#like... a pack of gum would fit in their front pockets and would help with like

[jayaorgana]

A lot of my headcanons are just kind of nonsense. I'm thinking about x-wing pilots and chewing gum. Don't worry about it.

[softykooky]

sanctuary: seven

summary: the absence of you is a void that they never thought they’d have to experience again. they were fine before they met you. but the sky would fall before the boys would be fine after you’ve gone. 8.03k words.

genre: mafia au, ANGST, poly au

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings (READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION) :  toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, eating problems, alcohol abuse, abandonment issues...

rating: NC17

author’s note: okay I lied there’s going to be another part! I just couldn’t fit all that I wanted and I figured it was better to give you guys something now instead of making you wait another century for me to wrap up the story. please let me know if I forgot anyone in the taglist! please let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

♡ series masterpost ♡ 

Just leave.

Just leave.

Just leave.

Like a cruel rhythm or a drum that keeps on beating in your chest to remind you of the pain that rips through your heart. 

You’re such a fool, Y/N. 

Should you blame them for growing tired of you? Even snapping at you like they did, or did you deserve it? It was so easy for you to wither back into the mindset your father had trained you to adapt at the slightest intrusion. Now, after that massacre in the kitchen with the people you trusted with your whole being, you weren’t sure if it was possible to think otherwise. 

Through the warm tears that have clouded your eyes, frantically stuffing the little belongings you have into a backpack is otherworldly difficult. Your heart hurts. Your soul hurts. Your entire being hurts and you can only wonder how many times a person can be pushed aside and unwanted until they just completely break. You wonder how close you are to that point. 

There’s anger running through your veins, cocktailed with devastation and confusion, but you’re not sure what it is you’re angry at. Were you angry at them? Could you ever be angry at them, even after they did something like this? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore, but that wasn’t important. 

There was one objective in sight: pack up and get the hell out before you let anyone else completely destroy you. 

But even then, you can’t help but to think about how they hadn’t even bothered to come after you. None of them did. And it ignites a different fire of pain that you’re finding harder to ignore. You’re halfway through shoving your shirts into the backpack when a soft voice sounds from your doorway. Jun is standing there, fiddling with her apron and warm sympathy on her face. 

“Y/N, sweetie, they’re just...maybe give them some time. Please don’t go”, Jun sighs. 

“No, Jun. They don’t want me here anymore”, your voice cracks at the realization. “I’m not going to stay and be unwanted. I won’t do it again. I-I can’t.”

When the last item is tucked into the pocket of your bag, you swing it onto your shoulder. The weight of the backpack feels as though it’s pulling you deeper into the ground. Like you are sinking and there is nothing you can do but wait until your head is submerged. 

“Jun…” you breathe out, wiping away a warm stray tear, “could you...could you tell them that I’m sorry? I-I’m not sure what for, I guess for everything. But could you just tell them?”

Jun nods solemnly, though the reluctance is clear on her expression. Even she can recognize that you have nothing to apologize for. “I will, honey. Are you sure about this?”

“I have no choice, Jun. I love them and I-” you cut yourself off. 

This is the first time you’ve been able to say it out loud. You love them. You’ve fallen in love with them and the timing could not be worse. But all in all, you consider yourself lucky. There was no way you would have recovered if you confessed and all seven of them inevitably rejected it. Perhaps this fight just saved you the great pain of knowing they cannot love you back. 

“And I need to go.” 

You’d have to leave before dinner. Through the back door.  The one that no one thinks you know about but as always, no man gives you nearly enough credit as you deserve. You’ll tell the guards you’re going out for a walk and pray they don’t question the overstuffed backpack you’re hauling. You’ll just open it and run and…

Find a new home? A new life? Find a new set of souls that will cherish and care for you and make you feel like you’re actually meant to be in this world? 

You love them. That much you know is true. And perhaps people like you weren’t meant to have love in this world. 

“You’re excused, Lee. Be grateful you’re still here.” The venom in Namjoon’s voice remains clear as day, even after your ungraceful departure from the kitchen. You had left so abruptly with so few words that they weren’t able to even try and stop you. 

They still can’t see straight through the searing anger that pulses through their entire being. Anger at the world, and the traitors, and the idiotic rookie that lost them thousands in shipments. 

But the anger at you had faded a long time ago, the moment you bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. However, the boys were nothing if not stubborn. Why did you have to get in the way of their business? Why couldn’t you just remain kept away, for them to keep safe and away from the dangers of the outside world?

Jimin is the first one to make a move to the staircase, up to where you were packing, trying to be stealthy until the leader catches a glance of him. 

“Jimin. Stop. Just let her cool off”, Namjoon sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows to relieve his tension headache. He was usually the sensible one. The leader of the pack telling everyone to keep their cool. But the load on his shoulders has been getting far too heavy and you were the light breeze that caused it to collapse. 

“You should wait to calm down before you talk to her, anyway. That vein in your forehead might pop out of your skin”, Hoseok snidely remarks. 

Jimin scoffs, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that day. 

“Everything we’ve been doing has been for her best interest. Why is she making this so difficult?”, he exhales, frustration still licking at every word. But with a mere glance at Jimin, anyone in the room could tell that he truly held no antipathy towards you. That his words were coming from an unresolved pool of anger that had been bubbling away for ages.

“You don’t think she means it, do you?”, Taehyung mutters, eyebrows still creased in intensity. “The leaving part?”

“Where could she go Taehyung? We’re all she has at this point”, Yoongi speaks. A layer of irony coats the room as Yoongi remembers the words he had spat at you in the heat of the moment. A vicious declaration to tell you to leave, and he feels a string of guilt twining itself around his lungs. He numbs it away, of course. As he does everything else. 

Jin takes a deep breath. “Listen, we’re all stressed and sleep-deprived. Why don’t we just calm down separately and talk it over at dinner? I’m sure by then, this whole thing will be completely forgotten.” His words sound sure and steady. Jin hopes they don’t notice the worry that bleeds into his voice. 

A chorus of agreements and hums quietly sound across the room as the seven of them shuffle out of the kitchen and slowly saunter into their respective rooms. And as they tiptoe past your bedroom, where your door was shut tight, the boys can’t help but feel the rationality that has begun to trickle back in. The logic and reason that had abandoned them during the fight had slowly returned, and the thought of you on the other side of that door made them all want to barge in and hold you again. 

Maybe they overreacted. Maybe they were wrong. Pride, however, was a stern mistress, and the potential consequences of their actions hadn’t yet reached their thoughts. They hadn’t realized the poison of their words.

 They would wait a bit longer. 

Everything would be okay after dinner. 

The first thing you realize after leaving is that you chose the wrong pair of shoes to attempt an escape on foot. Of course, you had to be wearing the new ones that the boys just bought you that hadn’t been broken in yet. The heel was digging into your skin painfully, undoubtedly leaving red marks and calluses. Your feet ached with every step, but you had to soldier on. At least until you found somewhere to rest for a bit and figure out where the hell you would go.

 A glance down at your phone has you eternally grateful for your past self for remembering to charge it. Hopefully it would last you until you found somewhere for the time being. 

There was no more family in the country besides your immediate ones. And you’d rather swallow knives than go back to that. The thought of them makes you sad though when you remember Soyeon.

 You wonder how she’s doing. The things she’s been up to. Is she shopping as much as she always does? Is she happy? Does she miss you? The train of thought makes you scoff at your own patheticism. Even after everything, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her. You would always love your sister. 

The Bangtan manor hadn’t been as far away from the city as you had thought. On the other hand, you weren’t exactly paying attention to the time. Just let your feet carry you where they wanted to and stared blankly at the passing ground, trying to empty your thoughts as best you could. The sky was beginning to darken and the wind blew a bit colder but you refused to let it slow your pace. You couldn’t let yourself feel. Not yet, anyway. 

The first motel you see is the one you enter. It’s not grand by any means; more of a fixer-upper. The wallpaper was peeling, the carpet reeked of age and dust, and the receptionist was chewing gum and scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. The place was a dump compared to what the likes of you tended to live in. But you had limited cash, and this would have to do. 

It takes you three times clearing your throat for her to notice that a customer was at the front desk. 

“Hello. I’d like a room with one bed, please.” 

She doesn’t hide her blatant scrutinization of you, visibly looking you up and down with something akin to disapproval. Her phone is tossed on the counter annoyedly and she snaps her gum, wheeling her chair closer to the computer and clacks away on the keyboard. 

“ID and payment, please”, she drones, holding out a hand without sparing you another glance. When she looks at the card you have placed in her palm, there is a spark of recognition. The Yoo family name. She must have seen your name in the paper or something. The ambassador’s daughter. In a place like this?

You are eternally grateful when the receptionist says nothing; just hands you back your card and dangles a key from her red-nail polished index finger. You two exchange no more words. The only sounds in the lobby are the clinking of the metal key, the padding of your footsteps on soft carpet, and the smacking of the bubblegum between her lips. But it is enough to begin to allow the loneliness in. The fear of it all. The uncertainty and utter devastation that you have left behind the one place that had just started to feel like home. 

When the door of your motel room closes, and it is just you... 

You with the clothes on your back, the necessities in your bag, and all the feelings you have kept bottled up for weeks on end. It is more than easy to collapse in a cathartic heap as soon as the lock clicks in place. 

Who cares if the walls are paper-thin? You scream it out on the undoubtedly dirty floors. The agony of being so close to happiness only to have it ripped away from your hands. The pain of knowing them, only for them to push you out of their lives. 

You don’t weep for anyone else. Not the seven boys you loved, not Soyeon, not your father, not Jun. 

You cry for Y/N. 

You cry for the realization that maybe the thing you’ve been chasing your entire life is simply not in reach. That peace was something you had to fight for, completely alone. That they don’t love you back, or even nearly as much as you loved them. If they did, you wouldn’t be here, desperately trying to hold yourself together for what seems like the billionth time. If they loved you back, well...you reckon that reality only exists in your surreal dreams. 

There were distant cousins. In the states. And if you could get a hold of them, you had faith they would be willing to fly you over. You could spin an excuse at the drop of a hat. Maybe something about wanting to see America for a while and get away from your normal routine in Seoul. Something about needing space or enjoying time with missed relatives. They’d believe it. You’ll leave as soon as you can, hopefully in the morning. 

Naturally, this night is sleepless and you swear the sky is darker than usual. It’s starless, and even the moon is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind overcast clouds and you want to cry even more. Because after everything, is it still too much to let you feel the light? Is it still too much to let you rest under a gentle nightscape? 

You make a promise to yourself. To Y/N. 

You wouldn’t let her chase after pipe dream happiness anymore. You wouldn’t let her be so naive, so hopeful for something better. You’ve had your chance at finding it, and after more bumps and bruises, have come to the conclusion that maybe it merely does not exist for you. 

You promise her a lifetime of loneliness and solitude. But those are familiar things. Comfortable things. And you would take that over a broken heart any day. 

As soon as they fell onto their respective beds, all seven of them had drifted off to sleep. It seemed that days of constant work, chugging black coffee, and pulling consecutive all-nighters had taken its toll, and the boys finally caught up to the pure, unadulterated exhaustion. 

The seven of them slept through the night, plans of dinner completely forgotten as they glued themselves to the comfortable bedding. Unfortunately, with needed rest came a clear mind and the realization that they had been completely and utterly horrible to you ever since it all went down. 

Jungkook is the first to wake up. He brushes his teeth and slips on an outfit with a rapid fervor, ready to put everything behind him and just...hold you. Because he realizes it’s been weeks since he actually has, and maybe that’s just the thing he’s been needing. To feel your frame in his arms and hear your soft breathing. 

“Taehyung! Get up!” Jungkook pounds on the door of his hyung’s room. He hears shuffling from the other side, and a rustled bedhead emerges from a dark cavern.

“What Jungkook? It’s too early for this”, he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hyung we all slept like the dead through dinner. I’d rather not let this whole thing with Y/N marinate for any longer. Get up and let’s talk it through, I know you miss her like crazy too.” Jungkook does his best to keep his voice down since you were still sleeping in the room beside Taehyung’s. He has to round up all of them first before asking you to come out. 

So he does. Sweeps his floor and the one above to awaken the other six men. Jin and Namjoon were the only others who were dressed and ready to tackle the day. The rest of them moved like zombies to rid themselves of the sleepy fatigue. 

Somehow, they all manage to congregate in front of your door, nervously staring it down while the tension in the air choked them. It’s unnerving. The radio silence coming from your room. You must be really upset, and reasonably so. Hoseok clears his throat, twisting his hands together out of nerves, and glances at the others. 

“Well? Should I knock?”, he whispers. The other six nod solemnly, glaring at the door like it might combust at any moment. 

He steps forward gingerly and raps on your bedroom door thrice. The seconds trickle by like molasses, even slower when there is no sound from your end.

 He knocks again.

 Nothing.

 A third time. 

Complete and utter silence. 

“Y/N?”

Hoseok’s eyebrows deeply furrow, and with trepidation, he twists the doorknob and swings it open. The bedsheets are made, duvet untouched and pillows stacked neatly against the headboard. The curtains are drawn and everything looks fairly clean. Almost as if there was no one in there in the first place. Now that he looks closer, the only sign of you being there was the vase of brown and wilting peonies on the bedside table. The ones they had gotten for you months ago. Even your scarce amount of belongings were nowhere to be found. 

In the ache of the silence, nothing can be heard but their utter shock. Their minds jumping to the worst conclusion but still in denial because there’s no way that you would do that. No way they could have lost you when they all loved you so much. 

“M-maybe she’s in the basement. Or the library. I’m sure she didn’t….she hasn’t….”, Jimin cuts himself off as he drifts off into all the terrible possibilities. Namjoon yells at the guards downstairs from the second floor, and the sounds of their rushed footsteps to find you in this giant house is the only noise that reaches their ears. 

“Jun!” Taehyung hollers down below, where she is undoubtedly fussing away in the kitchen or slaving over a boiling pot. The woman calmly emerges upstairs with a sharp gaze, head held high and shoulders stiff in her posture. There is no emotion on her face, except the faint disappointment as she stands in front of the seven men.

“Where is she?”, Yoongi growls, stepping forward like a huffing beast, but Jun remains unbothered.

“Where is who?” Jun monotones. 

“Don’t play dumb, Jun. Where is Y/N?” She scoffs at the concern dripping in Yoongi’s voice. How ironic that the very person who maliciously told you to leave was now in pieces at your absence. 

“I was surprised you even noticed. It’s not something you’ve been doing as of late. Noticing”, Jun calmly retorts. She’s never been one to be afraid of them. Never scared to stand up to them, because though they were grown men, they often still needed some mothering. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook spits, frustratedly gripping at his hair.

“Is it not true, boys? Y/N’s been practically invisible to you these past few weeks. Who knew it would take a mere fight to finally get you guys to pay attention to her.” Jin’s reflex is to immediately respond with an argument. But the words die on his tongue when he realizes the truth in Jun’s statement.

The seven of them stare at her in silence, still high-strung on stress and anger, but intent to listen to her words. 

“She left.”

The two words that they had been so desperate not to hear sound like a death knell when they fall from Jun’s lips. Their blood runs cold, and the temperature in the house drops to subzero. A moment frozen in time and all they can do is be forced to come to terms with their actions . The room immediately explodes into desperate questions and exclamations to their head housekeeper.

“Where is she? Did she say where she’s going”, Hoseok tearily yells.

“Did she leave a note?” Jungkook chews on his lower lip until it bleeds.

“When did she leave? She couldn’t have gotten far.” Jimin grabs Jun by the shoulders, forcing her closer as if he could look in her eyes and pretend she was lying.

“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn, Sir”, Jun clears her throat, “but what did you think was going to happen?”

The seven of them are stunned into silence, swimming in utter confusion and worry about where in the world you could be. If you were in danger at all. 

“She’s been left by herself for weeks. In this big, cold house while you all were wrapped up in your business. Tried talking to you so many times, but you all pushed her away.” Jun sighs disappointedly.

Her words ring with truth, and perhaps that is the most painful part about it all. The boys can’t do anything but stand there and listen. You were dear to Jun, and she wouldn’t let the fear of standing up to her intimidating bosses keep her from saying the things you didn’t have the courage to. 

“Y/N, she...she’s been struggling. Did she tell you that? Wouldn’t sleep for days, so I sometimes snuck melatonin into her afternoon tea. But still, she’d come out of that bedroom with dark circles that almost looked painful. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her toss and turn all night, Taehyung.” Jun spares him a glance. Not malicious or accusing. Just genuine curiosity and it makes Taehyung want to burrow himself into the ground. 

Namjoon’s heart drops as Jun continues speaking. How could they have been so oblivious to everything? So out of touch and wrapped up in other priorities that they seemed to completely forget about you? Arguably the most important person in their life. 

“Sometimes, she even refused to eat. Couldn’t even stomach a cup of soup, and she’s gotten so thin, I had to tailor all her clothes.” 

Jin’s eyes widen at the statement, his throat in knots and the sinking feeling in his gut only magnifying. Like ice water to warm skin. That’s how Jun’s words felt to their system. Like they had been so blind this entire time, so distracted by everything else that they forgot someone who had become one of the most important people to them. 

“Forgive me for speaking my truth, sir. But I’ve never quite felt such disappointment when I heard the things you said to Y/N yesterday. A-And I don’t condone her decision to leave. But can you blame her?” Jun sighs, exasperated as her worry for you seeps into her consciousness. 

Jimin pushes away the tears that have clouded his eyes, looking down at the marble floors so that no one sees the gloss that wasn’t there before Jun started speaking. He pretends not to notice the way Jungkook’s tremulous and shaky breathing, or the way Yoongi’s fisted hands have turned completely white from the tension. All he can think about...all they can think about...is you. 

Hoseok coughs, clearing his throat and steeling his voice to not show emotion. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

Jun shakes her head solemnly, twisting her apron in her hands. The boys begin to make their way downstairs, tension in the air thicker than ever and only one priority clear in their minds.

“However…”, Jun’s small voice stops them in their concentrated footsteps. “While she was packing, she told me to say one thing to you all.”

It’s expectant. They almost don’t want to hear it at all. Hearing it would affirm that they are completely undeserving of you. That you are an angel among beasts whose love language is to destroy and wreck. That maybe leaving them would be the best thing to happen to you. 

“She told me to tell you she’s sorry. For everything.”

Everything is what you deserved. Everything is what they would do to prove that to you. 

Korea from the view of your aunt’s private jet was a bittersweet revelation. It was beautiful. So achingly and hauntingly beautiful with the ghosts of your past and the shattered promises for the future. If you squint, you could still make out remnants of the Han River. Traces of a place that seemed to cry for you as you left for the states.

You didn’t want to be truthful to yourself. You didn’t want to admit that you wouldn’t miss Korea because of the people or the landscape or the weather. You’d miss it because they were there. That home had been so close you could nearly taste it. 

The trip was a chaotic blur. You faded in and out of sleep, in a hypnotic trance that proved to be your body’s self-defense mechanism to repress every emotion you had felt since you left. Stewardesses offering you flutes of champagne, drivers loading and unloading your luggage, the words of everyone around you flowing in and out like a stream of water that you ignored. 

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Y/N? Really, you must come visit more often. Your uncle and I have missed you terribly.” 

Your aunt had always been a kind woman. She was from your mother’s side, and like everyone else, so oblivious to the true nature of the Yoo family. How sinister things truly were behind those closed, gold-plated doors. Their house was grand, large enough so that you could make yourself scarce and wouldn’t be a disturbance. Though you couldn’t help but to notice the lack of boyish voices drifting down the hall, or the rhythm of Taehyung’s hands on the keyboard in the room next to you. 

You offer a kind smile to the butler, who gently sets your singular backpack on the plush bed that screamed out your name. 

“Thank you so much for everything, Aunt Kim. I promise I’ll transfer over the money for the plane fees and carry my weight around here for the time being.” 

Your words make you nearly wince with the uncertainty of your wobbly plans. Where would you even get the money? Ask your father? Ask them? 

“I....I promise to be out of your hair as quickly as I can”, you shakily breathe, failing to convince yourself. Yet your aunt only holds a kind smile and a warm gaze.

“Stay as long as you want, dear. It’s the least we could do to repay everything your family has done for us over the years. Especially your father.”

You know you cannot blame her oblivion. Not when it is such a well-guarded secret. Yet her words douse kerosene to the fire in your chest. Tugs at the stitches of the subconscious wounds you have yet to heal. It makes you remember them. Your boys. How they would burn at hearing such words, grit their teeths and spit poison at anyone who held your father’s name in a high regard.

Or would they? After everything, you’re not so sure anymore. Painful or not, it makes you miss them even more. 

So you smile. Bite your tongue, hold your fists at your side, and thank her again for the kindness she has shown you when you had nowhere else to run. America felt different. The air itself seemed like a culture shock. Being the ambassador’s daughter had prepared you for fluency in English and how to carry yourself diplomatically, but the journey ahead was bound to be rough. 

For the first time in your life, you would be the only one you had to care for. Not Soyeon, not your mother, not Bangtan. You’d have to do this by yourself, now, and though all the emotions you have locked away will inevitably return to confront you, this sanctuary for now would have to be enough.

You were surprisingly more difficult to find than the boys had expected. Traveling alone with no clunky belongings meant you were able to move more quickly than they had anticipated and the motel you stayed at was paid for in all cash. However, nothing in the city could really happen under Bangtan’s watch, and here you were. Video footage displayed on the screen of their basement office, and they can only feel heartache as they watch you through the screen. 

“She checked out in the morning. Got picked up by a gray SUV and taken to the airport.” Taehyung drones, eyes still glued to the screen. Like looking at your pixelated face would bring you closer to him somehow. He missed you. They all did. 

“The plane’s not registered with any public company, so I’m guessing it’s a private one belonging to her family.” Taehyung adds on, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. The air was tense with frustration. Anger at themselves and at each other for letting his happen. For making you run away. 

“Any idea where it’s going?” Yoongi quietly murmurs from the end of the long table. 

“America.” 

America. You felt so discouraged and hurt by them that you had to go all the way to America. They did this. This is their fault.

“So? What are we waiting for? Tell the guards to prep the jet to America. We’ll bring her back”, Jimin gawks at Namjoon, who nurses a glass of scotch like it’s his lifeline. The room falls silent awaiting their leader’s course of action, but the six of them are left speechless when Namjoon himself starts laughing. The kind of laugh that sends chills down their spines. So raucous yet emotionless. So full of hidden pain. Namjoon tips the rest of the glass down his throat, looking at them all with a hopeless expression. 

“What makes you think she wants to see us? After what we put her through? Hell, I’d be surprised if she lets us within a 10 foot radius.” Namjoon’s words are cruel, but they can’t help but to believe it to be true. 

“N-No. She’ll understand that we were stressed. I-If we just explain everything, I’m sure she’ll-”

“Don’t you remember what happened in the kitchen? What Jun said? She’s been withering away for weeks, Jimin, and none of us gave enough of a fuck to notice. We made her feel invisible.” Namjoon chuckles, but there is only pain in his tone. One that he drowns out with another swig of top-shelf whiskey. 

“We can fix it. We can go to America and fix it”, Hoseok stares down the leader, insistent on making efforts. 

“No we can’t Hoseok”, Jin’s brows furrow, eyes lighting with fire, “Jun said she didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. I wouldn’t take us back either.” 

The boys know better than to take it personally. They were all heartbroken in the wake of your leaving, so desperate to get to you yet ashamed of themselves, apprehensive of if they even have the right to chase after you. 

Jungkook leaps up from his seat, chest huffing and hands raking violently through his hair. He paces back and forth, eyes swimming in hurt and frustration until it all seemed to combust through his body, flinging his office chair to the side to find any form of catharsis. 

He spares a poisoned glance over to Yoongi’s direction, who still sits with his eyes glued to the floor, as if ashamed of his mere existence. 

“You.” The malice in Jungkook’s voice is crystal clear.Yoongi’s shirt collar is acquaintanced with Jungkook’s fisted hand, and he grips onto the older man like a viper to its prey. As if blunt force could make you come back. The other five boys could only watch. 

“You did this. You told her to leave. Now she’s gone. I loved her, Yoongi.” Though Jungkook’s words are pumped with antipathy, the sheer devastation is heard most through it all. Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t even make a move to push the younger off or shield himself from oncoming hits. Just sits passively with a monotone expression, staring into Jungkook’s eyes with a blank gaze.

“You’re not faultless. You yelled at her too.” 

No, none of them are faultless. And perhaps Yoongi’s words were the nails in the coffin, but they all had part in pushing you to that brink. Jungkook’s eyes gloss over with defeat, and the grip he had on Yoongi’s shirt loosens. He steps away, unable to meet any of the gazes of his older brothers or the footage of your distressed face on the flat screen monitor. Leave. That’s all he’s known to do.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi holds no anger in his voice. It stops Jungkook in his tracks as he waits for his hyung to finish. 

“I loved her too. We all do.”

They can only pray they’ll get to tell you. 

The diner two blocks away from your aunt’s apartment complex is the last place anyone would expect Ambassador Yoo’s eldest daughter to be, much less employed at. You had spent the last two weeks scouring the area for a place that would take a girl with no prior work experience, a pending student visa, and no contacts or references. But here you were, working a minimum wage job and saving every penny to make something of yourself in this entirely new country. 

It hasn’t been easy. Trying not to think about the seven boys that you left back home. The seven boys that you love so desperately and hopelessly, and foolishly thought they felt the same. It’s in the wee hours of the night that you toss and turn, closing your eyes and imagine yourself back at their manor. You will your brain to manifest the clacking sounds of Taehyung’s keyboard from across the wall or the footsteps of Yoongi’s bulky shoes when he walks past your door every night. 

You miss them compulsively so. And perhaps they do not deserve your thoughts or heartache, but it belongs to them. Even after everything, you still belong to them. But you won’t give yourself the luxury of thinking you mean more than someone who they took pity on. 

The days are the same. You get up early in the morning, put on a pot of coffee by yourself much to the disapproval of the housekeeper. Though it’s baby steps, you feel more independent this way. The coffee is terrible, of course, but it’s the thought that counts. 

You leave before your aunt even leaves her bedroom, dedicated to your full-time job and earning money whenever you can. The pay is almost humorous, and a week’s worth of your labor probably equates to what Soyeon spends in a day. But it is your work. Your money. And though everyday starts and ends with heartache and longing for a life you once had in your grasp, it feels refreshing to learn to only need yourself. 

“Y/N”, your manager sighs as you stumble through the door with frazzled hair and painfully dark under eyes. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. Traffic was insane this morning. It won’t happen again.” Your hair is expertly swept back into a haphazard bun, fiddling with the apron around your waist before jumping to the orders that have begun to get cold on the counter. 

The work was simple. Slow. But it was honest and enough for you. The diner was calm; a refreshing environment from the one you had in Korea. 

“Here you are, sir. Black coffee and a side of toast”, you muttered in a sugary sweet voice, fake smile stretched on your face to hide the perpetual pain in your chest that has not went away since you left the Bangtan house. It’s easier these days to just not think about it. To completely repress the trauma of your father and the boys and the failed therapy. The smile drops as soon as you turn around to walk back to the counter. 

“Rough morning?” Lina’s voice is gravelly, rough from the coffee and 15-minute smoke breaks she takes every lunch. 

“Something like that.” You collapse onto the cashier counter, holding your head in your hands to will away the pounding ache of your temples. 

“First it was me completely sleeping through the morning alarm. Then it was the bus detouring and making five extra stops they usually don’t”, you huff.

“Y/N?”

“And don’t get me started on the fact that I decided to drop my phone in a puddle when I was running here.”

“Y/N.” Lina’s voice cuts through your venting monologue. She stares past you, as if there was something behind you captivating her attention. 

“I think someone is staring at us from across the street.” Your brows furror at her words, whipping around to the window. When you see him. The air in the diner thins until it completely disappears, and the breath is stolen from your lungs. 

Your paled face and shaking hands is what he sees from where he’s standing, clad in a black hoodie that covered his head, but you could recognize him in your sleep.You are both frozen in time and chaos, staring at each other like you both did not belong. Eyes glued to the other like you are both too good to be true.

 Are you imagining it? Through the tears that reflexively pooled in your eyes and the way your body quivers, are you finally going insane and imagining a person who has been plaguing your mind for weeks? 

Your feet carry you into action when your mind is still stuck in shellshock, bursting out of the diner doors with desperation on your tongue, hands reaching out as if it would span across the streetlight and bring him closer. 

“Jin?” You are not quiet. You scream his name across what feels like a chasm, but is only just a couple meters away. Your legs usher you into the open street, and cars veer and honk to avoid your form, frozen on the crosswalk. 

It takes you one second to blink and him one second to disappear into the crowd. Like he was never there at all and your mind was playing cruel, evil tricks on your already crumbling soul. A ruse that Lina was in on, just to torture your decimated spirit. 

Could you allow yourself the luxury to think that he had come to see you? You didn’t know if you even wanted him to, didn’t know if you had it in you to forgive and forget.

“Jin.” 

It comes out as a shaky whisper under your breath. A broken voice that longs for something she cannot have. Something that was so far in space and time it now felt like a figment of your imagination. You allow a tear to fall, your heart to crack a bit more, and return to the diner.

“Where have you been running off to these days?” The words are snide. Coated in feigned concern and curiosity and meant to be a jab at Jin’s recent absence in Bangtan activities. They are easy to fall from Yoongi’s lips as he steals another swig of the McKellan whiskey he’s been saving up for a special occasion or a rainy day. What more fitting than to mourn the space in his heart where you used to be. 

Jin stays silent, only giving the intoxicated Yoongi a heavy eye roll and trudging past him. To say that the seven men were in terrible shape after your departure is a gross understatement. But Yoongi’s onset alcoholism seemed mild compared to how the rest of the boys were faring.

Both Taehyung and Jungkook haven’t left their rooms since finding out you were in America, only the sounds of their computer keys, heavy footsteps, and the empty food plates left at their doors to signal that they were alive in there. Namjoon had thrown himself into work, picking up the slack of all the other boys and sometimes emerging from his office at the early hours of dawn looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. His gaunty face and the way his once fitted shirt now falls loosely on his shoulders tells Jin he hasn’t eaten much either. 

Hoseok could more often than not be found in the training room, breaking and bruising himself to numb him from the pain of losing you. He takes it out on the poor gang recruits that were unlucky enough to be chosen to spar with him. 

And Jin? Well, Jin spent his days away from the house. Away from the business and the drugs and the people. He never tells anyone where he’s going or when he’s coming back and they are all too drained to try to ask. The boys live together but not truly. Just exist and breathe in the same space and too resentful of themselves and the others to fix the fragments you left behind. They miss you. Long for you and burn for you like they never have for anyone else. 

See, it’s one thing to not know where you are and be forced to be away from you on the basis of ignorance. But to know your exact location, have the time and resources to easily get to you, yet can’t come to you because they’ve hurt you immeasurably is a different kind of torture. A different kind of ache that haunts their souls at every waking moment. You are so close and so far away, and they only have themselves to blame for the distance. 

“Jun, can you make a meal for Namjoon? I’ll take it up to him.” Jin sighs to the housekeeper, shedding off his coat on the kitchen stool. 

Jun nods knowingly, fully aware of the effects your absence has had on the masters of the house. And she is not blind to Jin’s indifference or the way he is doing worlds better than the others. 

“He’ll probably try to yell at me and make you go away first. But he’ll be thankful eventually.” Jin nurses a cup of tea to warm him after his journey. Ones that he takes every week and for days at a time. 

Jun nods again, assembling a tray of food that Namjoon will undoubtedly leave to get cold either at his door or the end of his desk. Before he leaves, however, Jun spares the man a knowing glance and a sad smile. 

“You may want to return the private jet more promptly next time, sir. The others have gotten...wary.” 

Jin’s eyes widen at her words, frozen for a millisecond in his footsteps as realization strikes in that he hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he thought. He says nothing as he departs from the kitchen. Only stares at the marble floor and wonders what would be the next time he’d get to see you. Even if from a street’s distance. 

It takes four syncopated knocks before semblance of a noise emerges from behind Namjoon’s closed door. It comes in the form of an angered grunt, but Jin is no stranger to his leader’s brunt. He opens the door with no further permission. 

Namjoon is in worse shape than he had expected. His hair is another level of unruly, greasy and matted and looking like the man ran his hands through it a billion times. The paperwork strewn across his desk and floor reflects the mess in Namjoon’s own head. Like he is suffocating himself in his work but still finds breath in his lungs. Still finds you in his thoughts. 

“You need to eat”, Jin states demandingly. Namjoon only hums in response, keeping his eyes glued to the work in front of him. Jin pushes the tray into his line of vision.

“Eat, Joon. You can’t work if you starve. Y/N would want you to eat.” 

Your name makes his pen stop writing. Makes his eyes widen like he hasn’t heard it said aloud in ages. It’s pathetic to Namjoon, really. How much one person has affected him.

“How would you know what Y/N wants, Jin? How would any of us?” He sneers, resuming the scribbling on his paper. Jin sighs dejectedly, opting to leave the food on his table and not be bothered with trying to help someone who so clearly didn’t want to be helped. He turns around to leave. Until Namjoon opens his mouth again. 

“Unless….”, he teeters, “you do know what she wants.” He tosses the pen and papers aside, crossing his arms and sitting back in the desk chair. 

“Unless you’ve been going behind our backs to see her.”

Had he been turned around facing Namjoon, the younger would have seen the clear exposed truth on his face. The blatant and unhidden look of guilt and shame that he quickly masks once he whips to face Namjoon. 

“What are you talking about?” 

The responding statement is quick. Too quick. Too accosting. Namjoon squints his eyes. 

“Only the several days these past weeks you’ve disappeared from Bangtan’s radar. The bills for the jet fuel sent to my directory. The pilots you’ve been pulling away from our forces in Korea to personally tend to whatever shady business you’ve been hiding under my nose.” 

Namjoon’s words are rapid fire, piercing into the facade that Jin thought he had so carefully crafted. He should’ve known nothing goes unnoticed under the leader’s eye. 

“Namjoon, I-”

“Just be glad I didn’t tell the others. Especially Jungkook.” The thought of the youngest makes him sigh. Jungkook has always been so volatile. A ticking, emotionally-charged and codependent time bomb hiding under that muscle and masculinity. Namjoon knew better than to expose something like this just yet.

When he looks up at the man standing in the doorway of his office, he’s looking straight past him. Through the window like it was you he saw in the sky. Observing him now, up close and with more attention, Namjoon finally gets to truly see him. 

On the surface, Jin is faring worlds better than any of them. He’s clean and freshly showered, hair coiffed to perfection like it usually is. He dons a black button up; perfectly ironed without a crease in sight. But Namjoon knows him better than that. Jin looks so utterly drained it stirs sympathy in even the darkest of hearts. His eyes communicate something his words can’t: Seokjin is completely lost without your light. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come out breathily. Like he’s been waiting to say it all this time but couldn’t. 

“I just…”, he stares down at his hands, “I just needed to see her. See if she was doing alright after we…” Jin trails off, not able to face the truth of their actions just yet. And though there is lingering anger in Namjoon, he can’t help but to feel his distress vicariously. 

“You know, she’s a waitress now. At this small, run-down diner downtown. With a cute little apron and everything”, he chuckles softly, sadness seeping in every word. 

“She lives with her aunt and uncle, and walks everywhere because she doesn’t have a car, at unholy hours of the night which keeps me up every night constantly worrying about her. But that’s Y/N, isn’t it? So careless of her own safety and well-being.” 

Namjoon refrains the smile that creeps on his face at the thought of you. 

“She was smiling when I saw her. I could still see she was sad but she was smiling. Like she always does just so other people feel happier around her.”

“Jin, you don’t have to-”

“And she’s lost so much weight, Namjoon. She was trying to yell out for help and all we did was ignore her.”

Jin’s words are nails on a chalkboard. Vinegar in wine. It makes them both nauseous and rueful, and the oxygen in Namjoon’s office suddenly becomes all too suffocating. Your presence, or lack thereof, has left a heavy residue on the walls of the manor. 

The two boys sit in silence for a moment, before the sound of thumping boots on hardwood flooring echoes down the hallway, getting louder as it approaches the office. The door is nearly taken off its hinges as it violently swings open. Taehyung stands in the threshold, sweat on his brow and chest huffing up and down like an overexerted engine. He is pale in the face, hands trembling at his side and the sheer shock in his gaze tells the two older men that the words preparing to slip from his tongue are not going to be pleasant. Jin and Namjoon brace themselves for impact. 

“It’s Y/N”, his whispered voice quivers. Their hearts drop. 

“There’s been an accident.” 

taglist:  @pinkyhim��, @deolly​, @loveyoongles​, @drunkzseok​, @hope122598​, @uwunamjoon​, @nomimits7​, @bubblebunnylia​, @aquaalanah​, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever​, @btsbabby​, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy​, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona​, @jeoncookie-bts​, @annoyingpessimist​, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh, @btstxtgenre, @taesugaar​, @hxsxxk-180294​, @bubbletae7​, @uglyratlmao​, @hopetookmysoul​, @supertweetycherry​, @missseoulite​, @barbikatherine​, @jamesfrickingbuchananbarnes​, @sunsetsnsirens-blog​, @vanilla-smash​, @lmaosani​, @onionhaseyeo​, @i-dumb-bitch, @euphxriajoon​, @justpeachyjoon​, @dabbingangels​, @h5naaa​, @parkmaeri, @softescapism​, @bena-baby, @myjiminmychimchim, @moments-of-melancholy​, @krystle1990​, @chatsgotmytongue​, @vi-hoshi​, @unlikelylittlemiss​, @rosey-roseau, @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​, @kookiebbyxx​, @thebleuprince​, @dreamer95​, @jinana-iactium​, @holaaaf​, @small-babycat, @h0bi-c0re​, @katbonv​, @embrace-themagic​, @jiminmochee​, @fanoffandomss​, @mwitsmejk​, @mrsfortune1306​, @raadia​, @kookima​, @bonesfordayss​, @dinoboysindahouse​, @jiminie-lovely​, @queenceline22​, @jikooksgirl19​, @somewhereinthestarss​, @kookieskiwi​, @lynnfanficreblogs​, @vintageroses10​,

[forthehpfanboys]

Admirable

Pair: Harry Potter x Reader; he/him.

Summary: Harry convinces you that you’re worth it.

Warnings: Kinda Smutty (MDI), kinda fluffy, swears.

Fluff Prompt 21 and Smut Prompt 44: “Say one more bad thing about yourself! I dare you! Go on! Do it and I’ll give you the biggest fucking hug!” and “I wish you could see just how beautiful you are.” 

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Harry strolled out of class, happy for it to finally be over. The bickering of his friends had him rolling his eyes so hard he wondered if they’d pop out of his skull. Personally, he didn’t care enough to argue over the importance of stirring a potion in the correct direction, so he left them be. He looked behind him, noting how Ron and Hermione were still packing their stuff while chewing each other out, before looking down the hall to the many students heading to their next classes. That was when he noticed the figure on the floor through the reflection of his glasses. 

You were sitting on the floor, across the hall from the entrance to the classroom. His green eyes followed your gaze, which was casted down to your hands that were fiddling with the sleeves of your robe. Harry found himself wondering what caused you to sit on the cold tiles of the dungeon, clearly battling with the thoughts plaguing your head. He knew you had a free period while he had potions, so it must’ve happened within that free time.

When Harry turned to his friends, who had stopped bickering at this point and stood just beside him, they gave him an understanding nod, to which he returned with a soft smile and a wave. The pair hurried off to give you guys your space, both hoping you were ok. So, with a deep breath, Harry took the last few steps to stand in front of you and sat down to your right. When you didn’t look up, he reached out for one of your hands and separated your hand from your sleeve and held it gently.

“Love? Are you ok?” Harry asked, a soft grin on his face. He didn’t want to be too intrusive, but he knew something was up. He let out the breath through his nose when you looked at him. He noticed the puffiness of your eyes and the redness of your nose.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just um,” you paused to lick over your lips, “Malfoy starting stuff, like usual. I’m fine.” Your voice was nasally. You’d been crying. Harry gripped your hand harder when he realized you’d been alone when you were at your most vulnerable.

“That’s why the weasel wasn’t in class.” Harry grumbled to himself. He gently gripped your chin with his other hand and began looking for any cuts, bruises or hints of damage to your profile. “He didn’t touch you, did he? Merlin, if he did, I’ll kill him.”

You couldn’t help but give him a small smile. He was always protective of you. He loved you, he needed you and longed for the day the two of you could be safe and happy and sharing an apartment somewhere and getting a dog and-

“No, no. He didn’t touch me, Harry.” You gently pulled his hand from your chin to plant a soft kiss against his palm that made his heart flutter in his chest and a blush to spread across his cheeks. 

“Then what did he do?” Harry tilted his head, but immediately regretted it when his hair fell into his eyes. He tried to shake it out of the way, but stopped when you reached up to move it for him.

“Just started talking shit. Said I was worth less than the gum on the floor of muggle bathrooms, said you deserved better than a mudblood.” You shrugged like it was no big deal. “Said the Chosen One should be with someone of a worthy status and that you’re wasting time on someone as low as me. It just got me thinking.”

Harry’s eyebrow twitched during your short story. His hand not holding yours clenched tight enough his dull nails dug into his palms and his knuckles turned white.

“Thinking what?” He hoped his voice didn’t give way to his frustration, but it still managed to show it’s way in. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip when your eyebrows furrowed together. He didn’t want to make you feel worse. He swallowed thickly when you hesitated to answer.

“Thinking he might be right. I mean- I’m no one, Harry. Why do you love me? I’m not the brightest, or the funniest, or anything special.” You leaned your head back against the rough bricks of the dungeon, ignoring how it caught and tugged on your hair. You chewed on the inside of your cheek before continuing. “I mean, even Malfoy has better grades than I do, and if that twat can ace deviation, I’m fuc-” Before you could finish, Harry all but exploded.

“Say one more bad thing about yourself! I dare you! Go on! Do it and I’ll give you the biggest fucking hug!” Harry shouted, his finger jabbing into your chest. This fucker was challenging you and it managed to lighten your mood a smidgen. You looked between his finger and his challenging eyes. “No, don’t you dare!” He shouted when you slowly opened your mouth to say something.

“Mr. Potter! Would you like to explain why you are shouting in front of my classroom?”

Harry looked up at Snape, blinking dumbly a few times before he responded.

“Well, for starters, they don’t exactly keep chairs in the hallways, so we must sit on the floor, professor.” He spoke smugly while you hid a laugh behind your hand. “And I’m only shouting because it’s necessary. My boyfriend doesn’t quiet understand he’s the best thing that has every happened to me and it’s hurting my feelings.”

“I could not care less about the complications of your relationship, Potter, but must I give you another detention for your insufferable lip necessary?” Snape raised an eyebrow at the silence. “I thought not. Please leave my classroom alone and handle your,” his nose crunched up, ”love life else were.” He shut the door behind him dramatically as he turned and returned to his classroom, flinging the door shut behind him. 

“Arse.” Harry muttered, standing up. He held a hand out to you after dusting himself off. Once you took it, he helped you stand up. The noirette wrapped an arm around your waist as he led you down the hall. “Seriously though, don’t focus on what Malfoy said. He’s got less brain cells than the boulder holding up Hagrid’s hut.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the comparison and lean into his side. You slid your hand through the opening of his robe so you could rest your hand against his rear as you walked side by side.

“You’re not wrong, hun.” You said, giving his butt a few playful taps before wiggling your hand into his back pocket. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was gawking at you. A satisfied grin stretched across your lips.

“Oh, so you’re feeling better, yeah?” Harry’s sassy tone had you breaking out into a fit of giggles again. “Then how about we head up my dorm? We could do a bit of snuggling or snogging-”

“Why does British slang always involve an s?”

“Hush! I’m trying to be romantic!” Harry whined, bumping his hip against yours. You were worried for a second you’d actually pissed him off, but his beaming smile countered his whiny tone easily. With a roll of his eyes, he continued. “I could show you how much I just- I adore you.” 

“Yeah, that isn’t cheesy at all.” You sassed, your eyes rolling dramatically. Before long, the two of you passed by the dinning hall and straight up the moving staircases to the Gryffindor common room. You spoke the password, barely giving the women in the portrait a second to begin her famous rants. 

Once you stepped in, Harry grabbed your wrist, tugging you against him and slamming his lips against yours. His hand cupped your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he nipped at your lip, not caring who saw. You fell into the kiss easily, much like you always did. Your arms wrapped around his waist while he slowly backed you up against the wall just in front of the stairs.

Your hands gripped solely onto his school robes when his hips began to grind into yours. A hum vibrated between your lips before his tongue managed to slip between your teeth. He could feel your cheeks heating up from the very, very short distance and, after dominating your mouth with his tongue, he slowly pulled back. 

His emerald eyes ran along your now swollen lips and half lidded eyes and lazy grin. He reached up, gently swiping his thumb along your lips to wipe the saliva away from the messy kiss. 

“Are you feeling better?” Harry smiled when you nodded your head and planted a soft kiss against the pad of his thumb before taking it into your mouth. The Chosen One shivered when your tongue slid against his skin. “Godric, I wish you could see just how beautiful you are.” His voice was a lazy purr, his eyes getting darker the longer he watched you have your fun. “Come on, let’s head up so I can show you.”

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 6 

Pairing: Spencer x Reader 

Warnings: Descriptions of murders, cases, Serial killer facts, 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner

~~~~~~~~~~ 

○●♡●○ 

It had been about two months or so since your little impromptu sleepover at the resident genius's place. Things had gotten a little better, at least on your part. 

"Hey!" 

You jumped from your make-do desk in your room, snapping your head towards the doorway where a friendly face awaited you. Gabriel had a bag of sweets in one hand and a malt in the other. "Jesus, Gabe you scared me." You cursed, holding a hand to your chest. 

"At least we're even." He points out, putting the malt on the table in front of you. Also inconveniently on top of your written notes for the paper you had to write. You growled and moved the drink, glaring at your best friend. 

"You've gotten even with me plenty of times since then! How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" You ask in exasperation. Gabriel pretends to ponder your question as he pops a caramel apple sucker into his mouth. 

"Says the girl who didn't call me to tell me she was home and instead decided to stay with the coworker she has a crush on. You didn't even bribe me with details!" He complained, dumping a few sweets in front of you. 

You grumpily grab one of the sweets he had graciously offered and tossed it into your mouth. "It was one time! And I hadn't slept for like, four days! Besides, it wasn't my fault my mother decided to drop by and visit!" You huff. 

"Yeah yeah. You know how much I hate that hag. Nothing against you, sugar tits." Gabriel comments, pulling the pop from his mouth. "But still, no excuse not to call me. Send me a text even. Some proof of life." He grumbled. "That malt is yours by the way. Iris insisted I get one for you while we were out. Couldn't say no." 

You look over at the bright pink striped cup dripping with condensation that created a wet circle on the desk. For being pissed at you for over two months, Gabriel was a good friend. 

You took the malt and started sipping generously. "I'm sorry, okay? What do I have to do to prove it to you?" You ask. 

Gabriel smirked. You hated when he got ideas. 

"Tell me about your night with Mister teacher's pet. Then I'll consider it." He teased, quickly bopping your nose. 

"I already told you. After my bitch mother confronted me, he convinced me to head to his place. I couldn't say no. He eventually read me a poem and I fell asleep. And… he knows my real name now. Happy?" You asked with a groan. 

"Oh come on, that can't be all of it!" He whined, almost like a child about to throw a tantrum for being forced to eat his vegetables. Not that Gabriel was any different. He would fight you tooth and nail if you tried. 

"It is! Nothing else happened! No kiss, no dramatic display of feelings, no nothing. Just a really awkward drive to work." You huffed. 

The thought of the drive was a little hurtful. After the night you both had, well more like morning and you slept through the rest of the day, Spencer had been distant. It didn't last long as a couple days later they all had to get on the jet for another case. Spencer then began to re-warm up to you and now you knew nothing different. Though he didn't try to flirt with you anymore. Not like Morgan. But the previous moments where he had you backed up against the map, or had called you a good girl. He never did it again. And to be honest, you missed it despite how embarrassed you were afterwards. 

"Boo! And I thought you liked the guy!" Gabriel exclaimed, acting baffled at the chain of events in your life. He then shrugged. "More fish in the sea I guess." He teased, obviously gaging you for a response. 

"I do! Just… I'm not as obscenely obvious about it as you want me to be!" You hissed, sucking up more chocolate malt into your mouth with a little bit of a pissy attitude. 

"Well if you were, I'm sure he'd be your teacher's aide boyfriend by now. Now, who's right and wrong in this situation? Hm? Yeah, me. No debate." He insists, putting the sucker back into his mouth.  

"Shut up. I have to write this paper. For my doctorate in social science." You explain. "Just because you stopped going to school doesn't mean I can't go ahead and add another doctorate to my belt." You try to change the subject, hoping Gabriel would ease up on you. 

"You and those doctorates. Are you seriously trying to build a filing cabinet up there or are you just bored with working for the FBI already?" Gabriel asks, flopping down onto your bed. 

"Neither. I just want to know as much as I can in all of my areas of schooling. Be taken seriously." You insist. 

"Boring. Why don't you take classes on making candy or something? That would be seriously cool. And then you can open up your own business just to spite those parents of yours! 

I can see it now!" He rants, hanging his head over the edge of your mattress as he spreads his hands as if displaying the business name. 

You roll your eyes. "No thanks. That sounds like something you should do though. You'd fit right into that role, you know. Candyman." You tease. "Now I really gotta finish this paper." You insist. 

"Fine fine. Just be sure to come down from your academic heaven long enough to eat dinner once Iris is finished." He insists, winking at you before he leaves your room. 

Finally, you had your peace and quiet. But it was weird. The peace and quiet was very quickly becoming deafening by the influx of thoughts. Not the helpful kind either. 

You began to come up blank on ideas for your paper and had more ideas on how you could have maybe done something different to prevent that awkward drive to work all those weeks ago. Where did this uncertainty come from?

You grumble and close your laptop after ten minutes of no progress. Maybe you just needed a break. Then again, it was your day off. And you didn't feel like wishing bad things on someone just so you'd be able to go into work. 

Almost as if the universe had been listening and decided to throw you a sickened bone, you heard your phone begin to ring. You eagerly pick it up, knowing it would be something to keep you busy. 

"Hello, Agent (L/N)." You answer without checking the caller ID. 

"Yes, (L/N) I need you to come in. We have another case." Hotch answers the phone. You feel a slight feeling of excitement strike at your core. Sure, you'd been on 6 cases so far, but you enjoyed being around your fellow agents and putting another unsub away. 

"Do I get any insight, Hotch?" You ask. 

"It's a case in Lebanon Kansas. We have a large group of bodies piling up. We have two suspects we believe are working with each other. We just need to profile them and catch them before they kill again. I'll inform everyone once you've arrived." As soon as he finished, he hung up. He didn't give you any chance to reply. Typical Hotch fashion. 

You stand up immediately, grabbing your bag and your go-bag you had packed at all times just in case this happened. You grabbed the malt you still had and drank the rest of it, grabbing a couple of the caramel apple pops Gabriel had left and shoving them into your pocket. 

You wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a plastic container and putting some of dinner into it. 

"Woah, woah, where the hell are you going so late?" Gabriel asked in a fatherly tone. You rolled your eyes and glared at him for a moment. 

"I have work. Duh." 

"Work? I thought you were off?" Iris asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I am. But unfortunately serial killers don't care that I'm off. Sorry guys. I promise I'll call you guys once I get back, okay?" You promise, finding a lid and putting it on the tubberware. 

"You better. Or else I'll stick gum in your hair. And not the easy to get out stuff." Gabriel threatened teasingly, taking a quick bite of his food. "Have fun arresting some muttonheads!" He called. 

You chuckle and sling your bag over your shoulder. "Will do!" You reply before you turn around and head out of your shared apartment. 

○●♡●○

"Hey! (L/N)!" 

You turn your head as you arrive to the bullpen. You smile as the eccentric Penelope Garcia raced up to you to give you a hug once you were down the stairs. 

You graciously accepted the hug and turned to everyone else. "What did I miss?" You ask. 

"Nothing much. Only Reid finally showing us another magic trick!" Penelope answered for everyone. Morgan chuckled and Reid blushed slightly. Emily was leaned slightly against Reid's desk, looking at you warmly. 

"Seriously, he's really good." Emily affirmed. You chuckled and walked over in interest. 

"Really now? Show me." You insist, standing in front of Spencer. He looked up at you and did a nervous chuckle. 

"W-well your gonna have to turn around." He says, giving you an adorable michevious smirk. 

"Oh come on-" you begin. 

"He does this everytime, you'll get used to it." Emily adds, laughing slightly as she begins to turn around. 

"Spencerrr… please? For me?" You asked, batting your eyes pitifully. You knew it would probably get you nowhere, but you could at lease try. 

"No." He insisted. 

"Pleaseeee!" You beg again, putting your hands in a clasped position. You even bended your knees slightly to add to the effect. 

Instead of the immediate rejection, he pondered for a moment and stared at you. 

"Come on kid, one person knows a magician's tricks. Let her be your protégé." Morgan suggests. You giggle and shook your head.  

"No really, it's fine. You don't have to show me-" you begin to backtrack, not wanting to force Spencer into showing you. 

"I'll do it. I-I mean… I have to find someone to pass my gifts onto." He chuckles, rubbing his neck a little nervously. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah!" He expressed. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle as he watched you two. He leaned over to Emily who had made her way over to where he stood and whispered into her ear. 

Spencer then told everyone to turn their heads away except for you. Then he began to show you the way he made the mini bottle rocket. He wrapped his hands around yours and helped you with each step. The warmth of his hands spread to your cheeks, and the touch of them sent shivers down your spine. 

"Then turn it upside down and…" Spencer instructed in a whisper, helping you to turn the cap upside down. You watched the foaming top for a few seconds, moving closer towards the unknowing danger of the cap. As soon as it began to jump up, Spencer pushed you back with an inaudible warning. You watched as the bottle skyrocketed and flew fast Hotch's ear. Through this, his hand clutched as your shoulder and refused to leave it. 

"Reid, I thought I told you not to do that." Hotch warned. 

Reid's face grew a little brighter with embarrassment. You didn't know what came upon you then, but you stood up and gulped. "It-it was me. He taught me and I shot it. Sorry sir." You insisted. 

Hotch's lips pulled into a slight smile as he looked back towards you. He didn't say anything afterwards, but you knew he was just teasing you both. "Meet up in the confrence room in five minutes, we have another case." He says after he cleared his throat. You nodded with a cheerful smile and put your bag in your chair. You glanced to Spencer, flashing him a gentle smile before you turned to enter the conference room. 

You entered the room and took your seat, taking the tablet out that Garcia had given you before. "So what do we have?" You asked. 

"We have what is assumed to be over a dozen bodies killed with different MO's and different stages of aggression. The only thing that links them are the DNA from one or both of these suspects; Jensen and Sam Westchester. And boy do they have long records. That's why we were able to find their DNA matches so quick." Penelope answered. 

Spencer took a seat beside you, causing your heart to skip just slightly. "How come we don't have these men yet? Why do they need our help?" You ask. 

"We need to apprehend them. And get a confession. The Kansas state court system has been known to be unpredictable. Sometimes evidence is enough, other times they get off with a warning and community service." Hotch answers. 

"At least they do that." Morgan grumbled. "How come we don't have these guys yet? Are they that slick?"

"Unfortunately yes. They are like Houdini when it comes to busting out of prisons and facilities. The last prison they were held in, one up in Ohio, said they were able to escape through knocking out a guard and switching clothes with him. They were in for a robbery charge." Penelope continued. 

"So why escalate to murder? Unless these murders were scattered." You ask. 

"They are. Over 15 years worth. It looks like they could maybe have more." Spencer spoke up, looking over the picture of one of the more recent bodies. 

"It's quite possible. After all, Harold Shipman managed to get away with 218 proven murders. But they think he could've done as many as 250." You answer, sharing a serial killer fact you found interesting. 

"So we just need to profile these boys and figure out the motive. And if we apprehend them, keep them apart." Emily points out. 

"Why do you say that?" Rossi asks. 

"If you notice the trend in each of these escapes, they only manage to escape when in contact with the other. In the prison they had time to be able to see one another and formulate a plan. Even when in questioning they were able to get notes to each other." 

"Then we'll have to split up and get seperate confessions. These two are brothers, and neither seem to fit the submissive type.' Hotch explains. 

"Two alpha males killing for seemingly no reason for half their lives. This'll be easy to get them to confess and rat out their partner." You say sarcastically. 

"We have to try. Wheels up in thirty." Hotch announces, standing up and leaving the room. 

You sigh and pick up the tablet. "Garcia, can you go ahead and check more than just their juvie records? I wanna have a list of information I can pick from for the profile. Possibly pinpoint some areas of their lives that lead to this behavior." You ask. 

"Oh, but of course Queen! I'll get straight on that. But most of it will probably be sealed." She warned. 

"Unseal those records Garcia. Anything that can help us." Morgan interjects as he grabs his bag and he too leaves the conference room. Garcia nods to him and quickly clicks her heels as she leaves the room. You sigh and pick up your things as you prepare to get onto the jet. 

"You didn't have to defend me." 

"Hm?" You ask, turning to look at Spencer. "Oh, you mean the rocket-thingy?" You clarify. "I was the one to beg you to teach me. Let's just be happy it didn't hit him in the head." You giggle. Spencer looked at you intently for a few moments before he nodded and turned his head away silently. Although it caused you to be uncertain, you brushed it off and walked out to your desk to grab your things. 

As you grab your bags, you feel the small raised bulge in your pocket. You remember the caramel apple pops and smile. At least you could enjoy one of these on the way to deal with a pair of serial killers. Fun.  

You pulled the sucker from the wrapper and popped it into your mouth, beginning your trek out to the jet. As you begin to walk towards the elevator, you notice a pair of hazel eyes following you. You feel a slight burning sensation on the back of your neck and your cheeks as you realized. He looked away once he noticed you were staring back. 

Was he really staring, or was he just spacing out? You hoped it was the former. You were practically begging and praying for it to be. But you knew you'd never be that lucky. 

As you began walking, you heard a jumble of feet behind you and the jingle of things inside a bag getting tossed around. "(Y/N!)" You heard. You widened your eyes and turned around, glad no one besides Spencer had been behind you. 

"Spencer! You can't just call me by my first name right now!" You hissed. 

"S-sorry, I just wanted to apologize if I sounded upset with you. I… I find it honorable that you tried to defend me. No one really does." He explained. You felt your heart melt a little. 

"Spencer… I didn't think that in the slightest." You knew you were lying, but it was going to make him feel better. Besides, it wasn't that big of a deal. "And if that last part is true then I'll be your legendary defender. Like Voltron!" You insist, already beginning to geek out in front of your workplace crush. Way to go, (Y/N). 

"Voltron? What is that? Is it like Star Trek?" He asked, beginning to walk towards the jet with you. You widen your eyes at him and gasp playfully. 

"You, haven't seen Voltron Legendary Defender? Okay, when we get back you HAVE to come over and watch it with me. Afterwards we can watch some documentaries." You insist, practically bouncing on your toes. Spencer looked over you and smiled, unable to tell you no.  

"Sounds like a plan." 

[nicb0723]

Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Notes: Depression trigger warning 

Word Count: 11,754

Read Chapter 1

Chapter 2

**

Before work you go grocery shopping and run some errands. You clean up a lot and wonder how the hell John’s personality will fit in your tiny apartment. He doesn’t say much but he can be so intense. You can’t imagine the two of you together, alone, in this tiny space. 

In the bathroom you hesitate as you pick up your prescription. The doctor thought it would take the edge off your anxiety, and make the depression manageable. She also made sure you were seeing someone for therapy.  For now, the pill once a day does work. You can breathe. You can function. You’d be a fool to think all of your problems would disappear overnight. You still have a long road of recovery ahead, but this makes it less overwhelming. You place the little plastic container in the medicine cabinet, somewhere John won’t see it. You wouldn’t put it past him if he snooped, but in a way you're proud that you were able to talk about your problems and get some help. 

At work Sam is with you and currently making fun of your limp after you tell him why there’s a bruise on your foot. He’s asking if you want him to go buy you a cane when John waltzes in, hair slicked back and suit jacket blowing from the wind. How someone can look like a model in a gas station you’ll never know. He stares until you go to him and ask what the hell he’s doing here.

“Getting gas.” He answers and reaches for his wallet.

You don’t say anything and ring him up, glancing outside to his car parked in spot one. 

Sam is watching you two interact and he has the biggest grin on his face. Is that your boyfriend? He mouths behind John’s back and you cough in shock. No, and yeah right, like you could ever get a guy like John in a million years. 

“Hello!” Sam says loudly and teasingly bumps your hip with his behind the counter. 

John raises an eyebrow and glances to you first, then nods to Sam. “Hi.”

“John, this is Sam my co-worker and Sam, this is John my um… friend?”

True surprise flickers in John’s brown eyes and he looks pleased, a slow small smile spreads on his lips. 

“She’s actually my boss, but nice to meet you.” Sam says and his attention is drawn to the classic car outside and the gushing begins. 

You let the two of them talk until you hear John offer to show him the engine and they both move to go outside. “Hey, I’ll see you later?” 

Sam smirks and you nod at John, wondering how he knows where you live. It’s a little weird that he broke into your place just to fix a leaking faucet and he was in your apartment without you even knowing.  In the back of your mind, you think that it’s actually pretty thoughtful. You mindlessly wonder why he would waste his time though. Why he would do any of the things that he did. He said that he would help anyone in the same situation as you, but you’ve been thinking about that question since the day at the lake, and you’re too scared to ask him. You’re scared to see the look on his face, the look of pity because that’s all you can think that he’ll say. 

You hear John’s car peel away and Sam comes back inside, still grinning like an idiot. 

“What?” You ask, not really wanting to know.

“Nothing.” Sam hops up on the counter and he knows he’s not supposed to sit there. “I think he likes you.”

“And what makes you say that.” You deadpan, pushing at his butt with the tip of your pen.

Sam slides down and knocks over a display of gum. “He told me to look out for you.”

“Oh yeah? I can see you’d be very threatening.” You point to the packs of gum all over the floor. 

He bends down and starts to pick up the mess. “What’d you need looking out for anyway?”

“Nothing, he's just being protective I guess.”

Sam looks at you with concern. “From what?”

“Nothing. I promise, okay?”

For the rest of the night Sam shows you his karate moves and chops up air until closing time. 

**

John is folded up in the corner of your couch with his legs crossed at the knees and his black leather shoe tapping your coffee table. He’s reading one of the old magazines you have laying around. 

“How was work?” He asks, folding the magazine shut, like this is the most normal thing in the world. 

You check the locks on your door to see if they’re broken, but they’re not. You turn the handle again to make sure the door is shut all the way. 

“I should probably give you a key if you’re going to let yourself in.” 

John shrugs. “If you want.” 

Tossing your purse on the kitchen table you make your way to the living room and sit on the chair across from the couch. John looks so out of place, but you can tell he’s trying to blend in, make himself belong in your little apartment. 

“Who’s taking care of your dog while you’re here?” You ask, kicking your feet up. 

“Pooch? The little girl next door. She loves him.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually named him Pooch. I don’t even think that’s an actual word, I think my grandma made it up.”

John shrugs again you can tell he’s definitely not a man to waste any words. “It stuck. It’s... cute.”

“Cute? I can’t see you thinking anything is cute.” You grin and stand up to take your jacket and shoes off to get more comfortable. You can hear him mutter something under his breath, but can’t catch it.  “So do we know if Max is officially out yet?” 

“No, I’m waiting for the call though. I’ll know as soon as it happens.”

You don’t have any doubt.  “Do you want something to eat or drink?” You open the refrigerator for some juice. ”I usually have a snack when I get home. Feel free to take anything you want.” 

John tries to settle back on the couch but he seems stiff. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You can take off your tie and your jacket at least. You’ll probably be here for awhile.” You call out to him, your head sticking in the cupboard looking for the popcorn you put in there earlier. 

John doesn’t move and you gesture for him to get up as you crawl back in your chair with a bag of food. 

“You sure about that?”

“Yes of course I’m sure. Why would I not be sure?” You look at him like he’s crazy as he slowly stands and oh… that’s why.

The suit jacket comes off and he carefully lays it over the side table. His slender waist is circled with a large utility belt with three guns, two clips, and probably a knife. The sight makes your eyes widen. He stares at you as he slowly unfastens the buckle and gently places it on top of his jacket. 

“Don’t go near that.” He points sternly and sits back down, this time more comfortable. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket and sets it on the couch next to him. 

“Definitely not. Are you planning on using any of that?”

“Scare tactic.” 

Silence fills the room as you crunch on your popcorn and you’re actually feeling pretty tired. You’d like to go to bed, but you’re not sure what John’s plans are exactly. 

“So how is this going to happen?” You ask.  “Are you going to come to work with me too? Are you going to run my errands with me? I mean, I’d love the company but I don’t see you wandering around Target for an hour.”

“I don’t mind going to Target with you.” His voice is so serious you can’t help but smile. “I don’t think he’ll come around during the day though. He wants you alone. Scared. Vulnerable. And I have my cop friend keeping an eye on you at work. It’s on his beat anyway.”

“Okay.” That all sounds reasonable. Dread and doubt suddenly take hold of you. “Look, maybe I’m wrong? Maybe he won’t bother with me and we can just forget about it? Maybe there’s nothing to worry about at all.”

John shakes his head. “I read his record. It’s not good.”

Well, crap. You don’t want to talk about Max anymore and you don’t want to ask the one question that’s been hounding your mind. You’re still too scared to know the reason John is here, so you ask something else. “Are you ever going to sleep? You can’t stay up all night waiting.”

“I’ll sleep until I know he’s out.” John says easily. “Then after that I have motion detection alerts on my phone from the camera outside your floor.”

You blink at him. “There are cameras on the door of the elevator?”

“There are now.”

“How’d that happen?” You’ve never noticed any security cameras anywhere. 

“I talked to Francis, the apartment manager. He’s a nice guy.”

You blink at him again. “I know, but he only speaks Russian. How’d you talk to him?”

John smirks and says, “Bez truda.” 

It’s all a little too much and you get up, shaking your head in disbelief. “How is this my life right now? How do I get myself into these things? I have an assassin in my apartment… I’m going to take a shower!” You announce after a minor anxiety attack. “Feel free to turn on the TV, get comfortable, whatever you want.”

The water feels good as you scrub away the day. It relaxes you until swarming thoughts of John sitting on your couch make you hurry out of the tub and wrap yourself in the flannel bathrobe you always wear. Before you lose your nerve you walk back into the living room and find John where you left him, now looking at his phone. 

“They’re just starting to process paperwork. That means it’ll be a few hours.” John’s talking, but doesn’t look up. You start to brush your wet hair out and twist it loosely on top of your head for the night. Usually you’d smear face cream all over but that obviously is not going to happen. 

“Look, John. I know we hardly know each other, but you can sleep in the bed, okay?” You start to turn off the kitchen lights and check the front door one more time to make sure it’s locked. “It’s plenty big enough and I would just feel better.”

He’s looking at you with warm eyes now, his mouth open but nothing is coming out. It’s like his brain turned a switch and decided something important. Whatever he’s thinking must be big because his whole demeanor changes. You can’t quite figure it out, but he seems content to be here with you, where just a few moments ago he had a guard up and was struggling with something on his mind. Somehow and unknowingly, you sense that you’ve just started to break down his wall.  You have no idea what you did, you’re just being yourself, but for the first time John is vulnerable. He’s blinking slowly, as if he’s seeing you for the first time in a new light, or finally giving himself permission to really see you.

It doesn’t matter though, because you know you look like a complete dork in your bathrobe and suddenly you feel incredibly stupid. Shame floods your stomach and you almost feel sick. Of course, this man wouldn’t want to be in the same bed as you. He’d probably rather die. You can’t believe you even suggested it. Also, your therapist would be terribly disappointed in you for talking down to yourself like this. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

He stands up and grabs a small leather bag you hadn’t seen by the widow. “Yes. If it’ll make you feel safer.” 

No. No. That’s not how you wanted it to happen. You wanted John to want to sleep in the bed, not because you asked him. “Listen, I didn’t mean… I’ll take the couch, okay? You probably don’t want to share the bed with me, I totally understand. And you’re doing me a favor and I just want you to be comfortable.”

Utter confusion crosses his handsome face. He scratches at his beard with long fingers, trying to make sense of what you want. “What good would that do? With you sleeping on the couch?”

You stammer and can feel a flush develop on your cheeks. “I just thought… I don’t know.”

“If you rather, I can book you a room in a hotel for a few nights. I won’t… do anything to you. I can promise you that.”

Oh God. This conversation could not get any worse. You’re horrified that he thinks something like that and you try terribly to explain. “No, no that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to go to a hotel. I just meant that um, you probably don’t want to share a bed with someone like me.” 

“Someone like you?”

The flush is creeping up to your neck as you become more embarrassed. You point at your bathrobe and general dorkiness. “Yeah, like someone… not… exactly… uh… cute?”

He seems to realize what you’re trying to say and laughs a little. “Well it’s a good thing there’s no one not cute in this apartment. I don’t know how I could ever sleep.” He walks towards you and gently tucks the hair that had fallen in your eyes behind your ears. It’s very intimate and you feel yourself start to smile. “Can we go to bed now?” He moves his arm out for you to lead the way and you feel silly. John is a nice guy. Even if he really didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as you, he probably still would because it’s what you wanted. 

“Yeah, sorry.” You mumble and walk into the bedroom with him following. There’s not much clutter and it’s pretty bare besides the newly bought self help books on the nightstand and regular girly stuff littered on the dresser. John throws his bag on the floor and you grab some pajamas for yourself, heading to the bathroom to change. 

When you come back John is wearing a white t-shirt and soft blue sleep pants. He’s incredibly adorable and you can’t believe your luck of having him in your room right now. He must’ve grabbed his phone and weapons because they’re both on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

He looks you up and down in your tank top and shorts as you plop on the mattress, quickly getting under the covers. 

“This okay?” He asks and points to his own clothes. Was he expecting for you to want him to sleep in his suit?

“Yeah of course. But...  can you fight in pajamas?” You wrinkle your nose and tease him. “That’s not very assassin-y.”

He barks out a laugh and lays down, but he doesn’t get under the sheets. His feet are bare and long, and you keep peeking at his toes.  “I think it’ll be fine.”

You roll over and face him. He’s looking up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. 

“I can’t believe you’re here right now.”

He doesn’t move. “Why?”

Your eyes start to become heavy and you watch his chest move up and down in slow rhythmic breaths. “People don’t usually do nice things for me. I’m used to being on my own.”

With that he shifts on his side, towards you.  His hair falls in his eyes and you long to brush it away. “I can tell.”

“I don’t like asking for help.”

“You never asked me for anything.” John points out. There’s plenty of space between the both of you and flop your arm towards his side, pointing at him teasingly.

“Oh, I distinctly remember asking you to do one very specific thing and you failed.”

He squirms from the quick stabs of your pointer finger at his ribs. “I don’t know, I think things turned out pretty perfect.”

You scoff and roll to your stomach now, sliding your arms under the pillow. “Perfect? Yeah right, I’m sure this is the last place you want to be.”

“It is perfect. This bed is very comfortable.” John finally gets under the blankets and you giggle sleepily. His cologne is stirred by his movement and you savor the spicy smell. 

“It’s new. I got a raise at work. I’m an assistant manager now.” You tell him proudly, even though you know it’s not that big of an accomplishment.

“Oh excuse me, Miss Assistant Manager.” John smiles and acts extremely impressed. “Congratulations, by the way. I should take you out to celebrate.”

You have no idea if he’s serious or not so you just laugh and snuggle down more into the bed. After a minute you ask, “Do you think Max will come tonight?”

John pauses, thinking. “Hard to say. He doesn’t have a good past. He has friends in high places who will probably help him. How’d you meet a guy like that anyway?”

“How is that you know my name, where I live, my phone number, where I work, what car I drive… literally everything about me and you don’t know that?”

John brushes the hair from his eyes and you can see the tan line around his ring finger has started to finally fade. “That’s just part of the job.”

“Fixing leaking water faucets is part of being an assassin?” You ask, teasing again.

A sweet pink flush spreads on John’s cheeks. “Shush.” 

“That’s what I thought.”

He pretends to glare. “Maybe it is. You don’t know.” 

“You’re right, I don’t know.” You yawn and let your eyes fall close. “Can I tell you tomorrow though? I’m gonna pass out.”

You hear the click of the side lamp turn off and you want to stay awake, to soak in this moment a little more but sleep is overpowering and you drift off into a peaceful rest. 

**

Until about two o’clock in the morning, and then you start to toss and turn. You swear there’s a noise out in the living room but you also know you’re probably being paranoid. You can see the shape of John’s body just a few inches away and you want to reach over to him. 

“Hey.” He whispers and his voice startles you still. “Are you okay?”

“No.” You sit up a little and look towards your bedroom door. There’s a stream of light from the street lamps coming in through the window, but other than that it’s dark. “I thought I heard something.”

“It was just the air kicking on. You’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You feel John’s palm rest on your arm and squeeze. “Positive.”

“Is he out? Did you get a text or anything?”

“Hey, don’t worry about anything, okay? I promise you’re safe.”

You fall back on the bed with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

You're wide awake and this whole situation is baffling. John Wick is in your bed, squeezing your arm and comforting you. 

“Isn’t being an assassin illegal?” You blurt out, the darkness giving you courage, and you instantly regret asking the question because he pulls away.

“It’s the only thing I’m good at.” He says quietly. “Trust me, I tried to retire and I got sucked back in somehow. People seem to want only me for really hard jobs.”

“Couldn’t you get arrested or something if you got caught? Could I get in trouble with you being here?” 

“No. Sometimes cops need bad guys to go away too. You won’t get in trouble.”

“Oh.”

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I just don’t always get myself into the best situations. I feel really safe with you, I just…” You don’t meet an assassin everyday. You have no idea what it really means. 

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to offend you.”

He laughs softly and his fingers brush the back of your arm now. “Nothing you ever ask will offend me. It’s actually quite refreshing. I just hope…”

You wait for him to finish, but he seems to be gathering his thoughts and you don’t want to rush him. 

“I hope you can think of me as a friend before an assassin. And I hope that I don’t scare you.”

“I don’t scare easily.” You mumble and yawn, glancing back to your bedroom door. You ignore the friend comment because you feel like you’ve already been through hell and back. You don’t know if you could consider John as a friend and then lose him someday. It might break you all over again. But then you think of how far you’ve come. “I could probably take Max. I could get him to leave me alone now that I have my mind straight.”

“You think so?” John is sincere and you can hear he’s happy at your mental growth. 

“Yeah maybe. As long as he’s clean and not hopped up on something. Then it might be harder.”

“I guess we’ll see.” John checks his phone and puts it down again after looking briefly at it. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Stop apologizing.” He shifts to his side, with his back to you. 

It’s a strong, solid back with his shoulder blades poking out from underneath his t-shirt. You stare until your eyes feel heavy again. You feel safe.

**

The next time you wake up the sun is blaring from the window and John is gone. His leather bag is still by the bed though, but his suit jacket and all of his guns are gone too. 

You start to go about your business, not believing John would leave you alone if you were in any kind of danger. It’s almost creepy how your phone alerts a few seconds later with a text, like he knows that you’re up. 

No need to worry. I know where he is. I’ll see you later tonight. Let me know if anything happens.

You text back sounds good and John tells you to have a nice day.

It just so happens that you have the next two days off from work and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your foot still hurts from the baseball bat incident so you zone out in front of the TV for a while, trying to forget all of your problems. That doesn’t really work so the next best thing is to venture through the kitchen. You have snacks but not much else. Maybe it would be nice if you could fix John a nice dinner or something, for hanging out with you and like, protecting you from a shitty ex boyfriend. 

Some nice meat might do the trick. A nice steak with a potato and veggies. One thing grandma did that was awesome? Was to teach you how to cook. Wanting to actually cook was a different story for the last few years, the thought making you ill when you were practically a walking zombie, but now the thought excites you. It’s also different to cook for someone than just yourself because it’s usually not worth all the hassle.

Quickly, you get dressed and head out to the nearby grocery store. It's quiet and you take your time walking down the aisles with your cart, wondering what sorts of things John likes to eat. He probably stays healthy but a part of you thinks that he might have a sweet tooth. You grab everything you need, including some pie for dessert and head back home to get started.

There’s a ton of food so you text John to come over hungry and don’t eat any dinner. 

He doesn’t reply back immediately and your stomach starts to sink. What if this is too much? Is this weird? It’s just dinner, right? Friends have dinner together. John has to eat sometime. 

He eventually texts back a simple okay and you take it for what it is. There’s nothing you can do about it now, and since you’ve never really cooked in this kitchen before, if it turns out terrible you can always order pizza. 

It doesn’t turn out terrible, in your opinion, and you’re actually impressed with yourself. There’s a knock on the door right when you're finishing setting the table and John scolds you for not asking who it was before opening the door. He’s still in the middle of his speech when he gets a whiff of steak and sees that the table is set nicely. 

“What’s all this?” He asks, smoothing down his expensive silk tie. 

You pull out a chair for him to sit down. “It’s just a little thank you.”

He doesn’t look happy with that answer.

“It’s me making my friend dinner… randomly?” You try again. 

He laughs and nods, accepting that instead and removes his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. “Do you mind if I…” He points to his waist and waits for you to nod before unclipping the belt, putting it in the bedroom for the night. 

“Wine? Beer?” You ask, debating which you want. 

“Usually I would, but…”

You understand that he’s working, even though he’d hate it if you said it aloud, and put them both away. “How about some ice tea?”

“Sure.” John sits and folds a napkin in his lap. He’s watching you and when you bring over a plate full of food there’s an unmistaken gasp. “Wow, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” You sit down too and pass him the salt and pepper. “I forgot how much fun it is to cook. I haven’t made anything since grandma was sick and I stopped eating. But today it was like she was in the kitchen with me.” You stop and close your eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry, that was weird to say.”

“Not the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He reminds you hesitantly, but with a small smile. 

Heat warms your cheeks and you have to chuckle in agreement. “True. I feel like that was so long ago though. I’m like a different person now. You must’ve thought I was crazy.” You don’t say that you’re grateful you accidentally gave your phone number to a police informant.  That it was John who showed up that day. That it wasn’t some crook who could’ve used a few hundred dollars. 

“I didn’t think you were crazy.” John takes a big bite of steak and moans a little. “This is really good. I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time.”

“You don’t cook much?” You ask, waiting for him to make another noise of pleasure. 

“I hate cooking for just myself.” He says, but otherwise he is disappointingly quiet. 

You take a bite of vegetables and nod in agreement, trying to hide your swelling of excitement. Well, that’s that. He is single. No big deal, you tell yourself to calm the hell down in your head. It doesn't matter anyway. It’s not like anything would ever happen. “So, you didn’t think I was crazy? What did you think?”

John puts down his fork and looks at you, his chin resting on his hand thoughtfully. “I thought you looked really tired. That you needed help and had nowhere else to turn.”

You gently rub a finger under your eye, where you know there used to be darkened circles. Now your eyes are bright and alive. You blush at his observation. 

“What’d you think when you saw me?” He asks, interested again in his steak but keeping an attentive ear to everything you say.

You don’t know why, but you feel a surge of confidence. “I thought I was talking to the most attractive hitman in all of New York and that there was no way I could afford your... business.” 

John raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Really?”

Shrugging, you take another bite of food and swallow. “I don’t know what I was really thinking, honestly. It was not my best day. I just wanted to get the conversation over with. I wasn’t in the right mindset.” 

“But therapy is going well?” 

You’re not surprised that he knew about that, but it does make you pause that he actually asked. “Definitely. It’s going very well. And she’s a fan of you, by the way.”

“Me?” 

“Don’t worry, she thinks you're an undercover cop.” 

John leans over his plate, trying to get closer to you. “What exactly do you say about me?”

“That’s personal!”

“Fine.” He leans back now in his chair and crosses his arms, fake disappointment in a pout on his lips. “Then I won’t tell you about what I found out today.”

You glare at him. “Isn’t that blackmail?”

“Or extortion.” He shrugs, waiting for you to answer.

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes and sigh.  “I told her about all of the nice stuff you did for me, even though it was creepy, and how you probably saved my life.”

He blinks at that, obviously not expecting you to be so forward. “Oh. And what did she say?”

“She said to be careful about you breaking into my place and stealing my car… but that it sounded like I made a really good friend.”

John is suddenly silent and tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “Just… just a friend?”

Your stomach does a little flip and you’re not sure where he’s going with this. “I’m pretty sure all I can have is friends right now.” You tell him slowly, trying to get all of your words exactly right. “I need to find my worth, be happy with myself… before I can do that for someone else, you know?”

John nods and his eyes are sad for a brief second but when he looks up at you, he’s proud. “I think that’s great. And I’m happy to help remind you that you’re pretty awesome.”

“Reminders are nice.” You tell him with a small smile. “Especially considering they come from a bad ass assassin.”

John chuckles and finishes his steak. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt. He looks a little tired and you wonder what he did all day.

“So what were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, right. Max. He seems to be doing well. He’s living with his mom across town and he was spotted going into an AA meeting.”

You’re stunned. In a good way. “Really? He was always such a heavy drinker. That’s where I met him. At the bar across the street from the hospital. When visiting hours were over and I didn’t have to work, I’d go there a lot. And well, I guess he spotted a weak one.” You think back to those days when he was nice to you at first, which quickly changed into becoming manipulative and controlling. The final straw was when he said that you couldn’t visit your grandmother anymore. You lost it and he raised a hand at you, several times. You never want to be that weak. Ever again.  “Well that’s good news, right?”

“Yeah.” John rubs at his beard. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t relapse.”

You stand up and start to clear the dishes from the table. “So you don’t have to stay the night, probably.”

“No, I’ll stay at least one more night. Just to be safe.”

You give him a disapproving look. You really hate to waste his time.

“Seriously, I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here. One more night and I’ll be out of your hair.”

That’s not at all what you meant by giving him a look so you just shake your head. “It’s nice to have the company. I just don’t think my apartment is where you want to spend your nights.”

“And where exactly do you think I spend my nights?”

The sink is full of soap and John stands to clear the rest of the plates and cups. “I picture this really fancy nightclub or rave with techno music and neon lights and beautiful women dancing around you.”

John hands over a plate and looks at you like you’re nuts. “You have a very vivid imagination.”

“Oh, like that’s never happened.” You deadpan.

“Well, I can’t say never... “ John leans against the counter and offers to help you. 

“No, I got it but thank you. And also, I knew it. I just don’t see you like… dancing to techno music.” You make a face and stick out your tongue a little. You hate techno.

John laughs. “I don’t go there to dance. If I’m at a club or something it’s usually for work.”

“Ah, I see.” You move to get the dish rag to dry the silverware. “So, where do all the beautiful women throw themselves at you?”

He’s not really paying attention when he answers and he’s looking at something on the ground. “Well lately it’s been at a lake and a local gas station. Is that a bruise?” John bends down and slowly traces the swirls of black and blue colors on top of your foot. The touch stings a little but you hold still. 

“Oh uh... “ God, how stupid. You didn’t think it was that noticeable. “Yeah.”

“Your whole foot is swollen.” His eyes are huge when he stands up and looks at you, his hands on his hips. “What happened?” He growls out and you push past him, considerably embarrassed and turned on all at once. 

“I did it to myself, okay? It’s not a big deal.” 

“You’re limping.” He exasperates, but he gently puts an arm around your waist and helps guide you to sit down. You put your foot on the coffee table and it does look worse than it did yesterday, puffy and colorful. 

You grimince and don’t want to tell him. “It was just a silly accident. Sam at work already made fun of me, so let’s just forget it.”

John disappears to the kitchen and you can hear ice being gathered. He comes back and sits on the coffee table, slowly moving your foot to his lap and putting a towel full of ice by your toes, where the worst of the purples are blooming. 

“You really don’t have to do that. It’s not that bad. I was just on my feet all day and I didn’t think about it. It’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

His fingers are so gentle around your ankle and you can’t help but to stare at his big hand surrounding your delicate bones. “Hey.” John taps on your skin until you look up at him. “You’re worth being taken care of, okay?”

Well, he got you there damnit. “Oh, that’s a good one.” You’re impressed and you let him hold your foot, sitting back to relax. Your therapist would be really pleased that you let someone help you.

“Are you going to tell me or are we going to sit here all night?”

You briefly tell him how you got the bruise and his fingers stop tracing over your skin long enough for him to laugh. Loudly.

“It’s not that funny.” You scowl at him.

“It’s really funny.” He’s snickering now and you swear there’s a tear at his eye. He moves to wipe it away and mumbles something like, “you are the cutest... “ and then clears his throat and straightens up. “You’ll have to show me your moves.”

“Uh, no, I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for tonight, thank you.”

John rubs at your ankle again, squeezing around your leg lightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be mean to the patient.”

“Exactly right.” You agree and smirk when you think of payback. “You gonna kiss it better?”

Without hesitation John takes off the towel and presses his lips to your cold skin. All you can do is stare at his beard and then at the teal nail polish on your toes. You’re speechless.

“It didn’t seem to work.” John says, disappointment in his voice. “I guess I’ll have to work on my technique.” 

He says that last part suggestively and you sit up in the chair, ready to change the subject. “I got dessert. You like pie, right?”

“Do I like pie? What kind of question is that?”

“Can you get it?” You smile sweetly at him. “It’s on the counter.”

He gives you a knowing look but lifts your foot to get up. You can see his reflection in the window as he moves around in your kitchen and you watch him in disbelief. You realize you’ve never had anyone in your apartment. Not even grandma, she was already too sick when you got it. Max always made you go to his place. John comes back with one plate and two forks, a big slice for both of you to share. 

“This is the best anyone has ever paid me to do a job.” He jokes and you smile back, taking a fork and scooping a bite for yourself. 

You point to an envelope on your desk. “Speaking of getting paid… I know it’s not much, but I did promise you--”

“I was kidding.” John cuts you off. His face is instantly annoyed and hurt. 

“John, please.” Your foot is still propped up on the coffee table and you can’t really move. “I just thought I’d offer.”

“Well, take it back.” He says and you put your hands up in defense, silently telling him not to be mad. “And you just lost pie privileges.” 

“What?”

He stands up and walks over to the couch, as far away from you as possible. “Yeah that’s right. I’m eating all of this myself.”

You huff and struggle to sit up. “That is a radical punishment.”

“You need to learn your lesson.” He takes another big bite, making a show of it. 

“That’s it.” You get up and hobble over to him, practically falling into his side and he lets out a grunt when you accidentally lean into his ribs. You decide to just lay where you are for now, you can’t move if you wanted to. “John, seriously. Pie please.”

He shakes his head with amusement and feeds you a small piece. You take it happily and let your head rest on his shoulder while he finishes and feeds you some more until it’s gone. Both of you are quiet. This is the closest you’ve ever been and you just want to feel his warmth. You know eventually you have to move so you peer up at him and smile. “You have blueberry on your lip.” You tell him, reaching to smudge it off with your thumb. At the same time he licks at it and you both laugh.

“C’mon, cripple. I’m helping you to bed.” He tells you, putting the plate and fork down on the coffee table. You use his thigh to get yourself up and he steadies your waist as you balance on one foot. You’re standing between his legs and he’s looking up at you with the sweetest eyes. 

“Thank you for dinner.” His voice is sincere and determined to get his appreciation across. 

You put your hands on his shoulders and lean some of your weight on him. “John… thank you. Thank you for everything.” And with that you let yourself drop down and you hug him hard. He pulls you close and rubs his hands over your back. His hair brushes your cheek and you breathe in deeply, his scent rushing to your head in the most pleasant high.

Awkwardly, you push yourself away and he grabs at your hands. “You want me to carry you to bed?”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs, letting you wobble towards your bedroom while he takes care of the dishes and turns out all the lights. 

When he’s satisfied everything is in the right place, he walks into your bedroom and stands in the doorway, watching you while you sit on the bed and tie your hair up over your head for the night.

“What?” 

John breaks his stare and walks around to the other side of the bed. “Nothing.” 

“Do you want to watch TV or something?” You ask, grabbing the remote to the set up you have on your dresser. You tend to fall asleep to sitcoms rather than complete silence with thoughts running through your mind at full speed. 

“Actually do you mind if I take a shower?” He asks. “I did a lot of running around.”

Your mouth goes dry and you try to get it together before he notices. “Did you get all sweaty tracking Max today?” You guess, smiling when he looks impressed that you got it right. “See, I could totally be an assassin!” Your smile fades when he points to your foot. “Okay, well I could be an assassin’s secretary. I could like, get all the payments and make appointments and travel arrangements and get your guns cleaned and all that stuff!”

He walks around to his bag and gathers a pair of clean sleep clothes. “And take care of all the dead bodies too?”

You gulp. That’s so disturbing. “Yep. And I could take you to the doctor if you get hurt real bad.” You think back to the bruised knuckles and the dried cut on his face.

He cocks his head to the side and thinks for a minute. “That does sound helpful.” 

“Really?”

“Yes and also dangerous. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You stand from the bed to get him a towel. “Um, just to let you know, I’ve seen all the assassin movies.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert.”

Opening your closet, you pull out the softest towel you own. “That sounds very sarcastic.” You push it to John's stomach and he grabs it from you, but you don’t let go and tug it back gently. “I’ll have you know I’m a very quick study, Mr. Wick.”

John briefly closes his eyes and takes a step closer to you. He leans in to whisper, his mouth close to your ear, “You better get off that foot.”

A giggle escapes and you sit down on the bed. “If I didn’t have a bruised foot... then could I be your secretary?”

He walks into the bathroom, and right when he closes the door he stops to tell you no.

Frowning, you crawl back to your pillows. You notice John forgot his pajamas on the bed and you’re about to get up and give them to him, but you decide not to. This should be interesting. 

You’re watching TV innocently when the bathroom door cracks open ten minutes later. Steam is hovering around John’s form and you hide your smile.

“Um… I forgot my…” He points to the clothes on the bed and you point to your foot. 

“I would help you, but I’m a cripple.” You tell him, now smiling because you can’t hide it anymore. You’re trying not to laugh. 

He glares at you when the door opens and you see the towel wrapped around his waist. 

“I swear I won’t look.” You tell him, covering your eyes. 

“Are we twelve now?” He mocks, stepping out and picking up his clothes. 

Your smile fades when you look at him because damn. “No, we are definitely not twelve.” You murmur to yourself, and you don’t mean to gock, but he’s fresh out of the shower, glistening skin and tight muscles, toned and strong. He pushes his hair from his face and notices you watching him. 

There’s a smug grin when he turns around and your heart completely skips a beat. All you see are flashes of tattoos, black lines and shading on his back. Maybe on his arms too but it was so fast. If you could only make time stand still. 

Now you’re glaring when he comes back into the bedroom a few minutes later. He’s glancing at you very casually. “What?”

“You did that on purpose.”

He laughs and gets under the covers. “What? Forget my clothes?”

“No. Showing off all of your…” You gesture to his body. “Never mind.” You can’t believe this is happening and turn towards the TV, trying to forget the hotness laying beside you. Nope. You can’t. “John, why are you doing this?”

He sits up a little. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? Why are you helping me?” There. You finally asked it. Here comes the pity party.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, confused. When you don’t say anything, he asks another question. “Would you help me if I needed it?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, of course I would.”

“Well,” he lays back down and looks blankly at the TV. “There’s your answer.”

“But you hardly know me.”

He briefly glances at you. “Does it matter? I would want to help anyone. What are we watching?”

You laugh at how simple it was all this time. You should really stop overthinking everything. “Do you want to watch Friends or Seinfeld?”

“Who and what?” He asks, not knowing at all your favorite shows. 

You caress his cheek and pet him softly. “You poor, innocent man. I have a lot to teach you about laughing.”

He shoves your hand away playfully. “I watch TV… sometimes.”

“When you’re not doing assassin-y stuff.”

John sighs and closes his eyes. “Yes, when I’m not working.”

“Mmhm.” You don’t really believe him. You figure he reads a lot or studies, or does something really smart. Never really does anything just for fun. “We should totally go to a movie tomorrow!” You say it jokingly, like he would ever agree to something so mindless, but you can hardly believe it when he nods and says okay. “Really? You would go to a movie?”

“Isn’t that what friends do together, right?”

You wouldn’t have any idea. You don’t have friends and you haven’t been to the movies in ages. You hate going by yourself and you never had enough money.

“I think so?” You respond, not really knowing.

He lets out a little yawn. “All of my friends are… well, you know. I don’t see any of them going to a movie.”

“But you would?”

“With you? Yes. You’re not in the business, clearly.”

You throw a pillow at him,  but he quickly catches it and puts it behind his head. You mumble to yourself of course and turn off the light. “Just for that, I get to pick.”

He groans and you laugh as you tuck yourself in under the covers. You feel excited for tomorrow. Your therapist was right, you did make a good friend. Even if both of you have no idea what exactly that means. 

**

You’re still in bed when John is getting coffee from the kitchen, looking at your phone for movie times. “Don’t worry, I will not make you sit through a chick flick… or a disney movie… or a musical.” 

“Do you take cream and sugar?” John asks, popping his head into the bedroom. You nod yes to both and he disappears again.

“Oh! There’s a new sci-fi movie out. You like aliens, right? It looks scary too.” 

John comes back into the room with two steaming hot cups. He hands one to you carefully and you take a slow sip. “Mmm. This is really good, thank you.”

He looks pleased with himself as he gets back into your bed, sitting with his legs crossed under him. His hair is messed up a little and he’s still in his pajamas. The sight is really cute. You’re kind of sad that it was the last night he’s here. You quickly got used to him in your apartment and having someone to come home to was so nice. He already mastered your crappy coffee machine and he does the dishes. But the sleepovers are done and you wish it had lasted a little longer, purely for selfish reasons. 

You must be staring at him for too long because he stops drinking his coffee and gives you a small smile. “What?”

Dunking your head, you’re embarrassed that he caught you. “Nothing.”

He grins, like he can read your mind but doesn’t want to ruin the moment. “What time’s the movie?” 

“Let’s see…” You tap at your phone, scrolling through the options. “How about this afternoon? Then we could get something to eat or whatever.”

Now he’s really smiling and now he really does call you out. “Wouldn’t this be like… a date? Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“What!” You shriek and put your coffee down on the nightstand, stretching your leg over to try and push him off the bed, but he doesn’t move an inch and just laughs at you. “Oh. My. God.  Absolutely not, you weirdo. Why can’t two people just hang out? Jerry and Elaine do it all the time!” You point to the TV in your defense, trying to remind him of the show you watched last night. 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” John puts his coffee down too and grabs your foot to inspect the bruise. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

You roll your eyes, still not being able to fathom John Wick flirting with you. It’s probably all a joke to him anyway so you continue to ignore it. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

He slides your pant leg up and takes a closer look. “Well, it’s not as dark as it was yesterday. Still a little swollen.”

“Told you it would be fine.”

“You’re welcome.” He cracks a smile and you remember the kiss he placed there last night. “Do you need anything else to feel better?”

“Ugh, gross.” Rolling your eyes even harder. “Your flirting is terrible.” 

He grabs at his heart like it hurts. “I take offense to that.”

“Good, that was the point.” You get up from the bed and open the closet, searching for something to wear today. “It’s probably the one thing you’re not good at.”

“I could be good at it.” He says, sipping his coffee again. “I’m just rusty. I need to practise.”

You don’t turn around. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He repeats slowly, and then horrified, “Wait.. I’m not skeezy am I?”

That makes you laugh and you sit back down on the bed. “No, John. You’re not skeezy. You’re like the opposite of skeezy. You’re too nice to be skeezy.”

“I’m too nice?”

“Yeah.” You get up again and fiddle with your hair that’s fallen in your face. “I know you say these things just to be nice to me. I know it doesn’t mean anything. It’s sweet though, it’s fun. I get it.”

Slowly, he shakes his head, trying to comprehend your thoughts. “So, you’re saying I could never be serious about flirting with you?”

“Ha, not in this lifetime.” You gather your bathrobe and head for a shower. “Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. I know exactly how far out of your league I am.”

Now John is the one rolling his eyes. You don’t give him a chance to say anything though and close the door to the bathroom, finally able to catch your breath a little. He still makes you nervous, you realize, and you hope the feeling fades the more time you spend with him because it seems like he needs a friend just as much as you do.

**

You’re brushing your teeth when John taps a knuckle on the door.

“Do you mind if we stop at my place before the movie?”

“You don’t want to wear a suit all day?”

“Not really.” He smiles. “And I have to pick up the dog.”

“Oh right!” You spit into the sink and wash your mouth. “I want some puppy kisses.”

John looks at your lips and then to your eyes. It’s fast, but you still see it. And if you didn’t he mutters, “tease” and leaves to go out the front door.

You grab your purse on the way out and he waits patiently for you to lock the door behind you. He has his bag with him and you’re disappointed it’s not still in your apartment. You wonder if he’s wearing all of his guns and try to sneak a peek under his suit jacket at his waist. You’re not paying attention so you run smack into his back when he stops for the elevator. 

Yep, he’s wearing one gun because you feel it hit your stomach. He looks at you oddly and reaches a hand out to steady you.

“Do you always carry a gun when you go places?”

“Usually.”

“Do you ever have to use it?”

“Sometimes.”

The elevator ride down is quiet and you wave to Francis walking by in the hallway. John nods towards him too, like they have some sort of secret understanding. 

His car is glistening in the sun and you have to admit, it is a pretty sweet ride. John opens the door for you after he throws his bag in the trunk and you move carefully, afraid you might scratch the paint job. You fold yourself neatly in the seat and stay still. 

He smoothly gets in and before you can process about how annoyingly attractive he is, the engine roars to life and he’s speeding out of your complex onto the main road. You have a hard time not watching his hands because his fingers are long and look good around the steering wheel. He drives fast but not enough to make you nervous and glances at you a few times to make sure you’re okay. You don’t say much but it’s a comfortable silence with the windows down. You watch the town go by as you start to relax. 

It’s only about a ten minute drive until the car pulls up to the most gorgeous house you’ve ever seen. Of course, this is where John would live. In a house built with huge windows and high ceilings, with a big open yard that’s perfectly manicured. 

He parks in the driveway but still pushes a button so the garage door goes up. 

“C’mon, I’ll only be a minute.” He tells you and curiosity gets the best of you because you had planned to stay in the car. 

“Are you sure? I can wait here.”

“Why?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, obvious that he thinks your question was dumb, and he moves around to open your door again. 

“Such a gentleman.” You praise, not being able to help yourself. You can’t remember the last time anyone opened anything for you.

He smiles and leads the way into the house. “Well, I try.”

“This is really pretty.” You tell him, stepping into a long hallway where you can see the living room off to one side and the kitchen off to the other. 

“You want the tour?” He asks, throwing his keys into a glass bowl and taking his suit jacket off. There are actually two guns on his belt, the one on his right hip you hadn’t seen. 

“No, it’s okay. Just seeing the downstairs is enough to make me depressed about my small apartment.”

John scoffs and opens the front door to let in some air. “I like your place. It’s comfortable there. And the cooking’s really good.”

You laugh and he steers you more into the kitchen, which is huge with a tile floor and what looks like all new appliances. “I’d love to cook in this kitchen. There’s so much room!”

“Yeah?” He stops and looks at you very seriously. “You officially have an open invitation to cook here any time.”

“Ha ha.” You push at his shoulder and walk to the big wood dining table, looking around. There are a bunch of picture frames, but they’re all in a pile on a shelf by the coffee maker. You wonder what kind of pictures he has and why they aren’t on display. You don’t want to be nosy though, so you run your finger over the espresso machine that looks like it cost more than a month of pay. “Marry me?” You bend over and ask it, breathing in deeply the scents of coffee. 

John laughs and points at a smaller hallway. “Laundry is through there.” He points at a door. “Basement.” He walks through the kitchen and into the living room, which is sparse but still lovely. You wonder if he decorated this place himself or if he had help. 

“Evening entertainment.” He points to the TV even though you see a stack of heavy books on the coffee table, some of them well read. “Upstairs?” He asks, starting for the staircase. You shrug, trying not to seem eager and interested. 

The amount of sunlight the house gets is incredible. There are windows everywhere, but you can’t see any neighbors and it’s fairly quiet. This is like your dream house. 

“Wow.” It’s all you can say when you enter the master bedroom. A huge bed in the middle that looks so very soft. There’s a sitting couch and table, with a bureau next to the walk in closet. The view is fantastic and you can even see the lake from here. You walk to the other side of his bedroom and almost press your face against the glass. “You live right across from the community college campus! That’s so cool!” 

John is in his closet, probably getting new clothes for the day, but you can hear him say, “Yeah?”

“Yeah! You could walk there if you wanted to! Save a ton on parking.” You mutter, more to yourself. 

Suddenly he’s right behind you, now in a white cotton shirt with long sleeves. “What do you mean?”

“I applied to go to school in the fall. I want to take some classes, maybe try for a degree or something. My place is far, so it’ll be a hassle but that’s okay.” You tug on the hem of his shirt as you walk by him, throwing your purse on the bed. “What else is up here?” You ask, peering down another long hallway.

He has a proud look in his eyes and he’s still gapping at you a little. “I didn’t know you’re going back to school.”

“Oh, something you finally didn’t know, I can’t believe it.”

“Well, I saw the application on your kitchen table but I didn’t want to assume.”

You laugh because of course he did. “Were you snooping, John Wick?”

“Never. I just observe.”

“Oh, I see.”

He opens the door to an empty bedroom with no furniture. “This was supposed to be a guest room but I never got around to it.”

“What about that room?” You point to the door at the end of the hallway. 

“My office.”

“Ooh. Do you have assassin secrets in there?” You smile teasingly and walk back to his bedroom to get your purse. 

“No, those are in the basement.”

Laughing, you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. You don’t think he is. 

The windows are calling again and you can’t help but to take one more look of the view. “This is just so nice. You have everything in walking distance. The lake, the school…”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “You should move in here.”

That makes you throw your head back and really laugh. How funny. “John, don’t be stupid.”

“How is that stupid?” He asks, his tone is serious but kind. “There’s an empty room. You can walk to school. You can watch the dog for me when I go on… work trips. You would have a kitchen to cook in.”

This man seems to keep surprising you. “You’ve only known me for like a month. What if I smell bad or something?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “You smell amazing.”

“What if I play loud music really late at night?”

“You can’t keep your eyes open past ten.”

“What if I have parties all weekend long?”

“While you work and go to school? Be my guest.”

“What if I’m messy and leave my clothes everywhere?”

John’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Did you just pretend to be neat while I was at your place for two days?”

He’s right, you do like a clean house. “Whatever, John.” Hoping that he drops it. “Don’t you have to get the dog?”

“Damn, stay here. I’ll be right back. Their house is just down the street.” He runs down the stairs and you can hear the screen door open and shut. 

You look around the bedroom again and take it all in. What a completely different life this would be. Not that you don’t like your apartment. It’s cozy and you’re proud of what you’ve established for yourself. This is too fancy for you anyway. Plus, you like having your space. John would be the weirdest roommate ever. You can’t even imagine. 

You jog down the stairs to wait on the couch. You spot some more picture frames stacked nicely in a pile and you’re just about to sneak a look when you can hear them approach the house.

“Puppy kisses!” You cry out and kneel down to gather a happy dog in your arms. If you had any idea this was the dog driving you mad all those nights, you would have taken him for yourself. 

“Pooch! Get down.” John’s Alpha voice is hot and both you and the dog stop everything. 

He trots over to his doggy bed anyways and plops down. “Cassey, the little girl, wore him out at the park this morning.” John says. “Are you ready to go?”

The movie! You had almost forgotten with all the excitement of being in John’s house.

“Yeah, let’s do it. And don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Don’t get scared.” You tell him, in a bravado voice. 

“Can we get gummy bears?” He asks and you crack up on the way back to the garage. 

“You’re a grown man, you can get whatever you want.”

John hurries to open the car door for you again. “I meant, would you have any or would you like something else?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, that’s a big decision.” You slide back into the car and think to yourself that you could really get used to the chivalry John is showing. You wonder how long it could last. “I think I have to see all my options.”

John smiles as he starts the car and lowers the garage door. “This is really serious.”

You fasten your seatbelt and get comfortable. “When’s the last time you went to a movie?”

He turns his head to back out of the driveway, putting his arm around your seat. His face is very close to yours and you notice that his eyes are a very pretty brown when he’s not working. 

“Good point.”

You grin, breaking the eye contact because it’s making your stomach fill with butterflies that you mentally quiet down. 

The theater is busy and you realize it’s a Friday during summer, so all the teenagers are here. John’s phone rings as he parks and tells you he has to take it, so you decide to get in line and buy the tickets. He’s leaning against his car, chatting while looking around at his surroundings and smiles at you when he catches you checking on him. 

You quickly see that the movie is sold out and not knowing what to do, you walk back to John and the car just as he’s finishing his conversation. It sounds like he was speaking in Russian, but you can’t be sure. “All set?” He asks, sliding the phone in his pocket and reaching to put his hand on your back. He hardly ever really touches you, but his hand hovers over your body constantly. 

“It’s sold out.” You tell him. “Do you want to see something else or maybe come back another day?”

“Oh.” He looks disappointed. “But you really wanted to see that movie.”

“It’s okay, shit happens, right?” You shrug it off easily. This is not the worst thing that could happen. Plus, you’re hanging out with John, so you could be going to the town dump and you’d be happy.

“Hold on. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He takes off towards the theater and leaves you by the car. You watch him go and it’s almost like he’s in slow motion again. You wonder how just his stride oozes that much confidence. 

In a few minutes he’s back with two tickets. “Here we go. C’mon.”

“How’d you do that?” You dumbly follow him to the theater doors and he guides you to walk in front of him.

“It’s a secret. What do you want?”

You’re still staring at him in a silent awe as he looks at the refreshment stand. A beautiful young worker comes to help and John’s gaze is just on you.

“Um… gummy bears? Right?” You ask him, trying to snap out of it. “That’s what you wanted?”

He leans in close, dark hair falling into his eyes. “I’m asking what you want.”

You don’t really remember what the hell you say, but somehow John pays and leads you down a long hallway and to your seats. Now he’s really close to you and the smell of his cologne is making your legs weak. 

“You okay?”

“Yes!” It comes out too fast but you realize you’re acting weird and need to get with it. 

John nods and crosses his long legs, sitting back in the chair and shifting towards you, whispering as advertisements play on the big screen. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Do friends hold hands at the movies?”

You close your eyes. “No, John. They do not.”

“Not even when I scored tickets that were sold out?”

You lean in to him and smile. “If you tell me how you did that, I might reconsider the answer to your question.”

“Hmm…” He runs fingers over his beard as he thinks. “I talked to the manager.”

“And?”

“And I paid him.”

“John!”

“What? You wanted to know, so I told you.”

You shake your head in disbelief as the lights lower and the movie starts. “You’re crazy.”

He doesn’t disagree with you, but he does turn towards the screen, still touching your elbow throughout most of the first half of the movie. When it gets really creepy, he covers his mouth every time you jump in your seat, hiding his smile. 

You somehow get closer to his shoulder, shielding your eyes and turning into his body when you jump again, grabbing onto his arm. The muscles you feel are solid, and you technically knew they were there, you just never really considered them before. And you are definitely considering them now. 

John lets you hold on to him, and even offers to hold your hand when the movie winds down and you link his pinky with yours, not wanting to totally turn him down. He seems satisfied with that and smoothes his thumb down your hand a few times before the credits roll.

“That was so good!” You exclaim, getting up from your seat and stretching. “I forgot how fun the movies are!”

“You were scared.” John teases, playfully shaking your hand with his. 

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Whatever, you were scared too.” You tell him, pushing the heavy doors open and heading to his car. The sky is darker now and the wind has picked up, chilling your arms. You wish you had brought a sweater.

“I was definitely not scared.” John laughs, his hand hovering over your back again. You feel it because you stop for a car and his arm is suddenly pressed into your waist. He moves quickly though, opening the door for you to get inside. 

He turns on the heat as soon as he can and asks where you want to eat. 

“It’s up to you. I could go for anything.”

“Sushi?”

That surprises you and you can’t help but look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t know John Wick likes sushi. I see you more of an all meat kinda guy.”

“I have a very sophisticated pallet.”

“Oh, my mistake.” You laugh and tell him to lead the way. 

He takes you to a really nice place and you talk about the movie and the food all throughout dinner. It’s nice, not forced, and fun. These past two days, even with the weird circumstances, have been really fun. You want to pay for the dinner, but of course John beats you to it without you even realizing until it’s far too late. You glare at him and tell him that friends usually split the check. He apologizes with a sparkle in his eye and you know he’s not sorry at all.

When John pulls up to your apartment you thank him for such a great day. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to be scared?” He asks, after telling you he had fun today too.

“Yes, John.”

“I could spend the night again, just to make sure.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine. And you have to get back to Pooch.”

“You could spend the night at my place.” John offers, completely innocent but realizes what he says and adds, “I could take the couch, of course.”

“Good bye, John.” You tell him and he wants you to let him know if you need anything, or if you hear from Max. “I will.” Waving, you open the car door before he can get out and do it for you. The walk up to your apartment is quiet and just a little lonely. 

Once you get inside it’s worse, but you try to ignore it. Instead, you lay in bed where John had slept and cuddle the pillows. 

He texts you once he’s home, to make sure you made it to the apartment okay.

You didn’t let me walk you upstairs, he texts with a sad face.

Instead of telling him that you’re a grown up or you don’t need his protection, you simply text back next time. 

You really hope there’s a next time.

TBC Chapter 3

[ejzah]

A/N: This idea was originally suggested by @mashmaiden and is the next in a series about Deeks at FLETC, but deviates from canon. I put took me a very long time to figure out and I’m still not sure if I am fully happy with it.

In a previous fic, an instructor had asked Deeks to speak on his experience when he was tortured by Sidorov. Since this deals with some events from Descent/Ascension, there is mention of violence, trauma, and PTSD symptoms.

***

A Matter of Experience

Deeks let out a very long breath as he waited for other students to arrive. After a lot of consideration, he had decided to grant Flores’ “offer”. He still absolutely hated the idea, but he knew he was technically doing Flores a favor. Plus, Flores wasn’t wrong. Most of the current candidates had never experienced anything as traumatic as he had.

He hoped they never would.

The night before he’d spent a couple hours going over a rough draft of his presentation. Deeks had also covered some ground rules with Flores. Although he had no control over what questions his classmates would ask, he reserved the right to refuse to answer.

Pulling in another long breath, he closed his eye and rolled his neck a couple of times.

“You ok, Deeks?” Flores asked, actually looking concerned. He had an odd mixture of ruthlessness and deep understanding which didn’t necessarily work well together.

“Yeah, fine. I’m good.” He felt vaguely queasy and restless, but he wasn’t about to tell Flores that. “We never discussed what I should do if no one has questions,” he added. “Do you have a back up lecture?”

“Oh believe me, there’s always questions with this case. We’ll be lucky if we get out on time.” He seemed to realize that he sounded a little insensitive. “Based on what I’ve heard about you, you can handle this Deeks. But if you changed your mind, I won’t judge you.”

That strange feeling of embarrassment returned, but he didn’t have time to evaluate it or respond to Flores as other students started trickling in.

Deeks had purposely chosen a chair to the side and a few rows in where he wouldn’t be too obvious, but could get up without too much trouble. Flores gave them a couple minutes to settle and then walked to the front of the room.

“Good Morning, everyone. I hope you’re all managing your classes alright,” he said. “For today’s class we will be focusing on case study 9.”

He paused as the majority of the class flipped to the appropriate page. Deeks’ pulse pounded faintly in his ears and he swallowed twice, closing his eyes briefly. Even if the details weren’t burned into his memory, he’d reviewed the case, just to be sure he wasn’t caught off guard.

It was surprisingly straightforward, not overly gratuitous and Flores reviewed the details with surprising speed. There was no getting past the pictures though. They were graphic, nauseating. He knew the exact moment everyone saw them and heard someone behind him whisper his name.

When Flores ended the lecture, which was over much faster than Deeks would have liked, he nodded to Deeks and added,

“Now some of you may know that one of your colleagues was involved in this case and he was kind enough to agree to share his experiences with us.” Deeks stood up, joining Flores at the front of the room. “Please welcome Marty Deeks, former LAPD Detective.” Flores gave him what he guessed was supposed to be a supportive pat on the arm and then sat down a few feet away.

It was clear that many of the candidates hadn’t made the connection between him and the battered guy in their text book, but as he glanced around, realized that maybe half the class were watching him with the same strange reverence Omar, Jake, and Charlie had when they first met.

Clearing his throat, he pulled in yet another shallow breath and glanced down at the small stack of notecards in his hand, then stuffed them in his pocket.

“As, uh, Instructor Flores said, I’m Marty Deeks,” he started, pausing to clear his throat again. “But most people just call me Deeks. If any of you have spent more than a few minutes around me, you’ve probably figured out that I have a terrible habit of talking too much.”

A couple people chuckled, but most stayed silent, some looking curious, others intrigued, and a few, mainly Alan, outright suspicious. He’d expected some skepticism since, as usual, he didn’t fit into the mold they expected.

“Like it says in that case study, Agent Hanna and I were captured and held by a Russian arms dealer. They took turns torturing us-“ He swallowed harshly, holding back the shiver that crept up his spine and continued. “to gain information about a colleague who was undercover.

“They had us in separate rooms, but I could still see what they were doing to Agent Hanna. I couldn’t do anything though because I was bound to a chair. I could only watch as they electrocuted him and wait to see what else they had planned for me.”

Before he could continued, Alan raised his hand, his gaze almost defiant and angry as he waited for him to respond.

“Did you have a question?” Deeks asked mildly.

“What was it like?” he said, watching Deeks eagerly, and maybe with a touch of disbelief in his voice as he eyed him. “The case study mentioned that you experienced dental trauma, but it didn’t really go into detail.”

Flores started to intercede from behind him, but Deeks held up a hand, holding him back. If Alan wanted details, he could give him details. He’d avoided the guy as much as possible and put his arrogance and aggressiveness down to immaturity, but now Deeks was truly annoyed.

“No it’s ok.” He smiled tightly at Alan. “One guy shoved this metal device in my mouth so I couldn’t close it. Then Sidorov got out a drill and demanded to know the truth. The whole time I was lying my ass off, trying to keep it together even though I knew he was going to stick that thing in my mouth.”

His breath hitched a little as he felt the phantom pain of the drill bit obliterating his teeth. Someone swore under their breath and Deeks felt perverse satisfaction when Alan squirmed uncomfortably.

Forcing the memories back, he took a couple of slow breaths and then added,

“I ended up with multiple broken teeth, damage to my mandible, and shredded gums-so yeah, dental trauma as they so nicely put it.” Maybe that was going a step too far, but it seemed pointless and Flores had wanted them to know what it was really like. “It took years for me to stop flinching when I heard a drill or to make it through getting my teeth cleaned without almost knocking the hygienist’s lights out. To this day, it’s probably the single most horrific thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone’s eyes were on him, the anticipation and tension almost tangible. A woman-he thought her name was possibly Maria-raised her hand and Deeks nodded for her to speak. Unlike some of her peers, she wasn’t staring at him like he was a particularly interesting soap opera.

“You said it took you years to get over the trauma,” she started a little hesitantly. “Exactly how long did it take?”

“I wish I could tell you that there’s a point when it no longer affects you, but it never really happens,” Deeks said with a gentle smile, sorry he couldn’t give her the answer she so clearly wanted. He saw her face fall and he realized just how young she was and probably pretty horrified at this point. “The memories and dreams and all the other symptoms can lessen over time. They never go away though. That trauma, those scars, they are with you forever.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it?” Another student asked, sounding annoyed and maybe a little scared. “If something like this happens to us, we just live with the trauma for the rest of our lives.”

Deeks shook his head.

“No, there’s a lot you can do. Go to therapy, let the people you love help you, and whatever you do, don’t isolate yourself.” A memory of eating bad takeout with Kensi when he was at his lowest point and added, “Whatever you do, don’t try to face if alone. Believe me, your friends and family will be everything.”

The questions continued for the remainder of the class and as Flores predicted, they went over by 15 minutes. Deeks was completely exhausted and a little shaky, but overall not as much as he had expected. He would probably pay the price for being so explicit about his injuries with a resurgence of nightmares.

“Nice work,” Instructor Flores complimented him as he was packing up his notes and untouched book. “I didn’t expect you to be that...open.”

Deeks grimaced, realizing that he’d basically taken over the class and gone completely off script from what they discussed.

“Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“No, you got the point across. And that’s what they needed.” Flores patted his arm and nodded his appreciation. “Thank you.”

Deeks left the room, intending to skip lunch and go straight to bed until his next class. Maybe he’d get in a quick call to Kensi. The sound of her voice sounded very appealing and comforting right now. He was about halfway down the hall when someone called out,

“Deeks!” He groaned, recognizing Alan’s distinctive voice and turned as he approached, not up for dealing with him at the moment. He stopped a couple feet from Deeks, eyeing him warily.

“Was Everything you said in there true?” he asked and Deeks rolled his eyes, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

“No, Alan. I just made it up so I could get free implants,” Deeks answered derisively. “Now are you done trying to intimidate me? Talking about the guys who drilled holes in my mouth is a little bit exhausted.”

Alan flinched, but didn’t back down.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.” He glared at Deeks as though he’d done something wrong.

“So implying that I embellished a case to make myself sound better isn’t an insult?” Alan muttered a fairly creative curse under his breath and then said,

“I’m sorry for what I said the first time we met. I was wrong about you, ok?” He shook his head, jaw clenched like the words were almost painful for him to say. Looking at the ground, he admitted, “Look, I’m struggling with a lot of the courses.”

“And you’re telling this to the guy you hate because...?” Deeks asked, not overly surprised to hear that Alan wasn’t doing well. He’d heard quite a few stories about him clashing with instructors among other things.

“Because I need help and you seem to actually know what you’re doing,” Alan said bluntly, apparently past his embarrassment. “So what do I need to do?”

Deeks blinked at him for a second, resisting the urge to laugh. Even in a moment of crisis, the guy was still making demands.

“Well one thing that I always have to remind myself about is to not let yourself get cocky.“

Alan gave him an incredulous look and shook his head.

“What? That’s your expert advice? Don’t be cocky.”

“A piece of it. It’s easy to get full of yourself. I do it all the time, but there’s always room to grow. New things to learn,” Deeks told him with a shrug.

“What could you possibly have to learn?” Alan asked acerbically. “I’ve seen you in most of these classes and you don’t even break a sweat. It’s freaking annoying.”

Deeks actually did laugh then and nodded.

“I do have a lot of experience. Like you pointed out, I’m the old guy.” Alan didn’t look amused so he sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Look, if you want you can join the study sessions I have with some of other guys. But if you do, you need to lose the attitude because there’s not time for that.”

Alan clenched his jaw, but nodded in apparent agreement.

“I’ll think about it.” With that he turned abruptly, adding a terse, “Thanks.” As he walked away.

Deeks just watched him go, shaking his head, and glanced down at his watch. If he hurried he could maybe just squeeze in a half hour nap and the call to Kensi.

***

A/N: I know this one ends a little abruptly, but I figure I’ll be writing more in this series.

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 5: Shenanigans

Time for another of the great @felinettenovember prompts! This one took most of my spare time from work, so hopefully I can pound out the day 6 prompt quicker and finish a few more tonight!

Approximately 1300 words

Felix starting at school instead of Adrien but he’s somewhere in between their personalities here. Marinette has the best kind of ally <3

When Felix Agreste started at Francoise Dupont, Chloe tried to buddy up with him, despite the two being rivals in their personal lives. Felix believed Chloe was a spoiled brat and Chloe was convinced that he was a pompous moron. However Chloe knew that being on his bad side at school would result in her own misery. Her belief that their relationship could be compartmentalized and no feelings from the other areas would seep in was ultimately her school undoing.

Marinette noticed the whispers and bowed heads when shuffling into class that first day. Usually they would stick to themselves, leaving her to Chloe, as the favorite victim. Today was different. A few of the students started waving her over and opened their huddle slightly to grant her entrance.

"What's going on?" Marinette hesitantly asked.

"Chloe’s with a new boy today!" Mylene quickly told her.

"He was wearing a vest! What a loser!" Kim chortled. Alex high five him.

"Do you think he's going to be just as bad as her?" Marinette’s heart sank. Another new bully and she stopped fully listening.

"He looks like that fashion model that's all over!"

"Oh! The Ice King! Yeah!" 

"Do you think they're dating?" Rose, always thinking of love. Marinette almost felt like smiling at her comment. If only this was a group of friends talking about another starting to date, rather than her tormentor teaming up with another one. 

"Well she was hanging off his arm!"

Marinette just mumbled that they'd have to wait and see before turning to walk back to her usual seat. An unknown girl was standing at the front near Bustier’s desk, surveying the classroom and its occupants. Marinette gave a weak smile and moved to sit down but the girl stopped her as she was about to sit.

"Oh girl! Don't sit there. It looks like someone stuck some gum on the bench and it'd suck if you ruined your outfit!" Marinette’s breath hitched. She hadn't realized how tense she was in anticipation of the day.

"Thanks… um--"

"Alya" she supplied with an extended hand and a genuine smile.

"Thanks Alya," Marinette felt herself unwinding slightly and smiled as she accepted the hand shake. Maybe she would have a new friend! As long as Chloe doesn't force her away too… The pair quickly looked around to find something to pry the gum off, after Marinette insisted she sits there every year. Just as they were bending down to take it off, a hand clamped on Marinette’s shoulder, staying her hand.

"What are you doing?" a blond boy hissed near her ear as Marinette jolted then whirled around, nearly falling back onto the gum. In the same moment, Alya's eyes shot up, sending daggers his way as she straightened from her leaned position dabbing water onto the gum in hopes of rehydrating it and loosening the dried grip on the seat.

"This is my seat!" Marinette bit back and then, after a quick study of the boy in front of her, narrowed her eyes. "You and Chloe planned this didn't you?" Her index finger shot out to poke his shoulder to emphasize the you's, all while leaning forward with the other hand planted firmly on her hip. He raised an eyebrow but otherwise kept the same mildly annoyed expression and didn't move away as she invaded his space. 

"Accusing someone without any evidence. Very childish. I would never willingly cooperate with a spoiled brat like her, for your information. Actually, I was under the impression that this seat was the witch's," Felix tilted his head and raised the other eyebrow in a manner that declared the ball was in her court. 

Marinette nearly hissed back that he was wrong. Then she took a deep breath and stepped back to gain composure again. Turning back to continue clearing the gum, she spoke as gently as she could manage in her aggravation, "It isn't and now you know."

"It is good to know. Thank you for the information," Felix had a shadow of a smile at his perceived victory, before turning towards the front and schooling his face into a smug smile instead. He sat at the seat directly in front of Marinette’s, back straight as a board, and waited for classes to begin. The gum was successfully removed and nobody in the class admitted to knowing who put it there. Felix’s proclaimed dislike of Chloe did little to sway most of the class, though Nino attempted to strike up conversation with him and was dismissed quickly. Instead of leaving entirely, Nino leaned on the desk Marinette and Alya claimed and started chatting with them.

Chloe entered with a swift and dramatic strut, bringing a hush over the room all while making a show of fawning over the boy, Felix as Marinette learned. He ignored her with an expression somewhere between distaste and indifference, much to the confusion of those that were still convinced the two were a couple.

She tried to make a fuss about sitting together but Felix rejected the offer saying that his new friend ("shoot what was his name") already claimed that seat. With an sly smile he informed her that she'd have to settle for sitting somewhere else, perhaps she'd like to sit across the aisle from him? Instead of simply accepting, Chloe warily had Sabrina sit there first to ensure it was comfortable enough for her, eying Felix the entire time. Satisfied when nothing happened, she accepted his suggestion. 

Classes proceeded smoothly until lunch. As Chloe got up to leave, Felix managed to snag her purse strap on the edge of a desk, causing it to tip upside down. Chloe shrieked at Sabrina to pick up her stuff and threw a fit about the state of her possessions. Felix quickly ducked out of his chair to help Sabrina pack each item back into Chloe's purse, however in the class' shock, they missed him switch her powder foundation with one from his pocket. With the mess quickly cleared, the students put the strangeness of Felix’s behavior out of mind and went to lunch.

The small incident was forgotten until midway through the afternoon. Chloe had decided it was time to start her usual mocking of Dupain-Cheng and pulled out her foundation to touch up her nose for dramatic effect. As she was not paying her usual attention to the makeup itself, she missed the extremely bright coral tone, rather than her usual light tan powder, and proceeded to pat it into her face. Felix bit back a smile and stared at her with mock concern. Nino was the first to laugh while everyone else watched with a mixture of awe and confusion. Chloe's head snapped towards him, giving the others a clearer view of her makeup mishap. Slowly the rest of the class started to laugh, Chloe's head whipping between them as she insisted they stop. Bustier tried to quiet them to no avail. Felix just sat back and enjoyed the chaos. Marinette noticed his reaction (or lack thereof), and tried to catch his attention with a light tap on his seat using her foot. He turned halfway in his seat and looked at her from the corner of his eye. She mouthed "you?" and he gave the smallest shrug. She shook her head a little and looked away with a small smile and flush to her cheeks.

Every prank Felix pulled over the weeks was harmless and directed only at Chloe, with the exception of Marinette’s birthday, when a confetti gun was rigged to go off above her seat when someone sat down. Marinette’s personal favorite was the glitter bomb in Chloe's locker, though she wouldn't admit to any previous knowledge. Maybe she just liked the Cheshire Cat grin Felix wore when he caught her glancing at him afterwards. 

[firstdegreefangirl]

Love Starts With a Toothbrush

Word Count: 3772

Original Pub Date: 5 June 2020

Relationships: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Author’s Notes: I really should be banned from listening to country radio in the car, but this is completely and utterly inspired by Brad Paisley’s song “Toothbrush.” If you haven’t listened to that yet, check it out here

Read on ao3 here

Tagging: @theycallmebobbob @rebeccaofsbfarm @thisissirius @hearteyesforbuck @dramamineontopofme @twinien @meloingly

Buck looks at himself in the mirror, pondering his own reflection and the way the white foam covers his chin before breaking his own eye contact and tipping his chin back. He focuses his gaze on his jawline as he pulls the razor over his skin, watching the blades slice through the light stubble and push the shaving cream out of the way.  

His touch is light, his strokes are careful, and he can’t think of a time he’s shaved more carefully since he was 17 and half-convinced that he’d slit his own throat with a Bic safety razor identical to the one he’s holding now.  

The stakes tonight are equally high, just as life-or-death, but in an entirely different way. He thinks about it as he rinses the razor, flicks his thumb downward across the blades to clear any stuck hairs from between them. He’s going out for dinner with Eddie, just like they’ve done probably hundreds of times in the time they’ve been friends. This time is different though, in the way Eddie couldn’t look him in the eye when he asked, the way he’d tentatively added “... it could be a date, if you’re OK with that,” when he’d mentioned an Indian restaurant he’d been meaning to try.  

Buck wonders if Eddie is feeling the same amount of pressure he is tonight, if he’d tried on half a dozen shirts before settling on his favorite go-to, then realized that he needed to take the shirt off and shaved before he gets dressed. 

Part of him hopes that Eddie isn’t so uncertain about the night they’re going to share, hopes that he’ll have enough bravado for them both. But he also wants this to mean as much to Eddie as it means to him.  

Because it means everything, he realizes as he drags a wet washcloth across his skin, lets the warm water clean the last dregs of shaving cream from his face and rinses it out. He leans up over the sink, examining his skin closely to make sure he didn’t miss any stray hairs. As blond as he is, it’s not like they’ll show up, but he still wants to make sure everything is perfect tonight.  

Satisfied with the shave, he shakes the razor dry and sets it back in the medicine cabinet, reaching for the tube of toothpaste on the shelf above.

He squirts a blob of the mint-flavored gel onto his toothbrush and sticks it into his mouth. Dental health isn’t usually such a focus for Buck; most of the time he squishes the foam around his mouth and spits as soon as every tooth is mostly brushed.  

Tonight, though, he scrubs every tooth carefully: front, back and top. He angles the brush down to get his gum line, and even gags himself when he brushes his tongue. It might be the first and only time he’s actually brushed for two minutes, and he briefly wonders how weird it would be for him to call his dentist in the morning and brag.  

Very weird, he decides as he plucks a soft blue paper cup from the dispenser on the counter and fills it with water to rinse his mouth out. As the foam swirls down the drain, he rubs his favorite aftershave across his hands and his hands over his face, wincing at the sting against the freshly shaven skin.

It’s the scent he saves for special occasions; he can’t remember the last time he wore it, the last time something felt important enough to warrant the high-quality leather notes that pair perfectly with the fresh citrus scent of his best cologne.

He grabs his shirt from where he’s hung it on the shower door handle and shrugs it on. The buttons are straightforward, but take just enough time that he decides he needs to run a comb lightly through the edges of his hair again.

When that’s done, he looks down at his phone. 7:28, the screen reads, and Eddie is supposed to pick him up at 7:30. He makes it halfway down the steps, though, before he’s turning around and ducking back into the bathroom long enough to swish some mouthwash around and rinse it down the sink.

It’ll probably wear off before they’re even through eating, but hey, who can blame a guy for trying?

Buck doesn’t think about it again until Eddie is walking him up to the front door at the end of the night. But the hope that the mouthwash is lingering on his breath is his last coherent thought as Eddie backs him up against his doorbell and leans in for what has to be the longest single kiss Buck has ever had.

They’re both breathing hard when Eddie breaks away, lingering just long enough to murmur a ‘goodnight’ against his lips before he walks away, leaving Buck standing there in a daze, hoping he’s not imagining the minty taste Eddie left behind in his mouth.  

Two years later, to the day, they’re dropping Chris off at Pepa’s, promising to pick him up on Sunday night and waving from Eddie’s truck as they back down the driveway. Buck looks at Eddie as they turn the corner, sees the way he’s worrying his bottom lip.  

“Hey, you’re sure about this? We can go pick him up, bring him with us. Or ditch the plan altogether, do the big ceremony in a few months.”

“No, I’m sure. I want to marry you tonight. And I like the idea of that being just for us.” Eddie sighs, and Buck wishes he believed him. “I just … feel bad for lying about the double shifts all weekend, telling Bobby we needed the days off for a ‘family thing.’”

“This is a family thing. It’s us, becoming a family. Legally.” Buck rests his hand on Eddie’s hand, wrapped around the gearshift.  

“We’re already family, Buck.”

“I know, but this makes it official. And we’ll talk to Bobby and Athena when we get back, see if we can borrow their backyard for a big reception. Everything else can be for everyone else, but this? This here, our wedding? It’s for us.”  

Eddie nods and releases his lip.

“Yeah. You … you’re right. Pre-wedding jitters, am I right?”

They laugh together, relaxing as Eddie drives them a couple hours up the coast. He’s not sure where they’re going, taking directions from Buck, who’s reading off of a list of turns he’s scribbled on the back of a junk mail credit card application.

He’d taken every other aspect of this to the n-th degree, as soon as Eddie suggested that they stop trying to plan the perfect wedding for their friends and family and just have the perfect wedding for them. Just the two of them, wearing the best suits they already owned and brand new matching ties, standing somewhere beautiful and private to pledge their lives to each other.  

Buck had looked for close to a week before finding the perfect spot: a tiny beachfront town with a little wedding chapel. He’d found the referral on a same-sex wedding forum, with a litany of stories and photos from couples praising the picturesque waters and friendly staff, willing to personalize intimate ceremonies for a reasonable cost.

All he had asked Eddie to do was make sure their bags were packed and pick him a ring. Everything else was a surprise, from Eddie’s brushed steel wedding band with its fine gold stripe pressed into the pocket of Buck’s jeans to the three tiny crystals on the tie clips: each of their birthstones and Christopher’s in the middle.

The ceremony is everything they could have imagined; every last detail Buck planned went off without a hitch. And he couldn’t help but privately noticing that the officiant who pronounced them husband and husband resembled the surviving half of the elderly gay couple he’d met on the car accident scene only a couple of months after Eddie came into his life.  

Mitchell, he’s pretty sure.

It’s coincidence, he’s sure, but it feels fitting nonetheless. Even if it was still over a year before their first date, talking to that man, hearing him tell Buck that a truly lasting love is made, not found, was a pivotal moment in his relationship with Eddie. It was the first time he let himself consider making something more than a friendship with him, so it feels fitting that Mitchell would visit him again today, give him a sign that he’s in the right place, marrying the right person for him.

Not that he needed a sign, not after he saw the way Eddie’s eyes watered when he ran his finger across Buck’s tie, understanding the gems the moment he saw them.  

He knew he was making the right choice.  

Even if he did have to go all the way down to the lobby of their hotel that night, get a couple of flimsy plastic toothbrushes from the desk agent.

“Really, Eddie? The only thing you had to do was pack our bags. You got the suits, you got my shampoo, but you left our toothbrushes on the counter?” He rolled his eyes as Eddie shook the toiletries bag open on the bedspread, no toothbrushes to be found.  

Of course, Eddie was fresh out of the shower, so it fell on Buck to go downstairs, sheepishly explain that he hadn’t packed for their trip (even if he did preen a little bit when he said ‘my husband was in charge of the luggage,’ the new title feeling perfectly at home on his tongue) and ask if they had any for sale.  

The clerk had come back with two barely opaque white-handled brushes that Buck is pretty sure he could have broken in half easier than a pencil. But they’re free, and they’re better than nothing, so he smiles gratefully at her and accepts the brushes and packets of toothpaste.

After their teeth are brushed, when Eddie is tucked in and waiting for Buck to join him in bed for their first night as a married couple, he snaps a quick picture of the cheap toothbrushes.  

It’s the sort of story that will make a good memory years from now, he knows already, and he never wants to forget this moment. He never wants to forget the way he feels two days later, either, packing up to leave and slipping the disposable toothbrushes into the bottom of his bag, tucking them away to be remembered and laughed about later.  

Their love wasn’t found; they made it between toothbrushes and minty fresh kisses along the way.

The first day off Buck and Eddie have together as husbands is spent boxing Buck’s loft and moving his life into Eddie’s home.  

Their home.

They’d talked about it, over breakfast on the beach the day after their wedding, thrown around the idea of buying a new house, a place that they picked together and decorated as a family. But ultimately, they decided that Eddie’s place was almost perfectly located between the station and Christopher’s school, it was already accessible for him, and Buck has long felt at home in Eddie’s living room.

He didn’t need a new house, he just needed Eddie in his bed and Christopher right down the hall, every night for the rest of his life.  

So he’s the only one moving, a whopping 17 minutes from where he had lived. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Especially when Eddie suggests redecorating after Buck gets settled, giving the house a new feel for their new lives together. It’s just turning to summer, the days growing warmer and longer enough that they can start with the backyard. Eddie puts out grass seed, plants a couple of twigs that will hopefully grow into lemon and orange trees.  

Buck takes it upon himself to watch a dozen YouTube videos and visit the hardware store, borrowing Eddie’s truck to haul cords of lumber home with the promise of a picket fence around the back of the house.  

He’s never built a fence before, but Bobby lends him a small table saw, spends an afternoon standing in the yard and teaching him how to use it before leaving him to finish building his fence. As with everything, Buck throws himself completely into the project; every spare moment he’s got is enough time to cut a couple of boards, drill a few holes.  

It’s one of the most fun projects he’s ever embarked on, especially when Christopher starts joining him in the backyard, plopping down on the fresh grass with a book and reading out loud to him, or telling him stories from his latest sleepover. Sometimes, when he’s got a brand new board, all 10-feet of it to control against the vibration of the saw blade, he’ll ask Chris for a hand. He’s got a tiny pair of safety goggles, bulky enough to go over his regular glasses, and kid-sized work gloves, and he’s always excited to help hold the long end of the board, tiptoeing forward as Buck pushes his end across the saw blade.  

Digging the post holes is its own kind of challenge, especially when driving his foot against the top of the shovel makes the pain in his leg flare up. But for those moments, Eddie is there. He’s always watching Buck out the kitchen window or from the back deck; Buck can feel his gaze following him around the yard, especially when the high heat of the summer gets the best of him and he pulls his T-shirt off.  

But when his leg start to hurt, almost like Eddie can feel the pain too, he appears beside Buck, pulls the shovel gently from his hands.  

“Here, I got it,” he says, squeezing Buck’s arm gently. “I’ll dig for a bit.” When Buck starts to protest, tries to tell Eddie that he’s fine, he can keep working, Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I know you can, but it’s almost lunchtime, and if you don’t cook, I’ll have to.”  

They both know it’s a cop-out. Eddie can handle sandwiches and pouring lemonade from the gallon jug in the fridge. But it means that Buck can take a break, sneak back to the bathroom and swallow a couple Advil when no one is looking, without having to admit that his physical limitations stop him sooner than they did before his myriad of near-death experiences.  

It takes a few months, but then their fence is up, pine boards marking the edges of a backyard that Christopher keeps mentioning is probably big enough that they could get a dog now, since he’d have somewhere to run.

“Maybe for your birthday, Superman.” Eddie ruffles his hair, shares a knowing glance with Buck. The three of them admire the handiwork for a few minutes longer, then Buck jumps and pulls Eddie’s truck keys out of his pocket.

“Ooh, hang on, I forgot the last part. Chris, you up for a trip to the hardware store? Think you can keep me on track?”  

“Sure! Dad, I gotta go make sure Bucky doesn’t get lost.” With that, they’re gone, chasing each other out the new gate and around the house. Buck hears Eddie’s confused shout, and feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He doesn't have to look at the message to know that Eddie has sent him a long string of question marks, but he and Chris have a mission.

They’re back 45 minutes later, Buck hauling a five-gallon bucket in each hand as he follows Christopher around the back gate. He hears the back door open as he’s taking the plastic sack from Chris and pulling out paint trays and rollers.  

“Alright, what’d we talk about, kiddo?”

“Dad! Buck says I can help paint, but only if you wrap me up in a trash bag first so I don’t get messy!”  

Eddie laughs but leads Chris into the house. They emerge a few minutes later, Chris covered in a trash bag with sloppy holes cut into the bottom for his head and arms. The three of them spend the afternoon painting, and most of the next day too, but when they’re finished, the picket fence is a crisp white, contrasting starkly with the grass around it.

Except the parts of the lawn that got their own coat of white paint, but Buck can’t bring himself to care. The grass will grow, he or Eddie will cut it short and no one will be the wiser. And they’ll still have their backyard, with the white picket fence that he built, for his family.  

He’s pretty sure this sort of thing is the best that his life is ever going to get, that nothing could ever top the feeling of standing here, Eddie’s arm around his waist and Chris leaning against their legs, admiring something they made together.  

Buck grunts as he lifts their toddler out of the bathtub and wraps him in a towel.

“Jeez, you’re getting big, Trey.” He rubs the 4-year-old's hair dry and helps him tie the belt on a tiny camouflage-print bathrobe. “Alright, what’s next?”  

“Brush teeth!” He shrieks with delight and grins at his papa.  

“That’s right, let’s go brush your teeth with Daddy and Chris!” Buck scoops him up, without grunting this time since he can get a better angle to lift from, and carries him down the hallway to the master bathroom. Eddie and Christopher are already standing in front of the mirror, trying to untangle Chris’s curly hair enough that it’s not totally insufferable in the morning.  

He’s 11 now, old enough that he can get most of it on his own, but there’s a patch at the back of his head that’s hard to reach, so Eddie helped him with that while Buck and Trey had a rubber duck war in the bathtub.  

“Daddy! Time to brush teeth!” Trey grabs for the side of Eddie’s pants leg as Buck situates him on the step stool beside the counter. “You can help me?”  

They’ve had Trey for almost two years now, and he’s always been very diplomatic about dividing his attention between Buck and Eddie. If Buck helps make his lunch, Eddie can sit with him while he eats. On the days that Eddie drops him off at preschool, he likes it best when Buck picks him up.

When Buck gives him a bath, Eddie helps brush his teeth.

“I sure can, kiddo. Chris, you’re all good. Get those pearly whites, bud.” He passes a tube of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste to his older son, watches him carefully squeeze a blob of it onto a blue toothbrush with a distinctive red ‘S’ logo on the handle. Christopher hands the tube back and jams the brush into his mouth while Eddie reaches for the smallest toothbrush in the cup.

Buck isn’t sure when it started, but somewhere along the way, all four of them started sharing a bedtime routine. Sure, that’s parenting, but this is a little bit more. The boys have their own bathroom, full of plastic boats and low-hanging towel bars, but still all four of them gather in Buck and Eddie’s bathroom at night to brush their teeth together.

He’s scrubbing across his own teeth as he thinks about it, white minty foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. When he catches Christopher looking at him, he turns his head and growls playfully, baring his teeth.

“No, Bucky! Don’t get me!” Chris’ toothbrush is still in his mouth, so the words are distorted and he sprays pinkish flecks all over the mirror when he cries out.  

Buck laughs, splattering his own toothpaste foam to create some sort of abstract bathroom art that he knows Eddie will wipe away while he sees the boys down to their shared bedroom.  

Trey leans back against Eddie’s hip, tipping his chin and opening his mouth.

“-Eddie, -addy!” He tries to say, without moving his jaw. ‘Ready, daddy!’ they both know it means, and Buck leans forward to spit as Eddie starts brushing carefully through their son’s mouth. He counts the teeth out loud, just like every night, even though the number hasn’t changed since six months after they welcomed him into their home.  

Buck leans back upright, looking at his family in the mirror as he reaches around Chris to take a paper cup from the dispenser he brought with him when he moved in. He fills it with water, freezing when he sees the design on the side.

The water flows over the top of the cup, down his hand, and it’s enough to shake him from his stupor. It shouldn’t have surprised him; he’s the one who’d purchased the box of planet-themed bath cups, remembering how excited Christopher had been to be able to recite all nine planets in order. He's staring down at a smiling planet, Mars, according to the reddish label beside it.  

Even if it were a surprise, there’s no reason that a Mars cup should stop him in his tracks like this. But he’s suddenly thinking of a different day, a different paper cup in a different bathroom. That cup was blue, plain blue, and he’d stood alone in the bathroom.  

He remembers every detail, the sting of the aftershave and the way the mouthwash tingled against his gums. And he remembers everything that came after, too, right up to Eddie kissing him against his front door. He’d gone inside that night and imagined a future with Eddie and Christopher. But never, not even in his most elaborate fantasies had he dreamed of having all of this.  

This is the most in love Buck has ever been, standing here in the bathroom with his family, watching Eddie hold a light-up toothbrush in one hand and a Jupiter cup in the other. He’s helping Trey spit into the sink – not onto the counter – and Buck feels his heart swell at the simple routine of it all. He puts his own toothbrush back into the cup and thanks his lucky stars for every moment like this, every night he gets to be a part of this. Every time life has caught him by surprise, every day that was better than the one before it, even when he hadn’t thought that would be possible.  

There are four toothbrushes on his counter, three people at the center of his world, and he thinks it again, this is the best moment I’ve had in my life.  

Because love, he’s come to learn, isn’t found in any of the obvious places to look.

Love starts with a toothbrush.

[hippiebuckyharrington]

Just that Lucky

This is for the @harringroveweekoflove prompt secret admirer. 

Read below or on ao3 (it’s 9K so I’d recommend this) here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703350

5.       The first one is in his gym locker.

 Billy’s early to practice, his English teacher was on the verge of a mental breakdown because of how idiotic her students are and let them out early. He wrenches open his locker and blinks down at the piece of paper sitting on top of the slightly crusty pile of gym shorts at the bottom. He glances around, and then picks it up. It was lying there kinda haphazardly, like it had been shoved through the grate on the front.

 Billy unfolds it, feeling unsure.

Billy,

 I like the way you chew on a pencil when you focus hard on your homework. Makes me look at your mouth, which then makes me think about your mouth on things that aren't a pencil. That got dirty quick didn't it? Yikes. But you're sitting there, out in public, reading fucking Pride and Prejudice, and chewing on your damn pencil, and I can't focus on anything else. Who let you be so handsome?! It's a crime.

 Well, not a crime. But still, I gotta finish this damn assignment, and tell me, how the hell am I supposed to do that with you looking like that? Fucking rude.

 Sorry if this is objectifying, my friend says I shouldn't objectify people, regardless of their gender. But you've got a great mouth, and I bet you're understanding every word of that damn novel. I read about two pages and gave up because I didn't understand a single damn word.

 I hope you smile at this; you deserve smiles.

 Love,

One of what I'm sure are a 100 secret admirers.

 Billy just gapes down at the messy handwriting scrawling over the half a page. It's weird and rambling, not quite written like a letter would normally be, but like whoever this is was just writing down literally everything they thought.

 Billy reads it again. He was reading Pride and Prejudice during lunch yesterday, sitting in the sunshine on the hood of Carol’s car, while she and Tommy made out in the back of the car. He had a quiz over parts of the book that afternoon. Tons of people had been in the parking lot, eating lunch or smoking and enjoying the sunshine and warmth that's so rare for this time of year in Hawkins. Tons of girls had grinned at him, and flirted as they passed, so it's absolutely impossible to know who wrote the letter.

 Billy hears Tommy yelling from out in the gym, and swears softly before shoving the note in his backpack, and changing quickly. He's sitting on the bench, tying his shoes when Harrington and Tommy walk in.

 "Yo Hargrove! What's up?" Tommy yells. Billy rolls his eyes. Harrington goes to his locker.

 "Hey." He says softly.

 "Hi." Billy answers, and hates the way his heart stutters a little. He apologized for beating Steve up, and now they are sort of friends, maybe? It's all confusing, because Billy has maybe just a bit of a crush on Steve.

 Billy ties his shoes and goes out to the gym to start warming up for practice.

 After practice, and chores and yelling, and all the joys that the Hargrove house offers as after school enrichment, when he's curled in bed, he rereads the note, and smiles a little. It's nice to know that someone thought of him like that.

  4.       The next one he finds taped to the underside of his desk.

 He's having a rough day, he had a rough morning, his back still aching from the bookcase he was shoved into, and he's just tired of everything. He drops into his seat, and drops his head to his desk, waiting for Mr. Peters to start the class. He's not really in the mood for math today. The rest of the class files in around him, getting out their homework, and chatting. Billy digs his out, and thinks it on the desk but it goes fluttering off the desk and under to the neighboring one. He sighs, and smiles a little when the girl next to him picks it up and hands it to him.

 "There's something under your desk." She says. Billy moves his feet but sees only cheap linoleum. "No, like taped under it." She says. Billy frowns and feels around, cringing away from the gum, until he finds the paper. He pulls it off, and frowns down at it.

 "Thanks." He says to the girl, who nods and goes back to finishing her homework. Billy glances at his name on the folded scrap, and then unfolds it.

 It's the same handwriting as the one form the other day, and Billy blinks a little in surprise.

 Billy,

 I walked by the gym the other day, and just about died. Your class was apparently lifting weights? I didn't even know we had a weight room! So, I guess I walked by the weight room and not the gym. Anyway, you were lying on the weight bench, pressing so much my mouth went dry. Holy shit. Your arms have no business looking that good. How much were you pressing there, babe? It looked like a lot. I bet it was a lot. God. It's unfair. How can you look so good all the time? How is it that you sweaty and grunting is such a turn on? Actually, I just read that and I get it now. That makes tons of sense. Never mind.

 You didn't see me watching, gaping like a fish. I'm glad of that, because that would have been super awkward.

 I realize that I'm objectifying you again, but it's not creepy. At least it's not supposed to be.

 I have nightmares, I can't sleep through the night, not for almost a year now. I won't bore you with the details, but watching those impressive arms of yours, I realized something. I realized that I'd feel really safe with you holding me in those muscly arms of yours. Bet I'd actually sleep through the night if you held me. Hell, even if you were in the bed with me, I bet I'd sleep just fine. I'm so tired, this doesn't make any sense. Sorry.

 I want to fall asleep in your arms, I want to feel safe again.

 Love,

Probably your most depressing secret admirer.

 Billy just stares down at this letter. His heart aches for whoever this is. He wonders how tall they are, would they fit well in his arms? He assumes they would, and wouldn't mind holding someone as they slept, helping them finally catch the rest they so obviously need.

 Billy tucks the letter in his notebook and tries to focus on the class. He had weights yesterday, so he wonders how long the note has been sitting there. And he wonders all through the lesson, if the writer got any more sleep last night.

 He wonders all through the rest of the day, glancing at all the girls to see who's looking especially tired today. He watches a fair amount of the guys too; girls are normally more flowery in their writing than this person is. And not that he's out or anything, but he's gay, so he hopes it's a guy.

 Billy heads to lunch, scowling out the windows. It's snowing, because of course it is. He's not watching where he's going so he collides with someone, and drops his bag and his lunch, papers and his sandwich scattering everywhere.

 "Oh fuck. Sorry, sorry I'm sorry." Steve says and crouches to start gathering the papers. He's grateful the letter is tucked away in his pocket and not among the notes and homework scattered around the hall.

 "Relax, Harrington." Billy says, and bends to pick his things up too. He glances at Steve and then just stares. Steve looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, and tiredness tugging his mouth into a frown.

 "You ok?" Billy asks. Steve nods and shoves his papers back at him.

 "I wouldn't eat that sandwich. Can I buy you lunch?" Steve asks. Billy blinks.

 "You don't have to Harrington, really, it's ok." Billy says. Steve sighs, and digs in his pocket, handing Billy a five.

 "Just take it ok. Sorry to ruin your lunch."

 "Jesus Harrington. What's wrong?" Billy asks.

 "Nothing. I was up late last night." Steve says, and then walks away, hands shoved in his pockets and head down. Billy stares down the hall after him, wondering why Steve looks so rough. Maybe he and the rumor of the week had a fight. He remembers the letter, but dismisses the thought that it’s Steve, because Billy’s not that lucky.

Billy stare’s after the retreating man, and wishes, not for the first time, that he could pull Steve close and tell him everything will be ok.

  3.       The third one Max actually hands him.

 He's waiting at the arcade for her and her friends to be done. He’s bored, so he's sitting in his car, working on his math homework and smoking. A car pulls in next to him, and he glances over, smiling a little when he recognizes Steve’s BMW. Steve leans over and puts down his passenger side window, and nods a little at Billy.

 "Hey." He says, and he looks better than he did last week, less exhausted.

 "Heya pretty boy." Billy teases. Steve grins a little, and flushes slightly.

 "Waiting for Max?" Steve asks. Billy nods, scribbling down an answer.

 "Here for Dustin?" Billy asks.

 "And Will and Mike, and Lucas, and probably El." Steve says, and grins a little.

 "Damn Harrington."

 "I offered." Steve says, with a shrug. "Hey, can I bum a cigarette?" Steve asks. Billy nods, grabs one out of his pack and stretches to hand it over, then holds out his Zippo. He glances up from the problem he was working on when Steve doesn't take it. Instead, Steve puts the cigarette between his lips, and leans over, raising an eyebrow.

 Billy blinks, and his mouth goes dry. He flips the Zippo open, and flicks it so the flame dances. His eyes are riveted to Steve's lips as they purse around the cigarette as he leans over to light it. They must look ridiculous, Billy leaning nearly all the way out of his car to reach, and Steve is leaning so far over the gearshift it's digging into his side. But Billy is enraptured with the flickering light playing on Steve’s face. Steve gets the cigarette lit and they both lean back into their seats.

 He takes a deep pull off the cigarette.

 "Thanks." He says, voice a little rough. Billy just nods, and turns back to his homework because he can't handle what just happened. It's quiet for a while, and then Billy reaches over and dumps the five dollars from the other day in Steve's window.

 "You didn't spend it?" Steve sounds surprised. Billy shrugs. "You should have, I ruined your lunch." Steve says.

 "I don't need it, I stole Carols fries, and Tommy had already bought me a burger." Billy says. The fries’ bit is true, the burger isn’t. But Steve hadn't been in the cafeteria so it didn't matter.

 "Oh. Well, I'm still sorry." Steve whispers. Billy laughs.

 "It's fine Harrington. Shit happens. I'm not mad. You act like I'm gonna hit you. I told you, October was a bad night for me, I'm really sorry for what happened, it won’t ever happen again." Billy says, frowning.

 "I don't think you're gonna hit me. I just feel bad." Steve says. Billy laughs.

 "Don’t, it's fine, really." Billy says, and finishes his homework, shoving it back in his backpack.

 They sit in silence for a moment, Steve finishing his cigarette, Billy trying not to stare too openly. The arcade bursts open and the kids come running out. The boys and El all pile into Steve's car, talking excitedly to him. Max slides into the front seat of the Camaro and hands Billy a folded piece of paper.

 "It was under the wiper." She says. Billy glances at it, and opens it up. Max is leaning around him to yell at her friends and Steve, a conversation he tunes out.

 Bills,

 You had your arm around Carol today. You guys were walking in from the parking lot, I was standing inside waiting for my friend, and I saw you tuck her up against your side. I know better than anyone that she's dating Tommy, but it still made my heart ache. I want to be the one under your arm. I know it was cold, and she is a bitch about the cold, always has been, but I hated seeing her there. I want to be who you pull close walking in to the school. I want to feel the warmth and weight of your arm around my shoulders as we walk.

 But I'm not like Carol. In a lot of ways, but I'm also taller than you. So maybe I should say I want to tuck you under my arm.

 I'm not writing this to be mad or anything, I'm just a little jealous. Because I really like you, and I really care about you. But I don't think that you feel the same way, I don't think you long for me the way I long for you. And that's ok, baby, really it is.

 That's why I don't sign these letters, why I try to avoid you, because I want to be the one you love so bad, I'm afraid if you look at me for too long, you're gonna see it in my eyes. And that if you see it you'll hate me.

 But I like to think that when you read these, you can picture them coming from whatever girl has caught your eye, and that they make you a little happy.

 I just want to make you happy.

 Love,

Your secret admirer that pines the most.

 Billy actually aches reading the words, more than he has reading the others. Whoever wrote them was right, Carol had been bitching about the cold, and he'd jokingly pulled her close. He hadn't seen anyone watching them, but he hates that he caused them any sort of pain. That's never what he wants, contrary to what people think.

Billy folds the letter, tucks it in his pocket. He'll reread it again at home. It's what he does every night, rereads each letter, touching his fingers gently to the words, wondering at the person who wrote them.

 Billy glances over at Steve, the kids are still shouting at each other, not angry shouting, just having a yelled conversation. But Steve is staring at Billy. When Billy meets his eyes, he flushes inexplicably, and suddenly yells at the kids to get their seatbelts on.

 "Is that another one?" Max asks, watching Steve's car tear out of the parking lot.

 "Yeah." He says. Max knows, because they are close, and she found a note. She didn't read the one she found in his jacket pocket, but she asked. Billy had explained and they had spent nearly an hour trying to figure out who wrote the letters.

 "Any idea who it is?" She asks.

 "Nope, not a clue." Billy says, and heads home.

 He gets in a fight with his dad later, and lies down on his bed, crying quietly, holding his ribs.

 Max creeps in after their parents go to bed, and offers an ice pack. She lies on his bed with him, head on his shoulder. She wordlessly hands him the little stack of letters, and closes her eyes and goes to sleep while he rereads them. They make him feel better, warm and lighter.

 2.       The next letter somehow winds up in the pocket of his jeans.

 He's not sure how. Well, that's not true. It had to have happened during basketball practice, that was the only time all day he was out of his jeans. But he didn't find it until it fluttered out of his pocket that night.

 He squashes the little flicker of hope he gets when he realizes it was placed during basketball practice, because there were no girls around at practice. Which means two things. The most likely is that one of the guys planted it for the girl who is writing, and that the first one he found in the locker room was planted by the same friend or she snuck in.

 The option Billy hopes for, quietly and to himself, is that some guy on the team is the secret admirer. He hopes its Steve. He knows that it’s not, he knows that. But God, Billy wants it to be, so so badly.

 He picks this note up, and is unfolding it when the phone rings. He leaps up and answers it, before his dad can yell.

 "Hello?" He says.

 "Oh wow. Didn't think you'd answer. I prepared a whole speech if someone who wasn't you answered and I had to ask for you." Steve is rambling. Billy can't believe it. Steve is calling him? Him?!

 "Harrington?" He asks.

 "Yeah. Hi." Steve says breathlessly.

 "Who's on the phone?" Neil barks from around the corner to the living room., pausing his argument with Susan, to yell at Billy.

"A friend, we have a school project, I told him not to call after 5." Billy says quickly.

 "Him?!" Neil cries. Billy winces, and is glad Neil can't see him.

 "Yeah, uh the teacher paired us; our last names are next to each other in the alphabet. I didn't get to pick. And he's dating Nancy Wheeler." Billy calls.

 "No, I'm not." Steve says, sounding confused. Billy closes his eyes.

 "Oh, well he's not allowed over here. And you have fifteen minutes. This can be done during school hours." Neil snaps, and then goes back to the argument.

 "Yes sir." Billy calls and then turns away from the living room.

 "Why are you calling?" Billy snaps, low and nervous.

 "Um… I just wanted to talk." Steve says. Billy frowns.

 "You want to what? Harrington, we don't do this. You can't call here." Billy snaps.

 "Well, I just… I thought…." Steve stutters. Billy sighs.

 "Out with it. Why did you actually call?" Billy asks, softly. Neil doesn't get mad at the soft voice, because he hates being disrupted, he prefers Billy silent or whispering.

 "Uh, Jonathan, Nancy and I are all going to drive over to Roan tomorrow and go to their movie theater and then grab pizza. Do... Do you want to come?" Billy blinks. Blinks again. And still can't believe what he heard.

 "Like a date?" He whispers, and worries Steve doesn't hear him.

 "No, God no. Ha-ha, I just don't want to third wheel with them. And we are friends, right? So, I thought we could spend some time together outside of basketball or class. Sorry, this was stupid. Sorry." Steve whispers.

 "No… uh… I'll come." Billy says.

 "Really?!"

 "Yes. But I really have to go now." Billy says, and then hangs up. He takes a deep breath and goes into his room, and waits a few minutes.

 He takes another deep breath and goes out to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. He stops in the living room. Neil and Susan are glaring at each other, Susan looking tired.

 "Excuse me." He says. Susan immediately straightens and turns to look at him, smiling. Neil scowls, and glares at him.

 "Uh, I have a date tomorrow, is it ok if I go?" He asks. Susan grins.

 "Of course, Billy, tomorrow's Friday, go have fun. I'll pick Max up from school" She says.

 "Who's the date with?" Neil demands.

 "Heather Holloway, we are going to go bowling and then to dinner after school. And then maybe to her parents’ house, they want me to come to game night." Billy lies smoothly. Heather is cool and if he tells her tomorrow, she'll cover for him.

 "Curfew is at 11." Is all Neil says. Billy nods and then goes to his room and quietly shuts the door, wincing when the argument in the living room picks up again.

 The note is still sitting on his bed. He sits down and unfolds it, smiling a little.

 Bills,

 I am currently third wheeling with my friends right now. We are at my place, watching a movie. They are curled together under a blanket (don't be gross nothing is happening aside from cuddles). But they look so content, I think she's gonna fall asleep on him. I wish you were here.

 I wish we were curled under a blanket. I want your head on my chest, I want to comb my fingers through your curls. Are they as soft as they look? I'm sure they are.

 I want to hear your sarcastic comments, I want to hear what you'd say to this movie. I want to lean down and kiss you the way my friends just did. I want to hold you close, and just enjoy being with you.

 I want to tuck my nose in your curls and just breathe you in. I want to hold you, and ease the tension I can see in your shoulders, and the hurt behind your eyes. I hate that you hurt. I hate that someone makes you ache like that. You should never hurt. Never.

 I have a confession. I saw you get one of these letters. I won't say which one. But I saw you get one, and the way you smiled at it. The way you read it, with such reverence. I've never seen your walls come down like that. I've never seen you look like that until you were reading my note, reading my words.

 And Bills, it filled me with such an ache, an ache to see you smile like that, actually at me, not at my notes. I want you to smile like that while looking in my eyes.

 I want to say sweet things to you, to your face. I can just picture it.

 Lying in bed with you, after we are together you know? Whispering sweet things, telling you nice wonderful things that you should hear all the time, and watching you smile like that. But this time, it’s all for me and only me. I want to be the only one who gets the real you, baby. I want the real you, and I want to hold you, always.

 I just want to love you, so so bad. I mean actually love you, not this pining bullshit.

Love,

The Secret Admirer who makes you smile like that

 Billy cries over the note, pressing it to his heart and letting the ache of longing both his own, and the one contained on the page, wash over him. He’s a little embarrassed at the tears, but the words resonate with him.

  1.       The fifth letter he finds right before hanging out with Steve.

  Heather is the best, and readily agrees to cover for him, without even asking why.

Billy is distracted all day thinking about the plans with Steve after school. He can hardly focus, and smokes nearly his whole pack of cigarettes he's so nervous.

 When school finally ends, he takes a fortifying breath and treks to the parking lot. Jonathan, Nancy and Steve are leaning against Steve's Beemer, and Billy nods at them, before dumping some books in his car. He dawdled enough that Susan has already come and gone with Max, so there are no worries she will see him.

 There's another note sitting on the windshield under the wiper again. He grabs it and then walks toward the others.

 "This is weird right?" Billy says when he walks up.

 "No. Steve wanted to invite you so you're coming. It's not weird. You know all the same shit we do, it's about time we all hung out." Nancy says. She means the upside down, which Billy found out about after beating Steve up. Max gave him only enough sedative to knock him out for maybe an hour. He woke up and found the thing in the freezer, and stuck around needing to know what the hell was going on. Max told him. And that was that.

 "Weird logic there Wheeler, but alright." He says.

 "Jon and Nance are gonna take their car, you ok to ride with me?" Steve asks. Billy shrugs.

 "Great, none of us have big enough cars to fit everyone comfortably. Steve, you'll follow us?" Nancy says. Steve nods and the other two head across the parking lot to their car. Billy climbs into Steve's car and shifts around nervously.

 "What's that?" Steve asks, following Jonathan’s car out of the lot. He means the note clutched in Billy's fist.

 "Nothing." Billy says, and pockets the note. Steve shrugs and they drive on in silence.

 "Do you know what you're doing for the summer?" Steve asks. Billy shrugs.

 "I might try and lifeguard. I've got a certification from Cali that still works here, so I think I can get hired." Billy mutters. "You?"

 "Don't know. Work probably. Go up to the lake with Robin probably." Steve says.

 "Robin? That your new girlfriend?" Billy asks.

 Steve laughs, "No. She's just a good friend of mine." Steve says. Billy nods.

 They lapse into silence. It's only about a 30-minute drive between Hawkins and Roan, and Billy sees a couple cars on the highway around them from Hawkins High. It's a popular Friday night destination apparently. Billy can't stop thinking about the note in his pocket. He can't decide what he wants.

 On the one hand, existing in an enclosed space near Steve is intoxicating, and he doesn't want to miss it. On the other, the notes from this secret admirer have meant so much to him, and he can't believe he's only gotten five in total. They've started taking up that much space in his life. He also doesn't want Steve to know, to see how much Billy needs this note, even though Steve sort of already saw the other day, this feels different.

 "Sorry." Steve says. "I'm sorry this is awkward."

 "You apologize too much pretty boy. Are you that afraid of me?" Billy asks.

 "No, I'm not afraid of you! Why would you say that?!" Steve says.

 "You apologize like you think I'm gonna beat you up again or something. I swear, I'm not. I don’t know why you don’t believe me." Billy mumbles.

 "No, I believe you! I don't think about that anymore. It's just a bad habit. My parents act like I can never do anything right, and they expect an apology for everything, just a habit. Sorry." Steve says, and then blushes a little.

 "Oh. Well you don't have to apologize to me, ok? I'm not mad at you, ever. Except when you missed that shot yesterday." Billy teases.

"Ok, first of all fuck you! Second of all, that was not my fault!" Steve shrieks.

 "Oh really?!" Billy says. Steve huffs indignantly and launches into a tirade on why the missed shot in yesterday's practice was not his fault. Billy argues back good naturedly and the car ride passes quickly.

 They pull up to a spot next to Jonathan and Nancy at the theater and argue for a few more minutes before Steve huffs and leaves the car. Billy grins and follows.

 "What were you two arguing about?" Nancy asks, looking concerned.

 "Basketball." They say at the same time and then grin at each other.

 They catch some horror movie that Billy has never heard of, and Steve buys some popcorn for the two of them to share.

 It feels like a date.

 It feels like a date when Steve sits next to Nancy and yanks Billy into the seat next to him. It feels like a date when Steve parks the popcorn bucket in Billy's lap, and then grabs fistfuls of it. It feels like a date when a jump scare has the whole theater jumping and with a gentle gasp, Steve grabs Billy's arm. It feels like a date when someone is getting mauled on screen and Steve turns toward Billy and kinda curls toward him. It feels like a date when Steve hides his face in Billy's shoulder while the villain is creeping through the creepy house.

"Is it over?" Steve whispers. Billy turns his head and leans into that fluffy hair.

 "Not yet pretty boy, give it a second." He murmurs back.

 It feels like a date when Steve nods, and sighs a little against Billy.

 Billy can hardly focus on the movie, so much so that he has no idea what little plot there is, and he isn't jumping and gasping with everyone else. He's so attuned to the boy beside him. To Steve's grip on his arm, that hurts, but not in a bad way, to Steve’s head on his shoulder, and his gentle breathes on Billy’s arm. Steve turns his head a little and peaks at the screen when the ominous music stops.

 "Jesus fuck!" Steve whispers when the masked villain is suddenly popping on screen. Billy laughs a little.

 Steve doesn't move his head from Billy's shoulder the whole movie, his grip on Billy's forearm never changing.

 After the movie ends, the villain apprehended, the perky blonde and the jock alive and well, the four of them leave. Steve just simply let’s go of Billy and gets up following Nancy and Jonathan out into the now dark parking lot. Nancy and Steve talking about the finer points of the movie, debating things as they go. Jonathan watches on, and Billy just gapes at them.

 "Don't you think Billy?" Nancy calls suddenly. Billy had paused to shake a cigarette out of the pack he keeps in his jean jacket, and lights up.

 "Do I think what?" Billy mumbles around the cigarette.

 Nancy launches into some long-winded explanation about the movie, and then looks expectantly at him.

 "Damn, Wheeler. I really wasn't paying that much attention." Billy mumbles, taking a long pull of his cigarette.

 "Ugh." She huffs and then turns to Steve who apparently agrees.

 "They do this often?" Billy asks Jonathan, who is standing by him.

 "Yeah every time we got to the movies." Jonathan says, and shrugs a little. "Can I bum a smoke?" He asks. Billy raises an eyebrow.

 "You smoke?" Billy says, but he digs out his pack and lighter.

 "Only sometimes. Thanks." Jonathan says and lights up. Billy nods, does the same, and leans against the Beemer with Jon while Nancy and Steve argue. Billy and Jon smoke in silence, just watching.

 "Nance, babe, I'm hungry." Jonathan says, flicking his cigarette butt away a while later. Billy chuckles.

"Oh, right! Sorry! Pizza!" She says. Steve grins and they pile back into the cars.

 "Sorry, Nancy and I can really get going." Steve says, as he starts the car. Billy laughs a little.

 "I don't mind. Quit apologizing." Billy teases.

"Alright. Thanks for coming." Steve says, merging into traffic.

 "You just invited me for my muscles during the scary parts of the movies." Billy teases. He really is just teasing but Steve blushes a little.

 "No, I invited you because I want to be friends, like actual friends, and I'm sick of always just hanging out with Nance and Jon, that's a little much sometimes." Steve mutters.

 "Wow, you've fought monsters that shouldn't exist but third wheeling with your ex and her boyfriend is too much?" Billy teases. Steve laughs.

 "Exactly." Steve says, and Billy chuckles.

The pizza place is packed in the way that the best restaurant in small towns always are. They squeeze into a booth in the corner, Nancy and Jonathan on one side, Steve and Billy on the other.

They order cokes and the greasiest pizza Billy has ever seen. But it's delicious, and they talk and laugh all through the meal.

 Billy doesn't feel like an outsider like he kind of expected to, Nancy cracks up at his story about the time his math teacher had nearly quit after their last test because everyone but Billy had gotten it all wrong. (Billy omits that part; nobody expects him to be as smart as he is and he hates explaining.)

It’s nice. Billy's not sure he's ever hung out like this, he has friends of course, and he had a huge group of people he hung out with back in California. But nothing like this, nothing without pressure, and it's really nice.

 Jonathan and Steve get up, mumbling something about the best cheesecake ever. Nancy yawns and watches some of the other people in the restaurant. There’s a lull, so Billy pulls the note out of his pocket, and unfolds it. Nancy pillows her head in her hands and ignores him. It's not rude, they are just a little tired, she apparently was up all night last night studying for an exam this morning.

 Bills,

 I hope you don't mind that nickname by the way. You've got a nickname for me, and I felt like I should have one for you.

 Anyway, I hope you don't think I'm creepy. All of these letters I feel like I've said how I've watched you without you being aware of it. It's not meant to be creepy, I just like looking at you. Partly because you're just so gorgeous, I can't believe it. I love it, you have such good hair, and all those muscles, and don't get me started on your eyes.

 But I also just feel better when I look at you. My stress and my worry feel better when I see you.

And this morning, I watched you laugh with Max. You two got here early and you were helping her on her skateboard, before too many other people showed up. I couldn't sleep again and got to school early too.

 You don't want anyone to know, but you're actually an amazing brother. Don't worry, I won't tell. It just makes you better, baby. You really care about her, I can tell and I bet she feels the same. I can't say too much, because if I say more on this next sentence, I worry it will give away too much. But, watching the two of you, made me think you'd fit in my life pretty damn great.

 I can't say more, I'm sorry baby. I really want you to know who I am, but I'm afraid you'll hate me if you find out.

 I just want you to be with me and my friends. Have you ever felt like that Bills? Like you've stared at someone and wanted to have them over for game night with all of the other most important people in your life? You'd fit in with them I think, and I'd certainly have more fun with you there. At game night at my house I bet we could cuddle on the couch while everyone played. Wouldn't that be nice? I really just want to always be touching you, regardless of what we're doing. Not in a dirty way (not always at least), but in a we love each other kind of way. Does that make sense?

 I just want to love you Billy Hargrove. I want to know everything about you, and I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you, hug you, have sex with you. I want to cuddle you, cause even tough guys like you need to be held, and I want to treat you right.

 I'd be so good for you, I'm not even trying to be cocky. We would be great together, and I can't ever tell you because I don't think you'd ever look at me the way I want. This is better. And Hawkins is a backwards small town, so it's just better this way.

 Love,

Someone who really hopes they're your only secret admirer.

 It's the longest letter he's gotten. And it doesn't make him ache any less than the other have, but it makes him smile too.

 "Note from someone special?" Nancy asks. Billy jolts and gently folds it back up. "Don't worry, I didn't read it. But your face reading it tells me that it's someone special." She mutters.

 "Who's special?" Steve asks, sitting down and sliding a piece of cheesecake at Billy.

 "Billy's got a note from someone special." Nancy says, sitting up so Jonathan can scoot her own piece toward her. A strange look flashes across Steve's face. "Oh? Who is it?" Steve asks.

 "I don't know. It's from a secret admirer." Billy mutters.

 "Wow. That's so sweet. Who do you think it is?" Nancy asks.

 "I don't know. I haven't gotten very many of the letters." He says, still not quite believing this is only his fifth.

 "The handwriting looked familiar, if you want me to look at it I can and see who I think it is." Nancy offers. Steve's fork goes clattering to the ground, and he chokes on the cheesecake.

 "No, that's ok. There is some really personal stuff in these letters, I don't want them to feel uncomfortable, whoever they are." Billy says. Nancy shrugs and moves on. Steve stays quiet.

 They settle the bill and head out to the cars. Nancy and Jon are going to go hit the record store, so Steve and Billy head back alone. It’s quiet for a while.

 "You really have no idea what girl is writing you the notes?" Steve asks a few minutes later. Billy glances at him in the dark.

 "Uh no, but I don't think it's a girl." Billy mutters.

 "Really? You don't sound mad…" Steve hedges. Billy shoots him another look.

 "Well, no. Why would I be mad?"

 "Because it's a guy writing you love letters? Right? If it’s not a girl than it’s a guy." Steve mumbles.

 "I'd rather it be a guy than a girl." Billy says, confused. Max is many things, but she can't keep her mouth shut, and she's with Steve a lot. She must have told her friends about Billy. She’s known for years he’s gay.

 "What?" Steve says.

 "Harrington, come on. Catch on already, damn." Billy mutters. It takes Steve a beat.

 "Oh… oh. I thought Max was lying."

 "I knew she told you." Billy sighs. "Look, I'm not ashamed, but the person writing me is, so please don't tell anyone."

 "I'm not gonna, don't worry. I wouldn’t do that.” He pauses for a minute. “You don't even know who's writing you, why are you protecting them?" Steve asks.

 "Because they are putting themselves out there, and their words have meant a lot to me. I get that they can't be out, and I've been outed before, it's not anything I would want for them." Billy mutters. Steve appears to mull that over for a little while.

 "You're a better person than you let on." Steve finally says.

 "Tell anyone and you're dead." Billy snarks back. Steve laughs, and the tension in the car finally breaks.

 They talk about the kids, and their annoying teachers for the rest of the drive. When Steve drops Billy off at the Camaro, there’s a weird almost hesitation, where Steve kind of leans toward Billy, and Billy sort of leans in, and then Steve loudly says, "Have a good weekend!!" And all but plasters himself against his door. Billy nods and climbs out of the car.

 When he gets home, Susan is sitting on the couch smoking.

 “Susan?” Billy says, surprised that she’s still up. It’s not late exactly, but she and Neil go to bed at 10 most nights.

 “Billy. Sit for a minute, would you?” She asks. Billy frowns and glances around for Neil, but he’s nowhere around.

 “Everything ok?” Billy asks.

 “Yes. I kicked you father out.” Susan says, and takes a long pull off her cigarette. Billy blinks at her in stunned silence. “I couldn’t take the way he talked to you, and to Max and to me. I’m done with him. You don’t have to stay here, but I’m not going to kick you out.”

 “Wow.” Billy breathes. Susan offers him a small smile.

 “I’m sorry, you’ve had so much upheaval in your life, but you don’t have to leave and go with him. No matter what he says. You can stay here, Max adores you and I know I’m not your mom but…” Susan trails off, and blows out a long breath.

 “I’ll stay. I don’t want to go anywhere with that asshole.” Billy says, and Susan grins. She sends him off to his room, and sits in the living room, smoking for a long time.  

 He rereads all the letters before he falls asleep that night and then thinks about the way Steve had grabbed his arm in the movie, and how close he had sat. For the first time in a long time, Billy goes to sleep with a grin on his face.

  +1.     They all start hanging out after that. Nancy catches his arm in the hall way at lunch on Monday and tows him to their lunch table, where she all but shoves him into a chair. She demands he read over her lit essay because Steve and Jonathan are useless. Billy feels a little shell shocked, but he reads her essay, offers her some notes and then ends up eating with them. After that, one of them always seems to find him at lunch to drag him with them, and eventually he stops fighting it. He even tells them about his dad leaving, and they all seem happy for him.

  There’s the added bonus of Steve always looking thrilled to see him so he just rolls with it.

 Tommy and Carol look offended, but eventually they get over it, he still goes to parties with them so they relax.

 The letters mysteriously stop, and for three weeks he doesn't get another one. Billy tries not to be disappointed, but it's hard.

 "You look serious today Billy." Steve comments as he slides into his spot at the lunch table. Billy glances away from where he was watching the rest of the cafeteria, wondering if his secret admirer is out there somewhere.

 "Yeah, just thinking." Billy mutters.

 "You ok?" Steve asks. Billy nods, and goes back to people watching.

 "Looking for someone?" Steve asks, poking at his mashed potatoes.

"You ask a lot of questions." Billy teases.

"Just curious." Steve shrugs.

 "My secret admirer hasn't written in a while, if you're gonna be nosy." Billy says, and rolls his eyes, turning to pull his math homework out when he sees Jonathan and Nancy leave the lunch line. He and Jonathan have the same math teacher, but at different periods, so they compare homework a lot.

"Oh. You sound bummed." Steve points out.

 "I am. I liked the letters. Made me feel… I don't know. Important, I guess? Forget it. It's stupid." Billy glances at Steve. "Quit grinning like an idiot Harrington, I can be honest sometimes." Billy snaps.

 Steve just keeps grinning. Billy rolls his eyes, but the shame and embarrassment he was expecting over being that open and honest doesn't come. He and Steve are good friends now, same with Jonathan and Nancy.

 He even got stoned with Jon at a party last week, which had been weird but good.

 It's weird having friends like this. He's not sure he minds though, he likes them, even if he'll never admit it.

 He and Jonathan work on their homework through lunch, and Steve and Nancy talk about some annoying thing Mike and Dustin did.

 Jonathan joins in with a story about Will, and Billy finds himself contributing with stories about Max.

After lunch, they all disperse to class. Billy goes to math and finds that he and Jonathan did all their homework right.

He and Steve nod at each other as they pass in the hall between classes and he watches as Steve goes up to Robin Buckley and starts chatting with her, handing her something that makes her laugh at him and makes him blush. Billy frowns, wondering why. The rest of his classes pass quickly, and when he gets to the last one, he's surprised to find a note on his desk.

 He tries not to appear too eager, but he unfolds it quickly.

 Bills,

 I saw you looking at lunch today. I was sitting off to the side of where you were looking, so I got to see your profile. You're beautiful. It takes my breath away sometimes. Looking at you, sitting by those big windows, you looked so good. Have you done something different with your curls? They looked great today, so soft. And your eyes, you looked at me for just a second before you looked away, and I swear I drowned in your eyes. The light hit them just right, thank god it was sunny today, and they kind of sparkled. I could stare at them all the time.

 I just realized today, when you looked at me, that you have freckles. FRECKLES Billy are you kidding me? How the hell is a man supposed to function with you looking like that?! I bet they are even darker in the summer time. I don't know how I've lived not knowing you had freckles, I'm in love with them. I want to kiss every one, I want to count them, I want to memorize them.

 And then to find that these letters make you feel important?! Baby, you're killing me today. I'm sorry I didn't write recently, I've been kinda distracted. I'll write you thousands of letters though, because you deserve to feel important. And it's not stupid to feel that way, you deserve to be fucking cherished baby. And I intend to do that, even if it's in the form of letters, and even if you never know who I am, I'm gonna fucking cherish you Billy Hargrove.

 You and those damn freckles. Jesus Christ. They kill me. You kill me, but what a wonderful way to go, death by a beautiful boy and his god damn freckles. Holy shit.

 I can't even focus on class, I keep thinking about your damn eyes, and hair, and fucking freckles. Who knew, freckles would kill me so much.

 Love,

The best secret admirer there ever was

 Billy has to read the letter four times, because he can't believe it. He was only sitting close enough to one person to see his freckles, they fade to barely there in the winter, you have to catch him in the right light and be close to see them. And only one person was. He also sits in a quieter corner of the lunchroom, and no one else was near enough to hear what he said about the letters, except of course the person he said them to.

 Billy can't believe it, and happiness bubbles in his chest. He tries to tamp it down, it could not be who he wants, and Billy is never this lucky. He's never lucky to have his crush actually be the one crushing on him, is he?

 He can't ignore it though. Unless Steve told someone what he said, but that's not how the letters read. They read exactly like someone who stared at him from across the table all through lunch and then ran to their next class and scribbled down the note. And that screams Steve Harrington.

 It's got to be him.

 Then there's the other clue: Robin Buckley sitting next to him, sneaking looks at Billy, while managing to look bored to tears.

 Suddenly what Billy saw Steve give her makes a lot more sense.

 "Buckley." Billy leans over and hisses.

 "What?" She snaps, eyeing the clock pointedly. Class ends in five minutes, but Billy can't wait that long.

 "What does Steve have after school today?" Billy demands. They start packing up their stuff and Robin shoots him a look.

 "What's it to you?" She demands. Billy holds up the note and raises an eyebrow. Robin sighs in relief.

 "Thank god you figured it out. Fucking finally. I'm sick of his pining. Be nice when you reject him ok? He's got nothing after school, he'll be at home." Robin says. The bell rings and Billy fly out of his seat.

 "Who says I'm rejecting him?" Billy says, and then books it to his car. Steve is already gone, but that's fine.

 "Max!" Billy yells, when he sees her fiery hair. She comes running up.

 "Can you get a ride now? Or skate home? I have to do something." Billy says. Max raises an eyebrow.

 "Yeah? I'm going to Will's for DnD remember, you're picking me up before dinner?" Max says, and Billy laughs a little.

 "Right, right ok. Great. I found out who's writing me the letters." Billy says. Max grins.

 "Really? Who?!" She demands.

 "It's Steve. I have to go, but I'll be at the Byers in time." He says. Max laughs and nods, before running back to her friends. Billy practically leaps into his car and takes off toward Loch Nora.

 He roars up to Steve's house and throws the car in park so fast it actually jolts.

 "Sorry baby!" Billy tells the car, and then he's running up to Steve's front door. He pounds on it, heart in his throat.

 "What the hell do you want…Billy?" Steve says, looking confused. He takes in Billy's panting, his probably wild eyes and he pales a little, instantly looking around. "Are you ok? What's going on? Are you hurt?" Steve asks. Billy smiles fondly.

 "Can I come in?" He asks. Steve nods, standing aside.

 "Of course. Are you ok? Billy?" He asks, following Billy into the living room. Billy turns and just looks at Steve. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the letter.

 "Is it you?" Billy asks. Steve pales even further, and then goes beet red from the neck of his polo to his hairline.

 "Fuck." He mutters.

 "Oh my god. It is you." Billy breathes, elation swelling in his chest. It's Steve, he apparently can be that lucky.

 "Ok, before you yell at me, you were never supposed to find out. I started writing letters to you and Robin said I should send them because if I left it anonymous and you never caught me delivering them, I could like work through my pining. So, I did, and then you liked them, and I kept sending them, but I never planned to tell you, because I didn't think you'd want it to be me you know?" Steve flails his arms, and starts pacing a little, the words leaving him in a rush.

 "And like I totally meant all of it, every word, but I get that it's weird, and you said you're gay but it's probably different now that it's me, and like some guys don't like to be with people who are bi, which I totally get. You weren’t supposed to find out, I'm not sure how you did, but you're like super smart so I guess I should have seen this coming. And then we started getting closer you know? And then it was kinda too late, and I don't know how to work with this. I'm talking so much, Jesus Christ." Steve says, and pushes his hands into his hair. Billy cracks up then, full on belly laughs.

 "Why are you laughing?" Steve asks, looking adorably confused. Billy walks over to him, and grins.

 "First, I'm not gonna yell." Billy says.

 "You aren't? Because you totally can, I was being creepy, and I broke into your gym locker., and-" Steve starts again. Billy chuckles.

 "Easy pretty boy. I'm not mad. I'm not gonna yell at you. And I found out because your last letter was super obvious it was you. No one else was around when I told you the letters made me feel important, and no one was sitting close enough to see my freckles. Are they that distracting that you forgot to hide who you are?" Billy teases. Steve flushes again, and glances at Billy's nose before looking at his feet.

 "I never noticed them before. Fucking freckles and I ruin everything. They are too cute, just lil freckles. Fuckin rude." Steve mutters, like he doesn't want Billy to hear. Billy laughs.

 "Stevie, look at me." Billy whispers, and Steve does, though probably because Billy has never called him Stevie before.

 "I'm sorry. I didn't want to disappoint you. I can't imagine you wanted it to be me." Steve whispers, looking sad.

 "Pretty boy, the only way I would have been sad is if it wasn't you writing me." Billy says, and loves that he's close enough to see the words sink in. Steve's eyes widen, and his jaw drops.

 "You… you wanted it to be me?" Steve whispers. Billy steps closer, until their chests almost brush as they breathe.

 "Yeah, Stevie, I did." Billy says, and reaches up to brush some hair away from Steve's face.

 "Wait. If you wanted it to be me, and you aren't mad then that means…." Steve trails off, and Billy smiles at him. "Holy shit, you like me back?!" Steve says, too loud for how close they are standing, but Billy doesn't mind.

 "Yep." Billy says.

 "Holy shit. Can I kiss you?" Steve whispers. Billy grins, and wraps his arms around Steve's neck pulling him in. It's a gentle kiss at first, that quickly deepens. Steve tentatively works his hand into Billy's curls, and at Billy's hum of agreement, grips them tight. Billy licks into Steve's mouth eagerly when Steve opens his lips a little, Billy's arms griping Steve tight to keep him close.

 "Wow." Steve says, pulling back to pant against Billy's lips. Billy chuckles, low and wrecked.

 "I love you too, pretty boy. I've reread all of your letters so many times." Billy whispers, and Steve pulls him close, burying his face in Billy's neck.

 "I can't believe this is happening." Steve says. Billy laughs.

 "Me neither. I was hoping it was you, every time I read one. Remember the one saying you liked being a mystery so I could picture whoever I wanted writing me?" Steve nods against his neck. "I always pictured you. And I don’t care that you’re bi, just as long as you like me." Steve makes a small whining noise at that and pulls Billy closer. Billy smiles, and breathes in Steve's scent. Sweet and spicy and uniquely Steve, and Billy adores it.

 "I believe I was promised cuddles and sweet things whispered in my ear." Billy mutters. Steve laughs, and pulls back to brush his fingers through Billy's hair.

 "Tell me something first." Steve whispers.

 "What's up Stevie?" Billy asks.

"You're really glad it's me? You're not disappointed?" Steve asks, and Billy can see in those earnest brown eyes how worried he actually is.

 Billy yanks him in for another kiss, and pushes his hands into Steve's hair. Steve responds eagerly and tightens his grip on Billy.

 "Yes, baby, I'm very glad it's you. I love you Steve Harrington, just try getting rid of me now." Billy teases. "I need some cherishing." He means it as a joke, but Steve's eyes soften and go a little liquid.

 "Hell yeah you do, and I intend to do a damn good job. I love you too." Steve whispers. Billy grins up at him.

 Steve tugs them upstairs, they tug off their shoes and curl up on the bed. Steve pulls Billy into his arms, and dots kisses over his freckles.

 "Steve Harrington, done in and giving up the secret by a couple freckles." Billy murmurs softly. Steve laughs.

 "Steve Harrington done in by Billy Hargrove, who apparently has freckles." Steve corrects. Billy laughs, and snuggles closer.

 "You still have to write me letters." Billy huffs. Steve laughs and catches Billy in another kiss.

 "I can do that." Steve says, and Billy sighs happily. He falls asleep in Steve's arms, while Steve holds him and counts his freckles.

[smol-and-grumpy]

With All My Heart - P.02

This is the epilogue to Dear Dean.

Grant that I shall never seek so much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, or to be loved as to love, with all my heart.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 3430

A/N: A second epilogue is here! As always, thank you @themoonandotherslikeit​​ <3

You don’t think life could be any more miserable? Dig a hole in your backyard while it is raining. Sit in the hole while the water climbs up around your ankles. Pour cold mud down your shirt collar. Sit there for 48 hours. And so there is no danger of your dozing off, imagine that a guy is sneaking around waiting for a chance to club you on the head or set your house on fire. Get out of the hole, fill a suitcase full of rocks, pick it up, put a shotgun in your other hand, and walk on the muddiest road you can find. Fall flat on your face every few minutes, as you imagine big meteors streaking down to sock you. If you repeat this performance every three days, for several months, you may begin to understand why an infantryman gets out of breath, but you still won’t understand how he feels when things get tough. 

— Bill Mauldin, NM, cartoonist & writer for war newspaper Stars and Stripes

May 18th, 1946

Jamie’s fingers intertwined with his. She squeezed once, twice — a form of reassurance, Dean knew. His gaze was fixed in front of him, trying to pinpoint a dot in the distance, but the waves kept crashing in. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath too quickly.

It was a nice spring day. It was too warm for the season, and Jamie needed to get out of the house after last weekend when they celebrated Hope’s birthday. They had people coming around all the time and it made Dean uneasy. It was all new to him. He was still surprised that people cared about their daughter — their family — at all. He wasn’t used to it because he didn’t think that anyone ever cared about him at all except for Sammy. 

Jamie had suggested that they’d go to the beach. A month earlier, she came home with some fancy swimming trunks in hand, the kind that are skin tight with a belt around the hip and what not. They were apparently popular but what did he know? She assured him that they wouldn’t be going swimming anytime soon because she wouldn’t fit in her two-piece suit even if she tried, but she wanted him to have one when the time came. Dean was okay with that.

Yet, there they were, standing on a freaking beach, and Dean’s heart was thumping out of his chest. Jamie wanted to get away, to see the beach again even though she knew that Dean probably wanted to get as far away from any beaches, if he had a say in it. He also knew that he had to face it eventually, since Jamie loved the beach. 

“Ready when you are,” a soft voice whispered next to him, and he knew that she smiled up at him. He was just too lost in thought to even move his head to meet her eyes. His hands were sweating, too.

“Yeah,” Dean replied eventually. He tilted his head, looking down at her. 

Jamie wore a maternity dress, and he had his pants rolled up to his knees. They could hear Jameson playing peek-a-boo with Hope who sat on her uncles’ stomach some feet behind them. 

“Da-Da.” Dean could hear Hope say.

“Yes Hope, that’s Da-Da. We give them some time alone, huh? Where’s Hope? Where is my little Hope?” Jameson’s soothing voice faint in his ears. 

“Da-Da,” Hope said again.

Dean smiled. 

Hope was so attached to him. Maybe because she could feel that Jamie was pregnant and wanted more of his attention, which of course, Dean gave her. How could he ever say no to his little girl?

Dean turned the voices off because he really wanted to do this. Really wanted to be able to stand on a fucking beach and not freak the fuck out every damn time. Maybe not shit his pants, in the near future. Summer’s nearing and while he had an excuse last summer, with his legs still not healed enough, he knew that this summer, he had no excuses at all, except that he couldn’t fucking swim. 

Their toes dug in the sand. The fresh salty air breezed through their hair, and Dean thought that it was really fucking nice to be out in this weather, if his heart could stop beating out of his chest, that’d be fucking grand.

Dean closed his eyes, and Jamie tugged his hand back a little. He knew that she didn’t want to pressure him, probably even would tell him that they could blow it off, but he didn’t want to. He’d come this far. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

*

The letter that was handed to Dean by Captain Mills read: “Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you.”

They were on deck of the ship crossing the channel. Dean read it carefully. Maybe, because he was itching to have something else to do other than to wait for a damn order to get off the cramped ship into a more cramped landing craft. Maybe, because it was a sign from home, something for him and his men to cling on. Maybe, he wanted to believe that he was doing something meaningful — if going into war and killing people can count as such. 

“In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world. Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely.”

Dean snorted. Yeah, right. He knew that he is all that too or at least he could be, and his men are not far off. He was about willing to do anything that would get him back on American soil. The war has only started for him but already he was so sick of it.

“But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory! I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory! Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking. Dwight D. Eisenhower.”

Dean’s not a believer. Never been. If there has been a God, God sure as hell wouldn’t have taken their mother away from them. Sure as hell wouldn’t have let them grow up like they did. Eisenhower’s last words in the letter meant nothing to Dean. Still, he knew that some of his men were believers and when they sat down to pray together, Dean would find himself amongst them. He would do anything to make his men feel comfortable, to keep their morale up even if it meant for him to pray to a God that doesn’t exist in his eyes.

He sat back and fished out his cigarette tin from the pocket and lit one before he looked up at the sky. There were no stars and he wondered how Sammy’s holding up. He hoped that his brother was somewhere safe. 

He smoked one after another, before someone barked that they are going in. Dean popped in the last chewing gum he had with him before he climbed down the rope ladder into the LCV.

They were cramped in the LCV, soldiers almost sitting on top of each other, there were only enough space for two platoons and he was thankful that it was Cas’. They were sitting side by side, their backs resting against the cold metal of the LCV as it drove over waves. Dean chewed on the last gum he’d packed before he left for the channel crossing. Right about now he wished that he had packed more. Soldiers were getting sea sick, some were throwing up which then in turn triggered some kind of a puking chain. He chewed more aggressively, trying to suck in the minty fresh feeling of the gum and push the stretch of puke out of his taste buds. 

“You think the boys from Phase Two did a good job?” Cas asked him.

“I hope so,” Dean answered. 

Truth was, he didn’t know. The planes were to bombard the coastal strongholds, dropping bombs on the beach, creating craters for them to hide in. Yeah, Dean sure as hell hoped that they did their job.

“We’re here!” The pilot of the LCV shouted and Cas’ got up to talk to his men in the front. 

Dean looked around. “We’re too far from the beach!”

“Can’t go in any further!” The man shouted and when Dean looked again, he knew why.

It was madness. LCV were sinking further in the front, probably grazing some obstacles in the water. Soldiers were floating face down around them. The smell of gunpowder and explosives were penetrating. People were screaming, shells hissing around them. Soldiers that were still alive were calling out from the water and Dean shouted that they should help them, but his request was denied. “We are not allowed,” the pilot of the craft just said as he pushed the button for the deck to lower. Dean wanted to start an argument right then and there, but Cas put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. Dean shrugged it off, fucking angry at everybody and everything as he bit on his tongue.

“Good luck boys!” The pilot said, lowering the landing deck. Dean looked at Cas, nodding at his friend who visibly paled, and Dean didn’t think he looked any different. 

As soon as the door were dropped low enough for the soldiers to get off, the machine guns began to tear them apart.

“Cas! Climb over the side, they’re shooting at us!” Dean called on the top of his lungs. “Everyone, get off the side!”

-

“Where the fuck are we?” Cas pressed into him as they found a hiding place behind an iron obstacle. 

Dean doesn’t know but there’s one thing he knew for sure. The bombers did nothing on this fucking beach. There was no crater, no fucking sign of a dropped shell. Nothing. 

Before Dean could answer, Mills was next to him too and upon realizing that Dean doesn’t even have a rifle because he abandoned his at the bottom of the sea, Mills ordered Dean to go get a new one. He climbed over dead bodies, the water underneath his hands was red and thick.

He somehow assembled half of his platoon, or what he assumed was half because he lost track of the number a long time ago. “Get the fuck off the beach! Move inland! Get off the beach! We’re getting murdered here!”

With their uniforms still wet, they fought their way inland and only after they defeated the Krauts in their coastal pill boxes, did they allow themselves to stop and breathe. It felt like Dean had been holding his breath for the whole time since they got off the LCV.

*

Dean took another deep breath and exhaled. Tears were in his eyes. He sniffed, before he opened his eyes again. His cheeks were wet and he brushed it away with the back of his hand that was not holding Jamie’s.

He didn’t have to look at her to know that she wasn’t looking up. He knew that she always found it hard to look at him whenever he cried. She told him once that she felt like her heart broke every time, and Dean couldn’t say that he didn’t feel the same way when he saw her tears. Instead she squeezed his hand. It was to let him know that she was there. Dean knew that, too.

There’s another inhale before he started to say something.

“Okay.” And then again with a sigh. “Okay.”

He took a step forward and dragged Jamie with him. 

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Stop.

He inhaled and exhaled. “I’m okay,” he said, to nobody in particular. Mostly to himself.

Jamie replied with a squeeze of his hand. 

Dean took another step. 

Another one and another. 

Until the waves crawled up the sand just below their toes. 

It was wet and sticky around their feet.

They stood there in silence, until the water reached around their toes, making them sink in lower into the sand. 

Dean chuckled, and when Jamie looked up at him, he was full on smiling down at her. “Thank you, Bambi.” 

June 1st, 1946

Hi Sammy,

Jamie’s having her last week at the nursing school, and I just put Hope to bed. There’s not much I can do, since Jameson went out for a date, so I thought I’d sit down to write to you. 

Jamie’s almost finished with her school. She has to drop out earlier because of her gigantic tummy (don’t tell her I said that, alright?) but they granted her a BSN degree anyway, because she apparently excelled in her studies. 

I accompanied her to her graduation last weekend and I can’t say that I wasn’t proud of my girl. Jamie would maybe tell you that I shed a tear, but there was just really something in my eye, I swear!

She introduced me to some of her classmates. The majority of them had loved ones in the war. I mean, that was no surprise, since we were so fucking many over there! One of the girls was there with her boyfriend. He asked me where I was stationed overseas, and I told him I was with the 116th Regiment, 29th Infantry Division and was fighting in Normandy.

“My brother was with the 29th too,” the guy said.

I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to know if I would have known him because I knew what would follow. 

“He didn’t make it back.” The man looked me up and down, as if he’s checking to see if I had scratches, scars or a missing limb from the war. “You were in the same Division. Yet, you are here and he’s not…. Huh.” 

I could see the tears welling up in his eyes, Sammy. I swallowed hard and suddenly, it felt too hard to breathe. There’s someone standing across from me who questioned my existence. As if I’m not doing enough of it on my own already. I could hear it in his voice, even if he didn’t say it. Something that sounded like “Why do you think you deserve to be here while my brother gave his life for this country.” Of course he didn’t say it like that, and I seriously couldn’t say anything else than “I’m sorry. I’m sure your brother fought bravely.” Jamie came along and dragged me away before it could get any more awkward.

Anyway, I try not to think about it too much. I’ve signed up for a business program, by the way. My boss at the garage was thinking that maybe I could take over one day. He’s a real great guy, Sam. He’d lost his son, who was fighting on Peleliu. Said I remind him of his son. I’m so thankful for the offer and yes, soon I’ll be studying Business on the GI Bill. I’m grateful for it, because I don’t know if we could cover the cost with our growing family.

Sam, Jamie took me to the beach. Can you imagine? I was terrified, not gonna lie, but it was good. I had to get over the fear eventually. It took me longer than I thought it would, though. All the while Jamie just waited, my hand in hers. I closed my eyes for a minute, thinking about what happened the last time I was at a beach, almost two years ago. I drowned out the voices and noises in my head, and when I opened my eyes again, all I saw was the beauty of the beach. The sand between my toes, the salt tinted breeze, the calmness of the waves. It was great. I think I finally made my peace with it. Took me fucking long enough.

Jamie bought me swimming trunks, by the way. Honestly, I wouldn’t even like to be caught dead in them, but I guess that’s what people wear nowadays, huh? Her dream would be that we could all go swimming one day, but you know that I can’t swim, right? Anyway, I really wanna be able to do that for her but she’s too big to teach me, so Jameson is giving me swimming lessons down by the lake. We always say that we’re going to the bar downtown, and I don’t think she really believes us but she never presses any further.

*

“Hi”, Jamie leaned against the door to the study in her flowery maternity dress, and her hair up into a bun. She smiled when Dean turned his attention to her.

“Hi.” He returned her smile.

“Sam?” 

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “I’ll be right with you.” 

She frowned. “No you won’t.” Jamie walked into the room and stood beside him so Dean could place his arm around her waist, his cheek rested against her belly as she cradled his cheek, one hand stroking the short hair at the back of his neck. “You take your time. I’m going to check on Hope and take a shower.”

He kissed her belly. “Okay, I’ll see you in bed.” 

She smiled before she walked out.

*

Jamie just came home, Sammy. I think I’ll draw a line here, too. My fingers are starting to hurt. I am thankful for the notebook. I really am. I think it’s easier for me to put my thoughts into words — to have an outlet for all the things that I have in my head. Even if I have people around me who had been through the same, they still didn’t go through what I went through. Jamie wasn’t a prisoner, and I am fucking thankful that she went home before shit got serious. I don’t even want to imagine what they would have done to her if they would have found her with me. I don’t even want to think of all the horrors, because it would only make me angry. 

You know, they have psychiatrists working for the Army. I tried it once, but they only said “Try to act normal then you will begin to think normal, too.” That’s like an hour of my life that I will never get back. Try acting normal. The fuck does that mean anyway?

Ah, I shouldn’t work myself up now. I need to calm down and honestly, I can’t wait to slip into the bed next to Jamie, maybe listen to what she has to say about her day, I like that. Like to listen to her everyday life, it makes me think that sometimes the world isn’t so cruel to me after all. Honestly I still don’t know how I deserve all this. Deserve to come home, have kids, be with my girl… I wish you could be here, Sam.

I miss you very much.

Good night.

Dean

*

Dean closes his notebook and walked into the bathroom as Jamie brushed her teeth. He took a toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste on it before he brushed his own teeth, eyes Jamie through the little mirror screwed to the wall. He thought that she looked exhausted, more so tonight than on any other night. He’s worried about her. She needed to rest. Maybe he’d whisk her away the coming weekend and go somewhere just the two of them. 

“Stop staring,” Jamie said, spitting out toothpaste. She rinsed her brush, a playful frown on her face.

“I’m not.” He laughed when Jamie sent him a gaze with her lips curved into a grin before she walked out.

June 2nd, 1946

SAMMY THEY ARE COMING!

..To Be Continued.

@dean-winchesters-bacon​​ @beautifulbowleggedangel​​ @flamencodiva​​ @weepingwillowphoenix​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​ @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @katehuntington​ @mariekoukie6661​

[iammultifandomaf]

Chapter 4 - Italy

BROTHERHOOD

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12211562/4/

Finally, Stiles and Lydia were about to fly away on their little trip to Italy. It was quite exhausting for both of them, mainly because Lydia had to repack their suitcases in order to fit into the prescribed weight that the airline had for their planes, and their flight was early in the morning. Stiles made them several sandwiches the day before for breakfast and for later at the airport which was very useful when the time came.

Their flight took around long nine hours which were filled with talking, reading, movie watching and of course, sleeping. Lydia brought a special book with her by Barbusse with the childish stubborness that she can also read such a book as John. After several chapters, she understood why the bearded man said what he said. It wasn't a relaxing book, indeed.

When they finally arrived to the airport, found their luggage and bought a Starbucks coffee, they exited the huge building into the chilly weather outside. The couple didn't have a precise plan on how to get to their hotel, so they kept standing at the sidewalk for a while, looking around at the unknown surroundings.

Stiles noticed a taxi at the corner and nodded to it. "So, let's take that," he suggested but Lydia didn't answer. She was staring in the opposite direction, not listening to whatever Stiles had said. She suddenly turned her head to her impatient boyfriend and asked with a chuckle: "What?"

"I was just asking if-"

Lydia understood at once what he meant and cut him off: "Don't you wanna rent a car? I could drive if your bottom is too lazy."

"What? I'm not lazy, I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, let's rent a car, huh?"

And so they rented a Škoda Octavia, silver color. Lydia quickly hopped into the drivers seat whilst Stiles put their suitcases into the trunk. He sat down next to his girlfriend who was already impatiently drumming her fingers on the leathered wheel. Stiles withdrew a small map from his jacket pocket and laid it open in front of him. Lydia stared at him in disbelief while he was studying the map through.

"You are kidding, right?" Lydia chuckled at Stiles who raised his gaze from the cartography lying on his knees.

"Did I say something funny?" Stiles said with feigned bewilderment.

"We are living in the information age, you know that right?" she asked and reached for the map to confiscate it but was tenderly struck by his fingers.

"Don't you touch my map, missy. I know what I'm doing. I'll just look at the map for a bit and then I'll know the way for sure. I had lived here anyways. Or did you let this tasty detail of my past slip your mind already?"

"Well, no. But-"

"So gimme a sec, sweetie," he said with a smirk and returned to his careful map-reading. In several minutes, he swiftly packed his map into his pocket, again, and began instructing the slightly impatient driver.

Lydia was quite surprised by Stiles' good memory because he seemed to remember a lot of places, streets, shops and even the round abouts, even though he had been living elsewhere for such a long time.

After a half an hour full of detailed directions, they arrived to the Hotel Pfösl. Lydia pulled up in front of the building, letting Stiles to get out of the car and fetch their luggage from the trunk. Whilst he carried the baggage into the lobby, Lydia found a nice spot to park in.

When Lydia finally came to the lobby, Stiles had already prepared all their documents needed for the check in. The process of checking-in was rather smooth and fast and the couple landed in their room with the number 1936 which made Stiles for some reason snort in amusement. Lydia arched her eyebrow at him but he simply ignored her and entered their room.

Being the time for dinner, they decided to visit the village where the hotel was located in and find a nice-looking restaurant. After a few minutes of walking, white cold snowflakes began to fall down at their heads, so they run into the first pub they had encountered.

As they sat down, a grumpy waitress approached them and asked for their order which was way too fast for the couple and Lydia just pointed to the table across the room and confidently said: "We'll have what they're having."

The woman with the roman-shaped nose rose her eyebrow and looked behind her shoulder to see whom Lydia meant. She shrugged, visibly exchanging the position of her chewing gum in her mouth, and left. Stiles watched her go and then returned his focus on his redhead in front of him.

"She was nice," he said with a smile which made Lydia giggle a bit.

"The nicest of them all," Lydia agreed and glanced over the bar where the waitress stood at the beer pipes, watching back at their table. Lydia abruptly looked away and said with a whisper: "I think she's checking you out. I guess she sensed out your italian origins."

An entertained smile grew on Stiles' face as he continued to play this game. "Then you ought to be extra careful that she doesn't lure me away."

"No way she's doing that!" Lydia said and let her fist hit the table in an appropriate volume.

The evening passed quickly and their food was eaten with admirable speed. The couple ended up drinking their alcoholic beverages. Lydia was swallowing down her beer whilst Stiles studied his fourth glass of wine with his hazels.

"She really stares a lot," Lydia commented the impolite behavior of the grumpy waitress.

"Some people tend to stare," Stiles said, not giving the woman much of a thought.

"Is it possible that she knows you?" Lydia asked, creating a small fictional image of small Stiles with missy grumpy together in her mind. Stiles turned his head around to look at the personnel behind the bar and then shook his head: "Nah... Would have remembered such a glamorous person."

Lydia paused for a while, recounting the amount of wine Stiles had had and blurted out a question:"Are you still in contact with somebody from here?"

"Hm, not anymore," Stiles said, appearing a little sad even.

"But you were...?"

"Um, yeah. Of course."

"What happened?"

"We went different paths I'd say. More like he chose to leave but I guess he didn't have a choice. I don't even know anymore."

"Why did he leave?"

"Uh, my life situation changed and suddenly it wasn't quite suited for... um, his way of life? Not sure how to explain it. So he left."

"Were you close?"

"Very."

"What a dick."

"Come again?" Stiles' eyes widened in surprise, not expecting this reaction.

"You just don't leave when it gets tough. That's so coward-ish. Like what the hell? Whoever it was, he left you when you went through a change or whatever. He was supposed to stay and support you. Gosh. I hate these selfish kind of people."

"Hm," he hummed and looked down at his glass. Lydia decided not to dig into his friendship which had fallen apart and changed the topic to more joyful things which created the usual smile on Stiles' face.

After they finished their drinks, the couple headed to their hotel through the dark of night. Lydia clung to Stiles' forearm and giggled at his monologue he was having about how he loathes today's technology.

At once, Stiles grunted with pain as something hit the back of his head and he fell on Lydia who tried to support his weight with all her strength whilst she looked around for the attacker. Behind them was a man with a baseball bat and a woman with a revolver in her hand, directed at Stiles. Lydia tried to stand up but was stopped by the woman: "You stay down, redhead. Let go of him."

Lydia ignored the command she was given and squeezed Stiles even tighter. Stiles' vision came back to him and he started to move as well but he only got struck, again, which was the last thing he was conscious of.

"What the fuck?!" Lydia yelled at them, scanning the way for any potential help but there was not one living soul. The man began grabbing Stiles by his torso which made Lydia jump at her boyfriend, protecting him with her whole body.

"Stop!" Lydia cried.

"Get of off him, or I will shoot you," the woman threatened, cocking the barrel at Lydia.

"God, kill me but don't take him!" Lydia begged, her eyes filling up with tears.

"We're not interested in you," the man said and pulled Stiles' limp body from under Lydia. The redhead rose to her feet and marched to the man who swinged his bat, hitting Lydia and knocking her out.

Everything went black and Lydia felt how she fell on the cold solid ground.

When she regained consciousness again, she was alone. No Stiles. No attackers.

[01010010-posts]

— for a night of wine i'll pay one hundred days of vinegar.

it’s more noticeable when gavin’s shaved the day before. it’s a lot smaller, now. but it was kinda of a big deal at 15, though. one is next to his cupid’s bow, on the right. rather minuscole, gavin would say, as his hand guides the chin up and down in front of the oblong mirror. the other is under his lips, on the left side, a bit bigger than the first but yes, smaller than what he’d remember nevertheless. it’s somewhat still vivid in his memory. the earliest time he tasted violence and blood (and could never get enough after that). in his gums the tinge of rust and metal. the same that teased his skin sufficiently to left cuts. it was because he ran his mouth too much, too hazardous; and they decided to let his tongue fall out, right there, on the ground, but he wasn’t about the same idea and shoved a kick in the stomach to whoever was pinning him down. returning home, shirt stained blackish-red, gavin thought his mother made a much bigger fuss regarding the whole ordeal than his ‘opponents’. his dad, raising glasses off the newspaper for a moment, concluded with a joke that, if they’d really got his tongue he’d never drown and it ain’t all bad.

the car ride to work is not so terrible. at 6AM there aren’t many people yet. it’s quiet. just him, the toxic smokes in the sky inhaling from the rolled down window and ‘heaven knows i’m miserable now’ by the smiths on the radio. too bad the DPD is what actually makes gavin irritable. those stupid androids receptionists, nothing more than expensive assembled people-pleasers, always full of forged smiles and phony lines. he immediately goes straight to the break room to grab a coffee. good morning my ass. he’s much more at ease with rotten bodies on a freezing afternoon. they don’t speak, don’t ask and, above everything, don’t bother him. unlike that thing he’s been assigned a crime scene with, which has been talking reed’s ear off for minutes at this point. of course, as that thing explains the case’s details he probably rolls his eyes a hundred times. for fuck’s sake, he knows how to do his job, don’t need the opinions of a machine ‘are your eyes okay, detective?’ it inquires. the question is laced with bare curiosity and a dash of innocence. but gavin resents it. and interprets the phrase as a joke. about him. not with him. and that’s not okay “they rolled away down the interstate” he scoffs and takes a cig out of his breast pocket, putting it between his head and his right ear.

it’s 2024. gavin’s 22 now. and his father is dead. cancer. he didn’t know. his parents keeping it a secret so he could continue living a year more without worry. and while that was probably the best decision for everyone.... he can’t help but think about how much he took for granted, thinking this would last forever. about all the time he wasted away from him, not talking to him, not travelling with him, all the birthdays and the holidays. he regrets. and he’ll regret much more as he continues to grow. as his stubble continues itching. as his scars keep forming. he knows he’ll regret for the rest of his life. he hopes his mum can forgive him. but he can’t cry today. he won’t. the tears at the end of his throat creating a painful knot. one he’s not able to force out of his mouth by pinching with his indexes the end of the thread. they’ll stay there for a long time. he’s (not) ok. tomorrow’s the funeral and gavin has been staring at the ceiling for a whole day. back on his bed, hands on top of each other over his chest. fixating on spiders making their webs, waiting for bugs to fly towards them and getting entangled in sticky wires, only to end up bite-poisoned. just that. just waiting. how he envies them. because god’s not going to throw a bone at this lonely dog.

he comes home at an unreasonable hour. opens his door and tosses the few things on his persona to the cluttered couch. gavin doesn’t have a table, nor a dining room. he never has guests, and doesn’t plan to. because of this (and his inflated pay) the tiny apartment consist of only a cozy living space, a bathroom and a bedroom. his fridge is rather empty and his dinner will most likely consist of an ashtray, leftover pizza and the last canned beer.  while comfortably supine the detective can review the cases’ files. he doesn’t mind working more. he never minds work. it’s what kept him sane and busy for years. and he loves it. maybe not the part in which he should visit the deceased victim’s family, not the part about writing reports, not the part where he has to socialize, sure, but the idea, the idea of doing something he’s exceptionally good at, something that will give him the chance to rise above this heap of trash who only want to be a simple gear in a mechanism. he loves it. absentmindedly chewing, ochre and white paper scattered on every crevice available, he touches the middle of his nose. a habit he doesn’t realize he got. developed after the biggest gash on his face healed. from there to the lobe of his left ear.

it was in his first years as an officer, or maybe it was before that? nobody except gavin ever knew the truth to that story. one day he just woke up in a hospital bed, face half covered in bandages, body barely fitting a washed green gown. cursing everything in himself, in the world, cursing whatever left him in an alley, alive, bloody, alone. he could have died and everyone would have remembered him fondly. instead, as that day, he was back on the cold ground, looking up at the cerulean sky. instead, as that other day, his shirt was dirty and red; his mother will probably make a fuss this time too. in those moments he thought were the last of his life, he was strangely happy; selfish until the last moment, selfish as a necessity, necessity of living he never asked for. instead, like a cat, he got another life up his sleeve. and if he survived he owed almost all of it to the people he hated. androids, after all. in what he thought was the rest of his life, he wanted to scream that he didn’t need anybody’s permission to set himself on fire.

in the future, there’s a tauntingly soft ‘here’ before RK900 hands gavin a cloth cold pack. the detective refuses it with an indolent movement of his bruised knuckles and the androids can’t help but uncomfortably sit on the police car hood next to him, pack of shiny ice in his palm; since there’s no blood in him, it won’t melt, since he’s not warm, he’s not living “what doesn’t kill you....” a pause of few seconds, as if the android is actually searching for the perfect words. no need to say, they both know he already has them and is only mocking him “makes you ugly?” a grin showing his handmade speckless teeth. gavin still resents it. so absurdly flawless, it almost resembles the grimace of a nocturnal animal about to devour a carcass more than a simple smile. it hurts to look at it. reed can’t stand it. and his gaze returns to the ground “eh, jealous because bar chicks go crazy for a wounded cop?” the tone is ironic, as a couple drops of blood flow from his features and become pulp onto the tarmac “i thought these so-called ‘bar chicks’ loved cops with their nose still on.” a muffled fist of cough. maybe, starting to smoke while still dizzy, is not his best thought “so if i break my face and i don’t look so great? my face is just my face.” another impeccable faint chuckle, it seems unreal, ethereal, from above “i see.” silence, longer this time “mhh, how does that saying go? life gives you lemons....” gavin unceremoniously props his head on RK900’s shoulder, staining his white jacket a weak burgundy “shut up. at least it gave you something.” and like this, in the future, gavin reed has a new scar.

[insfiringyou]

BTS - Pillow Talk (Suga x Jeong-sun)

Set a few days after their coffee date was interrupted. Yoongi realises it is Jeong-sun’s birthday and visits her apartment to give her a card. 

This is part of our ongoing story line in our headcanon universe & mentions several key events from Yoongi and Jeong-sun’s past relationship together which you may wish to read first. Most importantly, the events of ‘Making a sex/intimate tape with gf’, ‘Boat Party’ and ‘Suga and Jeong-sun break up’.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin  /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook & Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below cut

Jeong-sun scooped up the paper party plates which cluttered the kitchen island, their surfaces sticky with the remnants of chocolate cake, iced cookies and sandwich fillings. They joined the cocktail sticks from miniature sausages in the bottom of a black garbage-liner. The kitchen, which opened onto her living room, was too small to accommodate more than two people at a time, but she had tried her best; the evidence of her efforts laid bare for her now to see. She mopped up a small puddle of spilled soda before taking a large gulp from a red party cup, finishing off the few mouthfuls of Cherryade Yu-jin had left behind, before turning to another cup half-filled with Prosecco.

She was interrupted by the low drones of the electronic doorbell which badly needed its battery replacing. The chiming sound, slower than usual, was both incredibly creepy and disturbing and she wondered who was calling so late in the evening, if her dad or Yu-jin might have left something behind. She descended the stairs  to unlock the front door and, as always when answering at night, she left the safety chain on and peered out through the gap.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was curious and a little surprised as she quickly closed the door and unlatched the metal clasp, opening it fully, her heart racing a little.

“I didn’t know if you were busy.” Yoongi explained, hovering on the doorstep a little awkwardly. He was dressed casually in a black zip-up jacket and a pair of dark jeans paired with a navy beanie, but Jeong-sun couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over him. Knowing she wasn’t going anywhere that day, she had opted to wear an old pair of faded skinny jeans and a dark David Bowie T-shirt.

“I wanted to give you this.” He held out a cream coloured envelope which she took a little warily.

“What’s this?” She asked, turning it over in her hands. Her name was written on the front in Yoongi’s spindly, neat handwriting.

“It’s your birthday.” He shrugged. His voice was gentle but it made her frown nonetheless as she wondered how he had remembered; she didn’t think she had mentioned it to him the last time she saw him.

“Thanks.” She said, a little guiltily, suddenly wondering whether she should have invited him around after all. The thought had very briefly occurred to her as she made the phone call to Yu-Jin, but she knew her dad and brother would also be there and didn’t want him to feel awkward. Furthermore, she hadn’t really planned the get together herself; her dad had told her two days before that he was travelling to Seoul for the weekend and she invited Yu-Jin at the last minute.

“Do you want to come in?” She asked hopefully, standing aside to allow him into the hallway. They walked up the stairs in silence until they reached her apartment. “Sorry for the mess.” She apologised, closing the wooden door behind them.

“Did you have a party?” Yoongi asked, eyes roaming over the red plastic cups and balloons which had been sellotaped haphazardly to the walls. The number ‘30′ adorned several in bold, gaudy colours.  

“Not really...” She shrugged, moving to join him by the messy counter and putting down her jumble of keys and the envelope on the table. “Just my dad and brother. Yu-Jin came by for a bit.”

“She’s back in Seoul?” Yoongi turned to look at her with casual interest.

She nodded. “She’s got an interview tomorrow for a lecturer post.”

“Which university?”

“Seoul National.” Jeong-sun stepped past him to pick up the black bag she had discarded.

“Where’s your dad staying?” Yoongi asked, his eyes following her as she picked up a few empty red cups and stacked them before throwing them away.

“With my brother. He said the sofa was too small to sleep on.” She murmured.

Yoongi automatically looked over the kitchen island towards the sofa which, as usual, was covered in a pile of clothes waiting be ironed. He smirked. “He has a point.” Turning back, “Do you want some help?”

She shook her head, picking up the cup of Prosecco and taking a sip. “It’s nearly done.”

He ignored her refusal and beat her to a couple of stray party streamers which had been set off earlier in the evening, dropping them into the black bag which had been placed over the edge of a chair before turning his attention to the handful of balloons. She watched him with interest as he collected them, standing on his tiptoes to reach the higher ones her brother had put up, and bringing them to the table by the ribbons which had been tied around the end of each one. He glanced at one with a smile, turning it over so the number showed.

“How does it feel being thirty?” He teased, sliding the beanie from his hair and placing it on the table. Jeong-sun put down her Prosecco and reached for her keys, bursting the balloon with a quick, stabbing motion. Yoongi’s grin widened and she finished the alcohol in the plastic cup in one, long gulp, her mouth contorting at the taste.

His gums flashed in a smile which made her heart skip. “Does it taste good?”

“It did the job.” She replied drily, turning around to pick up the bottle which still had a few mouthfuls left. She grabbed a fresh red cup from a stack by the cooker and poured Yoongi the remainder. He took a hesitant sip and grimaced a little at the flat taste. The bottle had clearly been opened some time before. Jeong-sun didn’t notice as she finished clearing the rubbish and filling the bin-liner.

“There’s some cake in the fridge if you want a slice.” She offered.

Yoongi smiled, putting the half-full cup down. He was finding her floundering attempts to accommodate him strangely charming; her talents as a hostess no better now than when they first met.

“I’m okay.” He murmured good-naturedly as she turned back to him.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” She asked, meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t. I must have set a reminder on my phone.”

“Three years ago?”

He shrugged. “I kept forgetting to delete it.”

There was a pause between them as she let this sink in and found herself unable to keep her eyes on him, instead dropping them to the counter. They fixed on the cup of Prosecco which she took from the table and poured down the drain. “Do you want a hot drink?” She asked.

“Anything...” He murmured gratefully as she began to fill the electric kettle with water from the tap. He grabbed a wooden chair and sat himself at the make-shift table, watching as she grabbed a royal-purple container from the cupboard above her head and scooped three spoonfuls of brown powder into the two patterned mugs in front of her.

“I’m sorry I had to leave the other day.” She said without turning, pouring the boiling water and mixing the powder with a teaspoon.

“It’s fine.” He murmured, watching her.

“Hae-won would have been up all night if she didn’t have her painkillers.” She rambled with a small sigh as she picked up the mugs. “I’m going to have to ween her off them before she gets addicted.” She placed one beside Yoongi and the other on the opposite side of the island, hovering a little awkwardly beside him. “You can smoke if you want.” She finished, nodding towards the visible rectangular outline in his jacket pocket.

He paused before nodding and slipping the pack from his pocket. “Thanks.” He murmured.

She turned away and grabbed a little ceramic teabag holder from beside the kettle, placing it on the table to use as an ashtray. He flipped open the cardboard lid and hesitated before offering her the pack, stretching out his arm as she took one with a quiet thanks. She held it a little clumsily between her fingers. While he knew she wasn’t a smoker, he sensed she was looking for something to do which would calm her down. She had been surprisingly jittery and restless since he had stepped foot through the door and, if he was honest, her feelings and nerves were perfectly mirrored in himself; he had always just been better at hiding it.

He pulled his disposable Clipper from his pocket and lit the end for her, subconsciously waiting to see if she would cough and change her mind before turning to his own. They smoked for a few seconds in silence, the silver plumage filling the small room quickly. He found himself wondering whether she had smoke alarms fitted before remembering they had been disabled. His memory of her telling him this was hazy and he couldn’t quite remember the circumstances surrounding it but, either way, they weren’t going off now.

Jeong-sun watched the end of her cigarette blankly as the white paper turned to ash between her fingers as Yoongi eyed her silently, inhaling deeply and waiting for her to finally reveal what was troubling her.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this.” She eventually muttered, tapping the cigarette against the ceramic dish gently to flick the excess ash away.

“What?”

Her gaze was fixed on the stick between her fore and middle finger, as though in a daze. “Turning thirty.”

“What did you think it would feel like?” He asked gently.

“Like I’d accomplished something.” She took a quick drag, pressing the filter to her lips and exhaling hurriedly. “I just thought I’d have things figured out.”

He looked at her across the table. “It’s okay if you don’t.” He said soberly.

She ignored his comment and pressed on blankly. “I was in the pharmacy the other day and just thought about walking out.”

“What stopped you?”

She hesitated, frowning before answering. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s just frustrating.” There was a pause before she finally looked him straight in the eye. “Do you ever feel that way sometimes?”

He nodded. “Sometimes.” He murmured quietly, finishing his cigarette. There were countless times over the past decade when he had felt as though he were stuck in a loop; doing just enough to keep himself satisfied with his career but unable to reach his potential. While most people were unable to grasp how someone so successful could also be so unhappy at times, Jeong-sun had been one of the few people he had allowed to see that side of his life. He continued. “Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

“Like a shrink?” She asked, wide eyes.

He smiled a little. “Like your dad.”

She nodded, taking a final drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out on the make-shift ashtray. “He says I can do anything I put my mind to.” She murmured, unconvinced as she blew out her last trail of smoke in messy, discordant bursts.

Yoongi was silent for a moment, believing her dad to be right but knowing she wouldn’t see it that way. “You’ve got people that care about you.” He said gently.

“I know.” She sighed, suddenly sounding more self-aware and like her old-self. “I’m sorry, I’m just being mopey.”

He shook his head. “I felt the same.”

She looked at him, internally calculating when his thirtieth had been and realising that he would have still been in service. “Did you have anyone to talk to?”

He half-shrugged before falling silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on his interlocked hands resting on the table in front of him. “I thought about calling you.”

“While you were away?” She asked gently, unable to hide the trace of shock in her voice.

He nodded steadily. “I didn’t have your number.”

Remembering why, she smirked without much humour. “Idiot.” She joked.

“I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.” He admitted quietly.

“Why?”

“I thought you’d moved on.”

She hesitated before asking. “Had you?”

Raising his head, he collectedly met her gaze. “No.”

Her heart pounded in reply, voice trembling slightly. “Wasn’t there anyone else?”

He thought for a moment, wondering what she was asking. “Did I have sex?” He clarified.

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Twice.”

There was a pause. “How was it?” She sounded inquisitive; genuinely curious and he realised that while he had known about her dating the accountant, this was all new information to her.

“Fine.” He confessed, not knowing whether it had been best to be honest until she reacted, nodding once.

“Good.” Her expression was soft and genuine, without much more than the smallest trace of jealousy. He realised that she was relieved to hear this. That while he may have not moved on emotionally, he was at least not masochistic enough to remain celibate for all that time.

There was a pause before he returned the question. “What about you?”

Her mouth curled at one corner as she gestured with her fore and middle finger, signalling two in a V shape.

“How was it?” Yoongi asked, mirroring her earlier question and making her laugh.

“Not that great.” She confessed with a grin, shaking her head. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“It’s fine.” She calmed down her chuckles and gestured to his mug. “How’s the hot chocolate?” She asked.

“Hot.” He quipped, feeling slight relief at the change in topic. He took a sip and set the mug back down while she echoed his movement, drinking some of hers and letting out a little approving murmur at the taste. She had recently taken to drinking cocoa before bedtime, figuring it would help her sleep a lot better than her usual cup of milky coffee.

“I got it from the corner shop, it’s a British brand.” She explained casually, taking another few sips.

“I thought it tasted sweeter.”

That reminded her. “How was London?”

“They drive on the wrong side of the road.” He said drolly, taking another drink as she smiled in reply.

“I’ve always wanted to go.” She said wistfully.

“Maybe you could book some time off.” He suggested.

“Maybe.” She sounded doubtful as she finished her hot chocolate and placed the mug back down on the counter which served as a table.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asked curiously.

“No, they gave me the weekend off.” She looked at him. “Are you tired?”

“No, are you?” He met her gaze, observing that, like the last time they had met, she was looking overworked.

She shrugged. “A little bit.” Standing up, she walked around the edge of the counter and collected his finished mug along with her own, placing them carefully in the plastic bowl which sat in the sink.

“Do you want me to go?” His eyes followed her as she ran a little hot water into the bowl to soak the cups. While he was enjoying her company and wanted nothing more than to spend more time with her, he didn’t like the thought of keeping her awake when she looked so tired. He had deliberately waited until the evening to visit her after realising it was her birthday, the first reason being that he needed to go out and get her a card and the second that he didn’t want to interrupt her if she had any special plans. Now, however, he felt guilty for keeping her up so late after what had clearly been a busy day.

“I like having you here.” She admitted, her reply taking him by surprise and making his stomach flutter a little. He cleared his throat which steadied his heart-rate a little and allowed him to breathe a little better. The kitchen and living room still had a hazy quality to it caused by the smoke from the cigarettes they had smoked earlier.

“How’s your boiler?” He asked with interest.

“It’s rattling a bit.” She admitted with a remorseful blush.

“Do you want me to take a look?”

“You don’t have to...I’m just happy it’s working.” She said, already feeling he had done enough for her where her run-down boiler was concerned.

“I don’t mind.” He stood up before she had time to protest and started walking around the counter, heading for the door at the end of the living room which led to her bathroom and bedroom. “The screw’s probably just loose.” He explained as he waited for her to catch him up and grant him access to the room at the end of the narrow corridor. She had attempted to tidy it in anticipation of her dad and brother’s visit earlier in the day and Yoongi thought it was possibly the most un-chaotic he had ever seen it. Her bed was neatly made with dark blue bed-sheets and her bedside table, usually covered with a jumble of assorted tokens and trinkets, was bare save for her cell phone which laid in the centre.

He made a beeline for the white boiler unit which sat in the corner of the room.  Despite his comment one night during their time together that it was not really safe to have it in the bedroom and that she should complain to her landlord, she had dismissed his concern, saying there wasn’t enough room to have it elsewhere in the apartment and that he was fussing over nothing; that she had been fine so far. He glanced at the carbon monoxide alarm he had placed on the carpet below the pipes as he unclasped the front of the unit, and considered that he should have bought her one years ago to keep her safe.

Jeong-sun watched with a smirk, sitting on the edge of her double bed as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his keys, fiddling with the various useful tools he kept on his key-ring before he found the miniature screwdriver. Pushing it into the side of the unit carefully, he tightened the screws around the air pressure switch before replacing the covering and turning to face Jeong-sun.

She looked up at him from her place on the sheets, her body still as he edged closer and sat beside her when he realised she wasn’t going to get up. A moment of silence passed between them before she leaned forward and slipped off her socks, discarding them one at a time on the carpeted floor.

“I’m sorry, my feet stink.” She joked, breaking some of the nervousness before shuffling backwards onto the bed and slipping quietly under the quilt. His eyes never left her as she nestled against the pillow, leaning on one side in her usual sleeping position.

“Can you stay?” She asked gently. Yoongi couldn’t quite gather the tone of her voice and wondered whether she was asking or requesting but his heart sped up nonetheless at the sound of her voice and the implication of her words.

“If you want me to.” He looked back at her, over his shoulder, from his seated position on the covers. In the moment of silence which followed, Yoongi wondered whether she was going to change her mind before she spoke.

“Turn out the light.”

He complied with her request and flicked the switch on the wall by the door before slipping his low-topped Converse from his bare feet and leaving them by the edge of the bed. From her position against her pillow, Jeong-sun heard the sound of a zipper being unfastened as Yoongi removed his outer jacket and placed it on the spare chair in the corner of the room before moving onto the bed. She felt his weight beside her and could just about make out his shape from over her shoulder as he laid beside her on the duvet. The curtains she had recently bought did a good job of blocking out the obnoxious glare of the street lamps outside her window and cast the bedroom into darkness.

Her pulse coursed through her whole body; trembling in the tips of her fingers and soles of her feet as they laid there in silence. Over the past few years, many of the restaurants and takeaway houses near her apartment had closed and been boarded up, meaning the area was now much quieter than it had been in the days when she had been with Yoongi. Along with the sound of her heart racing in her ears, only the low churning of water in the pipes from her boiler and the steady, comforting sound of his breathing behind her cut the still silence and she wondered whether he could hear her; whether he was just as nervous. She knew that when she finally spoke, her voice would tremble but, in that moment, she needed him to know.

“I never told you I’m sorry.” She said, her voice louder than anticipated in the otherwise quiet space and making her recoil a little.

“You don’t need to.” He murmured quietly, his voice appropriately personal.  

She shuffled, lowering her voice. “It wasn’t easy.”

“I know it wasn’t. I don’t blame you.” He admitted, pausing. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

The reality of how likely this outcome had been suddenly hit her, making her ache. “You neither.” She agreed. “I saw the news reports when you first went in, but I didn’t feel like I could just call you.”

He thought about this for a moment, considering his own brief urge to tell her about his enlistment when he saw her in the supermarket two years before. “It would have just made things harder.” He realised with a heavy heart. “If I had felt like I was leaving someone behind...”

Despite wishing she could take back the pain and anguish she had caused him three years ago, she knew he was right.

“I’m glad you came over.“ She said honestly. “I didn’t expect you to.”

She felt Yoongi move in closer, his breath close against her neck. “I wanted to. After the park...” He purred, remembering the way she had momentarily taken his hand in hers, and the way it made him feel. Reaching out now over her covered waist, he brushed his palm over the back of her hand, holding it in place against her stomach. In response, she curled her fingers against him, slipping them through his.

“It felt nice...” She whispered breathily, knowing he would be able to feel her pulse in her fingertips. “And this feels nice.” She confessed, gently squeezing his hand.

“Mm.” He murmured in agreement, his body naturally moving closer against her back, fitting against her curves  and spooning her gently as she clutched his hand to hers, tightly nestled against her covered stomach.

“I still have your jacket.” She said after a moment.

“The leather one?”

She smiled to herself. “I don’t remember you giving it to me.”

“Me neither.” He admitted.

“Do you want it back?” She asked.

His breath brushed the back of her neck as he cuddled her, making the tiny, fine hairs there stand on end. “It always suited you better...”

She felt him shift behind her, finally un-tucking the bed-cover from his side of the mattress and sliding beneath it to join her. She internally sighed at the loss of contact as he let go of her hand to adjust the covers, before he returned to her. He snuggled close against her back and caressed the backs of her knuckles with his thumb, wrapping his arm against her stomach.

“Are you cold?” She asked, feeling the chill of his body against her back through both their t-shirts.

“Do I feel cold?” He asked with a murmur.

She smirked. “A bit.” Brushing her hand affectionately along his forearm, she appreciated the soft, fine hairs which grew there, along with the outlines of his tendons and veins, with her fingertips. She had forgotten how easily his body seemed to lose heat and how he would often shiver through the night if she didn’t wrap him up in her arms and share her warmth with him. “I’ve got a hot water bottle if you want it.” She offered.

“I’m alright.” He mumbled against her ear, his lips brushing her lobe delicately as he spoke. “You’re warm...”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had been held like this; with someone’s body wrapped so lovingly around hers in a way which felt both agonisingly familiar and excitingly novel.

“Did you think about me while you were away?” She whispered as she cradled his arm against her torso, stroking the soft skin there gently.

“Mainly memories.” He murmured in a low voice.  

“Like what?”

He paused for a moment, thinking. “You making me birthday cake.”

She grinned in the darkness though he couldn’t see her. She hadn’t thought of that day, four years ago, in years and his answer took her by surprise. “The one I burned?” She asked, misremembering the finer details of which version of the cake she finally presented to Yoongi.

“It tasted great anyway.” He shrugged, his voice dreamy in thought. “I remember you had flour in your hair. I saw the pictures on your phone later.”

Jeong-sun smirked. The detail of the many photographs, documenting the evolution of the cake she did remember, along with another titbit...

“Did you watch the video?” She asked.

Yoongi let out a breathy laugh, remembering. “The first five minutes.”

“Why just five?” She quipped, eyebrow raised to herself. “It got good after that.”

He brushed his thumb over her back of her hand warmly. “I didn’t need to watch it, I remembered just fine.”

His confession made her feel breathless and tingly all over. It felt strange to hear him talk about something so private they had shared so long ago. “What do you remember?” She asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper ringing in the dark.

He laughed softly against her ear, his breath warm and lulling and giving her goosebumps along her arms. “Do you want me to draw a diagram?” He quipped, making her grin.

“It’s dark...” She laughed.

He waited for her to calm down, for her body to stop quivering with exhalations before he spoke. “You looked really beautiful.” He recalled candidly.

Jeong-sun’s breath hitched. The eerie silence of the night and the cosiness of his body against hers under the covers was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. “I realised I loved you just before...when you were on tour.” She confessed. While, half an hour before, she would have felt awkward and bashful giving Yoongi this information, it suddenly didn’t seem strange to speak so earnestly. The memory of that day came flooding back and she remembered sitting on the floor in her bedroom with tears in her eyes as she realised; unable to tell him and not knowing what to do with this brand new emotion.

“For me it was just before that.” Yoongi revealed. Like Jeong-sun, the memory suddenly seemed clear. “The thought of two months without you was...” He drifted off, unable to find the right words to finish. Jeong-sun nodded against him, letting him know she understood.

“I wish we’d have had more time to spend together.” She finished for him, whispering sorrowfully as her fingers once more found his and slipped through them.

He nuzzled against her, shifting his body slightly to rest his chin against her shoulder. “We have it now.” He purred against her lobe.

She felt a wave of alleviation wash through her as she realised he was right and closed her eyes; the low rumble of his voice sent a pleasant tremor through her body. “I always felt like I was being pulled away from you.” She said, finally able to vocalise her frustration after so long.

“It bothered me to.” He agreed, instinctively pulling her closer by the waist. “I couldn’t get enough of you.”

The slight shift in his body alerted her to the fact he was a little hard beneath his jeans; the soft swell of him comforting against her backside. “Like on the yacht...” She breathed.

“In the closet.” He finished, agreeing.

She licked her dry lips. Her throat suddenly felt hoarse. “I wouldn’t have cared even if we did get caught.” She realised as she said it that she meant it; that it was a sentiment untainted by nostalgia and, while she hadn’t realised it at the time, being caught would have been a relief and would have solved some, if not all of their problems. She let go of his hand and rolled around slowly to face him; his outline clear now that her eyes were well adjusted to the darkness. Reaching out, she touched his waist gently, her breath warm against his face as she spoke in barely more than a whisper. “I just needed to have you inside of me.”

His breath was strained but his movements controlled as he ran one palm up her side slowly, thumb briefly brushing the edge of her breast before curling into the back of her hair, holding her close to him. “You felt so good. I wouldn’t have cared either...” He pressed his forehead against hers, the tops of their noses touching. “When you came around me...”

She moved her palm slowly away from his waist, feeling the ragged, breathy exhalation of his breath against her cheek as she felt between their bodies, across his thigh and, briefer than brief, over his strained outline before finding his spare hand. She held it in hers as they cuddled in silence, the sound of their breathing lulling and comforting in the otherwise quiet and dark space. Eventually, just as he was about to drift, he felt her fingers squeeze his reassuringly.

“I missed you.” She whispered and he sighed heavily, pulling away to rest his chin gently on top of her head and nestling her face into his neck. She breathed in the sweet, comforting scent of his skin, her cheek against his collarbone as they fell asleep.

***

They had naturally moved apart at some point in the night and it was Yoongi who grabbed her phone first when the opening synthesised beat of Blue Monday began to play, waking them both up with a jolt. He reached over to the bedside table to palm to device and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She murmured sleepily, swiping the screen and turning off the alarm. She discarded the cell on the sheets as her body slowly woke up.

“You moved your table.” Yoongi murmured casually.

“The streetlights were waking me up so I switched sides.” She explained with a yawn. “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” He looked over at her briefly, feeling his breath hitch despite her dishevelled morning appearance, before rolling on his back to face the ceiling. They lay in silence for a few minutes as they remembered the events of the previous night; how perfect everything had seemed as they whispered sweet-nothings, clinging to each other in the dark. The room in the stark morning light felt worlds away from that dreamy atmosphere  and they both felt a little awkward and bashful.

Eventually, Jeong-sun sat up and perched on the edge of the bed, bare toes skimming the carpet as he watched her in silence.

“I should put on some coffee...” She murmured, standing up and stretching before plodding out of the room. She paced around the island in the kitchen, pushing her tangled hair away from her forehead with both hands as she breathed deeply, trying to calm the fluttery sensation in her chest and stomach. Reaching out, she filled the coffee machine with fresh grounds and, feeling restless while waiting for it to brew, moved over to the fridge and pulled out the crumby remainder of her chocolate cake. There was a sealed packet of napkins by the microwave and she slipped one out of the covering and wrapped up a large slice for Yoongi.

In the bedroom, Yoongi pulled aside the quilt and sat on the mattress, brushing his dark hair from his eyes and trying to smooth it a little with the ball of his palms. He hadn’t bothered to cut it in the past few weeks and it had grown back to the length it had been before he enlisted. He could hear the splashing sound of the running tap from the kitchen and couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander over the events from the small hours of the morning, his stomach filling with butterflies as he remembered the way she held his waist as she turned to face him, her hand finding his hand in the dark. He recalled the familiar way her body smelt; of oats and coffee and roses and sighed as he got to his feet. He slipped on the jacket he had removed the night before and put on his Converse before heading down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Do you want toast?” Jeong-sun asked as she finished adding sugar to her own coffee. He saw she had already slipped two rounds of bread into the polka-dot toaster which sat on the side and nodded. She smiled, turning away from him at the sound of the machine popping and placing the pieces of brown bread onto two small plates.

“You like marmalade don’t you?” She murmured gingerly. “My dad saw it in my cupboard once and keeps bringing me the vile stuff.” Turning around, she held up the orange-coloured jar and smirked. He nodded and watched as she spread it thickly onto two slices. He had never liked it that much but didn’t have the heart to tell her. Instead, he ate in silence, without fuss, washing down the  taste by taking a large gulp of coffee from the mug she placed in front of him. She ate her toast plain, nibbling at it without much vigour.

“I hope you didn’t have to be anywhere last night.” She said. “I just...I didn’t want to be alone.”

Yoongi met her gaze and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to be alone on your birthday.” He said quietly, reassuringly. She felt sad as she realised that he was thinking of his own thirtieth and how he had been away from those he loved. “I don’t have anywhere to be until eleven.” He confirmed.

“Photoshoot?”

"A surveyors coming to assess the roof.”

“Oh.” She muttered. His reply took her by surprise as she remembered the level of commitments he had had during their time together; how his schedule never seemed to end. She checked the little, rectangular pearl face of her watch. “That’s in forty-five minutes.”

He shrugged, finishing his last bite of toast. “I walk fast.”

“Here...” She reached for the folded napkin on the counter. “Take some cake home with you.”

He took it from her and unfolded one corner, peering at the brown lump.

“Thanks.” He grinned a shyly, it didn’t look that appetising and had started to lose its shape in the napkin, but he found the gesture thoughtful. He remembered how skittish she had been the previous evening while trying to make him feel welcome and how that awkwardness hadn’t quite dissipated. Refolding the package, he slipped it into his jacket pocket along with his cell and keys and, taking a final gulp of coffee, moved towards the door.

“Do you know how to work the lock downstairs? You just push it.” She fretted, hovering behind him.

“I remember.” He murmured as she unhooked the safety latch and opened the door. He stepped onto the other side and paused. “I’ll text you...”

“Okay.” She looked at him, her eyes roaming over his features as they stood a little fumblingly on either side of the doorway, unsure on what else to say. He fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, adjusting the collar.

“Happy birthday.” He added, his voice soft.

Her eyes were wide, jaw a little tense as she looked at him. If he looked close enough, he would have seen her jugular vein twitching as her heart worked overtime. He turned to leave.

“Don’t I get a birthday kiss?” She blurted, feeling her entire body cringe with embarrassment as he turned back to face her. She hadn’t been aware she was going to speak until the words left her mouth and her face features soured at the realisation. A small, gummy smile tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he looked at her, realising she was chastising herself for her outburst.

He glanced at his shoes timidly before stepping closer, bridging the gap between them. She let out a small murmur of approval as his lips met hers softly, his hand moving to lightly touch the back of her head as they kissed. They both felt weak as they moved slowly against one another, their lips caressing each other as they found a comfortable, leisurely rhythm. The kiss, while intense, was brief and all too soon he moved away, having to leave. She felt her knees tremble beneath her.

“Okay?” He asked softly, pulling his hand from her dark hair as he stepped back.

“Okay.” She confirmed with a nervous laugh, nodding her head as she looked up at him with large, expressive eyes.

He smiled in reply, adjusting the zip on his jacket as he waved delicately. “Bye.” He murmured, reluctantly moving away to make his way down the stairs.

“Bye..” She replied weakly, watching from behind as he reached the top step at the end of the narrow hall.

Slowly, she closed the door behind her and refastened the safety latch, listening to the sound of the front door downstairs opening and closing before retreating into the kitchen. She hovered by the island, unsure what to do with herself and unable to process what had just happened. She clutched the hair on her scalp in her palms, tugging the hair away from her skull a little roughly as she tried to calm her breathing. Unable to keep still, she walked over to the counter and flicked the electric kettle on out of habit, pressing her fingers into the cold mock-marble of the tops to ground herself as she waited for it to boil.

She found a single chamomile teabag at the bottom of her enamel caddy and placed it into a clean mug, pouring the hot water over it before sitting at the table, clutching the vessel between her palms as the sweet memories of last night came flooding back, merging with the soft, tingly feel of his lips against hers as they kissed in the hallway. Although it had happened only ten minutes before, the memory was already starting to feel unreal, as though it had happened to someone else and not her. There had been a time, not so long before, when she had been confident she would never feel his touch again.

Looking down at the table, she noticed the cream coloured envelope she had discarded and reaching out, she took it between her fingers and read her name in his delicate, gentle script. Her drink lay forgotten as she trailed into the bedroom and flopped down heavily onto the bed, feeling exhausted as well as elated. She teased open the corners, sliding the card from its confines and glancing at the cover for a moment. It was the type of card you could pick up at any convenience store or gas station, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY were written on a pink balloon held by a teddy bear, but the feel of it in her hand and the thought of him going out to buy it for her made her stomach flutter. Carefully, she opened it to read the message inside. HAPPY BIRTHDAY was once again typed in the centre and, below that, he had simply written Yoongi. She starred at the page for some time, fingers gently tracing the thin, black lines of his name, as though they were fragile and might break.

She remembered, with heated cheeks, how he had recalled the previous night the detail about his birthday cake she made him four years before, and how he had described the way she looked as they made love on the sofa. Hearing him call her beautiful, after so long, had made entire body ache fiercely; she couldn’t recall when she had last felt this way, if ever. After Yoongi, there had been two others; the accountant she had dated for several months and one man she had met in a club on one of her last outings with Angel. The experience had been a calamity and she had sneaked out of his apartment when he disappeared to use the bathroom, halfway through sex. She realised as she leaned over to prop the card on her bedside table, that she had never made love with anyone but Yoongi and, listening to him detail how she made him feel; remembering the details so vividly after so many years, had brought her own memories back in full flood.

She reached for her forgotten cell phone and found herself pulling up his name in her contacts, wondering whether it was too soon to call him and whether he would be home yet. She read through their last messages, remembering how she had texted him after finishing their date prematurely.

“It’s okay, the store had the right pills.” Her text read, followed by his reply: “That’s good. I hope she’s okay.”

She opened a new chat window and began typing: “thank you for”, she quickly deleted it and started again “I liked the card, thank you.” Feeling foolish, she tapped the back key before she had time to send and sighed. Her heart was still racing in her rib-cage, she could hear its thud echoing throughout the otherwise silent room and she regretted drinking her morning cup of coffee. At this rate, her blood pressure wouldn’t slow before midday.

Remaining on his name, she clicked on the camera icon and starred at her reflection on the screen; her dark hair fanning out around her face against the duvet and her cheeks and chest flushed pink, as though she had recently reached orgasm. Her fingertips felt tingly and her stomach refused to stop churning with fluttery butterflies as she tugged on the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over the soft curves of her stomach and chest before allowing it to pool beneath her throat. She used her spare hand to slip her breasts over the top of her plain black bra and ran her thumb briefly over the nipples, sighing at the contact as the pink buds hardened to her touch. Adjusting the phone to the side to capture this view and pushing her breasts together with her arms, she clicked on the camera icon. Her face wasn’t visible in the shot, but she knew he would recognise her regardless. She wondered whether she should take it from a more flattering angle, before realising if she didn’t send it now, she would back out altogether. She clicked the send button and watched as the photograph moved into the chat window, below their last message.

She starred blankly at the screen, the giddiness in her chest being replaced by nerves as she realised what she had done with slight disbelief. She waited to see if Yoongi would reply, her eyelids growing heavier by the second as her body sank into the bed covers, but soon fell asleep waiting for a response.

***

Thanks for reading!

Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon.

You can find all of the member’s headcanon fics in order here:  RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

& our full masterlist can be found here

You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)

[skamandallthat]

Less Than Five Minutes (Part 4/?)

As I wrote this scene my heart started racing. I've realized that this story has included a lot of inspiration from the story I've been writing and rewriting since I was 13, never getting it right. I know it's late and I'm probably delirious but this feels like something I was meant to write. It feels like I'm finally getting those scenes out of my head that have been stuck for so many years. This is so cathartic. I'm pumping these out so fast because its a story that's been sitting in me for so long. I have to get it out, even at the expense of sleep. You guys are the best, thank you.

Again, this is on ao3 if you want to read it there :))

--

When the door opens, loud blaring music flows into the street. Is this house soundproof? Matteo thinks, and David must be thinking something similar based on how wide his eyes are. David turns his head to look at Matteo and Matteo does the same.

Thank you. David mouths.

They give each other one last look before walking through the door.

It's almost scary how naturally it all goes. As they walk through the door Matteo places his hand on David's lower back. He feels the muscles there flutter and then relax. David's jaw tenses. It sends chills down Matteo's spine.

The place is packed. There's barely any room for walking which is why it's so surprising when immediately they see Laura swimming through the crowd to come greet them. David looks at Matteo. He looks terrified. Matteo runs his hand along David's lower back to his side, leaves it there, gently and then mouths,

"I've got this, okay?"

David nods.

He tries not to notice David's breath hitching as his hand moves.

"Babies!" Laura exclaims as she arrives.

Laura pulls them both into a hug, closing the distance between David and Matteo completely. He swears he hears a sound come out of one of them. It was hard to discern. Laura smells like lavender and alcohol. An interesting combination.

"You must be Laura." Matteo removes his hand from David's back and offers it out to Laura. She takes it, and her handshake is strong. Matteo beams at her.

"And you, the infamous Matteo!" Laura squeals.

"You're sloppy tonight." David tells her, laughing.

"Mm. Yeah. Affirmative." The last word comes out more as one syllable than four.

"Well, I'm gonna go get a drink. Apparently I have many levels to hit until I reach yours." David replies. Laura laughs.

Matteo straightens. Grabs David's hand. David looks down at their hands linking and then back up at Matteo. The shock on his face is so apparent that for a moment Matteo thinks he's done something wrong and loosens his grip. But David doesn't let him. He holds Matteo's hand firmly and squeezes it.

"I can get you a drink." Matteo says, breathless.

"Okay."

Their hands parting feels like it happens in slow motion.

As Matteo pours their drinks in the kitchen, he can see David and Laura still talking. He reads her lips as she points at him indiscreetly.

"He's cute!"

He swears he sees David smile at that. He swears he sees him nod. And then David's turning his head and they lock eyes... and Matteo must have a very telling look on his face because David just raises his eyebrows like: and what about it?

Matteo nearly loses his mind. He definitely pours too much into the cup and it spills over.

The first hour is easy. They sit next to each other on a couch in the corner. They talk like normal. Except whenever Laura is in the room there's an added layer. There are added touches.

The second hour... the second hour is priceless.

Matteo makes some joke and when David laughs, instead of throwing his head back, it lands on Matteo's chest. Matteo wonders for a moment if David could feel his heartbeat. It's pounding.

They've each had a few drinks by now. Matteo can definitely feel it. The warmth in his bloodstream, the buzzing in his head. It's good. He's tipsy. It's not too much, just enough to add to this. To help him really feel it. He doesn't want to miss this.

Matteo turns his gaze from the crowd to David and finds David looking at him. Piercingly. Lovingly. Is this the alcohol? That's a glimmer, right? That's what I saw in the beginning, right? Please, don't let it be the alcohol. Let it be David.

David smiles and his head drags towards the crowd slowly, his eyes only leaving Matteo's at the last second. His cheeks are flushed, and he takes another sip of his drink. Matteo's eyes dart immediately to the collision of his mouth with the cup. David takes a swig and then licks his lips. Matteo can hardly breathe. David huffs out a laugh. Matteo smiles.

"What?"

"You're staring."

"And?"

"You're drunk."

"Makes this easier." Matteo admits. Felt like the right thing to say. David swallows and turns towards his head back towards Matteo. He nods, just once, just barely, but Matteo catches it. He feels like he's catching everything. He feels like he's catching David. Everything is slow enough.

Eyes drift down to lips.

Back up to eyes.

Once, twice.

And then,

"Do you want to dance?"

How is everything feeling both so surreal and more real than it ever has?

"Yes."

David sets down his cup.

There isn't really a dance floor. But music is playing and people are moving and it feels right.

The song is electronic but moody. Matteo feels it in his bones. He thinks David does too. Because as soon as they reach the middle of the room after parting through the sea of moving people, David starts moving like he's never heard another song. Like this song was made for him.

Matteo's never been one to dance. Never been one to know how to just let go and feel it and move just for the sake of moving. But David is. His eyes are closed and he's smiling wide, gums and all. He's stunning. Matteo always knew that but in this moment it's just so clear. Painfully clear.

So Matteo can't resist, he can't help but move the same, give into the pull of David because honestly? This is all that matters. David is all that matters so it just feels right, it just feels inevitable when Matteo is moving right up in front of David and placing a hand on his waist. And even though it didn't seem possible that David could smile wider, he does. And Matteo notices.

Suddenly the song changes. It's still danceable but the tempo is slower. David's hips move accordingly. Matteo just follows David. And then David's arm is resting on Matteo's shoulder and they're getting impossibly closer. Every sway to the beat drawing them nearer to each other and nearer to the truth. Matteo's tells himself that. We're closer. We're getting there.

Matteo feels like he hasn't taken a breath in minutes. He's dizzy. How is he supposed to breathe when their hips are locked and David moves like it's his job and they're so close that Matteo can make out every single eyelash on David's unbelievable face? It's unreal. And then Matteo notices David's not smiling anymore and his heart drops but then his eyes open, and his pupils are blown and they just stare.

David looks so ridiculously honest in that moment that Matteo swears to himself he'll never let go.

Never, ever. This is it. This is real. This is the truth.

David's lips part. Matteo takes in a sharp breath.

"Why is it easier?"

The question feels like a dare, and Matteo goes to speak, but as soon as his mouth opens David looks away. He takes just the slightest step back. And Matteo almost reaches out, almost tells him why it's easier, anyway. Almost stops David from taking it back. Retracting the question, the progress. But he doesn't.

Because he suddenly feels very sober and because... pretend.

David grabs his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it.

"Shit. It's almost 1am. I- " Matteo looks down at his feet. He should've seen this coming. Idiot. "I have work tomorrow." Matteo looks up, slowly. David's waiting for him there. Eyes sorry. "I have to go."

"You're not biking." Matteo declares. He's had too much to drink.

"No, I'll get a ride with Laura. She can fit my bike in the trunk." David bites his lip. "Are you good? Do you need a ride?"

Is he good? The question sounds laughable right now.

"I'm fine."

David's face falls. He thinks for a second. For a moment it looks as if David's changing his mind, but then he nods, curtly.

"Okay. I'll call you tomorrow." Matteo nods, gives him the best smile he can muster. But he knows without a doubt it sucks. He's not fine. Will he ever be?

David turns slowly, about to take a step, but then turns back, puts a hand on Matteo's shoulder and kisses his cheek. It's gentle, but he stays there a moment longer than Matteo would have expected before letting go. "Bye."

Matteo stays exactly where David left him, defeated, for longer than he'd like to admit.

So much for being thrown bones. These bones were lies.

He's a liar.

[nekokoaa]

Stare - Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Stare

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader 

A special something for reaching 200 followers and counting. I’m thinking about doing a little something like this for every 100 followers I gain. Maybe I’ll do a little vote for what character I should do when we reach 300 followers! Thank you all! I love you guys!

5K words!

The way he looked at you were like two fiery stars in the cosmos, burning brilliantly and indefinitely while being surrounded by the shrouded cape of infinity.

Bakugo couldn’t remember when it became a hobby to stare at you. He often found himself gazing out the window of his classroom, receiving the lecture through a blur of sounds as if his head was underneath the pool of water outside the yard. His crimson eyes were upon the cerulean sky, its space filled with cotton stuffed clouds that moved leisurely across the horizon. There were trees in the distance, its leaves were as still as a beetle’s wings on a summer morning, fluttering when the soft breeze brushes through them. His fingers were pushing up against his cheek when he laid his head against his knuckles. The scowl on his face couldn’t compare to the gentle atmosphere beyond those windows. 

It was then when he heard a soft melody through the crowded muffles of his teacher’s voice was when his head was finally out of the water. His red eyes were no longer clashing with the sky but instead, they were at the front of the class. First row, third seat, near the teacher’s desk, burning holes onto the back of your head. It was like he was under a spell the moment he heard you speak, his mind couldn’t comprehend the words that left you, but he knew you had his full attention. You were asking a question and that’s all he got from it. He could tell you were smiling even though your face was no where to be seen. You were speaking softly and light as if your voice was glass to be shattered in a single drop. You were shifting uncomfortably in your seat for whatever reason and the heel of your shoes were tapping against the tile floors like a woodpecker abusing a tree.

Bakugo noticed you always did that whenever you were speaking in class. He always assumed you were shy when speaking but after watching you with Midoriya and Uraraka, it proved him wrong. It was when you shined the brightest. Like you were the sun that shined your rays upon the chilly planets, waking them from their dark slumber. Without you, they would orbit mindlessly without direction, frozen in time and dead without your light. Midoriya and Uraraka was proof of that. When you were absent from school a few days straight, they grew worried, packed their bags, and went to visit your house. Bakugo wasn’t spared an invitation from them, but his stubbornness prevented him from going. He was worried, but he didn’t want them to know. Instead, he walked home with Kirishima, his scowl deeper than his hands in his pockets.

Bakugo never found out what happened to you during those days. You returned to school normal, your light still as bright as ever like the newborn sun that pierced through the retreating clouds of a storm. He was relieved, but it was hard to tell through his usual furrowed brows.

Class was over in a flash and Bakugo swore he created holes all over your back because his gaze never left you during the lecture. He watched you pack your books in your bag and soon, Uraraka was by your side. He didn’t know what you were talking about with her, but he knew whatever it was, it was making you giggle. You brought a hand to your mouth to cover the laughs that bounce their way out of you and with that same hand, you brushed your bangs away from your eyes and hooked them behind your ears. He knew whenever you did that you were nervous about something.

“Midoriya!” Uraraka waved at Midoriya who had just packed his bags. He usually sat behind Bakugo which greatly annoyed Bakugo. “We’re going Karaoke! Want to join?” 

“Karaoke?” Midoriya repeated the word in interest and a sea of voices followed him. One by one, the male students of 1-A surrounded him while the girls surrounded you and Uraraka. 

“Karaoke? Can we join?” Ashido, with her pink bubble gum smile, and Tsuyu, with her wide one, was by your side. You were also smiling, soon nodding to answer them. They threw their arms up in celebration, their high-pitched cheers can be heard around the room and possibly out the hall. Bakugo sighed, his gaze shifting from you to the presence of Kirishima who just came to him. He had his usual cheerful grin while he greeted him. 

“You going, Bakugo? Seems like fun.” Bakugo snorted, occasionally glancing at the group of girls. His eyes were only on you. Kirishima took note of that, his grin only growing wider as he looked between Bakugo and you. “Come on. It’s not like we have anything to do after.” 

“Iida, Todoroki, do you also want to come?” Midoriya’s smile is directed at them and by the looks of it, they were willing to go. Iida greatly encouraged karaoke as a class bonding trip and Todoroki wanted to tag along for similar reasons. Mineta and Kaminari also greatly expressed their desire to join, their eyes shamelessly locked on to the girls as inappropriate thoughts ran through their minds. Bakugo wanted to hit them. He hoped you weren’t one of the ones who crossed their perverted minds.

“Wow, Bakugo, you’re coming?” When the boys approached the girls, Tsuyu was surprised at seeing Bakugo being a part of the group. He usually skipped when the class wanted to hang out together. He never wanted to participate in these events before, so she wondered what changed. 

“I’m not fucking singing.” You were looking at Bakugo. 

“What’s the point of coming if you’re not going to sing?” Uraraka asked. Bakugo hated that confused look on your face when you looked at him. It made him feel stupid. 

“Whatever.” His grumble was as low as a car’s engine. He tore away his eyes from you. He couldn’t stand that look on your face. 

“I might not sing too but I’m definitely in need for some food.” Kirishima’s positive attitude brought a soft smile to your face, and Bakugo wasn’t happy about that.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not singing. I think as long as you join us, it’ll be fun either way!” Your voice made Bakugo’s eyes return to you. You were looking at both Bakugo and Kirishima, your smile as bright as it could be. You were truly the sun in his eyes. How much he would give to see that smile always shining on him. He didn’t care if it would blind him or burn him, as long as it was only for him.

The whole of class 1-A was making their way to Karaoke in the city. The class was split up into its own groups. You were in the front with Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida while Bakugo was lagging right behind you. He was trying his best not to stare at the back of your head like he did in class. He was hearing Kirishima talking, but it was muffled. When his attention was on you, it was like he was blind, deaf, and dumb to everything around him except you. He thought it was stupid that you made him feel this way. He thought it was stupid feeling like he was weak to you. He thought it was stupid hearing you laugh, and his stomach doing flips. He thought it was stupid, so, so stupid. And yet, it felt like he craved stupidity if it meant it involved you. 

“So stupid…” He grumbled under his breath and Kirishima thought he was responding the story he was telling. He laughed at him, his sharp teeth showing.

“Yeah, I thought it was stupid too.” When Bakugo didn’t respond to his words, it was then when he noticed his attention was elsewhere, and that “elsewhere” was you. Kirishima knew Bakugo had it bad, but he didn’t think it was this bad. His mind was just filled with you 24/7, and Kirishima couldn’t pinpoint when Bakugo started acting like this. But he knew Bakugo couldn’t get rid of this love sickness as easily as he hoped. Kirishima couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face. He raised his hand and slapped it hard against Bakugo’s back. Bakugo jumped, the hairs around his body upright as he shouted at Kirishima. 

“What the hell!” He glared daggers at Kirishima. Bakugo’s scream made you glance back at him. Kirishima took note of this but Bakugo didn’t. He was too occupied on figuring out why Kirishima had struck him. With Bakugo’s attention finally on him, he grinned, his eyes flickering to you and Bakugo as he threw him a thumbs-up.

“I’ll help you out!” He stated with his trademark smile and Bakugo’s eyes widen for a moment before he tore them away from his red headed friend. He looked angry, but Kirishima swore he saw his cheeks dusted in red.

It wasn’t long until the class reached the Karaoke place. The class booked a large booth for all of them to fit. The costs are split between your classmates which made the bill insanely cheap. The booths were decorated with a semi-large flat screen tv, and several comfy couches were in front of three large tables with already several glasses of water and a pitcher on it. When it was time to choose seats, Bakugo’s lingering eyes were on you. He saw you were about to sit right next to Mineta, whose face was filled with shameless perversion, his hands kneading the air as his eyes were fixed on your bum. 

Bakugo moved in an instant. It was like Mineta was never at your side. You felt Bakugo’s tall presence beside you and you turned to meet his eyes. Mineta was on the ground, twitching.

You brushed your bangs away from your face and hooked them behind your ear, your voice small, fragile like glass. “Hi Bakugo.”

“Hey.” It was so different in comparison to Bakugo’s deep, gruff voice. He sounded like he could break you the moment he spoke. You turned away from him shortly after, Bakugo was slightly disappointed. You took a seat on the comfy couch and Bakugo followed suit, his knee bumping into yours which made you jump slightly. It made Bakugo questioned himself if you were really that afraid of him for jumping like that. He understood he had his moments, but did you really had to jump like he was about to attack you? Bakugo sucked his teeth, but his eyes still lingered on you. You were talking to Uraraka and Midoriya as usual, but you seemed more nervous. You were tapping your shoe against the ground and your face was more flushed than usual. Bakugo wondered what could’ve happened that was making you so nervous.

“Alright! Who’s going first?” Ashido jumped out of her seat, grabbing the mic and waving it in the air. The class’s faces were stuffed behind the menus, conversing among themselves on what kind of food to get. Ashido wasn’t completely ignored, Jiro raised her hand and Ashido excitedly handed her the mic. “This is gonna be good!”

Bakugo sat back, not really interested in listening. Kirishima was showing him the menu, but Bakugo wasn’t hungry. He did overhear how you were though, and you were struggling to find something to eat. You were saying no to everything Uraraka suggested, so Bakugo pointed at your menu as he hovered over your shoulder. 

“Get the dumplings, heard they’re good.” At least that’s what Kirishima just told him. Bakugo felt you slightly jump again when he spoke. He was rather close to you; his shoulder was barely touching your back. His breath was probably lightly brushing against your ear.

“I-I guess, I’ll get that. Thanks.” Your eyes met with his for a moment and they returned to the menu. But like always, his red eyes lingered for a moment longer, observing every detail of your face, every imperfection and perfection he found in your features. He wanted to meet your eyes again. 

“Kyoka, that was freaking amazing!” Jiro had finished singing Ignorance by Karamore with her amazing vocals. She sang her heart out to the lyrics that had appeared on the flat screen TV, and even some of her classmates were singing along with her. She threw the mic dramatically towards Ashido when she was done, like she had just finished singing at her own concert. Her classmates cheered like they were her fans, and she soaked in all the praise from them. 

“Let’s get a duo out here! Midoriiii, Ura-chaaaaan!” Ashido pointed the mic at Uraraka and Midoriya. They were shaking their heads, their faces so heated you thought it was blowing off steam. Ashido started pulling Midoriya forward by his arm and you began pushing Uraraka forward until she was on her feet. With the help of their friends, Midoriya and Uraraka both found themselves staring at the TV. Ashido quickly picked a song for them and gave Midoriya another mic. Soon, the song started with the slow notes of a piano. The words appeared on the screen, and it was Midoriya’s turn to start.

“I-I can show you the world. Shining, shimmering splendid.” A shaky start for Midoriya made him flustered, his voice was off key, and his eyes were fixed on the screen. He held the mic tightly with his shaky hands. 

Ashido and you were snickering in your seats. Bakugo watched the pair with little interest. The servers entered the room with various plates of food and drinks. The plate of dumplings you ordered was placed in front of you. Bakugo watched as you sampled one of the dumplings. He watched your eyes grow wide when you took your first bite, it was like a light had flashed over them as the savory flavor of the dumpling washed over your tastebuds. He instantly found your eyes on him, and it was his turn to jump slightly.

“This is great, Bakugo! It tastes amazing!” Ah, the sun had shined on him once again. Your bright smile was in his direction, beautiful to all who gazed upon it. He soaked in the warmth of your beauty, stunned by the light of your smile that had blinded him from his thoughts. You pushed the plate of food near him.

“Wanna try?” He glanced at the plate and then back at you. His voice was low which was so unlike him.

“Sure.” Bakugo reached for a dumpling and popped it in his mouth. His eyes widen in a similar way that yours did. “It’s pretty damn good.”

“Right? It’s delicious!” 

Bakugo reached for another dumpling. He felt Kirishima move closer to him, his eyebrows were raised, and his smile was wide.

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” 

“Shut up.” 

After a moment of missed lines and off-key vocals, Midoriya and Uraraka finished their song. They heaved a heavy sigh as their classmates cheered for them. They returned to their seats and Uraraka was expressing how embarrassed she was to you. You laughed at her, and Bakugo’s stomach started doing flips. Ashido, who sort of designated herself to be the host, jumped out of her seat. She already knew who she wanted her next victim to be. The mic was pointed towards her classmates and you found yourself to be directly at the end of it. 

“M-Me?” You pointed to yourself, and already you were shaking your head. At the same time, Ashido was nodding back at you, her pink lips curled upward.

“Yes, you! ___-chan, get up here!” Ashido threw the mic at you and it landed on your lap. You took it in your shaking hands and gulped. Bakugo watched you brush your bangs away and tuck them behind your ears. You were nervous. Ashido reached over the table to grab your arm. She started to pull you to stand. “Come on, you know you have a good voice!”

You felt Uraraka’s hands on your back pushing you forward. She had a wicked glint in her eyes. “Since I had to do it, you have to do it too!!”

“Waah, Uraraka!” You yelped to your feet, and unwillingly you found yourself staring back at your classmates. Your eyes met with Bakugo’s for a moment before you turned to look at the TV. Bakugo looked like he didn’t care to most people, but he actually anticipated this. He was leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, and his steady red eyes on you. He had no idea you could sing. It was probably one of the many things he didn’t know about you. 

“Heheh, it’s fine! You know this song!” Ashido winked before pulling away from you. You felt highly uncomfortable after seeing the song title appear on the TV. Dangerous Woman by Ari Chiisai. You knew it from anywhere. You sang it once when you and the girls had a sleepover at Yaoyorozu’s house. It was when you finally let loose, and the girls saw a different side of you. A more relaxed and bold you. You were having fun that night, and you didn’t want to let your shyness ruin it.

As soon as the song started, you gulped, and the girls cheered as they were reminded of the sleepover. The boys watched with curious eyes, Bakugo, being one of them. You took a deep breath and sang the words off the screen. You honestly didn’t need it, so instead you turned to look at your classmates.

“Oh yeah. Don't need permission. Made my decision to test my limits.” The words rolled off your tongue in a melody that Bakugo never heard from you before. Your voice was low, but smooth and filled with sultriness. Your eyes heated as the lyrics came to you like second nature. You walked around the booth, flirty in your steps, eyes were following your figure. Bakugo couldn’t lift his eyes from you. It was like you were a magnet, and your energy was pulling everyone’s attention in the room to you. All eating had stopped, and everything was just about you. The girls were just starstruck, but the boys were shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

“All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God. Don't ya stop, boy.” Oh shit. Bakugo gripped his pants and gulped. To Bakugo, that line sounded more like a moan rather than you singing. It made his mind wandered into a territory where he would rather wander in at home, in his bedroom, with the lights off. More importantly, it felt like everything you sang was for him. At least, he wanted it to be. Oh he, so, wanted it to be. He never knew you had this side to you, this bold and incredibly sexy side. Where did all of your shyness go?

“Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman.” Bakugo felt like your eyes met with his for a moment, but he discarded it as his mind tricking him. You were certainly a dangerous woman to him. He couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about you, and how much he would want to have you.

It was two more minutes of agony and wild thoughts for Bakugo before you reached the end of the song. The girls cheered your name and the boys just stared with red faces. It was Sero’s whistle that broke the silence for the guys, and they soon all started to cheer for you, except for Bakugo. 

“Ah, I’m in love!” Bakugo heard Aoyama dramatically exclaimed. He threw himself back against the couch, holding his hands to his chest like he’s been hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“Yeah, that was really something…” Kirishima mumbled under his breath but Bakugo heard him clearly. He wasn’t happy at all that you started to get all this attention. The boys were seeing you in a different light. It felt like you revealed to them something only Bakugo wanted to know.

“That was amazing, ___!” You returned to your seat and Uraraka was gushing about you and your voice. She said something along the lines of how she wished she could sing like you. You were excited from all the praise you were getting from your classmates, but there was one person whose words weighed more than anybody else in this room. You turned to look at the blond boy sitting next to you, a bright smile on your face as you looked for recognition. But when you thought you would at least be acknowledged, it didn’t come. You felt your heart sink. You hoped Bakugo would look in your direction, but his eyes were elsewhere. You couldn’t see his face at all because he was completely turned away from you. You didn’t understand. Did he not care?

Bakugo couldn’t look at you. He refused to after seeing that. He felt like if he looked at you that he would be completely sucked in, like a black hole vacuuming everything in its path. He had to wait until he calmed down, until everyone stopped giving you attention.

Eventually, it was over. And soon, everyone was getting ready to leave. They said their goodbyes and left in different groups. Bakugo was standing to the side, near the entrance of the Karaoke building. Kirishima had just left to go talk to you. He wanted to ask you to join them on their walk home since the three of you were all leaving in the same direction. From Bakugo’s view, it looked like you agreed, and you said your goodbyes to Midoriya and Uraraka before walking to Bakugo alongside with Kirishima.

“Hi Bakugo…” You greeted him, but you sounded dejected.

“Hey.” There was a moment of silence before Bakugo greeted you back. He gave you a quick look and he walked ahead with his hands in his pockets. You and Kirishima quickly followed him.

Bakugo was ahead of you and Kirishima for most of the walk. He pretended like he wasn’t listening, but his attention was well into your conversation. It all started with a simple question about your singing and it blew up into a deep conversation with Kirishima. At times, you would laugh at his jokes, and Bakugo’s stomach would feel like it’s flipping. Bakugo couldn’t stop himself from glancing behind him. You were smiling brightly unlike when you last greeted him. You looked so natural when talking to Kirishima. You didn’t look scared or nervous like how you did with Bakugo. It was like he was staring at a pair of suns. Together, they shined brighter than anything. But what did that leave Bakugo as? What was he to you? 

Bakugo’s frown grew deeper.

“Well, I’m heading this way.” Kirishima pointed to one of the streets in the upcoming crossroad. He said his goodbyes to both of you, leaving you alone with Bakugo who looked more upset than he usually did. Bakugo continued shortly after Kirishima left without telling you. And when you noticed he wasn’t near your side, you moved to quickly catch up to him. You were by his side, your gaze to the floor as silence quickly filled between you two. It was different when Kirishima left. The energy that was there was absent. The light that once shined so bright was now dimmed. Bakugo hated the fact that he couldn’t make you shine like how Kirishima did, or how Midoriya did, or Uraraka. It just felt like to him, you were never able to reach your full potential. He thought your fear of him was holding you back on acting like your normal self.

“Bakugo?” Bakugo was surprised you called him. He turned his head to look at you. “Are you feeling okay?”

You brushed your bangs behind your ears. You were nervous. Bakugo wanted to sigh. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

You looked away from him, remaining silent for a moment. “Well… you were really quiet today.” 

“And?”

“I mean, I don’t know… I just expected you to be like,” You put on your best Bakugo glare you could make but it only made you look like an adorable angry kitten. You then shouted out like Bakugo, trying to impersonate him as best as you could. Bakugo just looked at you like you were mad. Was this really how you saw him? “But you seemed down today.”

“I wasn’t down or anything, alright!?” He expected you to jump at his sudden outburst. But you remained staring, a smile growing on your features. He suddenly felt warm. 

“There’s the Bakugo I know.” You spoke fondly, your eyes never leaving him. Bakugo didn’t quite understand. Did you like him that way? “Did you at least have fun at Karaoke?”

“I don’t even know why I came. Waste of my damn time.” 

“But I’m happy you came…” You were staring at the path ahead of you. Bakugo couldn’t tell if you were blushing or if it was the sunset’s pink hue coloring your face. You tightened your hold on your bag, repeating your words softly. “I’m really happy you came, Bakugo.”

You didn’t look at his face, and Bakugo was grateful for it. He didn’t want you to see how pathetic he looked. How just a few words from you can reduce him to a measly puddle. He fucking hated it. He fucking hated feeling so damn weak. 

“Um! Bakugo!” Bakugo stopped walking as you moved in front of him. You were looking down, your hands together as your next words came out in a stutter. “I-I was wondering… I mean… tomorrow’s Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well…” You were fiddling with your thumbs. It was something Bakugo never seen you do before. You looked nervous, even more nervous than when you spoke out loud in class or when you talked to him. Your face grew redder than the sunset near the horizon. “Do-Do you want to hang out tomorrow… I-I mean, there’s this arcade that I found that was really cool and… Do you want to go together?”

Bakugo’s eyes went wide. Were you asking him out? Can he consider this to be a date? The way how you looked, red cheeks, an uneasy smile, gaze downward, does this mean what Bakugo thinks this means? 

He suddenly grew bold. A wide smirk plastered on his face that spoke of confidence. “Make this a date, then I’ll come.” 

You made a small gasp at his words. Your eyes left the ground and met with Bakugo’s steady red ones. “A date…” You repeated quietly, trying to convince yourself that you heard correctly. You were nodding before you even got the word out, eyes lighting up with excitement. Bakugo thought they looked beautiful. “S-Sure!” 

Bakugo chuckled to himself, shaking his head slightly. “I’m gonna beat your ass.”

You were surprised, but not at his sudden use of language but at his assumption of underestimating you. “No! It’s me who’s gonna beat your ass!” You said with your best Bakugo voice, and you cracked a grin when Bakugo smirk dropped.

“I do not fucking sound like that!”

“You do!” You laughed at his outburst, and Bakugo’s stomach flipped. His crimson eyes glaring down upon you like a high sun on a hot afternoon. He snorted, looking away when he did. He resumed his walking, and you followed him.

“Alright! I’m beating your ass twice as hard tomorrow.”   

You snorted just like Bakugo. He almost couldn’t believe you were imitating him, but he admitted to himself that you looked insanely cute while doing it. “Bring it, Bakugo! You’ll eat those words!” 

“Wanna bet?” He grabbed your arm, thrusting your body closer to his until your arm barely touched his chest. You were taken off guard. You didn’t realize how close his face was to you. You were staring directly into his fiery eyes. They somewhat matched the color of the horizon, steady and soft with a hint of danger, but more beautiful than the sunset itself. “If you win, I’ll do whatever you want. If I win, I get to hear you sing that song for me.”

“Wha…” You were so lost in his eyes that you nearly missed his words. You didn’t think Bakugo cared much about your singing at the Karaoke booth. You were somewhat relieved. You felt like crap when you left the booth but now that feeling had subsided, all because of Bakugo. Bakugo wanted to hear you sing again. Surely, that meant he liked it. “You-You’re on.” 

You tried to look determined, but you ended up smiling at him. It was Bakugo’s turn to be caught off guard. The playful banter died by your smile and silence had settled between you two. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as he expected. There was a warmth he felt deep in his chest that seemed to only grow the longer he stood by you. Those crimson irises scanned your face, every blemish, acne scar, and all those imperfections just added to your beauty. It did nothing to deter it.

The grip he had on your arm tightened. The urge to pull you in his arms almost possessed him. You opened your mouth to speak but it twitched away into your previous smile. Bakugo fought the urge but instead, his thumb was tracing your skin as his hands glided down until they firmly grasped your wrist. He was the one to break the silence, his rough voice rumbled within his chest.

“Come on, let me walk you home.”

He started to pull you along. The grip on your wrist was strong. He held it like he didn’t want you to escape, like if he were to let go, you would disappear. You wished he held your hand instead, but you guessed it would have to do until your date tomorrow. Your cheeks warmed up at the thought, wishing tomorrow would come faster than the setting sun.

Part 2: Soft

[lyrical-obsessions]

Biggest comfort

Haikyuu Reader insert

Semi Eita x Reader

Audience: Female

  You were easily his biggest comfort. Your lazy look and taped up fingers made him excited when he saw them in the hall, and your oversized sweater was always filled with snacks and other pleasures that were appreciated. When the winter months came around, you would not hesitate to hold him if he got cold. Sometimes he purposefully forgot a layer or two so that you would hold him longer. You were easy to talk to, and you had interesting things to say. You both had gone to the same high school, but it took college to bring you two together. It made his heart soar with how much he could touch you, but it also pained him to think that you weren’t exclusive to him. He planned to change that very soon… Maybe

   If he could ever muster up the courage. He loved talking to you late at night, and he loved talking to you when you both were just barely awake in the morning. Without you, the campus of over 8,000 students would feel empty and bare.

   “Eita, you’ve gotten better at dressing yourself.” Your lazy drawl made him want to tackle you in a flurry of kisses.

   "What’s that supposed to mean? You wear the same sweater every day!” He teased you back. The way your eyelashes fluttered as you shut your eyes made his heart race.

   “Hey, It’s utilitarian. You want chips? Need a band-aid? I got you covered.” You began digging in the pockets of your sweater.

   “When's the last time you washed it?” Eita asks as he played with the ends of your barely brushed hair. You huffed as you stuff a plastic baggie of cheesy crackers back into your pockets.

   “You were there you dope! Just the other day! You let me wear your jacket!” He didn’t forget. He had been carefully avoiding smothering the scent you left on it. It’s the same jacket you always wore when your oversized backpack of a jacket was getting washed. He made sure of it.

   “Ah, right,” Eita says in a teasing tone. “So you coming to volleyball today? I heard the girls’ team is officially taking a break, but the boys’ team is allowing any girl to come practice with us.” You smiled as you extended and retracted your fingers.

   “I think I want to. I want to keep in good shape for when practice starts back up again.” You finally seemed satisfied with how stretched out your long fingers were and placed them in your sleeve. “You don’t mind a second setter there, do you?” You question your good friend. He burrowed into your sleeve with his own hand to find yours. He gave it a squeeze as he smiled.

   “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like they’re gonna throw me off the team and throw my jersey on you.” He joked, but you knew very well that was his own morbid humor. While in high school, you had heard about the setter debacle on the boys' team, but you paid more attention to your own setter position on the girls' team. Looking back, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you paid attention to him and comforted him at that time. Looking back, you had the perfect opportunity to meet him and everything. You both were in the same year, same sport, same position, first string, hell, you were even close friends with the manager at the time. You used to set for her, but you kept your eyes focused on your own side. It was your biggest regret.

   “Well, we should get a move on then. We’ll be late to class you know… again.”

   The lecture was long and tedious. The subtle shifting of arms as you took notes was rhythmic as you followed the string of words being spewed by the professor. Eita eventually became tired, feeling the urge to touch you again. Luck was on his side, however, as you must have been feeling the urge as well. You leaned over on his shoulder as you continued writing. He returned the affection by leaning into you. Your smile was just barely visible out of the corner of his eye, but the still caught the subtle upturn. His heart raced as his mind began to fill with thoughts of you. He struggled to focus.

   He’d probably have to ask you for the notes again.

   “Do you want to get something to eat before practice? Or do you need to head back to your dorm for things?” You ask Eita as he packs up his bag. He shakes his head as he stuffs the last journal in.

   “I have my change of clothes. I’d be happy to get something to eat. I’m surprised though, you usually have something in those pockets of yours.”

   “My pockets currently have my medical tape, journal, knee pads... Oh! And a pen in my sleeve with my phone. In my bag I have my shoes, my water bottle, and bandages.” you show him the tiny bag and he sweats. Why couldn’t you just carry a larger backpack? “So I have no room for food today.” He gives you a sigh and smiles.

   “Not even a stick of gum, huh?” he teases you again. You smile your lazy smile and begin digging in your sleeve.

   “I have one piece of gum, do you want it?” your taped hands held it gingerly. He began to laugh. You would never be dull to him.

   As you both arrive at the little restaurant you love dearly, Eita quickly makes it clear to you that he was paying. You tried to protest, saying he paid for the last one too, but he had already begun ordering your usual along with his, completely ignoring your protests. You pout at him, but your cute pout made the move even more worth it for him. You at first begrudgingly ate, but you couldn’t help but let bliss envelop your expression. You truly did love the little restaurant, and you loved spending time with Eita. you sometimes wished though that he would let you treat him.

   “Kamasaki says he wants to try something today, and it has me worried.” Eita began a casual conversation about his volleyball team. He didn’t follow any of his old teammates into their respective colleges, so he had to start fresh with a new team. The college team he was currently on relished the fact that he was a gifted setter that thought carefully about his moves. He wasn’t a setter that was just a way to get the ball to the ace. You listen in carefully and nod.

   “When aren’t you worried about something he wants to try? I’m sure you aren’t the only one worried though.” you felt the urge to touch him again, even if it was a slight one.

   “Yeah, Yaku’s been on him recently about being reckless and rash. Says he thought he didn’t have to deal with that kind of immaturity once he got into college.” you laugh as you place a hand on the table you shared. He debated covering your hand with his.

   “Well, at least he’s the only big problem you guys have.” Eita sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose

   “And man is he a problem.” You place a hand on your chin as you watch him think about all the trouble the middle blocker has given him. You had heard that just recently he tried to instigate a fight with Ushijima at a match. The wing spiker was not amused. “Middle blockers are always giving me trouble.”

   “Well, back in high school, Kawanishi just hated everything and everyone, Tendou was… you know,”

   “Trouble, weird, unreadable, crazy?” He joked. “And now I have one of the pieces of the Iron wall trying to start shit with anything and everything. At least Matsukawa doesn’t give me much trouble.”

   “You’ve never noticed? I think he just silently screws with you.” You begin fiddling with your phone in your sleeve. Eita gives you a confused look. “On occasion, he and Hanamaki will swap jerseys.” You then pop another bite of food into your mouth as Eita slowly comes to terms with this new piece of information. “Sorry, I thought you knew. I would have told you sooner if I knew.”

   “No, You have nothing to apologize for. I’ll let Yaku know…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. He was tired before practice even began. At least you’d be there, his biggest comfort. He felt your fingers brush up against his knees, and he gladly laces his fingers between yours. He gave your hand a squeeze and gave you a smile.

   You were ready to go. Your knee pads fit snugly over your leggings, and a t-shirt with a cute logo covered your torso. You had your signature sweater tied around your waist. If you needed, then you would throw it to the side. You and a few other girls thanked the boys’ team for allowing you to practice with them today.

   You and Eita began discussing ideas and techniques as your teams began to go about their practice. Your ace, however, wanted your full attention.  

   “(Name)-chan! Toss for me! Toss for me!” she called for you as she made tossing motions with her hands. You sighed and tighten the sweater around your waist.

   “Okay, just give me a sec.” Eita nods at you to let you know you were fine to toss to your ace. She was older, and she was just as volleyball crazed as your old ace. She begins bouncing as she watches you slowly approach. You did so on purpose, as you noticed her spikes were more powerful when charged up like this. She was like a terrier watching a squirrel before bursting out into the yard.

   Eita loved watching you toss. Your form was elegant and crisp, a stark difference from your normal slouched posture. Once you tossed one to your ace, she demanded another. Eita and you both knew you weren’t getting away from her for a while. Eita gave you a quick smile and wave before turning his attention to his own team. Matsukawa and Hanamaki jump him quickly, however, and each grabs an arm. He jumps out of surprise and tries to escape his unknown fate. The more the setter struggles, the further he is dragged out of your sights.

   “What the- What the hell are you guys doing?” He protests against his teammates as they drag him towards Yaku. The libero seemed to have a grave expression on his face as he had his fingers laced together in front of his chin. He was sitting on the ground as he waited for the two to drag the setter near him

   “We brought him,” Hanamaki states as he stares at Yaku with a blank face.

   “Yaku! What the hell?!” Eita begins to yell at the libero. You were too preoccupied with the endless ball of energy ace that was demanding toss after toss to notice the poor object of your affections being held captive by the two former Aoba Josai players.

   “Semi… I had them drag you over here with me because we’ve all had enough. Even Kamasaki and Nakashima’s had enough. Just ask her out already.” Yaku let his hands fall into his lap out of exasperation. Eita furrowed his brow and gave him a confused stare. Aforementioned blond middle blocker suddenly notices the meeting and rushes over to be apart of the carnage. Yaku had enough of your obvious pining for one another like you were on a B rate soap opera, and he had enough of you both claiming it was a ‘really close friendship.’

   “(L/Name)-san, ask out (L/Name).” Matsukawa prods Eita.

   “If you don’t do it tonight, we’re going to tell her for you tomorrow during her first lecture.” Eita choked as Kamasaki slid in with a sadistic grin on his face. Yaku immediately placed his hand over Kamasaki’s mouth, however, to keep him from shouting.

   “Or we can just tell her right now, your pick,” Yaku says in a calm tone, obviously he was the ringleader in the operation. “I can get Nakashima to tell her in less than 2 seconds.” Eita begins to sweat as he looks over at where you stood. A boy with a brown buzzcut was now assisting you and your ace with her spikes. He gave a quick glance over to his setter, smiles, then returns his attention back to your tossing.

   “Why are you ganging up on me!?” he barks at them, and they all sigh.

   “This is for your own good Semi.” Yaku places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a valiant look “We’re doing this for you. We’re supporting you.”

   “It really doesn’t feel all that supportive as much as it feels forced!” Eita retorts. Yaku sighs again and looks at Kamasaki and removes his hand from his mouth.

   “Give Nakashima the signal.” Just as the tall blond was about to lift his hand, Eita panics

   “WAIT! I’ll do it! I’ll do it tonight! Just let me do it! Just don’t out me!” Eita’s heart could have burst through his ribcage and flopped on the floor at how panicked he was. His eyes widen as he bites his lower lip. How was he going to tell you?

   After you both finished up, you threw your sweater back on and changed out of your volleyball shoes. You were still slightly warm, so you rolled up your sleeves a little bit. The cool air of the night chilled your warmed skin slightly. Eita seemed uncomfortable no matter what he did.

   As you both took to the sidewalks and headed back to the dorms, you started idly chatting with him like you always would. This is how it always was, ever since you could talk to him like this.

   “Man, the terrier was ruthless today. It didn’t help that Nakashima fed into that energy too.” Eita nodded at you nervously.

   “U-Uh-huh.” he choked out. You quickly took notice. Eita was more nervous than usual. You had seen this nervousness before. You saw it when you first began to make friends with him. You saw it again when you began getting touchy with him.

   “Eita?” you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to face him. “Something up?” you began to slowly roll down your sleeves. You began to feel nervous as well. The cool chill of anxiety envelops you. His eyes scanned every inch of you, and his hands lifted up slightly to catch your taped up fingers. Sometimes you loved your sensitivity to his moods, you got to feel his slight giddiness when he got a toss just right or the subtle bliss of enjoying his favorite foods, but then there were times like now where you could feel his nervousness and anxiety. You could feel the pressure of something.

   His eyes close for a brief second before refocusing back on you with an anxious look. He laces his fingers once again with yours

   “Could you spend the night? Please?” his face became gentle as his hands gripped yours. “I have something important I want to talk with you about.” You looked at him with a slightly parted mouth and wide eyes. You could tell whatever it was, it was urgent. You could feel your heart beating it’s way up your chest. You bit your lip as you swallowed in an attempt to control it once again. You nod at him and agree to spend the night with him.

   “Sorry it’s such short notice, (Name),” He tells you as he sits outside his bathroom, waiting for you to be done changing into clothes he’s lent you.

   “It’s fine, If it’s going to happen again though, I should leave some clothes here or something.” His dorm room was a single person suite that you constantly complained about him being lucky getting, seeing as you yourself were in a four-person suite. He would always tell you that he deserved it after being Tendou’s roommate for 3 years.

   “Yeah…” He replied quietly. You picked up on his tone and opened the bathroom door.

   “Eita, what did you want to talk to me about? Is everything okay?” You panicked slightly. What if he didn’t want to be around you anymore? What if he didn’t want you touching him anymore? What if he secretly hated you? Your mind raced irrationally, and your usually calm disposition faded fast.

   Upon seeing your panicked face, he jumps up and wraps his arms around you, softly stroking your back. You gladly grab at his back to soothe yourself. Why did he want you here?

   “(Name), I’m sorry if I worried you.” He begins. “I just need you to know something, okay? No matter what, I want you with me.” He felt his face turn red as he reluctantly backed out of your embrace. He then led you to his bedside and had you sit with him. It was now or never. “I asked you to be here with me tonight because… You’ve been the biggest comforts I’ve had here since I started. You were there for me, and I think I can’t go a day now without touching you at least once, going one day without speaking to you is unthinkable for me, and I sure as hell don’t even want to think about a day without seeing you.” He gripped your hand tighter.

   “Eita?” You stare up at his blush. Some of your hair had fallen into your face, only slightly hiding your own flushed face. You could slowly feel yourself leaning closer to him.

   “I want us to be exclusive with one another, I love you.” He could barely look you in the eye as he confessed his feelings for you. As those three words left his mouth, a breath was snatched from your lungs as an invisible wind blew past. You became restless as he stared at you, and you finally threw your arms around him and kissed him passionately. He would quickly return and deepen the kiss as he weaved his fingers through your hair with one hand and gripped the small of your back with the other.

   As your kiss became more heated, you both fell onto his bed, allowing him to go even further with his kiss.

   A phone buzzed from beneath the bed as it lay on an oversized sweater. The sweater muffled the sound of Eita receiving a message from Yaku

10:38        From Yaku: Semi, did you do it?

10:42        From Yaku: Semi?

10:45        From Yaku: Wait wait Semi, you aren’t…

10:49        From Yaku: HOLY SHIT SEMI

                 From Semi: I’m not. Leave me alone. I’m busy.

                 From Yaku: THAT “I’M BUSY” DOESN’T HELP YOUR CASE

                 From Yaku: THIS IS KAMASAKI HOLY HELL SEMI GET IT

                 From Semi: Watch the back of your head the next time I serve.

   With an aggravated glare, he tosses his phone away and continues to embrace you in his bed, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head. You cuddled him closer under the soft sheets and took a deep breath to fully take in his scent. Your fingertips ran up and down the middle of his chest.

   “I love you, Eita” you finally respond properly to his confession, and he smiled. He gripped you tighter and buries his face into the top of your head.

   “I love you too (Name)”

   You were easily his biggest comfort. Your big (E/C) eyes and your heavenly voice would forever have him wrapped around your finger. Your kiss was something he had only dreamed of before, but now he knew that it was his most favorite thing in the world. He was excited that you were now exclusively his, and his alone. He couldn’t wait for all the things to come with you two. You and that oversized sweater of yours.