a sigh that sounded half exasperated and half angry with a tone of sadness. “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. Have you ever thought that (Y/N) might like back in the same way?”

Okawa felt drained and the day hasn’t even started. “Then why wouldn’t they tell me?”

The club door opened and a confused Kindaichi poked his head out. “I heard noises outside. Are you going to come in? Or...? The door was unlocked...”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi said to Kindaichi. He waited until the first-year went back into the room and then turned back to Oikawa. His face softened but only a fraction. “Maybe the same reason you never told them.”

Even after a week passed, his talk with Iwaizumi still lingered in his head and Oikawa had kicked himself every day since. He was usually good at pushing aside his feelings, placing them so far away from his mind it was like it never existed, but Iwaizumi — curse him, Oikawa thought — brought up things that he purposefully ran away from.

He had been wandering about for more than an hour. First, he walked to your house because he felt more confused than he ever felt in his life and he wanted to talk to his best friend; but his confusion was about you and...that was not a conversation he wasn’t ready to have yet.

Then, he started towards Iwaizumi’s house but quickly doubled back in fear that Iwaizumi might say something that he didn’t want to hear again. He couldn’t risk it.

As he kept walking, Oikawa found himself back at your house. A ghostly smile appeared on his face as memories flooded his mind from his childhood with you. He remembered holding your hand on those front steps as you cried from a scraped knee. The same stairs he didn’t dare go up now.

“Tooru?”

Oikawa spun around. His throat felt suddenly dry. “Hey, (Y/N).”

Your face lit up as you saw him and you quickened your pace to get to him. “It’s fantastic that you are here!”

“It is?”

“I have a date!”

Numbness took over him. Oikawa felt like someone stabbed him in the heart and his hand gripped the handle ready to take it out, but he couldn’t at the risk of bleeding out. All he could do was prevent the knife from getting twisted. “What?”

“They volunteer with me. I was going to call you too but my phone and I think I lost my charger,” you continued. “Oh! Want to come with me to get a new one?”

Oikawa wanted to scream at himself for being so stupid. He waited too long. But you looked so happy, beaming like the sun, and he loved your smile. He wondered a lot if you knew how your smile affected him. “That’s great,” he said. “I’m really happy for you (Y/N).”

“Thank you.”

“And I will go get a charger with you,” he said lightly as he could. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Only out of the fear that you’ll get lost because it has happened before.”

You rolled your eyes, but grabbed his arm and led him towards your front door. “Did you want to ask me something?”

He swallowed. “What? Why would you think that?”

“You were waiting at my house, weren’t you?

Oikawa’s mind blanked. “Uh...My mom — My mom was wondering if you wanted to come over for my birthday dinner next week.”

You nodded. “Of course! Do you even have to ask?”

You turned to face him and pulled him into a hug. “I have a really good feeling about your birthday this year Tooru.”

He nodded and hesitantly wrapped his arms around you. He could feel your heartbeat pounding against his chest, a steady, reassuring rhythm; and even though you were so close, you never felt so far away.

Oikawa banged his head against the front door of his house.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

After a few more times, he leaned against the door head first. He just arrived back at his house after spending time at your house. Surprisingly, to him, he was able to keep his calm even if he felt like dying on the inside. It was the only time he could recall not wanting to spend time with you.

He yelped as the door suddenly opened and he fell forward headfirst into the house.

“Tooru!” His mom rushed to him and helped him up. “Why were you knocking on the door?”

Oikawa met his mom’s gaze. “I lost my chance.”

His mom furrowed her eyebrows. “What? Lost what chance?”

“(Y/N). Someone asked them out.”

“Oh, Tooru…” She sat beside him and rubbed his back. She would do this a lot when he was younger whenever he felt sad. It felt a little childish, but he leaned in and enjoyed the confronting touch.

He stayed quiet for a while more and then stood up. He offered a hand to his mom, helping her up. “I’ll be in my room,” he said, kicking off his shoes.

“Your dad’s going to be at work a bit late so let’s go out for dinner tonight,” his mom suggested hopefully. “We can go to that restaurant you like.”

Oikawa just wanted to lay in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, but he didn’t want to worry his mom by saying no. Maybe going out with his mom would be good. “Sure. I’d like that.”

She smiled. “I’ll call you down when we’re going.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Oikawa made his way to his room and shut the door lightly. He caught a glimpse of his guitar that was left on his bed after Iwaizumi came over. He picked it up gingerly and placed it in his lap. Automatically, his hand went to the neck of the guitar and to the chords of a song that he was working on.

He never had trouble with finding the base of the song, what chords it would have or the melody that would accompany it; his Achilles’ heel has always been lyrics. The videos and articles he saw online always said to write from the heart, what he knew about, what he wanted, or had an opinion on, but not much crossed his mind besides volleyball. And one could only write so much about volleyball into a song.

The only other topic he knew was things about you. Your favourite colour, food, and flower. All of those minor details about you that others would overlook, and more, would be forever in his mind.

He took a notebook from his bag. He dribbled his pencil against the empty page. Perhaps, it wasn’t what he wanted to say that should be the lyrics to the song. Maybe he should write about all the things that he left unsaid.

Today, he knew what to write.

Today, words didn’t leave him when he needed them the most.

You banged your head against your bedroom door. You turned and slid down the length of the door until you reached the floor. Leaning your head back, you closed your eyes and tried to recall the date.

Your date was...strange to say the least.

They spoke about themselves and let you talk about yourself, which was good. That was the whole point of dating. Having to learn about someone was a skill that you haven’t used in a long time. But, you had grown used to spreading your days with Oikawa, someone who knew you inside and out, and someone you knew in the same way.

Whenever they would say something about themselves, your mind immediately went to what Oikawa liked instead. You weren’t trying to be disrespectful, but you felt like you were.

“I really like melon bread,” they had said. Oikawa likes milk bread.

“I started to play basketball recently. Do you play any sports?” Oikawa plays volleyball...And I only know about volleyball because of him.

“What is wrong with me,” you muttered.

You only agreed to go out because they seemed nice and your friend told you that you couldn’t sit around all day and wait for the one person you did want to go out with: Oikawa.

When you bumped into him earlier that week, you were really excited and you wanted to tell your best friend. And even when you told him about it, just talking about the date felt wrong, like jamming two pieces of a puzzle together knowing that they didn’t fit together.

Sometimes you thought that it would have been easier if you and Oikawa met later in life, you wouldn’t have this barrier of a long friendship that prevented you from becoming more. But every time the idea surfaced in your mind, you instantly took it back. You wouldn’t trade your love for Oikawa — the way it was today — for anything.

The blaring of your ringtone made you jump.

“Hello?” you said, rubbing your forehead.

“Yes! Is this (L/N), (F/N)?”

“It is.”

“Great. I’m calling from the message you left earlier? There is one happening on the 19th.”

You smiled and some of the tension in your chest disappeared. Even if you and Oikawa weren’t going to be anything more, it would be worth it in this lifetime to add to his happiness.

You were going to tell him and then you wouldn’t have to wait anymore. You just needed the right moment and if one wasn’t going to come to you then you were going to find one.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” you said to Oikawa’s parents.

“Of course!” His dad said.

His mom nodded in agreement. “We’re really happy that you and Oikawa stayed friends after kindergarten.” A dreamy expression took over her face. “I remember when the two of you were so small and you would hold hands all the time—”

“Mom,” Oikawa groaned, but his cheeks were rosy as he smiled brightly.

His mom got up from her seat, walked over to Oikawa, pushed back his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re growing up too fast,” she cried. “You need to stop.”

“I don’t think he has much of a choice,” his dad laughed.

She shushed him and hugged Oikawa’s shoulders lovingly. “Happy birthday, Tooru.”

“Thanks, mom.”

You smiled. You thought it was cute how Oikawa’s mom was always so loving to him despite the fact that Oikawa had become pretty imitating this year, especially at school. It was surprising how many times you heard people talking about it. But you knew that he was a huge softie, which amused you greatly. “Speaking of birthdays, do you mind if I borrow him for the rest of the night?”

His mom nodded. “Don’t do anything illegal.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Oikawa smirked, an amused gleam flashed through his face. He spotted you out the corner of his eye and winked. “You know I love me some hardcore drugs.”

You choked back a laugh. His mom smacked him on the shoulder and glared at him.

The two of you excused yourselves from the table and you told Oikawa to get his guitar and meet you at the front door. Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Oikawa shook his head and wiggled an accusing finger at you. “You better not murder me.”

You feigned shock. “On your birthday? Of course not! Cleary, I would wait until the day after; murdering you on your birthday would just be mean.”

Oikawa adjusted the strap of his guitar bag on his back. “Uh, (Y/N)? Where are we?”

You opened your arms grandly and gestured to the cafe. “Happy birthday!”

The floor was covered with a dark hardwood. Matching tables and chairs were scattered around the space and there were no more than twenty people lounging about with half-full cups in front of them. A warm feeling swirled in the air that mixed with coffee grounds and chocolate.

The majority of the people were crowded around the back of the cafe. An empty stool sat at the front of the crowd with a microphone beside it.

“Thank you?” he said. He looked around again. “Are you going to buy me a coffee?”

“No. Well, I could if you want one.” You patted him on the shoulder, a nervous smile on your face. “But that is your present.” You pointed to the microphone.

Oikawa blinked.

“You wanted to play in front of people right? At least once?” you continued. “Now's your chance. Today is an open mic night.”

He swallowed and gripped the strap of the guitar bag harder. He didn’t feel nervous performing in front of people, he just had no clue what to play. All of the songs he knew suddenly left his brain. Could he just do anything he wanted?

Oikawa turned to you. He reached out and tugged the ends of your hair affectionately. And froze, for a moment, realizing what he did. Hastily, he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you,” he said quickly. He ran to the stage before he could gauge any reaction from you. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second, willing himself to try to think of a song to play.

He sat on the stool and was greeted by a small round of applause. Oikawa smiled at them and placed his hands on the neck of the guitar, only to fall flat to notice that his guitar was still strapped to his back in the bag.

Oikawa blanched. “Sorry,” he said into the mic, “one second.”

The crowd laughed lightly. Oikawa took the guitar out of its case and laid his hands on the chords testing it out. He had the crowd’s attention again and a small spotlight shined on him. Nerves crept up on him, but as soon as he met your eyes, saw your smile, he knew he could do it.

“Hi,” he said more confidently. “This is my first time doing something like this... I, uhh, wrote this song recently. I hope you enjoy it.”

He started off a little shaky, plucking the beginning chords softly. Shortly after, he began to sing the lyrics he had written the day he found out about your date. The lyrics were telling of how he felt about you, but he didn’t care. It’s now or never.

The brown-haired boy sang the words that he wanted to say to you every day but never had the courage to tell you face to face; the words that he shoved down and placed in a tiny box in the back of his mind, ever-present but isolated.

He sang for all of the times he was caught between telling you how much he cared about you and wanted to protect what you already had with each other.

He sang for you — to you.

Oikawa’s voice wavered at the last line. He felt scared for what waited for him once the song finished but relieved at the same time like he had been holding his breath since he met you and this was his first taste of fresh air.

The applause brought him out of the small world he had created for himself. “Thank you,” he said, quickly shoving the guitar back into the bag.

He searched the cafe for you and was surprised to find that you were already looking at him. You were standing near the back of the crowd and your hands punched down into your jacket pockets. Your eyes were shiny and a look took over your face, happiness mixed with a tad bit of sadness and shock.

A mutual feeling passed between the two of you. There was the knowledge that the song was about you and the question that he was most afraid of: Where do we go from here?

Oikawa walked towards you, focusing on your eyes as a guide. He was almost to you when he flinched at the sharp pain at his side. He walked into a chair. He gripped his side with his hand and stopped where he was.

He heard you laugh and looked up. You were standing right in front of him. Your hand gently held his arm that gripped his side. “Are you okay?”

“Please tell me if I messed up our relationship,” Oikawa blurted. He wasn’t planning on saying that, but now that he did, he wasn’t going to stop now. He gathered up all the bravery he could muster. “I’ve always had trouble trying to tell you that I’ve wanted to be more than just friends, that I wished and I hoped, but I’ve never done anything about it for the sake of our friendship.”

“Tooru — ” you began.

“Wait,” he said and took a step closer to you. “If I was the reason we stopped being friends, then I would never forgive myself. But then you told me you were going on a date and it hurt so much more than I thought it would. I want to be the one who makes you smile and laugh, to take you out on dates and hold your hand when you’re happy or sad. I want everything that comes with it.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Oikawa started speaking again before you could. He wanted it all out on the table. “And I have loved you before I even knew what love was—”

You blinked back tears. “You love me?”

“Yes, and going to tell you but then you told me you got asked out on a date and I thought it would be a shitty move to tell you how I felt. And you looked so happy and how could I get in the way of that? You’re my best friend.“ He paused and blinked as if he just realized what he said. “Did I say that I love you? That—

You brought your hand up to his cheek and brushed it lightly with the back of your fingers, lingering ever so briefly. Oikawa stopped, his mouth opened slightly. His eyes locked to yours. Gently, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and brought it closer to you until your lips met.

Oikawa stood still for a moment and then leaned into the kiss, smiling. His hand went down to your waist and pulled you closer.

Though it wasn’t a long kiss, when you parted, both of you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “And I want all of that. I’m sorry for not telling you either. I was scared.”

“So was I,” he said, and then let out a small laugh. “I guess we were both kind of…”

“Stupid?” you supplied.

“Very,” he agreed.

After another second, you pulled back and said, “Damn it.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened in alarm. “What is it?”

“How am I supposed to top this birthday?”

He let out a breath of relief and laughed. Oikawa had wanted for this moment for so long, he barely remembered that it was his birthday. He reached for your hand and interlocked your fingers. “As long as you're there, it doesn’t matter.”

Wow...I’ve been writing really long ones lately…which is both good and bad. Good because I love writing long fics and bad because they are time consuming and I write less requests. For those of you who are still waiting on your request, I’m really sorry.

So, the school year is about to start again, and though I will try my best to write during the year, this one might be the last one for me until the next break…

Fun Fact: I never had to tweak/edit more scenes in a one-shot than this one. What I first wrote didn't work, but then I just pushed through and finished it and then went back and changed a lot of things … like so many things ...

I hoped you enjoyed this one and, as always, thank you for reading - Kiwi

Posted: 10/01/2021

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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where-dreamers-go · 5 years ago

Text

“Not So Complicated” Cameron Frye x Reader

(A/N: Wow! So I was going through some word documents on my computer and found a BUNCH of fanfics I had forgotten about. It’s probably been on here for a little over a year or more. This one for instance was literally almost finished when I reread it. So now I have my first finished Ferris Bueller’s Day Off fanfic! I am SO HAPPY about this!

Teenage Romance ahead.

Word Count: 2,760)

Mister Cameron Frye was such a complicated, conflicted, and little fluff-ball.

It had been roughly three days after the famous day off with himself, his best friend Ferris, and Sloane. That, and he had survived a debated interaction with his cleanly father. Cameron had since returned to school, walking taller than he normally would, with more confidence to each step.

You, on the other hand, had gone to each school day of course. Your mother already knew you had a test that day and you were sick with sinuses two weeks ago. So sadly, you had to deny Ferris’ plea for you to join him in giving Cameron a great day. The only thing was that you left out the part where your mother would have gladly let you take a break from school if it wasn’t for your test that had you been stressing over for days. High school was fun like that.

Back to the familiar tiled halls, was the beginning of yet another day at high school. Birds were chirping and kids were groaning irritatedly at their papers. However, you had better things on your mind. The moment your eyes had spotted that ever familiar figure, your legs took you rushing over to him. Backpack slung over one shoulder, you called out.

“Cameron!”

The young man whipped his head around at the sound of his name, an amused smile spreading across his lips when he spotted you zipping around students towards him.

“You’re back!” You embraced him no sooner you were in arm’s reach.

“Hey,” Cameron greeted, always surprised by your ‘hello’s, and returned your hug tighter than usual.

“How are you?” You asked, pulling out of the hug to walk alongside him and looping your arm around his.

“Better,” he answered with a nod. “Better than I thought.”

He seemed...at ease, something that was foreign to see or consider with him. Given that he was usually antsy with both school and his family life. It was a healthy change.

“Oh, and um, i-if you want a ride home after school, I could take you. Only if you want to though.”

“Really? Yeah! I’d love to. Thank you, Cameron.”

The two of you continued on your way toward your first class of the day without a care in the world. You both eventually had to unlink arms as so you could walk through the doorway without hitting the frame. Since the first day of class, you had elected yourself to sit upfront. It may not be the best seat choice if you wanted to write and pass notes, or talk for that matter, but at least you would never have to squint at the teacher’s writing up on the board. All the while, both Cameron and Ferris sat near the rear end of the class. To be honest, the class was all together boring, especially with the two boys out of earshot. The teacher never gave enough time, in your opinion, for anyone to think of an answer to his questions. Which usually resulted in you feeling utterly frustrated. How were you to ever know if you would arrive at an answer even remotely close enough to the correct one if this was always the case. Not to mention the dull, dragging, and monotone voice that just so happened to exude from the teacher’s mouth.

Throughout the day, at least, you got the occasional bursts of joy striking through the dreary and tedious moments. Such as when you heard the chipper and ever fashionable Sloane before even seeing her. She was happy, as per usual, and with Ferris. A rather healthy and lively Ferris, who was reportedly on his deathbed just the day before. A healthy Ferris who greeted you with both questioning eyes and a knowing smile.

“Hey, (Y/N), did you see Cameron today?” Ferris swaggered up toward you with Sloane beside him.

“Yeah, I did. He seems….happier. Like if suddenly someone switched the stress signal off,” you answered thoughtfully, holding a notebook to your chest.

In fact, you had noticed his confidence had really increased since the last day you had seen him.

While in a class with Cameron, he didn’t even seem to have missed any school because he knew more answers than students who came to school on a regular basis. That was a happy sight for you, to have him happy and involved with his schooling, as opposed to being sick or otherwise miserable. He sat in front of you, which made it great so you could hide behind him if you needed to at any point during the class. Yet copying down notes was a struggle from where you sat. Being that he was a rather tall individual.

The rest of the school day went as usual. Nothing exciting to report except a wall clock that was behind by three minutes. Three. Whole. Minutes.

Some time after school.

“Hey Cam!” You greeted happily while climbing into the backseat of his car.

“Hey (Y/N),” Cameron beamed, a true smile on his face as you settled yourself onto the seat and arranged your backpack.

“No loud, smelly bus for me,” you giggled, buckling your seatbelt automatically.

In no time, Ferris and Sloane came running up to Cameron’s car, arriving later because they were alone. Sloane hopped in first, seating herself next to you before Ferris slid into the passenger’s seat. When Cameron did begin driving away and school was far out of site, you found yourself admiring Cameron as he drove. As per your luck, Sloane had caught sight of this and raised her eyebrows at you until you had felt her eyeing you. Only then did she send you a smirk because of your actions. One that the two boys failed to notice.

When you all rolled up to Sloane’s house, she climbed out of the backseat and hopped out onto the grass beside the road. After closing the door, she leaned into the open window and kissed Ferris lovingly.

“Bye,” she waved cutely before spinning on her heel to walk up to her front door.

“Hey, Cam,” Ferris turned to his best friend quickly.

“Yeah?” Cameron eyed him suspiciously.

“Can you drop me off first? I need to do something before my parents get back home.”

“It ca--?”

“No, it can’t wait.” Ferris patted the dashboard, “Let’s go.”

A few complicated hand gestures and facial expressions later, the car was moving forward again.

The rest of the car ride toward Ferris’ house was full of jokes and laughs about the school day. Even up to Ferris somehow getting information of how the Dean of Students was seen all muddied up with his clothes torn, having to take a ride on one of the school buses. Oh, what a sight that must have been. Eventually, it had taken place just after Ferris had ran home the other day.

As the three of you arrived at Ferris’, Cameron rolled the car to a stop. All the while Ferris’ mouth had not stopped.

“Ferris.” Cameron said.

Once he had finally stopped talking, sort of, he got out of the car, but not without a few final words to the pair of you.

“Drive safely. I want to hear about everything.” In typical Ferris fashion, he left you with questions.

With a laugh, you hopped up into the passenger’s seat, only then waving to a smirking Ferris.

He was always up to something.

There was something different about Cam. Something good, aside from his new form of confidence and almost new outlook in multiple perspectives. Cam was just not wanting to be afraid anymore. He wanted to live his life. To be the one to have his own say in what he wanted to do.

With the driveway to your family’s home in sight, Cam parked on the side of the street in front of your house, just under the shade of a tree. But he did something else this time. Shutting off the car, an action that caught your attention quickly. As you peered over at him, you saw Cameron become nervous. It was in his eyes, and in the way he was sitting and looking straight out of the windshield. Yet determined to let you know whatever was on his mind.

“I wish you were with me when Ferris dragged me around Chicago, even though I know you hate missing class.” Cam finally spoke up, his eyes staring down at the dashboard.

You smiled.

“You’re always there when I need you. When anyone needs you. I don’t know how you do it. You’re great in school, your family understands you—.”

“For the most part.” You interjected.

“Right, um.”

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s fine.” Cameron’s knuckles turned white from his grip on the steering wheel. “You’re honest and funny.”

“Thank you.”

“…you’re welcome…I….I love everything about you. Your kindness, your ability to find the positive in situations… It’s taken me so long to tell you.”

Advice from the wise, young Ferris rung in your ears: You only get so many chances, (Y/N). When you find one, take it.

You leaned over and snatched his hands off of the steering wheel to bring them under your chin. Slowly, his head turned in your direction, and you linked your fingers between his assuringly.

“Cam,” you said softly, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I....I couldn’t just tell...you,” his eyes were focused on your intertwined hands.

“But I feel the same way about you,” you whispered. “And how I love your smile, especially when I had some reason to its appearance. I love how intelligent you are, your bravery, your sense of humor that has me laughing until I’m practically crying, your gorgeous blue eyes that bring me in like the tide, and so much about you that I can’t get enough of.”

Smiling, you pulled his hands and placed them on your sides. Helping yourself to leaning closer to him, but up against the center console between the two seats.

Cam was fumbling with quiet words, still so affected as he was processing your words that were only about him. As his mind meandered around, you reached over, fingers hooking over the neckline of his shirt. You could hear his shallow breaths as you directed your fingers, slipping up his neck to cradle his jaw in your hands. Peering at his lips for a moment before looking back up into Cameron’s wide eyes that flickered rapidly between your eyes and lips.

“It’s your call, Cameron,” you whispered, breath cascading along his parted lips.

In the time it took you to blink, Cameron’s lips were on yours, slightly chapped, and a bit too rushed on impact. Yet more than anything it was sweet; mouths barely moving in their meeting of warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out as he ended the kiss, his hands wrinkling your shirt.

“It was fine, Cam,” you remarked, quickly bringing your lips back to his, slower than the first time. With your nervous level diminishing, you slid your fingers up into his brown locks, massaging his scalp with each pass.

Another breath left him, allowing you a chance to suckle his bottom lip until he began copying your movements by bringing your bottom lip between his, adding a light graze of his teeth. Cameron’s left hand abandoned its exploration of your shirt and to unbuckle his seatbelt that restrained him before returning to your back. For once in his life, he had some ounce of say in what he was doing even if that meant a shared activity that sent swarms of butterflies into his stomach.

Your hands smoothed down from his hair to his shirt-covered chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart. All of your worries about school and the future were set aside as you were solely focused on how almost unbelievable it was to have Cameron return your affections. Your happiness was practically bubbling at the surface and causing you to smile into the numerous and various kisses exchanged with Cam.

A car drove by and nothing else mattered. Not the car, not how you were both running out of air in the car, or that more time had passed than you both realized.

“I love you so much, Cameron,” your voice hardly above a whisper as you rested foreheads together. “I’m so, so proud of you. Everything.” Praising him and having no nerves as you pecked a few kisses to his reddened lips.

“I love you too, (Y/N),” Cameron spoke through your kisses, his hands secure on your waist to prevent himself from shaking at the exchange of words.

The internal temperature of the car seemed warmer and perhaps stuffier than before, but you both continued going in for more kisses with smiles on your lips. Not a care in the world, with the exception of one another.

“I should probably go inside and do my homework,” your words tickling Cameron’s chin.

“Probably,” he breathed out heavily as you mouthed underneath his jaw, his eyelids drooping.

“Will you be alright going home?” You asked as your lips found an interest in his earlobe.

“Actually,” Cameron swallowed hard, fighting the urge between telling you details of the discussion with his dad or pulling you onto his lap; hating the physical car space between you. “I’m staying at Ferris’ house for a while....until things settle down at home.”

“That’s very nice of his parents to let you stay over.”

Suspending the kisses for a bit to face him, you wanted to read his expressions better than if your lips continued their path along Cameron’s skin.

“Yeah, Ferris can talk them into anything. No matter what, they believe him.”

“Heh, my parents can read me like a book, but I’m sure they’d let you stay over too if you ever needed. They really like you. I mean really like you.”

Your words brought a smile to Cameron’s face, glad to know that he had made a positive impression on them whenever he did see them.

He had visited your parents’ home a few times. Although most were school related with studying or helping him catch up on missed classes. Then again, all of the visits involved school one way or another considering that was the main priority. Yet that didn’t mean you didn’t have a good time when Cameron did visit, being able to see a less tense and stressed side of him.

You tore your gaze away from Cameron and checked the time on your watch, yelping immediately after.

“I need to get inside,” you said quickly, panic zipping through your veins as you scrambled to grab your backpack from the backseat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, drive safely,” you pressed a chaste kiss to Cameron’s lips.

“I can pick you up tomorrow morning, if you’d like. That way you don’t have to ride the bus so early,” he offered, his fingers tucking some of your hair behind your ears while he still had the chance.

“I would very much like that,” you grinned.

“See you tomorrow.”

You snatched his hand and placed a light kiss to his knuckles before turning around to get out of the car.

Once up to the door, you looked back to wave at Cameron before you went inside, shutting and locking the door behind you. A giggle of delight escaping as you leaned against the front door, until you jumped upon hearing a familiar voice yelling a very distinctive WOOOO from the inside of a car.

“Oh, Cam.”

. . .

“I don’t believe it.” Ferris stood by his front door bewildered.

“Believe it, Ferris,” Cameron chuckled to himself because he was still fully up in the clouds with (Y/N) on his mind.

“But you--she....You two kissed? Like actual lips touching each other’s?”

“I know what a kiss is, Ferris, and I’m driving her to school tomorrow.”

“Wh--You....wait, I thought you were driving me to school.”

“You can sit in the back,” Cam laughed as he made his way further into the house.

“The back?” Ferris gasped, a hand over his chest.

“Let it go, Ferris.”

“I’m your best friend!”

“You’ve been bugging me to ask (Y/N) out for three years, you can sit in the backseat for one day.”

“Just in the morning! Then she sits in the back.”

“Thank you, Ferris.”

Ferris turned away from Cameron and smirked.

“I knew my plan would work perfectly. You should be thanking me too.”

~~~

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