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cultleaderyoongi · 2 years

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Opposites Attract – pt.1 | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader, (Namjoon x f. reader)

☆ genre: s2f2l, hints of e2f2l at first if you squint (one-sided sentiment though), love triangle • angst, fluff, eventual smut

☆ word count: 12.7k

☆ warnings: bro-code violations (it's up for debate if reader is fair game); mature language; mentions of alcohol; virgin shaming to some extent; the word wh*re being mentioned

☆ synopsis: You're Namjoon's girl – kind of. So why does Yoongi, who has never been too fond of people in the first place, get that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach around you? And most importantly, why can't he seem to stop himself from falling for you when you're supposed to be off-limits anyway?

☆ navigation: pt.1 | pt.2

☆ a/n: Hi there! I'm back after an almost 6-month hiatus, and this was supposed to be out for Yoongi's birthday, but I guess this is my gift to you in celebration of my birthday now as well lol though also a week too late to that lmao And since it's gotten kinda long, I spontaneously decided to divide it into two parts which also gives me more time to finish up the last few lines oops As always, I hope you enjoy reading. If you do – thank you! Lmk how you like it, I love feedback ♡

(P.S. special shout-out to whoever can guess which album they're talking about in the record shop scene!)

(also P.S. I'm part of a fun, little Discord server created by the dearest @kooala where we share our favorite fics, simp over our biases, etc. and we'd love for it to grow. If you're looking for a cool place to connect with people and discuss anything K-pop, feel free to join here ♡)

☆ taglist: @bangtansjonas

There aren't a lot of things in the world that catch Yoongi's attention. He's most interested in music, creating his own little world as the beat becomes one with that of his heart. Basketball is another interest of his, the satisfying swish of the rubber globe falling through the hoop like music to his ears.

One thing is for sure though, and that is people aren't at the top of his list – meeting new people, that is. There's only a handful of people he actively cares about in his own aloof kind of way. Human interaction isn't his forté, so he's more than thankful that the people he does hold dear to his heart understand his weird antics. He would have a hard time admitting it, but losing even one of them would tear him apart. Breaking his hand-signed vinyl copy of Kendrick Lamar's DAMN. in half would hurt less, he concludes.

Having his set group of friends also means that the idea of adding another person fills him with frustration. For as long as he can remember, it has always been him, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin. No one else but him and his three best friends since childhood days. He convinces himself it's already too late to add another person into the mix anyway, almost two decades of friendship making it impossible for anyone to feel remotely comfortable among the four of them. But not everyone shares the same belief from the looks of it.

"I hope that's okay," Namjoon probes, hands buried in the front pockets of his chino pants as he leans against the red-brick façade of the faculty building behind him.

"More than fine by me," Hoseok drawls while running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you should worry about Grumpy Cat over here." His lips pull into a half-smirk.

At the mention of the all-too-familiar nickname, Yoongi peels his gaze from the concrete steps he's sitting on, turning towards his friends. "Why? Think I'm gonna rip someone's head off with my sharp fangs?"

"The risk is minimal, but never zero," Seokjin states in amusement, the hand curled around his iced coffee lifting into the air in emphasis.

The eldest's comment draws a scoff out of the man in question. Yoongi has grown used to the light punches at his reserved persona and granted, he would feel weird if the teasing stopped at some point. No matter how old the jokes have gotten.

"What am I? The mom in the group that tells you no all the time and grounds you for no good reason?" he grumbles, fixing the snapback covering his platinum-blond tresses.

"No," Hoseok retorts, "you're more like the uncle with the shotgun that everyone's secretly afraid of."

The group exchanges words in agreement leaving Yoongi with nothing but an annoyed glare. As the commotion dies down, he sighs in defeat. "It's fine or whatever. You already invited them anyway."

Namjoon nods, his face lighting up ever so slightly. "Okay, cool. You won't even notice she's there."

"She? You invited a girl?" Yoongi exclaims in confusion, loud enough to catch the attention of other students lingering around.

"Ah, Yoongi... You weren't paying attention again, were you?" Seokjin playfully nudges his friend in the elbow with the tip of his suede shoe. "Namjoon invited this girl to hang out tonight because he has a thing for her but is too afraid to ask her out on a proper date."

"Hey! That's not what it is," Namjoon grumbles, adjusting the black-rimmed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose.

"But you think she's hot?" Hoseok probes with a raised eyebrow.

The youngest barely responds, a breathy chuckle and a hand scratching at the nape of his neck enough of an indicator.

"That answers that."

Yoongi absentmindedly toys with a pebble, creating white marks as he scrapes it across the concrete surface. Who in the world invites a random girl to hang out with a bunch of strange dudes? he thinks to himself, the scratches becoming harsher until there's nothing but wild scribbles.

"Can you stop fussing around already?"

Namjoon mumbles out a quick apology to Hoseok beside him, immediately halting the shaky movement of his leg.

It hasn't even been five minutes since the quartet arrived at the movie theater, awaiting the arrival of the youngest's secret date.

"It's not a date," he fends when Seokjin teases him again, a hand running through his short – notably freshly cut – hair. "She's a friend, and I invited her out because– Oh! She's here." As he practically jumps up from his seat on the black leather couch, Namjoon storms towards the entrance.

"Not a date my ass," Hoseok comments, earning an affirmative chuckle from the eldest.

With the rest of the group rising from their seats, Yoongi reluctantly follows lead, hands immediately finding harbor in the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, she's pretty," Seokjin muses to which Hoseok hums out in confirmation.

As Yoongi's focus finally shifts from the dark blue carpeted floor to his friend and the stranger standing next to him, he raises a brow. Yeah, she's pretty, he thinks to himself. At first glance. Yoongi isn't one to be easily swayed by looks though, so he mindlessly trails behind the other two.

"Guys," Namjoon turns towards the others, "this is _____. _____, these are my friends."

You beam a friendly smile at Seokjin who is the first one to extend his hand out to you, shaking it lightly before letting you move on to Hoseok.

Yoongi is slightly taken aback when your eyes land on him, nothing but warmth emitting from them. Usually, no one ever even dares any attempts at approaching his cold exterior. When he gives you his name, he swears your grin grows impossibly wider. Who in the world has the energy to be this friendly?

"Alright," Hoseok starts, "why don't you guys"–he nods towards you and Namjoon–"go get some snacks while we buy the tickets?"

The group separates as suggested with you and Namjoon heading towards the snack bar while Yoongi follows Hoseok and Seokjin to the ticket booth. Stealing a glance at his friend, he silently scoffs at the sight. You're deep in conversation, head lolling back in laughter at something Namjoon says. He finds your reaction so over the top. Sure, Namjoon can crack some jokes from time to time, but it almost looks like you're losing it. It's such a weird sight, and your clashing outfits underline that. You stand out in your yellow, ruffled top and cherry-red Vans against the beige and white hues of Namjoon's ensemble, the same shade of red showing up on your nail beds and the tint on your lips. This is definitely a date, he concludes. And now we have to play wingman. Great.

When the group gathers again to exchange tickets and snacks, Yoongi slightly flinches in surprise as someone thrusts a bag of popcorn in his face.

"Another salty popcorn enthusiast, I heard?" You smile up at him, the telltale rustling noise of popped kernels sounding as you lightly shake the bag.

Taking it with hesitant hands, Yoongi manages to muster up a nod, murmuring out a quick Thank you.

"Salty popcorn is barbaric," Hoseok's voice blares, breaking the unknown tension. "All it does is make you thirsty."

"Oh, allow me to prove you wrong," you counter with a wicked grin, eliciting a laugh from the man.

Throughout your discussion on why salty popcorn is superior, Yoongi doesn't realize he's been behind you this entire time until the five of you are looking for your respective seats in your assigned row. Now he has no other choice but to sit in the middle with you to his right. Fantastic.

Once the movie commences, the entire room falls silent lest the occasional rustling and crunching noises surrounding Yoongi. Absentmindedly taking a big gulp from his blueberry slushy, he proceeds to put it into the cup holder compartment of his chair when suddenly his hand comes into contact with another one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As he retracts his hand in a flash, he turns his head towards the source of the voice, the outlines of your facial features becoming visible via the blue flashes reflecting off of the screen. "Ah, you're fine," he manages out, the hold on his plastic cup tightening.

His focus is back on the opening sequence when someone invades his space once again.

"Do you want some?"

With furrowed brows, Yoongi's vision steers to the side, your hand holding a package of strawberry flavored Pockys coming into sight. "Uh..." Hesitantly, his eyes flicker from your hand to your face, then back to your hand. "Y-yeah, sure." He takes two of the chocolate sticks, mumbling out a stunned Thank you while he munches on them.

It's an unusual scene – not once has Yoongi come across someone this unhinged and outgoing without inhibition towards him as a stranger with what people call a resting bitch face. Usually, people don't even dare an attempt at building some sort of a connection with him. This leaves him wondering about you: are you always like this or is this all an act in order to stay in Namjoon's good books?

The setting sun outside serves enough light to guide the group through town, yet not enough to cause any discomfort after having spent the last two hours in complete darkness. Namjoon with his sensitive eyes in particular is thankful for that.

"Anybody else hungry?" Seokjin inquires, craning his neck as he takes a look at everyone individually.

"How can you be hungry again?" Hoseok blurts. "You had part of my half of the popcorn after annihilating yours – and then an entire pack of...what was it? Skittles? M&Ms?"

"Both," Seokjin announces proudly. "These were to tend to my sweet tooth though. Now it's time to satiate my savory needs."

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the eldest's response. "Can you believe this guy?" He turns to the rest before a sigh passes his lips. "Alright, I could go for something."

As everyone else hums out affirmative answers, the group settles on their go-to diner for classic burgers and fries.

"So, _____," Hoseok starts, a hefty sandwich haphazardly lodged in between his hands, "how come you know this guy over here?" With a tilt of his head, he gestures towards Namjoon.

You hum as you take a bite of your portion of fries. "Oh, we have the same major. We're also tutoring a class together this semester."

"Someone who matches his intellect, I see," Hoseok answers, a hint of a smirk hidden behind the large patty.

You don't get a chance to chime in when Seokjin continues, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

How subtle. It comes like second nature to Yoongi, a roll of his eyes a common reaction in a situation like this. It's when your eyes meet for a second, the corners of your lips curling upwards in an amused manner that he realizes his rather obvious slip-up.

"No," you chuckle with a shake of your head.

"Girlfriend?" the eldest follows up shortly, several expressions going around the table ranging from awkward laughter to annoyed sighs, the latter most notably sounding from Namjoon and Yoongi.

"Also no," you simply reply.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. "Can't hurt to ask."

"Why? Are you interested?"

Yoongi can't help but cackle at how the words leave your lips in such a deadpan yet entertained way, and for a second he's worried the others notice his change in demeanor. Your counter has the eldest choking on his drink though as he erupts into his characteristic windshield-wiper laugh, catching everyone's attention as Seokjin furiously wipes the bottom of his chin covered in soda.

"What happened to the standard ice breakers like What do you like to do in your free time or What's your take on mint chocolate ice cream?" you probe further, lips curling around the straw of your drink.

"Mint choco? Not a fan," Hoseok retorts, his face contorting into a disgusted grimace.

"Also hate it," Seokjin chimes in now with Namjoon following suit, the youngest going as far as mimicking puking noises.

As Yoongi makes no move of joining in on the conversation, you carry on, "Am I the odd one out here again? Guys, this could determine the future of our entire friendship if there's ever gonna be one."

The group erupts into laughter at that until Yoongi decides to come to the rescue. "I like it," he mumbles out nonchalantly with his arms crossed in front of him on the table.

"Thank you!" You turn to him, eyes sparkling in surprise at his sudden contribution. "At least someone with taste."

For the rest of the night, Yoongi can't help but steal glances at you and his best friend across the table, studying your interactions. They look cute together, he thinks to himself. As far as I can tell. And from what he can see it's easy for you to engage in conversation with the other guys as well, effortlessly exchanging quips and revealing facts about yourself. Yet, Yoongi can't seem to figure you out. Namjoon invited you out to hang out with his friends. Of course, you're going to be nice to everyone including him. Nothing to worry about, and as far as he's concerned if you happen to fake it he doesn't care. He never cared.

When you catch sight of him inspecting you, your lips curl into a small smile causing him to avert his eyes as fast as humanly possible. Awkward.

After everyone finishes their meal, you step back outside to say your goodbyes, the cold breeze of the night air brushing past.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you home?" Namjoon inquires, his stare set on you.

"Nah, it's fine," you decline, shaking your head as a shiver runs through you. "My friends are around in the area. They said they can pick me up."

He solemnly nods at your words, pulling you into a half-hug before stepping aside.

"It was really nice meeting you, _____. And hopefully, we'll get to see you again soon," Seokjin notes.

You send the eldest a pleasant smile, waving him off before doing the same to the other two.

When your eyes land on Yoongi, the man in question musters up a meek smirk and when you practically outshine him with a bright beam, he catches himself almost cursing. How are you so fucking friendly?

"So," Namjoon turns to the group once your silhouette disappears into the backseat of a black car pulling up at the curb, uncertainty clear in his features, "what do you think?"

"I like her," Hoseok is the first one to answer.

"Yeah, me too," Seokjin joins in.

It's quiet for an instance before everyone's eyes turn to Yoongi in anticipation.

"What?" the man grumbles, hands burying into his front pockets. "You need my blessing or something? She's alright, I guess."

Hoseok huffs, patting the youngest on the shoulder. "That's the most you're gonna get."

The mellow sounds of some lo-fi hip-hop song paint the perfect atmosphere while Yoongi scours around the store. It's like a safe haven for him, a place where he can replenish his power after a straining week of classes and assignments, unbothered and undisturbed. With swift fingers, he browses through the plethora of record sleeves in search for –

"Oh, hey!"

A somewhat familiar but also not-so-familiar voice startles him. Lifting his eyes from the rows of vinyls before him, you come into sight, cheeks risen into globes as you send him a bright smile. "H-hi," he croaks out, slightly confused. For some reason, the record shop is the spot he least expects to run into you. He's not sure why, but you don't strike him as a person to enjoy these things – though he knows little to nothing about you.

"Any good finds?" you inquire, head tilted to the side as you roam through the selection on your side.

"Uh..." he trails, "yeah, actually." Eyeing you for an instance, he ponders whether to elaborate or not. But why would you ask if you weren't interested? "I was looking for"–pulling out the record in question, he holds it up for you to see–"this one."

"Oh my God!" you exclaim as your eyes land on the colorful cover, splotches of pink and orange mingling with blue and purple hues. "It's such a good album. I waited ten years for this, but it's so worth it."

Stunned, Yoongi sends you a look he's sure he's never given anyone before. "You know it?"

"Yeah," you answer nonchalantly, "track number seven and eight are my favorites. Oh, and also–"

Yoongi flinches slightly when you lean forward until he catches onto your action, flipping the record around to let you check the tracklist on the back of the sleeve.

"–track number four. I'm a sucker for movie sound clips." You beam him a bright smile before continuing, "I'm a fan of Act I and II especially, and the features are expertly chosen." Retreating to your initial position, you finish, "Overall, one hour of excellence I can only recommend."

Yoongi regards you as if you just found the solution for world peace. He didn't expect you to be so enthusiastic about music – let alone hip-hop. You don't strike him as a person to enjoy this type of genre, but who is he to judge a book by its cover? "More of a reason to check it out then," he finally replies with a light chuckle after listening to your rambles. When you grant him another smile of yours just to return to your own business, he continues, "What have you got there?" A little small talk shouldn't hurt, right? After all, you're being exceptionally nice to him, so he should reciprocate.

Your eyes dart down to the vinyls lodged in between your folded arm. "Oh, just a random mix. Some rock, some pop, some R&B." Pulling your shoulders up into a shrug, you finish, "All kinds of things."

He nods in understanding. It's such a superficial thought, but he never imagined you to be so enthusiastic and versatile with your music taste. Not that he ever wondered in the first place, but he knows essentially nothing about you. Hearing about your interest in music piques his interest in you in turn though – on a friendly level, of course.

It comes naturally, falling into conversation about your favorite artists and albums, giving each other recommendations, and it's not long before you step out of the store together after paying for your purchases.

"Which way are you going?" you ask with a hand shielding your eyes from the midday sun, the light adorning your face in a yellow glow.

Yoongi hums out in thought. "I gotta stop by Namjoon's and Hoseok's, so this way." With an outstretched thumb, he points to his right.

"Oh, okay," you answer, cracking a small smile. "Is it fine if I walk with you part of the way? I'm supposed to meet up with Namjoon for a project tomorrow, and I need some books from the library."

"Uh..." The male studies your features, your eyes set on him expectantly, lips slightly pursed yet not losing their curved shape. Despite your outgoing and to him somewhat outlandish nature, you seem to make sure not to overstep any boundaries. He grows fond of the thought, letting out a light chuckle at that. "Yeah, sure."

Throughout the entire way to the library, the two of you converse mostly about music. Yoongi is specifically interested in the fact that you own vinyls as well.

"My brother got me into them," you explain, fingers carding through some strands of your hair being swayed by the breeze. "He has this huge collection he's been accumulating since he was like sixteen."

He listens attentively to your words, soaking them up like a sponge. It doesn't dawn on him at first, but there isn't a single moment of silence – and he doesn't hate it. Usually, it takes him a great amount of effort to stay energized during social interaction, to not feel like he's either faking or half-assing it, or even the need to take flight. As soon as you arrive at the library though, he figures the contrary is the case here, a huge power drain suddenly coursing through every crevice of Yoongi's body.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You turn to him, hand curled around the iron door handle of the entrance.

Yoongi nods leisurely, a small smile forming on his face.

You mirror his mimic though tenfold in vivacity, offering him a wave of your hand in addition. "Tell them hi for me."

Lifting his own hand into the air, he answers, "I will."

And with that, you're gone and an indescribable feeling follows Yoongi to his friends he can't seem to shake off.

"Dude, that was whack!" Hoseok's shrill voice blares across the court, harvesting the attention of several onlookers.

"Yeah, okay. I know," Namjoon fends, watching the basketball bounce off the backboard onto the ground. "Everyone and their dog knows. Fuck!"

The group grows silent as they watch the youngest strut over to the bleachers, rummaging in his backpack.

Seokjin scoops up the ball from the gravel, shuffling over to the remaining boys gathered in the middle of the court. "What's up with him?"

Hoseok sends the eldest a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"What's up with you?" Seokjin shouts across the place but receives no response from Namjoon as he plops down on the bench, swallowing his water in big gulps.

"Okay, water break," Hoseok huffs out, trudging over to his friend followed by Yoongi and Seokjin.

As they reach Namjoon, said man simply shoves his water bottle back into his backpack before springing back into a standing position.

"So, are you gonna tell us what your problem is?" Seokjin tries again, locking eyes with the taller man.

Namjoon sighs in defeat, running a hand through his sweaty strands. "I'm a little on edge, I guess."

"You don't say," the eldest retorts, taking a swig of his water bottle. "But what's the reason?"

It's quiet for an instance before Namjoon continues, "I'm not sure how to go about things with _____."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok takes over this time, drying off the droplets of sweat on his forehead with a towel.

"We've been meeting up here and there. Sometimes for school, sometimes to hang out. But..." He stalls, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It's not going anywhere?"

The youngest nods, his jaw set and tongue pushed into the inside of his cheek.

Yoongi zones out halfway through the conversation. Over the course of time, get-togethers with you and either Namjoon or the whole group have become a frequent occurrence. Whether that be in between classes to have lunch or hang out later that day for a drink or two – Namjoon has been making an effort of incorporating you into the clique. And from the looks of it, you and the guys are getting along well.

In addition to that, Yoongi ran into you at the record shop again once or twice. He wouldn't necessarily deem it a notable fact as you parted ways to go on with your days every time, but the moments spent in there remain valuable nonetheless as both of you walked out with new discoveries each visit.

"Have you made any moves on her?" Seokjin questions now, leaning back onto the row of benches behind him.

The man in question tilts his head to the side. "Not per se, but I give her signals."

"What kinda signals?"

This entire time Yoongi remains silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him like an outsider. It's somewhat of a familiar sight, a memory of Namjoon trying to confess to his high school crush coming to the forefront of Yoongi's mind. The boys practically had to push the poor guy into her arms before he could chicken out for the umpteenth time. And though the course of their relationship neared its end sooner or later, Namjoon has at least gained the experience instead of giving in to his doubts. What a shitshow that was, Yoongi thinks to himself.

"I compliment her whenever she's wearing something nice or did her hair and make-up differently, and I bring her coffee and snacks." Namjoon's voice pulls Yoongi out of his daydream.

Hoseok musters his friend with furrowed brows. "You're doing the bare minimum, man."

Seokjin agrees with the former, adding, "You could spare all the second-guessing and straight-up tell her."

At that, Namjoon exhales loudly through his nose. "But she's not showing any signs, you know? At first she did, but now not so much."

Yoongi can see the disappointment in his friend's eyes, and if he could help him he would. But the others are only right – Namjoon has to stop playing around and come clean about his feelings. Yoongi knows he would if he were in Namjoon's shoes. Even with the nearly non-existent experience and abysmal enthusiasm for romantic relationships he has.

"We're not sixteen, seventeen anymore," the eldest blurts out. "If you wanna get the girl, you gotta tell her."

"I know, I know. But..." Namjoon trails, his hooded eyes darting towards the distance. "I dunno. It's obvious something's off. Maybe I came on too strong? Just gimme some time to figure it out, and – oh shit! She's coming."

All heads follow Namjoon's line of sight, a familiar figure coming into vision.

"Hey!" You greet them with a wave of your hand and your signature bright smile. "Heard you guys were here, so I thought I'd come with refreshments." As you pull out a cup carrier from behind your back, the boys let out sounds of surprise. You hand out the drinks to each individually. "I hope I did okay. I got the usual for Joonie,–"

The man in question accepts the beverage from you, a wide grin splayed across his face at the gesture – and most likely the nickname as well – as if the conversation from mere minutes ago is already forgotten.

"–watermelon for Hoseok, pink lemonade for Seokjin, and–"

As your hand curls around the last cup, Yoongi blinks up at you with wondrous eyes.

"–I remember you mentioned Iced Americanos once, so here you go."

Yoongi's lips part, closing and opening again before he mutters out a small Thank you. His hands shake slightly as he takes the cold drink from you. He remembers pointing out his go-to order about a week ago when you joined the clique for a quick coffee break after morning class. You wore your hair up in a bun, minimal make-up yet your face looked as bright as ever, and an oversized–

Hold up. Why does he remember all of this and why does it matter? What the fuck? Yoongi mentally slaps himself on the back of the head.

"So, who's winning?" You plop down onto the bench in between Yoongi and Seokjin, the former going rigid when your arm shortly comes into contact with his.

Everyone's eyes go around the group before landing on Namjoon.

"Last time I checked, we were on a losing streak," he sighs, nodding towards himself and Hoseok.

The remaining boys raise their eyebrows in confusion, not expecting the youngest to paint himself in a bad light in front of his crush.

"I'm the problem though," his teammate follows up quickly, defusing the situation. "I pull him down like a rock. Today's just not my day."

Your lips pull into a pout before curling upwards again, giving him an understanding nod.

"But hey," Hoseok continues, snapping his fingers as if he came up with the perfect idea, "how about you two play together? I could use a break, to be honest."

You lean in further at the proposition, your elbows propped up on your knees with a mischievous smile creeping up on your face. "I'll tell you what – you two go 1v1 and I'll play with whoever wins against these two." With outstretched thumbs, you point to Yoongi on your left and Seokjin on your right.

Hoseok's eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips curl into the shape of a circle.

"Please? I just wanna see you play, Joonie," you add with a slight lilt to your voice, gaze lingering on the tall man.

Yoongi almost spits out his drink, splurting a little as he sucks the caffeinated liquid through the straw. That's not showing any signs? My ass.

"Okay then," Namjoon states cooly though a hint of a smile can be spotted on his features. Retrieving the abandoned ball from the floor, he tosses it into Hoseok's hands. "First one to score ten points."

The two exchange looks with each other before jumping into action, jogging back to the court.

"Oh, thank God," Seokjin sighs loudly from beside you, head slumping sideways onto his shoulder. "I needed to catch a breath. My legs are killing me." He stretches out his limbs as a means of demonstrating his fatigue.

"How can you be tired? I did almost all the work, old man," Yoongi suddenly chimes in, a hint of annoyance yet amusement laced in his tone.

"Yah! I'm only three months older than you," the older male retorts, hoisting himself into an upright position. "I'm exhausted because you're hopping around the place like a rabbit on steroids. You always play like your life depends on it." Seokjin lets out several other humorous remarks that have Yoongi chuckling when a muffled vibrating sound interrupts him. Reaching into one of the pockets of his backpack, he pulls out his phone. "I gotta answer that real fast. It's my mom."

"Tell her I said hi," the blonde comments nonchalantly, adjusting the headband holding back his bangs.

Seokjin gives him a confirming nod before standing up with a groan, finger hovering above the screen ready to accept the call.

It's silent for a few seconds once Seokjin disappears down the line when suddenly a low cackle leaves you.

"What?" Yoongi asks, eyes shifting from Namjoon dribbling past Hoseok and landing a lay-up to you.

You shake your head slowly. "Your friendship dynamic is kinda weird but cute."

"Cute?" he blurts out in disbelief, repeating the word in his thoughts like an echo. Cute... Not in a million years would Yoongi have thought anything remotely in regards to him could be described as cute. "Care to elaborate?"

A shrug of your shoulders serves as part of your answer. "I dunno. I just find it interesting how different you are around each other, but all fuse so well." You rest your head in the palm of your hand. "You and Seokjin, for example, are the bickering type yet you treat each other with so much respect."

Yoongi laughs at your analysis. "Yeah, I guess so."

"It's kinda endearing to see," you add with a small smile.

He reciprocates it with an equally shy smirk. Wow. No one has ever made the effort to look beyond his quote-unquote stone-cold persona. People usually write him off as rude and aloof, and most of the time it doesn't bother him – but hearing someone point out the opposite fuels him with pride.

"Hoseok matches your coolness, but he's more of a happy-go-lucky type compared to you which is a good balance."

Yoongi just smiles to himself at this point, listening to your ramblings. Cool. You called him cool.

"And then you and Namjoon–"

He clears his throat, unsure of what to expect next.

"–are more on the same wavelength intellectually. Like you talk about this and that on an equal level, but he looks up to you like an older brother."

The man regards you with utmost attention, rendered speechless. He's unsure what it is about you as he would usually brush it off, pass the words off as bullshit, but looking into your eyes he can see the honesty, the truth behind them. A mix of emotions comes crashing in like a storm, settling in the core of his stomach, nestling there and leaving him nauseous. What is this feeling?

Before Yoongi can make sense of things, you speak up again. "I can't give you a full breakdown of our friendship yet."

His eyes widen as he lets your words sink in. "Our f-friendship?"

"Yeah." You lean back on the bench behind you. "I'd like to think we're friends." When he doesn't answer, you probe further, "Don't you?"

It doesn't go unnoticed, the barely significant change in volume and pitch of your voice, and it has Yoongi in silent panic. "Yeah n-no, of course we're friends," he stammers, his hand shooting up to brush through some damp strands of his hair.

At that, your signature smile returns, serving as a stark opponent to the orange light of the late afternoon sun. "Okay," you simply reply, licking your lips as you drop your gaze to a patch of grass on the ground. Yoongi does the same when your voice grabs his attention again. "How'd you like that Bryson Tiller I recommended, by the way?"

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he muses, "It was really good. R&B isn't usually on my radar, but I really liked it."

You beam him a grin that grows wider by the second. "For real?"

Yoongi hums out in confirmation, accompanied by a nod of his head. "I can see why he's one of your favorites."

It's apparent you're trying to form words to speak when a loud roar sounds from across the place, followed by Namjoon sprinting towards the two of you. Hoseok trudges behind him defeatedly, seemingly out of breath.

"I did it," Namjoon announces proudly, pectorals on full display through his sweat-soaked shirt.

You spring up from your seat, cheering and clapping for the male before you engulf him in a tight hug.

The sensation in the pit of Yoongi's stomach intensifies, growing into unbearable stages when he watches Namjoon wrap his strong arms around you. This is unfamiliar territory for him, the force of this inidentifiable feeling brewing inside of him, the unexplicable longing for an answer to something he has never experienced before. Is it possible that he's... No, he can't be. This can't be, Yoongi tells himself. No.

Then he realizes that he hasn't spared one single glance at the game – and neither have you.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Seokjin utters, his torso pressing further into the backrest of the sofa with each passing second, tightly clutching a pillow in comfort. "Don't look back! Run for your fucking life!"

Everyone's attention is on the lead actress of the movie, her struggle to escape the creature chasing her leaving the group on the edge of their seats.

For tonight, the boys decided on drinks and movies at Yoongi's and Seokjin's place, and despite a democratic vote against a horror movie, you managed to convince the opposition – most notably Seokjin and Hoseok – otherwise.

In his peripheral view, Yoongi can spot the latter grabbing onto his hair in tension the longer the chase continues, mouth falling agape when the main character barely dodges falling into the hands of death.

"_____, why would you make us watch this?" Hoseok whimpers, leaning closer to Seokjin beside him, the elder clawing onto the other as they both cower in fear.

With a lifted pointer finger to your lips, you signal him to shut up when suddenly a loud screech sounds from the speakers, causing you and everyone else to flinch.

Yoongi's hands clench around the armrests of his recliner in shock, a low chuckle leaving his lips once the aftereffect of the jumpscare subsides. When he turns his head to the side though, his expression falls just as fast as it came.

Your hands are clutched around Namjoon's biceps, your forehead resting on his shoulder before you look back up, sharing a laugh with the man seemingly embarrassed at the frightening scene.

Throughout the remainder of the movie, Yoongi's mind wanders elsewhere, the horrifying acts happening on screen serving as mere background noise for his thoughts. Why does he feel so hollow witnessing you together with his friend? He shouldn't care about any sort of physical touch between the two of you. He should be cheering for him now that he's becoming closer with his crush instead. So why is Yoongi internally conjuring up an image where he's the one sitting beside you in Namjoon's place? Why does he wish it was him that you're looking at so sweetly with that sparkle in your eyes? Why– No, stop, he mentally slaps himself. Stop it – now.

The ending credits roll when Seokjin springs up from his seat, a slight wobble apparent in his legs. "That was...something. I'm gonna need another beer. Anyone else?"

Hoseok is the first to give an affirmative answer, followed by you and Namjoon which forces Yoongi to opt for one as well.

"Let's watch something more lighthearted next?" Hoseok pleads as he scrolls through the plethora of movies, and once everyone is equipped with another cold beer, you agree on a comedic drama this time.

Yoongi has a gradually harder time trying to ignore the soft whispers and the glances stolen at each other, so he accepts sleep with open arms once he senses his eyelids growing heavy – the last thing he sees being your eyes facing him.

About an hour passes when Yoongi wakes up from the flickering lights of the TV screen as it shows recommendations after being inactive for so long.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around the room. Everyone is dead asleep with Seokjin having settled for a makeshift bed on the floor, leaving an entire couch spare for Hoseok. Namjoon occupies one half of the other couch, legs resting on the coffee table – and then there's you next to him, hugging a pillow almost as big as your body in your curled-up state. Yoongi can make out the folded fashion of your legs covered under the throw blanket. You can't possibly be comfortable in this position, he concludes, but yet you look so peaceful, so tranquil – so beautiful.

He barely registers your eyelids fluttering open, deep in thought yet no thoughts at all, so he finds himself flinching once your focus sets on him.

Confusion seeps through every crevice of his being when all you do is stare at him, eyelids still heavy from sleep, wispy eyelashes brushing your skin with every blink. Yoongi should feel uncomfortable locking eyes with you so intently, so intensely, but all he feels is a meaning behind it.

Neither of you break eye contact, the tension growing palpable in the silence of this room, only the ticking of the clock on the wall and the light breathing of your sleeping friends to be heard. It's like only you and him matter at this moment, and when your lips curl into a small smile, he reciprocates the same, watching your eyelids fall shut again.

Yoongi wakes up once more to the now black mirror of the TV screen an hour later – and a light fabric draped atop of him. Running his fingers across the knitted pattern, he realizes it's the blanket you were wrapped up in from before. As his head whips around to the spot to his right, you're nowhere to be seen.

She might've gone to the bathroom, he tells himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. As his throat feels somewhat dry, he rises from his seat in the recliner, trudging over to the kitchen to find the lights on.

You're sitting facing the door, so when Yoongi enters, you're quick to greet him, surprise evident in your features. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," he replies, voice still thick from slumber. "You're up?"

"Mhm," you mumble. "Couldn't fall back asleep."

With shaky hands, he pours himself some water before settling down onto the chair adjacent to you. It's quiet for a while – not the same kind of quiet as back in the living room though. This time, the buzzing sound from the ceiling light and the droplets of water from the tap render Yoongi queasy, the scene transpiring just an hour ago playing on a loop in the forefront of his mind. To break some of the tension, he says the first best thing he can think of at the moment. "Thanks, by the way." When you look at him in confusion, he clarifies, "For the blanket."

"Oh." A light chuckle escapes your lips. "Yeah, I figured you might need it." Fiddling with the cup you're cradling in your hands, you continue, "I don't get why you always walk around in short sleeves."

Yoongi lets out a low hum. "It's not like I'm immune to the cold, but I'm less prone to it."

"Really?" you question him with interest. "I feel like I'm freezing all the time. Here, look."

"Ah–" Yoongi winces in surprise when one of your hands curls around his, the surface of your palm frigid against his skin. Like hypnotized, his eyes are fixated on your fingers laying loosely atop of his, the delicate flesh of your digits brushing against his calloused ones, your meticulously manicured nails a shocking juxtaposition to the rough edges of his. He's taking in the soft pink of your nail polish, a similar shade to the tint on your lips and a stark contrast to the prominent purple veins raking across his knuckles like vines.

Despite the clear collision of different worlds, all Yoongi can think about is how this looks right and how this feels right. Your hand might be freezing cold, yet he's fighting the urge to intertwine fingers with you until the temperature of your limb matches his – but then he remembers who you are. "Yeah..." Slowly retracting his hand from yours, Yoongi's vision steers to a cracked tile on the floor, the memory of a clumsy Namjoon in drunken stupor coming to the forefront of his mind. "You're really cold," he murmurs.

As if some sort of spell was lifted, you empty the remnants of your water in one go before slowly rising from your seat. "I should probably get going."

"W-what?" Yoongi stammers with a slight delay, processing your words. "It's like"–he squints at the clock on the wall–"two in the morning."

"Yeah, well..." Placing your used cup in the sink, you turn back around to face him. "I have some things to do tomorrow, so I should probably get some good rest in my own bed instead of breaking my neck sleeping on your couch." You finish your explanation with a hint of a smile.

Yoongi watches you with caution, searching for any sign that might give away your innermost thoughts. He doesn't remember you talking about any plans earlier today. "Let me walk you home then."

"Oh no, it's fine. You don't have to." Vigorously waving your hands in front of you, you politely deny his proposal. Why are you so adamant about it?

"I think I do." He's unsure where his assertiveness is coming from, but the thought of you returning home in the dark all alone renders him with discomfort.

"Really, it's not the first time. I'll be fine."

The male scoffs at that. Even more of a reason now, he thinks to himself. Who in their right mind ever made you walk home by yourself? "I don't think so."

"It's really not that far and I have–"

"_____, I'm not letting you walk home alone at this hour. Over my dead body." Pushing his tongue into his cheek, Yoongi declares, "It's either that or I'm waking up one of the guys to take you instead."

When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's concerned he might have overstepped a boundary – but he's merely being sensible. What if something happened to you? The thought alone sends shivers down his spine. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Your small voice softly rings in his ears, barely noticeable but enough for him to be able to finally breathe again. "Okay."

The walk to your apartment is dead-silent most of the way except for when you mumble out directions. Once you arrive at your apartment complex, you send him a small smile, thanking him before turning on your heel without wasting another breath.

"_____!" Yoongi calls after you.

You halt in your steps, facing him again.

"Did I do something wrong?" He knows he didn't, but something must have happened that caused your change in attitude. There's no way you can be angry with him for wanting you to arrive home safe and sound.

When you walk back towards him, a weak smirk stretches across your face before you shake your head. "It's nothing," you reassure him. "It's not you."

The space in between his eyebrows furrows at your words. What do you mean by that? He's trying to study your face under the dim streetlight though all he can see is the faint outlines of your features.

"Thank you for walking me home."

The action catches Yoongi off-guard, but when you wrap your arms around his waist, cheek coming to a rest on his collarbone, he acts as if on autopilot, leisurely draping his limbs across your back. Man, despite you laying it down on him so strongly that you're cold all the time the hug feels pretty damn warm and cozy. He can sense your heartbeat through the layers of fabric, the swell of your breasts pressed against his chest –

Oh God.

Unfurling his arms, he releases you from his hold, stumbling a step backward before things can escalate any further. He's not supposed to have these thoughts – not about you.

You take the hint, your own limbs dropping to your sides as you send him one last look, the corners of your lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. And then you turn on your heel, leaving for good.

He waits until you've entered your apartment, a light igniting on the fifth floor an indicator that you have, but even then he can't seem to set foot until several minutes have passed.

It's still pitch-dark inside when Yoongi returns, the slivers of moonlight shining through the windows serving as his sole guide. Silently hanging his set of keys onto the keychain holder, he shuffles his way back into the living room.

In the meantime, Seokjin must have moved to his bedroom as no traces of him or the pillows and blankets on the floor are to be seen. He usually does that when the boys are over and they end up falling asleep with not enough space for everyone.

Steering his gaze to the left, he witnesses Namjoon's tall stature splayed out on the now entirely vacant couch, back turned towards him.

Realizing there's no need for him to retreat to the recliner, Yoongi stealthily moves past the sleeping bodies of his friends in search of his bedroom.

"Thank you, hyung," the deep timbre of Namjoon's voice suddenly sounds, just above a whisper but enough to startle him.

"What for?" he inquires, confused at his friend's words and the fact that he's still awake.

"For taking care of _____."

Clubs aren't Yoongi's terrain. He avoids them like a disease, the sole thought of being surrounded by sweaty strangers grinding on each other to shitty, repetitive music so loud it almost bursts your eardrums forcing him to gag. Yet here he is, sulky though dressed to impress – in his eyes – as he patiently waits for the rest of the group to finish up. He's well aware that he could have declined, but at the same time he didn't want to. She's gonna be there.

It's minutes later when the front door finally opens, revealing Hoseok first, followed closely by Namjoon – and then there's you.

This has to be some sort of fever dream. He's at high risk of being caught, but Yoongi can't take his eyes off of you. Your pearl-white dress paired with the matching heels sends his head reeling, the hemline of your skirt stopping about mid-thigh causing a blush to creep up on his cheeks. But he can't lose his cool in front of everyone. That would be stupid and weird – and not to mention outright treacherous.

"Ready to go?" Seokjin questions, clutching his car keys as the designated driver of the night.

Everyone quickly assembles at the front door except for Yoongi who takes a second to gather his thoughts.

"Are you coming?"

Yoongi lifts his head at the inquiry. When he realizes it's you who posed the question with your frame turned towards him, his heart starts pounding in his chest like a pump gun. If only you understood the insinuation behind those words... "Y-yeah, sure," he chokes out before clambering off the couch, and so the group steps outside to Seokjin's car.

"Hyung." Hoseok puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "We already pre-gamed a little. You gotta sit in the back, or I get car sick."

Yoongi peers behind Hoseok's form, eyes landing on you. They're gonna make you sit in the middle because Namjoon would block the view through the rear window. He's fucked.

Without posing any further questions, he climbs into the right backseat. When you settle down next to him not even a second after, it's like all signs of lifeform leave him – his breathing becomes shallow, his heartbeat flatlines. Not even a single muscle moves.

Your bare thigh comes into contact with his when you squirm around in search of the buckle. "Oops, sorry." A small smile flashes across your face when you notice. "I think it's on your side."

Yoongi tries his hardest to avoid eye contact with you. He wouldn't survive it in this close proximity. "A-ah, yeah..." he mumbles, maneuvering his legs closer to the door, giving you enough space to fumble.

The entire ride to the club he remains silent, his racing thoughts drowning out the chatter in the background. He's so unbelievably fucked.

The majority of the time Yoongi spends at the bar, downing beer after beer to wash away the chaos inside his mind – though what he deemed his remedy at first turns out to be his poison instead. After the third beer, it's impossible to ignore the way your hair sways along with your movements, how well your snug dress hugs your silhouette, and how smooth your bare arms and legs look.

"Alright," you pipe over the loud music after swallowing your shot of tequila, "I'll be back on the dancefloor again." Sliding down the bar stool, you shoot a look at the boys, both Hoseok and Namjoon tagging along with you.

Seokjin sends an affirmative nod your way before turning back to the bartender, engaging in their current conversation.

Even among the crowd it's easy to spot you, the satin fabric of your garment causing you to stand out like a sore thumb. In Yoongi's eyes you easily lighten up this sleazy place though, this pit of hell where everyone devours each other with indecent looks. You're like an angel among demons, wearing that sweet smile of yours like a halo, glowing with understanding and genuine interest – only it isn't directed at him but Namjoon in this scenario instead.

He watches your face turn into something darker though when his friend leans in closer towards you, whispering something in your ear.

Oh... Fuck.

He can't do this right now. Not now, not like this.

Without giving it much thought, Yoongi gets up from his seat. "I'm gonna step out for a second," he informs Seokjin before trudging towards the backdoor.

Once he sets foot onto the asphalt of the back alley and the door shuts behind him with a loud thud, an exasperated sigh escapes him. The air is cold and crisp with a hint of humidity from a prior rain shower. "Fuck..." The curse comes out audibly this time. Walking around in circles, his hands come up multiple times to run through his tousled locks. Why does he feel so strongly about this situation? You're just a girl, some random girl, that one of his closest friends since childhood happens to have a crush on. Yeah, you're kind and you're smart, beautiful and funny... But why does all of that matter to him? Why does it bother him so much seeing you with him that his insides churn at the sole thought of it?

He fell for you. He actually fell for you.

The realization has Yoongi forcing out a laugh in disbelief.

"There you are."

A familiar voice brings him back from his manic trip.

"I found you."

Looking over to the side, he almost regrets his decision. Even underneath the dim streetlights and the red hue of the neon sign plastered on the concrete wall you look stunning. Pull your fucking shit together, he tells himself. So he musters up the faintest of smiles at the source of the voice.

Your heels click on the asphalt as you make your way over to him, the surface still wet from the rain as it emits a splashing sound with each step. When you lean next to him against the wall, you let out a soft whine along with a chuckle before retracting from the surface in lightning speed. "Ah, it's cold."

Yoongi can't help but react with a soft chortle. "And wet," he adds, shrugging off his leather jacket in an attempt to throw it over your shoulders though you don't comply.

"Oh no," you fend. "I'll just go back inside where it's warm. I only wanted to cool off for a bit."

For some reason, your words render him even more eager in his proposition. "Don't be ridiculous. Put it on, please."

"Really, I came out for a breather, and that's what I got. Besides," you gesture towards him, "you're wearing short sleeves again–"

"And you're practically half-naked, so don't try to argue with me." It takes him a second to register what came out of his mouth, so when you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, he immediately backtracks from his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just–"

"You're just trying to be nice. I know," you finish for him.

Even though he would usually word it this way, there's more to it that he refrains from revealing. The alcohol coursing through his veins serves as a strong opponent though, clouding his senses.

With outstretched arms and pouty lips, you let him drape the heavy clothing over your torso, carefully looping your limbs through the sleeves. The sight of you standing there like a sulky child has him suppressing laughter.

"What?" You eye him, a glint evident in your glare before it softens again.

A small smile stretches across the man's lips, hinting at a confusing blend of endearment and disappointment. "Nothing," he simply states. He's in it – deep in it – with no way out. God, he wants to tell you that you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on even though it would be wrong to admit.

"Can I ask you a question?" you finally break the palpable silence.

He gulps, unsure of your possible inquiry, but ultimately nods his head yes.

"It's two questions actually." Licking your lips, you shift your focus to a nearby puddle, the reflection of the light coming from the neon sign gifting it with more depth than it probably possesses. "Does Namjoon happen to have a crush on me?"

You come in straight with the facts, so Yoongi is taken aback, confused over how to go about it. "Uh..." he stammers, hand shooting up to scratch at the nape of his neck.

There are so many possible outcomes to this conversation. If he tells you the truth, things end right here, right now. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. Does he think Namjoon should've confessed a long time ago? Yes, absolutely. Does he have it in his heart to shorten the process and do it himself instead? Absolutely not. First of all, it's Namjoon's wish to keep it a secret until he musters up enough courage to do so (which Yoongi can only so much as scoff at but still respect), and second and most important of all, there's this lingering fear of you reciprocating his friend's feelings – which isn't too far off of reality from the looks of it.

Realizing he hasn't given you a proper reply yet, Yoongi continues, "Well–"

"So it's true then." You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes finding his again boring into them with intent.

"I didn't say that," Yoongi counters, his glare holding yours in an attempt to ignore that glimpse of your cleavage framed by his jacket. It's not an easy feat as your folded arms give it an extra push, the pendant of your necklace sitting neatly atop of it.

"Yoongi, it's not like any of you are exactly subtle about it."

The words leave your lips in such a deadpan way, that trace of indifference within your answer shocking Yoongi as if you don't share the same sentiment. "Then why do you ask if you're so sure about it?" he fends in retaliation, finding no energy in himself to fight against your rebuttal. There's no reason to backtrack now. "Why do you ask me and not Namjoon?"

"I guess I..." The space in between your eyebrows creases. "I don't wanna have to break his heart."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you in confusion. "W-what do you mean?"

He doesn't miss the way you roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, your eyes once dead set on him now avoiding the intensity of his. "Don't get me wrong. I like Namjoon, I really do – just not in that way."

For a second the world seems to stand still, your words slowly sinking into Yoongi's mind. He had it all wrong this entire time since you were dead convincing. Were you just playing some sick, twisted mind game all along?

You continue, "He's a great guy and everything, and I'm probably stupid for not seeing something that could potentially be there. But it's not him I'm interested in." Running a hand through your hair, you let out a loud huff. "I know I'm gonna have to tell him eventually. The thought already stresses me out."

"Namjoon appreciates honesty. Just right out tell him how you feel," Yoongi explains calmly despite the chaos raging inside of him. Honesty. His and Namjoon's friendship has never been of the complicated type, built on nothing but trust. Now he's committing the biggest crime in their twenty years of brotherhood, his eyes lingering on the sparkly sheen of your lips for a second too long wondering what they would taste like contradicting every principle he's trying to uphold. But wait – what do you mean it's not him I'm interested in?

"Yeah, you're right." Your words pull him out of his trance. "I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

Yoongi mirrors that weak smirk spreading across your face. "What's the other question?"

"Huh?"

"You said you had two questions," he recalls.

"Oh, yeah..."

It's quiet for an instance as he watches you deep in thought, struggling with whatever occupies your mind before you shake your head.

"Nevermind."

"Come on." His brows furrow at your curt reply. "Tell me."

"No, it's stupid," you counter, an embarrassed expression taking over your features.

"Nothing you say could ever be stupid." He doesn't think twice about the words leaving his lips, ignoring this weird mixture of regret and shame surging through him. "You brought it up, so just–"

"Do you have a crush on me, too?" you blurt out, eyes set on Yoongi's like your life depends on it.

It's almost as if all sense of being leaves him, his limbs growing rigid and his breath being knocked out of his lungs. How the fuck is he going to go about this? "What?" he merely responds, still in shock.

You blink up at him a couple of times, lips trembling as if you're about to elaborate – though you retract instead. "Forget it." Still facing him, you take a step backward before turning on your heel.

It can't be more than a split second, but within that time frame a million thoughts cross through Yoongi's mind. You have to suspect him for you to ask this question in the first place which poses several questions: how obvious has he been this entire time and why would you want to know the answer? Is it to ridicule him? Is it something entirely else? Whatever the answer may be, Yoongi needs to know – no matter the cost. "Don't," he croaks out, almost unconvincing in the way his voice wavers. "Don't go."

You watch him with wistful eyes as you turn around again, arms still crossed in front of your chest.

"What would you do if I said yes?" Usually, he would set the record straight right away, but this is unlike any other situation Yoongi has ever experienced before. Your presence alone renders him insecure yet the alcohol coursing through his veins causes him to come up with somewhat courageous statements like these.

Taking another step closer towards him, you lean against the wall beside you, one leg leisurely resting in front of the other. "I guess you're gonna find out."

With an incredulous chuckle, he mirrors your movements though his hands bury into the pockets of his jeans instead. You're not even two feet apart from each other, enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your body. "What makes you so sure about that?"

Despite the shake of your head, the man can still make out the smirk stretching across your face. "Two things: one, you're stalling. If you wanted to say no, you already would've said so. And two," you lick your lips before drawing them into a thin line, "simple intuition."

"Intuition?" he repeats.

"Mhm," you hum out. "Maybe."

Another chortle escapes him. How has this turned into a cat and mouse game? And who is who?

"Or maybe you're just insanely obvious," you fend, a mischievous grin finding its way onto your features.

"Me?" He scoffs. "Obvious?"

A sole nod of your head seals your answer, and maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but Yoongi swears he can sense some sort of chemistry brewing in between the both of you. But then again, why would you show any signs of interest in him? He's him and you're...you. Perfect, stellar _____ whom his best friend is pining for. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to deny his feelings yet the idea of Namjoon's heart being crushed comes to the forefront of his mind. Although the sheer thought of losing you tears him apart equally as bad as hypothetically losing his closest companion since childhood.

In hindsight, he wonders if things would've turned out different, if things could've been avoided, had Namjoon confessed to you and had you reciprocated. Yoongi wouldn't have developed feelings for you – at least he believes so. Now he's so deep in shit he doesn't see any way out of it without someone getting the short end of the stick. Either way someone's going to get hurt, and he decides it rather be him instead.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Yoongi comes back to life at the sound of your voice, the soft lilt alluding to your ignorance.

"Would it make things easier for you if–"

His brows furrow in surprise when you step closer to him, so close that you're almost chest to chest.

"–I said I liked you back?"

Did he hear you right? Did you just imply that you– There's no way. This can't be real. "What kinda sick joke is this?" The words leave his lips without much thought.

Now it's your turn to look at him in confusion, eyebrows creased with a deep-set frown. "What?"

Huffing out in frustration, Yoongi declares more deadpan than he prefers, "You're right – I like you, _____. And you say you like me, but..." He stalls, the residue of alcohol complicating the process of keeping his emotions in check. He can't have an outburst happen in front of you. The situation is already complicated enough as is. "Why do you act like that around Namjoon? I don't understand."

You look like you're about to reply with the way your bottom lip quivers, a hint of tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but a rusty creak along with a loud slam of metal and an all-too-familiar deep voice have you both turning your heads towards the door.

Shit.

"Namjoon," you two mumble in unison before rushing back inside.

Yoongi can already hear the commotion when you enter the hallway connecting the back entrance with the main room.

"Dude, calm down. What's going on?" Hoseok holds the younger man by the arm to stop him from storming past the crowd.

Namjoon looks back at the two of you. His nostrils are flared and his jaw set – Yoongi is scared he might pounce on him any second.

When his friend finally releases himself from Hoseok's hold and stalks over to you, he instinctively pulls you behind him. He knows Namjoon would never hurt anybody, but the thought of you being in this mess in your vulnerable state sends him into protector mode.

"I should've known," he starts. "It was crystal clear this entire time, but I didn't wanna accept it. Well," running a hand through his dirty blonde strands, he continues, "now I have proof."

"Joon, let me explain." Yoongi tries to defuse the situation. "It's not–"

"It's not what it looks like? Is that what you're trying to say?" Letting out a scoff, his stare shoots even more daggers at the shorter male now. "So I didn't see you confessing your feelings to the girl I like just seconds ago? This was all in my imagination then?"

Yoongi's mouth turns dry, a lump forming in his throat. "Joon, just hear me out–"

"Oh, I think I've heard more than enough." Clasping his head in his hands, he continues, "I didn't think you would stab me in the fucking back like that."

"Namjoon!" It's Hoseok's voice now calling the male's name in warning.

Another curse escapes him before he leans in closer towards you.

He might be mistaken, but Yoongi's hand suddenly feels heavier, another set of fingers weaving their way through his in search of comfort.

"Good luck with the virgin," Namjoon snarls, his eyes traveling from you to the male beside you.

"Kim Namjoon!" Seokjin steps in this time, fury evident in his face before said man can make his way to the exit, leaving everyone in shock.

Yoongi's ears fall deaf after that, a pit opening in the depths of his stomach, every fiber of his being becoming numb. He's neither particularly ashamed nor proud of this fact, but the way the words came out of Namjoon's mouth has him almost toppling over in disbelief.

He doesn't understand what's happening around him, but when what he believes to be your head drops onto his shoulder, he comes back to his senses. The contact is fleeting though as you detangle yourself from his grip.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, and without taking a look back, you disappear within the crowd, someone calling your name over and over again without an answer.

It's then that Yoongi realizes he and Seokjin are the only ones left.

"Stay here," the elder signalizes him, following your trail through the club.

Fuck. Fuck! How could things have gotten so uncontrollably out of hand? There's an uncomfortable tightness forming in Yoongi's chest, wrapping around him like a rope. Is this going to be the end of his and Namjoon's two-decade-old friendship? Is he going to lose one of his closest confidants because of a girl? The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. You're not just some random girl – you're far more than that. He despises himself for even thinking of diminishing your worth, his heart clenching in disgust, yet there's no way this can be the end of things. He should've never fallen for you.

Your mind must be racing as well though, Yoongi concludes. You basically confirmed that you have feelings for him as well – if what you said was the truth because, after all, you have been heavily flirting with Namjoon in front of Yoongi. If so, how are they going to hold up after this mess? And – the idea has him swallowing down hard – are you turned off by the fact that he's a virgin?

His priorities are all over the place right now. Is he going to have to make a choice between you and his friend? Or are you both going to abandon him maybe? Fuck...

"Yoongi!" The familiar sound of Seokjin's voice appears at the perfect time, catching him before he can fall deeper into despair. "Let's go home."

"What about _____?" he inquires, not realizing your name slipping off his tongue first instead of Namjoon's.

"She's in the car," the elder explains. "Hoseok and Namjoon are taking an Uber home."

There's nothing much Yoongi can offer besides a solemn nod before following Seokjin outside to the parking lot.

The dusty green of his roommate's old Honda Civic comes into view, and for a second Yoongi considers taking the seat next to you when he catches a glimpse of you through the window, head hung low and hair falling in front of your face. The sight has him opting for the passenger seat instead.

Most of the car ride remains calm, not even the radio playing any sort of music. An incoming call from Hoseok informs everyone that he and Namjoon arrived at home safely and that the man – though still somewhat in distress – will be alright and won't do anything stupid in his drunken state. Yoongi is more than thankful for the eldest's sobriety and clear mind in this situation though it only does so much easing the nervous shaking of his leg and the incessant picking of his cuticles.

It's not long before you arrive at your apartment complex, once the car comes to a halt your fragile voice filling the silence. "Thanks for the ride. Goodnight." And without sparing one single glance, you climb out of the vehicle, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Silence settles again, no one daring to speak until Seokjin moves to ignite the engine again. It comes to life with a spluttering roar when suddenly the door to the passenger seat opens.

"Yoongi!" Seokjin calls out for the younger male only to be answered by the door slamming shut again.

You're already rummaging around for your house keys when his voice stops you in your tracks.

"_____, wait." He breathes out, a cloud of mist forming in the air. It's only then that he realizes how cold it has actually become – and that he's still without his jacket.

You slowly turn around, your arms wrapped around you for comfort.

The look you send Yoongi hits him straight in the chest. It's dim under the light of the entrance to your apartment complex, yet he can spot the streaks of runny mascara around your eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice small and unsure.

Your arms fall to your sides lethargically. It's quiet for a long time before you speak up. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm sorry, I messed everything up."

Yoongi vehemently shakes his head at your apology. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's not your fault."

At that, you mimic his gesture, a small whimper resonating from you as fresh tears start to form again. "Earlier, you asked me why I act that way when I'm with Namjoon..." You stall, visibly swallowing down a lump in your throat. "At first it was because I wanted to give it a serious shot. I could tell he liked me, and I was actually considering it. But my heart just wasn't in the right place."

The first tears trickle down your cheeks. "So I thought if I ended things early I wouldn't have a reason to stick around anymore."

The space in between Yoongi's brows furrows at your explanation, but he lets you continue without interjecting.

"I was scared I wasn't gonna be able to be around you anymore, so instead I led Namjoon on and then this whole mess happened." In between heavy sniffles, the tears flow uncontrollably now.

Never in his life has Yoongi been so dumbfounded, so struck to silence by a hurtful truth. Words don't even come close to describing what he's experiencing in this moment, a mixture of frustration and disappointment concentrated in the core of his body, but something tugs on his heartstrings at the sight of you. Your presence comes across as frail, that damn black leather jacket almost swallowing you up entirely, engulfing you in darkness. It's kind of ironic, this comparison of images: Yoongi in his initial head-to-toe black attire if it wasn't for the white, slim-fit t-shirt on his torso, and you in your skimpy, white dress as your centerpiece though it's now being dominated by that foreign black piece of clothing. It's as if you traded pieces of each other, innocence and corruption cohabitating within the two of you – no one entirely good, no one entirely evil.

"God, I feel like such a whore!" you suddenly exclaim, your whines becoming louder. Burying your face in your hands, you cry with reckless abandon.

Yoongi is stunned at your response – and heartbroken that you would call yourself names like that. It wasn't an ideal approach, but at the end of the day everyone had their wrong-doings. He should've never given in to your advances, and Namjoon should've confessed to you.

It takes you a while to regain composure, and Yoongi feels compelled to console you though he refrains from it when you strut over to him, shrugging off the jacket in the process. "I'm not sure what kinda outcome I was expecting, but I didn't think it would tear you two apart like this." A huge question mark appears in Yoongi's head when you elaborate, your fist thrusting the heavy leather towards him which he takes with a slight delay. "I don't wanna take part in this if it means your friendship's on the line."

His soul leaves him in an instant, that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach tightening, tenfold in severity now. The worst-case scenario has come to life – he lost his best friend and he lost you.

"I'm so sorry," you murmur for the umpteenth time this night, and with that you turn around, unlocking the front door and leaving Yoongi alone in the dark as it clicks shut behind you.

Seconds upon seconds pass by as Yoongi tries to come to terms with what happened, a lightheaded sensation creeping up on him, causing him to collapse at the knees. Now he's in a crouched position on the concrete platform, dismissing the freezing cold nipping at his exposed skin. His elbows come to a rest on his bent joints, his hands clasping around his head as if to shield himself from the outside world. Fuck... Fuck! There's no way things are going to go back to the way they were. Everything's fucked.

"Hey, man." Yoongi discerns Seokjin's voice beside him. "Come on, let's get you home."

The elder hoists him up by the shoulders, retrieving the leather garment that lifelessly lies on the ground to throw it over his shivering form.

"Hyung..." Yoongi mumbles out. "I fucked up."

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sailxrmxrs · 2 years

Note

IM JUST SURPRISED NO ONE HAS TAKEN BLOOMING PANICS “oh no my s/o passed out from stress or an illness and now im super worried” HURT/COMFORT TROPES VIRGINITY YET. nightowl would blame onion 😗 LOL

alright bet. have some headcanons about the lis reacting to their s/o who has passed out or gotten ill because of being overworked, exhausted, and stressed. mc isn't too sick but is just clearly tired and has been overdoing it without resting and of course they tried to pretend everything was fine (spoiler alert: it was not fine). so the stress builds up and oh no something's wrong. they're not okay but the lis know how to fix this...right? anyway we'll have a sliver of hurt/comfort but tbh it'll mostly be comfort because angst is not my forté. will add a mild content warning for discussions of poor lifestyle habits ie. sleeping and eating. doesn't get too dark with said topics but they are at the centre of mc's stress for most of these. also toast's got Very Long so uh enjoy the food toast simps. thanks for requesting, anon!

♡ nightowl ♡

College was a struggle for anyone and Nightowl knew the pain of late night deadlines as well as any other student. More than a few times he'd pulled all-nighters so that he could get assignments finished or study for upcoming exams. It wasn't the healthiest routine but he always made sure to get plenty of sleep in at some point throughout the day. Sure, his sleep schedule was a little messed up but he wasn't sleep deprived, by any means. The same, however, could not be said for you. Early morning classes meant that staying in bed an extra hour or two wasn't an option, but those same rapid deadlines were looming overhead and so most nights you would only get a few hours of sleep—certainly not enough to be a fully functioning human and certainly not enough to remain healthy, either. The same poor schedule and assignments led to skipping meals and just generally not maintaining yourself as well as you should be. Nightowl would text frequently, the two of you meeting up whenever you could to take your minds off the stresses of college life. But no matter how much Nightowl checked in with you, there was no telling just how exhausted and stress-ridden you'd gotten.

It wasn't until one evening when you went over to his place, not wanting to cancel your plans despite how tired and lightheaded you were feeling. You'd been up since the early hours of the morning for classes after staying up late to finish studying. The day had rushed by and so you'd only had a few snacks to eat around lunchtime. So not long after greeting Nightowl did you end up passing out right on the floor of his bedroom. Cue a panicked Nightowl stressing about whether or not he should call an ambulance or just trust himself to take care of you. After carefully depositing you on his bed, Nightowl would grab his phone and hurriedly message whoever was online to ask for advice—which only led to Onion berating him for leaving you abandoned while he went on his phone. But Nightowl would toss aside his phone in frustration and focus on grabbing some water for you and trying to wake you up so that he could get some food into you. He doesn't have a whole lot of food lying around that isn't some form of snack but there's a few things lying in his cupboards that would make for a good meal. Anything to stave off the building worry and self-admonishment for not noticing just how badly you were doing.

Later on, once Nightowl feels satisfied that you're doing okay and have been well fed and looked after, Nightowl stays up to take some of the workload off your hands. Obviously he can't do assignments and things for you, but he can help organise your notes or send that one professor an email that really needs answering. Just small menial tasks that don't take long individually but soon start to build up over time. Nightowl's happy to be of help in some way, even if it means putting off his own studying for your sake. When you do wake up for a short moment to see him sat at his desk, Nightowl's insides turn to liquid at the bleary, sleep infested eyes that blink at him under the glow of his fairy lights.

"Come to bed, Nightowl." Your voice is quieter than normal, body still half asleep. But how could he say no to that? So he agrees, guiding your exhausted form back to bed where he lays with you and holds you as tightly as possible. What happened earlier was scarier and has only prompted him to cherish you even more.

♡ quest ♡

Quest is just getting home from work, having texted you to let you know he'd be a little later than usual finishing off some task his boss had asked for him to do. He's looking forward to spending the night together in comfy clothes eating something quick and easy since it's the end of the week and you're both extremely tired. He's noticed the slight changes to your schedule, the way you've been coming to bed later and later after insisting you've got to finish that one job before sleeping. Not to mention the early morning alarms to get up and go off to work. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried, and had broached the topic a couple of times with you; he'd suggested taking a couple days off for an extended weekend trip somewhere or even just asking for a lighter workload on your current project. But each time you'd brushed him off saying that you were fine and this was just a busy time of year. Somehow Quest didn't exactly buy that but respected your boundaries, backing off but quietly encouraging you to come to bed half an hour earlier or staying in bed an extra few minutes in the mornings. He wanted to be there for you as much as he could.

And so when he arrived home to see you sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, eyes rimmed with dark circles, Quest knew it had gone too far. Within an instant he was on his knees in front of you, one hand holding onto yours while the other slid to your forehead to check if you were feverish. His face is marred with concern as he examines the tiredness in your eyes and the guilt that resided there, knowing this was self-inflicted.

"I knew I should have told you to rest more," he sighed, deciding that your current state wasn't too pressing of a matter. All you needed was some good food and a healthy dose of sleep. Long term. Quest was fully prepared to take it upon himself to get you a couple days off work, though you'd already beaten him to it, knowing you needed the rest.

"Sorry for worrying you. It's just been so hectic at work and I felt bad not helping out where I could," you explained as Quest resided in the kitchen, steadfast on preparing a hearty meal to restore some energy before bed.

"I get it, I really do. But you've got to take care of yourself more. Or, at the very least, let me take care of you." Quest was fully immersed in his role of doting boyfriend, determined not to let this happen again. He was too sweet and caring to not accept his willing offer. Maybe you could let loose a little and not take on so much work. Though you were certainly more than happy to indulge in the comforts of Quest's embrace as he held you close against his chest, encouraging you to take a nap once you'd finished eating his homecooked meal. After all, your eyelids were feeling heavy and his chest was such a welcome comfort that it wouldn't hurt to take a quick nap. And maybe that quick nap wouldn't end up being quite so quick and would result in Quest gently moving you to carry you off to bed once it started getting a little late.

♡ xyx ♡

The sun was beating down, doing nothing to help the heat and exhaustion already sinking deep into your bones from the hike you'd been taking with Xyx. It was a frequent occurrence in your relationship to go hiking on the weekends you didn't have anything else planned. But, as a result of lacking sleep throughout the work week, you were left feeling incredibly weak. Not to mention the heated weather had left you dehydrated. Still, you wanted to push through it for Xyx, not wanting to worry him over something you'd deemed wasn't worth fixating on. As long as you could get through this one afternoon, you'd be able to rest and catch up on all the sleep you'd missed throughout the week. Though, as it turned out, your body had other plans and the otherwise enjoyable afternoon was cut short when you collapsed in the path. Xyx was immediately by your side, able to recognise the injury in your ankle caused by the fall as a point of concern.

"Shit, doll. Why didn't you say anything?" His tone was teeming with frustration laced concern as he looked around, hoping to spot someone who could offer a hand. Being so far out of the city other hikers were few and far between, leaving Xyx no choice but to carry you back to his car. He was deadly silent the entire way there, barely even speaking once you were both in the car other than to pass a water bottle over to you and instruct that you drink. Guilt struck you in droves, sensing the worry embedded in the crease of Xyx's brow. You hadn't meant for it to get this bad nor cause him such concern. But there was no undoing the past and so you had to sit with your choices and hope the injury you'd sustained wasn't too serious.

After a trip to the hospital to get your ankle checked out, which turned out to only be a minor sprain, you and Xyx returned home. The official order had been significant rest and care, along with ice to help reduce the slight swelling and redness. Xyx's face was a wall of stone as he listened and thanked the doctor for their time. Even now, after returning home and helping you onto the sofa while Cat meowed for their dinner, his expression had barely altered. Quiet with Xyx was far worse than any shouting or chastising comments. Turning quiet meant that he was stewing in his thoughts, internalising everything rather than speaking his mind. And there was little that concerned you more than Xyx locking away those emotions again.

He exhaled a sigh as he sat down beside you, letting his entire weight fall onto the sofa. His head tilted back and he rested the palm of his hand on his forehead. "Do you know how much you scared me today, love?" His voice was low, a soft sound only heard thanks to the crushing silence hanging between you both.

"I didn't think it was that bad. I never meant to worry you."

"Whether you meant to or not, you still did," Xyx replied, tone sharp. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not mad at you just..."

You ran a hand up his arm, unable to do much more thanks to your current limited mobility. "I know."

"Thought I was the one meant to be getting you to tend to my wounds, not the other way around, doll." A smile crept on Xyx's face, the worry and concern etched into his features slowly fading. Everything would be fine. But it was certainly a lesson for the both of you.

♡ nakedtoaster ♡

Lately your work schedule had been gruelling. Night after night you stayed behind later and later to finish the plethora of tasks that had been left to you. It was only inevitable that somewhere along the way you'd fall ill. But there was not time to take the day off work—there was simply too much to be done. You'd complained about the difficult schedule to Toast, their kind words of encouragement the only thing getting you through the day. Of course he'd suggested just quitting your job but despite the difficult schedule it sometimes handed your way, you did like working there. Just not when you were being overworked to the point of agonising exhaustion. And so, when you felt the signs of illness coming on, you just pressed yourself further in the hopes of getting ahead of schedule so that you might be able to afford time off. Toast had warned you this was a terrible idea and, frankly, you knew this too. But what else could you do in such a scenario? Either miss deadlines and risk getting fired or do the work and hope for the best. The weekend was almost here, after all, so you could rest plenty then.

When Toast arrived home one evening to seeing your shoes beside the door signalling an early arrival home, he knew something was wrong. If you'd managed to get away from work this early you'd have texted or called in celebration. So that meant only one thing: you were even more ill and had been sent home to rest. Sure enough, when he entered your shared bedroom, Toast was met with the sight of you in bed. You were wearing an old shirt of his and had a cup of water along with some medicine sitting on the bedside table. Judging by the flush in your cheeks, Toast could tell you were likely feverish too.

"Someone's been working too hard, haven't they?" He teased when you smiled weakly at him, eyes adjusting to the light after a short nap. "Work send you home?"

"Yeah. Apparently almost passing out at work because you were burning up isn't a good sign," you replied, burrowing under the covers with the plush toy Toast had bought you on one of your first dates.

"Anything to get you to rest, I suppose. How are you feeling?" He brushed a gentle hand against your cheek, pleased that your skin didn't feel too feverish.

"I'm doing okay. I think I slept most of it off at this point."

"Hungry?" They asked, taking hold of the glass on your bedside table so that they could refill it with some fresh water. You nodded in reply, feeling your eyelids growing heavy. "You take another nap and I'll come wake you up when it's ready, okay?" Toast didn't bother to wait for a reply, knowing you were ready to fall back asleep. He was glad to see you able to rest without worrying or panicking over some menial task you'd been assigned by your boss. But now, there was a slightly more pressing matter at hand—dinner. They couldn't just order something in while you were sick. This needed to be a homecooked meal. Only problem being, that Toast could not cook much more than literal toast. So, he called up the first person who came to mind—Quest.

"Okay, Quest don't make fun of me but can you please teach me how to make some chicken soup or something. Nothing crazy just give me ingredients and a step-by-step or something."

Not too long later, you awoke to the smell of food coming from the hallway. Whatever was being made had you suddenly very aware of just how hungry you were. As you reached the kitchen door, you could hear Toast's frantic words as they rushed about the kitchen. A second voice was slightly muffled, as though playing through a speaker.

"Look I'm sure it's turned out fine and they'll love it," a voice that resonated in your ears as Quest's sounded from the room.

"But what if this makes it worse? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I made my already sick partner even more sick?" Toast had their hands on the kitchen counter, either side of his phone with his head down so you couldn't see his face.

"Did you do all this for me?" You asked, eyeing up the food on the stove that looked and smelled delicious. Whatever instructions Quest had given them clearly worked. "You're so sweet." You threw your arms around Toast as you burrowed your face into their back, hearing Quest say quick goodbyes before leaving the call.

"Um. I wanted you to have something special made since you were sick so I called Quest for help and I don't know how good it'll be but—"

"It looks amazing. Now stop worrying so we can eat."

#ask #blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #blooming panic fanfic #blooming panic nightowl #blooming panic xyx #blooming panic quest #blooming panic nakedtoaster #uh oh is this a subliminal message that i should sleep more #and maybe not stress out so much about working #anon that better not be a callout post #i am definitely not typing these tags at almost 6am what are u talking about ha ha #ANYWAY OFF TOPIC this is about bloomic lis being the best bfs you've ever seen #pls when is it my turn #anna writes

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uravichii · 3 years

Text

in the afterglow.

"you're realー skin and flesh, but these scenes painted in his head are mere figments of his longings, scraps of his love taking shape in his dreams that will never amount to anything in real life."

character/s: bakugo katsuki

genre: angst 😰, unrequited love, hurt/no comfort

notes: sorry for not focusing on requests and instead making a random angst post for bakugo hshd idk what's wrong w/ me :'D also angst isn't my forté !!!! this is literally the only angst in my whole blog 👍

"i love you..." your smile grows wider yet still maintains its gentle nature. "... katsuki."

he doesn't dare let himself say it backー not this time, at least. katsuki has seen this way too many times, and he's finally grown tired of it.

seeing you, loving you freely, and having you all to himself like this filled his heart to the brim. it was the kind of joy that felt like soaring to the highest place with you, except he could never bring himself to accept that happiness all the way, not with the pathetic state he's inー not with the constant fear of falling eventually, and letting himself climb miles back up again like fool, just for that fleeting rush of happiness from your company.

so when you bring a hand to caress his cheek, he doesn't lean in to your touch like usual. he only glares at you, staying perfectly still as he waits for the excruciating fall, even cursing it to come faster.

after all, none of these are real, and he always seems to know when everything's about to endー when everything should end.

it was time for katsuki to wake up.

"... fuck." he grumbles as he splays his arm across the bed, reaching to turn his alarm off.

his eyes don't open, not yet. he only flings his forearm over his eyes as he tries to keep the memory of the dream alive in his headー the loving gaze in your eyes, the fond touches against his skin, and your words echoing in his mind.

'i love you.... katsuki.'

that's he how he always heard it in his dreams. there was always a pause mid-sentence, his name poorly tucked like a prickle between your mellow wordsー a constant reminder to him that it's not real.

he's started to think that the gaps of silence before the mention of his name was actually a space saved for somebody else's, someone whom those words of yours were actually meant forー kirishima eijirou, his best friend, and the guy you like, which katsuki has known for ages.

he's seen how happy you are with kirishima. he's seen how quick your face lights up when he shows up, how easily he makes you laugh until you start tearing up, and how your gaze would always travel past katsuki, searching for his best friend instead.

"shitty-hair isn't here, dumbass." is what he'd always say before you could even ask.

katsuki's aware he's not on par with him at all. he could never make you laugh the way kirishima's able to do with ease. he can't even bring himself to confess, let alone be close to you and eventually hurt you with the abrasive nature he knows he has.

and he's suppressed these feelings too much and too long, that he's started dreaming almost every night of you and him together. every night he gets to know what it's like to love you without an ounce of guiltー moreover, to be loved by you, and it's always beautiful that katsuki wants it, but your love feels too kind, unselfish, and far too beautiful, it'd be wasted on him.

he instead settles for moments like these where he replays the dreams in his mind as if they were actual memories in reality. he basks in this afterglow, and staying there until his daze is taken over by the realization of how pathetic and pitiful he's become.

you're realー skin and flesh, but these scenes painted in his head are mere figments of his longings, scraps of his love taking shape in his dreams that will never amount to anything in real life.

"this is fucking stupid." katsuki scoffs, finally opening his eyes and mutters more curses in an attempt to muffle out the doting sentences in your voice that's still echoing in his head. he gets up and decides that this will be the last time he'll feel sorry for himself.

of course, katsuki doesn't have control over his dreams, but he'll stop hoping for more, he'll repress these feelings, bury them deep in his chest, and leave them there to die down, bit by bit.

he used to dread for the day your words would feel as if it's lost its meaning from being spoken too much in the dreams, but katsuki has decided he'll have that same dream over and over again if he has to, listening to your "i love you's" until they hold no meaning at allー until they only sound dull, sappy, and annoying to him.

he'll let himself dream of the same scenario every night until he's grown numb of the pain of waking up with nothing, from a dream where he had everything.

#bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha angst #mha angst #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo katsuki angst #bnha x you #mha x you #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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rentsturner · 4 years

Text

Bruised Knuckles | Mark Renton

Warnings - Reader has punched a wall, mentions/descriptions of injury, mentions of (non-specified) scars, alcohol and drugs, content that some people may find as very similar to self-harm, reader is paranoid and insecure. If any of this triggers you pls don’t continue to read. I’ve tried to note all the possible triggers.

wc - 1.7k

a/n - I’ve had a pretty shitty few days tbh and I still feel the lowest that I’ve felt in months. So I’ve channeled all of that into this fic. It’s quite angst heavy but there’s fluff at the end (what can I say, hurt and comfort is my shit). You may find the reader’s emotions a bit dramatic but I’ve basically self projected on to this and I’m not rlly arsed. Read the warnings and if you don’t like it, don’t read it. I don’t want any shit over this

It’s a cold day in Edinburgh, the skies grey and cloudy over the city.It’s been a long day without Mark. He’s been out since the early hours with Sickboy, no doubt dragged into another of Si’s infamous schemes, leaving you to spend the day alone in your tiny apartment. As much as you don’t want to admit it, the isolation has gotten to you - you slipped, more than once. Yeah, you regret it, but also there’s that nagging need for more at the back of your mind. You try to push it out, to forget about it, but the cold in the air doesn’t help to ease the ache in your knuckles.

The door to the apartment shuts with a click and a jangle of keys, footsteps heading towards the door. He’s back. A wave of relief, before you remember and your chest clenches in panic.

‘Alright, love?’ Mark flops onto the bed with a lazy grin, stretching his arms up over his head.

‘Yeah, fine, you?’ Keep it simple. You busy yourself with a stack of books by the bed, straightening the pile of novels so it’s not about to topple over. Keep the hand busy.

‘Yeah, alright. Si led us on a fucking wild goose chase but we got there in the end, y’know?’

You didn’t know, but you nodded along anyway and let him recount the story. You’re admiring the way his lashes flutter against his pale skin and how his arms flex as his hands come to rest behind his head, when you realise that Mark’s stopped talking. And you’ve stopped moving.

‘Your knuckle...” his eyes dart down to the hand you’ve been trying to hide ever since he walked through the door. Busted.

‘Oh.’ You move to get up, anything to get his eyes away from your swollen knuckles, red lines criss crossing over the flowering purple bruises where your hand collided with a solid wall. Multiple times. The open cuts are still weeping, even though it had happened hours ago.

‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ You offer a small smile, but it doesn’t fool Mark.

‘No.’ He moves as you do, standing in front of the bedroom door to block your escape. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance serious , but the worry in his blue eyes betrays him. ‘Love. Let me see it.’

He holds out his hand, pale fingers reaching out to you, his skin just as scarred as yours - different actions, same result. He knows how to help. The hand reaching,an offer of support, reassurance, love, all those things that you crave but can never admit. Emotions aren’t your forté - never have been.But Mark knows that. There’s no secrets between you. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. No secrets, but you won’t even show Mark your hand.

Mark would do anything for you, you know that - he tells you all the time. Days spent in bed chatting shit to each other.

‘I’d run to John O'Groats and back for you, y’know?’

‘Would you now, Mark? What about down to Land’s End?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

Bright eyes, wide smile. Your Mark. He’s joking, of course, but his tone is so serious, his answer without a second of hesitation. Your heart skips a beat.

So now, you give him your hand (and your heart).

He takes it tentatively, one cold hand underneath, the other poking at your raw knuckles gently. When one of his prods reaches a tender spot, you wince and he moves his finger away, meeting your gaze in apology.

‘You punch something?’ His brow creases, a hand running instinctively over his closely cropped hair, before scratching at the back of his neck. He refuses to grow it out, no matter how much you try to persuade him, still getting his razor out every other month like clockwork.

‘It’s easier this way.’ He insists. Less hassle in the morning is what he means.

The sting in your hand brings you back to the present.

‘No.’ You look away from Mark’s gaze, knowing that in doing so you’ll give yourself away, but not having the energy or willpower to stop yourself. Much like the ‘incident’ earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ Mark huffs, not in anger, but in frustration - frustration that he wasn’t there to help, to calm you down. ‘Let me clean it up, give me a sec.’

His hand rubs at his eyes, scrunched shut for a moment. There’s dark bags marring his pale skin there - he’s tired too. He goes to move to the bathroom, but you grab his arm with your good hand, gripping it as tight as you can. Don’t leave.

‘No, Mark, it’s alright, I’ll sort it.’

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t look happy. Not that you’d expect him to, but...he’s frustrated with you, you can tell.

‘You can’t clean yourself up with one hand. Just wait here, alright?’

The inkling is worming its way in now, from your subconscious to your conscious, until its at the forefront of your mind. He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to the bathroom, he’s going to the front door so he can get out of here. You’re sure of it.

‘I’m sorry.’ The whisper escapes you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek so no tears will spill. The words are almost silent, your hand dropping Mark’s in defeat.

But Mark turns his head at your weak apology, stopping in his tracks.

‘What? Why -‘

With a jolt, he notices the way you’ve changed - unable to look at him, arms beginning to wrap around yourself, one fist clenched. He knows what’s happening.

‘No, no, love, I’m not angry.’

He’s back at your side in a heartbeat, bringing his hand up to your chest, thumb carefully wiping away the rogue tear that’s tracking a salty path over your cheekbone.

‘I love you. I just want the best for you, alright? I don’t like seeing you hurt, just like I’d fucking hope you wouldn’t like seeing me hurt.’

His face breaks into a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you realise he’s right - of course he is. You don’t want to see him hurt, he’s been through enough, but that’s what you’re doing. He’s hurting just from seeing your hand, it’s obvious from the crease in his brow, the blue of his eyes dulled and flat. Mark’s got too much to deal with already, you’re just one extra problem to add to the mix. You don’t want to be his problem.

And suddenly it’s all coming up to the surface, ready to combust, explode, these emotions that you never really have a grip on. You bottle them up and push them down, so far down that the only way they can escape is through a rush of anger, jagged and uncontrollable.

But instead of that, you bury your face into Mark’s neck and let it out as slowly as you can.

‘I’m sorry, I was angry, I just wanted to feel something. Some pain. I don’t want to make you feel like this. I’m sorry.’

You’re clutching onto the worn fabric of Mark’s shirt like your life depends on it. You can’t possibly let go of him, the only one you have left.

Mark is steady, your rock in a storm of emotions. He listens, stroking your hair, pale fingers threading through the strands to knead at your scalp, knowing it tends to calm you down.

‘You’re alright, I promise. I promise you, love. I know you get angry. I know you. And I know what it’s like to want to feel something, trust me. We can get through it together, or we can be a mess together. I don’t care, as long as we’re together, honest. I’m not going anywhere.’

And the sincerity in his eyes, those familiar bright blue eyes, it convinces you. He means it.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your good hand clinging onto Mark’s ratty jumper, the other grasped tightly (but not too tightly) in Mark’ grip. His right arm is around your waist, pulling you closer, as if in doing so he can pour all of his reassurance, all of his love, directly to your heart. He knows it’s not possible. But he tries anyway. Because he’ll do anything for you. Your Mark.

Mark helps you clean your hand later, shushing you everything you wince (though that isn’t often). His hands are steady and practiced as he dabs at the cuts with alcohol, wrapping the gauze over your knuckles and securing it with some tape, humming to himself as he works, the steady tune in time with his deft movement. He doesn’t look up until the job is done - and a good job it is too. He knows what he’s doing, probably after years of wrapping Sickboy’s hands up in the same way - late nights out in the rough streets of Leith, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamines (and worse)

Mark kisses the bandages gently when he’s done - a silent ‘I love you. I care for you and I love you.’

And you smile, a smile that fills your whole body with warmth, a smile that drowns out the demons, if only for a little while. Because how can you not, when you have Mark. He tries his best and so do you - neither of you can ask anymore. You’ll be a mess together.

‘Let’s order Chinese and watch Dr No, eh?’

Or you’ll get through this together

*~*~*~*

@callmearwen @ohhellokenobi @darthserling @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @lunarthoughts @saintlaurentkenobi @million-dollar-legs @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @haydens-moles @alideetoo @all-hallows-evie @junkieboyfriend @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @star-whores-a-new-hoe @arianalilyblack @sigynragnarsdottir @funkytxwn @drinksomecoco @darlingkenobi

#mark renton imagine #mark renton x reader #mark renton #mark renton headcanons #trainspotting #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #fic recs #my writing #scotland #mark renton blurb #mark renton one shot #alex law

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skipps-writes-for-gojo-satoru · 3 years

Note

Someone made an incredible animation of the scene in hidden inventory where Gojo gets screamed at by teen girls fawning over him, and it's beautiful ✨

https://youtu.be/5l9_O51-YYs

Also, it highlights my previous point that when Gojo's confronted by women flirting with him, he doesn't really do... Anything. He's just chill about it. And the little °^° face he makes and the little confused "hm?" from the manga panel in the beginning could indicate that Gojo might not be hit on by girls as often as we think- Jujutsu sorcerers are busy and have even their time off interrupted on the regular. Other than being mildly amused, we don't see Gojo actively bask or pursue attention from women (other than Utahime ofc, which could be because she's as straight-laced as Nanami).

The little content smile he gives at the end basically says it all: Gojo enjoys the attention, but most likely isn't interested in pursuing anything more than that, including sexual relations (with more reasons from my previous posts).

I could see Gojo being the type to allow himself to appreciate just a bit of affection from random women he encounters on missions and then casually walking off with a lazy wave of his hand- just like he did with Miwa.

The man's on a mission (literally) with the goal to change the world. Virgin Gojo is very possible seeing how unaffected he is by women throwing themselves at him- or at least, he allows himself a moment to enjoy the attention but is quick to dismiss the thought from his mind to focus on his duty.

Honestly, non virgin Gojo is still possible, but unless we see Gojo actually show interest or actively flirt with someone (which seems unlikely), we may never know. To me, analyzing Gojo with his interactions with other characters (not his antics) makes me think it's more likely Gojo is a virgin than not, simply bc the argument for Gojo being a non virgin is his looks and immaturity (or his act of immaturity, we know Gojo thinks in a much more complex way than he lets on) which I'd argue is not an accurate description of his character, because that's only a part of it, and is in fact only what Gojo shows on the surface. And there's plenty of reasons why his lifestyle would make such getaways difficult. Also, Gojo's lack of enthusiasm for it. Gojo allows girls to fawn over him, but he hardly stokes the fire more than just taking off his glasses when they asked him to.

If Gojo was more like Osamu Dazai from Bungou Stray Dogs who flirts with every women he sees, I would have an easier time believing he would not be a virgin, but his lifestyle, behavior, and even his Six Eyes and his goal makes me think he wouldn't choose to constantly go on small getaways like that. Personally, I'd say Gojo spends more of his time plotting and maximizing his efforts on recreating Jujutsu Society.

Really, when Gege said he couldn't see Gojo being faithful to a woman could be because he's already committed to his job. Not because he's out womanizing, but even because the type of woman he'd commit to is so rare. And even if he did find a woman he'd commit to, being the ENTP he is means he's incapable of immediately recognizing and acting on his emotions- not because he doesn't have them, but because they're not really his forté. He'd rather rationalize his behavior than attempt to understand his own feelings. It'll take time and patience, but Gojo committing is still a possibility.

Honestly, I'd like to hear why people would think Gojo's a cheater/womanizer to begin with? Besides him teasing Utahime, Gojo's been pretty respectful to Shoko and Mei Mei. He even complimented and recognized Mei Mei's strength as a sorcerer. He didn't flirt once with the hoard of girls fawning over him. In fact, he was quick to focus on his mission despite the attention. I don't think Gojo's ever even teased Shoko about anything (other than commenting on her terrible way of explaining things, which is more of a fact than teasing). Though, correct me if I'm wrong.

Also, I haven't mentioned Riko much in previous posts and idrk why lol. But while Gojo is dominated by logical thinking, he's emotionally inept enough to notice Riko's mood. He may seem cold in how he comforted her by saying he'd leave her behind, but it's more of his ENTP personality that has him expressing his emotions in a more objective manner- even if it hurts, it's the truth, and that's fine isn't it? (Typical ENTP way of thinking).

Also slight tangent I read that one long meta about Gojo's interaction with Riko someone linked, and I'm completely appalled that they would think Gojo is only "pretending" to have emotions, "mimicking" them even! That he's incapable of truly feeling when in fact it's inherently characteristic of any ENTP to express themselves in a way that, to others, would be considered "cold" and unempathetic. It just goes to show just how misunderstood ENTPs are. They only make up 3% of the world so are often confused for socios/narcs/psychos which is understandable-

But I wanna make one thing clear: all sociopaths could be considered ENTPs. But not all ENTPs are sociopaths. (Switch Socio with psycho/narc/etc and it still works). Why?

Purpose.

Arrogance, boastfulness, unrefined emotional sensitivity, recklessness, impulsiveness- all of those fall below the importance of Purpose. Regardless of how Gojo "acts," it's been expressed time and time again- Gojo acts for the sake of the next generation. Sociopaths/Antisocial Personality Disorder/Psychopaths have one most common defining starting point: "it all starts with cruelty to animals and lack of response to their own actions, or actions of other people."

Let's make it more simple: regardless of whatever end of the spectrum sociopathy can be- high functioning, low functioning- antisocial personality disorder, in it's most simple terms, along with psychopathy and narcissism, condensed into one common trait is very clear: Their actions, while easily blendible into society, are for the sole purpose of pleasuring themselves.

Why don't people notice those with these disorders? Because their *behavior* is so similar to not just the typical ENTP, but also the ISTP AND ESTP. They can easily be mistaken for common members of society, but again: their sole purpose is the pursuit of pleasure themselves, while acting with complete disregard for the consequences of not just their own actions but others'. Staying in one job for extended periods of time is especially rare for a sociopath in particular, and this is one very clear difference between Gojo and a sociopath.

Gojo is willing to spend the rest of his life as a Jujutsu Sorcerer for the sake of others. This sentence alone defies any inclination that he could be a sociopath regardless of any other symptoms commonly associated with sociopathy, such as emotional insensitivity, hostility, risk taking behavior, lack of restraint, and impulsivity- there's a reason such people blend in with society, and that's because such symptoms are common with *any* person, regardless of personality type. Other than with the higher ups, Gojo hardly shows the anger, irritability, or general discontent that a sociopath is most commonly is associated with as their established mood - and even if he did, would being easily irritatable while in the position of the Strongest, the one who carries the burden of establishing a new future of Jujutsu Society on his shoulders alone be so unrealistic? That is why Purpose is so important.

If Gojo truly was a Sociopath, he would have dipped long before Jujutsu Kaisen had even started.

And I apologize for yet another tangent! Someone said Gojo sees his students as weapons or tools to be used in furthering his agenda. While that is not necessarily untrue, the implication is hardly close to reality. Like someone else commented, Gojo goes far and beyond for his students. While he is undoubtedly lacking in his ability to show affection in the most traditional of ways, it's clear that Gojo cares for his students-and others- deeply, whether that be when he went to see Yuta on his business trip to ensure Yuji would be safely taken care of in his absence, when he goes out of his way to personally supervise his students, when he willingly spends a whole day with Nanami just to ask him to mentor Yuji for him (in the Light Novel) regardless of Nanami's disdain, when he turned his Infinity off to allow Yaga to punish him (Gege made it clear in the manga that Gojo had done so to be a good role model for his students and that he recognizes his behavior deserves punishment), and when Gojo commented that he didn't want to think any of his students would be the traitor. Gojo does not express himself as most people do- he's only one of the most misunderstood personality types (on record, along with a few other personalites if you've researched them) and to say people have misinterpreted his character is much more plausible when even in real life, people who behave like Gojo are statistically reported to be misapprehended more often than more populated personality types. When inspected closely, there are so many ways Gojo himself expresses his care for other people, only hidden thinly behind the surface of his lofty attitude and uncaring demeanor. It only takes a few looks at his behavior, not his mouth, to recognize how much he goes out of his way for his students, doing he things that don't necessarily help further his agenda simply because he wants to, not because he has to. Changing the world isn't even something the average person would strive to do, yet Gojo makes it his life goal to accomplish. How could a heartless, emotion mimicking person possibly endure the strife necessary to accomplish such a task? It's appalling.

Gojo is more charitable than most people on the earth, simply because of the perseverance and diligence he takes to withstand the stress and hardships of Jujutsu Society for others. Remember that he chose to become the Strongest, it didn't happen overnight, and in becoming the Strongest, he carries the heaviest burden.

That's without mentioning that even though Gojo is the Strongest, and while to most he seems to proudly state so, it's clear that despite Gojo's antics, he recognizes his weaknesses as a sorcerer and is able to rely on others to make up for them. He had asked Nanami to mentor Yuji because he acknowledged his own flaws as a teacher and that Nanami would have a better capacity than him in that area (in Light Novel). He travelled to see Yuta to ask him to care for Yuji in case something happened to him- and Gojo knows that it's possible that he could be defeated somehow, someway. He's not so deluded to think he's untouchable, even despite his playfulnesses. He is always thinking ahead, calculating his next move while understanding his own shortcomings, acting prudently to ensure a better future.

He is a much deeper and complex character if one only takes the time to look past his antics and analyze his behavior- Something many people in real life seem to miss, and that is the true reason why Gojo struggles to commit.

Sorry for the long tangent and repetitiveness in the beginning lol! Back to the main issue!

Tl;dr there's more evidence of Gojo being a virgin who's more focused on work than pleasure. There's plenty of handsome men who don't seek out sex for reprieve but seek mental stimulation instead for relief. It's totally normal. Gojo could even spend his free time playing video games. He did admit to spending long hours beating 99 years of Momotarou Dentetsu to Geto. He's a gamer, and we know how gamers are commonly known for being virgins lol. Gojo could even be asexual for all we know. He could even be demisexual- someone who doesn't pursue sexual pleasure unless he's made an emotional connection with then. He doesn't necessarily have to even be straight or bi. Therefore, Gojo is very likely to be 28 year old virgin, and there's nothing wrong or strange about that.

Sources: ENTP articles, statistics on mbti rarity, other mbti articles, some quick Google searches, articles on sociopathy, psychopathy, narcissism, and antisocial disorders, etc, the manga, light novels, other metas in threads I remember reading, the anime, graphic organizers

Thanks for reading! 🙏

- 🤔

AHHHH CAN I JUST SAY THE ANIMATION IS DAMN GOOD 🔥🔥🔥 this scene in the manga is absolutely iconic prepare yourselves for season 2 😤 I literally had to stop the video and stare at him...I think one of the reasons Gojo behaved that way is becuz during childhood he probably didn't go out and be around people hence his confused reaction with the screaming teens. I mean everyone enjoys being complimented and getting attention from time to time and gojo is not an exception to this. Yes I definitely agree that when Gege said that he probably meant he's too busy for a relationship. The way it was translated made alot of people confused hence the player/cheater gojo was born. But then also the remember the comment he made when Gojo won the popularity poll? "Pick Nanami instead" ahhh hilarious

MY GAWD 🤔 ANON CAN I JUST SAY THAT YOU'RE AMAZING?! You explained in a way that easy to understand and you made statements backing it up with evidence. I learned from your ask than I ever did in university 😂 wow its truly fascinating though I never knew much personality types especially ENTPs I DON'T BELIEVE FOR ONE SEC GOJO IS A SOCIOPATH OR PSYCHOPATH fight me if you do. Exactly exactly just as anon said "He is a much deeper and complex character if one only takes the time to look past his antics and analyze his behavior." I COULDN'T AGREE MORE 😤 thank you so much for once again educating the community I'm a fan of you 🤔 anon ❤

#gojo discussions #virgin or not?#gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #skipps chat

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canariie · 3 years

Text

under the blue moon

Rating: K+

Synopsis: One of their first meetings at night: though they may have been on different paths in school, under the light of the blue moon, they found themselves coming back to a home they both didn’t know they needed.

Word Count: 3050 words

Setting: Shinigami Academy Days (post Bleach Chapter -16 & somewhere in between Bleach Drama CD Track 08 'Flashback')

Prompt: Hitsuhina Week 2021 Day 2 - Dream / On a Field of Ice

Authour’s Note: I’m here! I’m here! I know it’s been a while but I have been loving all of the posts that everyone has been doing for this weeks celeberation!! So lovely to see the hitsuhina community alive :)

Sorry this was late but this has been sitting in my wips for about a year? And I had most of it written but it was harder to finish since it had been so long! However, when I saw the themes for this year’s @hitsuhina-week, I knew I had to finish it up!

Special shout out to Aoi Tori & Still With You being the songs that I played continuously on repeat to finish this up :)

Enjoy!

—

Momo clutched the fabric of her uniform as she looked dejectedly at the final report. No matter the amount of times that she stared at the red marks on the paper, they didn’t disappear. Her vision blurred as an onslaught of tears pricked at her eyes, making her head hurt. For once this semester, Momo was glad she was alone so her roommate wouldn’t see her in such a sorry state.

At the end of the fifth year were the practical’s that determined what concentrations one would focus on in their last years of study before graduating from the Academy. Momo, Renjii and Izuru were all studying different paths to focus on: Renjii in physical swordmanship, and Momo and Izuru with the demon arts, hers in combat and his in healing. For the past couple weeks, the trio had been studying and practicing almost every waking hour that they were not in class. Also, as part of the advanced class, there was an expectation that one would pass all the practical’s in the first round before continuing on. If not, one had to wait until the next semester before taking the exam again.

Unfortunately, the brown-haired girl had pushed herself to the point of exhaustion. On top of the near sleepless nights, her anxiety had grown inside her, almost crippling her. Momo had usually preferred taking written tests over the physical tests since she could pull things easily from memory. However, the thought of failing the exam had left her mind at a blank when she tried to remember the incantations for the written portion of the exam. The fear of failure haunted her still to the physical component where they practiced different spells and she found herself missing the target—and almost singeing the hair off her professor’s head.

She didn’t wait a second longer after the dismissal and ran to her room, ignoring Renjii and Izuru’s concerned looks. Momo locked herself inside, hiding herself underneath all her many blankets. There was no need to look at the practical results posted outside the Grand Assembly Hall as she already knew it in her heart—she didn’t need to physically see it.

Momo sighed as she looked at the clock in her room, signaling it was way past the time she usually went to sleep. Even the sight of the blue moon illuminating a path on her bed couldn’t cheer her up, and Momo tucked her feet in, pulling her knees tight to her chest. She didn’t know how long she had cried but now she felt exhausted and spent. Skipping dinner didn’t really help her cause and it only left her to focus on the bitter thoughts that replayed and occupied her mind.

I’m so pathetic…how am I ever going to become a vice captain if I can’t even pass the practical’s.

The wind howled outside and she could hear the branch of the tree hitting her window, reminding her of windy nights in Junrinan.

I wish I were home now with Obaa-san…and Shiro-chan.

The tree rapped at her window persistently.

How can I face them with marks like this? What would they say?

Louder and louder the noise grew, competing with the roaring outside.

What a disappointment I am…

The noise grew louder and it as almost as if something knocking urgently at her window. Momo turned her head just as a white tuft of hair popped up, follow by the two scrawny arms of her childhood friend.

“Shiro-chan!” Momo gasped. “What are you doing? You can’t climb in through the window!”

“And why not?” Toushiro retorted as he pulled himself on the ledge. “There’s no one here to stop me.” He looked around, noticing the empty room. “Where’s your roommate?”

“She went home for the weekend,” she responded quickly, distracted by the way the boy was perched on the window sill. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you should have used the dorm entrance! You could have gotten hurt!”

“I climb trees all the time back home,” he replied offhandedly, “Climbing up to your window is no different.”

“That doesn’t matter Shiro-chan! You can still get hurt!” Momo could feel her anxiety pick up as she shook her head furiously, her pig tails whipping around.

Toushiro gave her a pointed look. “Hinamori, didn’t you say you would call me ‘Hitsugaya’ by now?”

She bit back a retort as she did realize, yes that she had agreed to that when he had entered the academy. “It’s still taking me a while to get used to,” Momo mumbled.

He scoffed and settled himself on the ledge. A part of Momo wanted to urgently grab him and pull him inside, for fear of him falling. However, what rooted her on her bed was the knowledge that her deeply inquisitive childhood friend would immediately notice her dried tear tracks—and she did not want him to see her in such a sorry state.

Though she seemed anxious of his safety on the outside, inside she was elated that he was here. It had been a while since they had properly seen each other, with the last time being when she introduced Toushiro to Izuru. The first year was extremely busy Momo remembered, and she had hardly seen Toushiro except for quick glimpses of his white hair moving through the hallways. Their lunch schedules were also different as she had practical’s during the first-year lunch slot—so even those moments were hard to come by. Now looking at him in his uniform, it was the first time that Momo realized how much he had grown into his clothes. It didn’t hang off his slender body, like his clothes in Jurinran did. Almost as if…

“You’ve gained weight,” Momo stated softly.

The boy turned his head sharply towards her. “What?”

Her eyebrows rose in shock, suddenly realizing the misimplications of what she just said. “No-no! I mean you look healthy! It’s a good thing!” Her warm brown eyes crinkled fondly. “I’m happy you’re able to eat more here.”

Toushiro’s eyes widened, before he narrowed them. “I had enough to eat at Obaa-san’s. Not that you would know.”

After he said it, he immediately regretted it when he saw her face fall. Momo grabbed her arms, tucking her them further into herself.

“You’re right,” Momo admitted. “I wasn’t there often for you and Obaa-san.” She sighed dejectedly. “I’m such a terrible person…”

A silence stretched in between them that no one wanted to fill. Toushiro didn’t know what he had planned that night—words of comfort weren’t really his forté and he didn’t want to get too close to her in case he hurt her. But he knew inside, he had to make sure she was alright.

“I saw the results posted outside the Assembly Hall.” He looked at her with his dark jade eyes. “…how are you?” It was just above a whisper, but something inside her broke.

Her eyes glimmered with tears and could feel a sob crawl into her throat. Though she had not wanted to alarm her dear friend, when she looked into his eyes, she found herself retelling everything. From the hours of study to the actual exam day, as Momo recounted everything she could visibly see Toushiro soften with a look of pity. “I’m so pathetic,” Momo commented as she picked a stray thread on her bed spread, “if I can’t pass the practical’s, how can I even think of becoming a vice captain?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here…” she turned her face into the pillow, refusing to look at the boy.

Toushiro remained rooted on the ledge, frozen and unsure what to do. He had never seen Momo this dejected before and yet, he didn’t know what he could offer for comfort.

Though it was a couple steps, it felt like a mile-wide gap. His shoulders tucked into himself and he could feel his resolve crumbling. The necessary distance to keep her safe was pushing her further away. Toushiro could see Momo receding back into a shell that was not the confident girl he knew—and it ached inside to see her in such a sorry state.

“And-and I could feel the anxiety in my stomach,” Momo lamented softly. “My mind blanked and I couldn’t remember anything…it was like I was paralyzed.” Even now thinking about it again made Momo want to curl back into a ball and hide away from the shame. Clutching her head, she moaned, “And now my head just hurts…”

All of a sudden Momo felt a cool touch on her forehead. Like a sigh of clarity, she could feel her mind slow down and the dull ache that was throbbing in the back began to dissipate. What felt like a tempest of anxiety inside her chest dulled to a breath of fresh winter air.

Momo looked up in wonderment. “…How?”

Just as quick, Toushiro pulled his hand back, almost as if he had burned himself. “I can’t control it well but that should help your headache for a bit.” His jade eyes flickered anxiously at the proximity. “However, I shouldn’t stay close,” he said as he began to move himself away.

“No!” Momo yelped as she scrambled to pull his hand in. “Please don’t go,” her voice broke at the last note. She couldn’t handle being by herself for another moment longer. Momo looked up and could see an inner storm inside the boy’s eyes. For as much as his body was stiff with shock, his eyes gave it away that he fought a battle within to bring himself to stand by her bedside.

He sighed in defeat and Momo could instantly feel a lightness in her chest. “I’ll stay…” he managed out weakly. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely for even the hanging blue moon wouldn’t say what hour it was. What initially was an anguished long sleepless night became a comfortable quiet accompanied by the soft whistles of the wind. Her eyelids fell heavily though Momo struggled to remain awake, determined to be as present as she could now that her friend was here. However, she could not resist the quick falls of slumber, especially when she began to sense soft sapphire lights after she closed her eyes.

“Your reiatsu…I can start to see it now.” Momo sighed in content.

“Really?” He was shocked as he had just started to work on controlling it. The first years were required in their core classes to practice channeling their reiatsu before proceeding further in the rest of the Shinigami curriculum.

“I don’t think I ever realized before how…blue it was.” She smiled to herself. “It’s like snow—like the first day that I met you.” He too remembered that day well; it was the first one in his memories.

Toushiro was apprehensive as he laid the back of his hand on her forehead. “Does it…hurt?”

“No…It’s actually comforting.” She closed her eyes as she whispered. “It reminds me of home.”

At that point, Toushiro was glad that it was the dark of the night for his ears felt as if they were on fire–and he couldn’t imagine how red his face was. Momo’s breaths had evened and he could see her chest move up and down peacefully. He was glad to see her eyebrows relaxed and a peaceful expression of sleep on her face.

He trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek and could feel the dried tracks of her tears. “Stupid…” he muttered, “don’t keep everything to yourself.”

This was the first time since coming to school that he had tried channeling his rieatsu. Since he had almost unwillingly froze his grandmother to death, Toushiro isolated himself from the rest of his class— in case he had hurt anyone unintentionally. He couldn’t risk hurting anyone so he shied away from handshakes, familiar gestures and cornered himself in the back of the crowd—never close enough to touch another soul. Even now today, he second guessed coming here. It was only seeing the results pinned on the door that cleared his doubts and he took off in the night.

This was the first time that he was so physically close to someone.

It terrified him to be beside Momo.

It shocked him more that she was comforted by his reiatsu.

He hadn’t seen her for a long time since she was so busy studying. Even though they were now in the same school, he felt even more distant from her. A part of him resented that she had not come home more to visit him and Obaa-san. A small voice would coax in his ear that she had abandoned him and solely him by moving on to new friends. He knew it was irrational to think so but it was difficult to deny himself that bitterness. That being said, he couldn’t fight the feeling of making sure she okay—which as long as he was in school, he could do.

Toushiro wasn’t rushing to finish his studies; as long as he could control his rieatsu and powers, that was the main reason he would stay.

Well….He looked down as he felt Momo clutch his shirt in her hand.

Maybe that wasn’t the only reason.

The dreams had not stopped since he had entered the academy. From the moment he closed his eyes, he could feel himself falling back until he hit hard ground.

It was always the same world.

White plains stretching as far and wide to meet the sunless horizon. There was no sense of day and night. Only the dead spindly trees piercing the sky indicated that life couldn’t continue in this hopeless place. Toushiro always felt like these were the premonitions of his inevitable future, a feeling that knotted at the pit of his stomach.

However, he was never alone. A thundering noise always echoed in the distance but he could never place it. Though far, he could feel its intensity at the tip of his fingers, as if beckoning him to grab a hold of it.

It was only when a grand ice dragon appeared in front of him that it turned dark with a winter storm.

Toushiro had to draw his arms up against the torrid bursts of biting wind. Though it did not move, Toushiro could feel its ancient presence of powers from far before him, holding his stare and rooting him to ground. It was crushing him and embracing him—as if thunder was falling in his palms.

“Who are you!” But a loud burst of wind obscured the thunderous roar of the dragon. “I can’t hear you!” And again and again he would call out, wanting and yearning to learn of this beast—but never would he get far before waking up in a cold sweat.

Until tonight, when the storm receded and the quiet came.

The dragon stood, as if waiting for Toushiro to make the first move. Throwing back his head, he gazed up and stared into his blood red eyes. Maybe he should’ve been afraid of dying a cold death. But instead, he felt a kinship to this icy beast—almost as if they had the same soul. Looking into the beast’s eyes he could recognize loneliness.

And it ached inside him.

“There are things I want to protect with this borrowed strength…”

The desperation clawed from inside of his chest; a deep well of pent up feelings brimming to the surface so much so that he wanted no more than to fling it out as much as he could.

“I want to protect…”

A desire grew inside for the energy that thrummed inside, to take it and use it. To let it consume him and envelop him whole for a now clear goal.

A flash of warm brown eyes appeared in his mind.

“I want to protect her!”

The dragon roared again but this time Toushiro could feel its power resonate inside him, as if he were the one calling out to be named.

“My name is…Hyourinmaru!”

His eyes flew open in shock and his could see his breath appear in a puff of frost. Immediately, he turned his head trying to look at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Mmhh…Shiro-chan.” He looked down to see Momo’s head against his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. Somehow, in the middle of the night, she had pulled herself onto his chest and tucked herself right under his chin. Toushiro’s visceral reaction was to push her off before she caught hypothermia from him. However, right as he grabbed her shoulders he felt immediate warmth flow into his hands. It traveled through his whole body, alleviating any anxiety that Toushiro had.

Is she countering my rieatsu with her’s?

He could sense a soft red orange glow and warmth emanating from Momo. As she breathed softly against his chest, the warmth grew in intensity, like a candle that flickers during a cold night. It reached inside him to his soul and sent welcome heat throughout his body. Toushiro closed his eyes in content and wrapped his arms around her instinctively.

What was that about?

As if frost had melted off a glass pane, his dream was clearer than ever before. Instead of the sound of thundering obscuring its name, Toushiro had been able to heed the voice of the dragon and even feel it resonate inside his soul. Hyourinmaru...even its name echoed immense power.

For now, many questions were running through his mind. However, a realization as clear as a bell in the night ran through his head.

Toushiro looked down at the sleeping form, blissfully unaware of all that had transpired. Though they were in complete darkness of the middle of the night, the blue moonlight only highlighted her features. Long thick lashes that were once spiked with tears rested gently against his chest. Her mouth slightly open as she sighed in content. Toushiro had never seen Momo look so at peace, which he realized, quelled the inner storm of his world.

This power, it’s meant to protect her…

In the back of his mind, he could hear the roar of the dragon, almost as if in assent.

And with that he closed his eyes—ready to face a new day with his resolution in his arms.

—

Authour’s Note: This was inspired by a post I had seen once talking about how Momo’s fire rieatsu counteracted Toushiro’s icy one -- which was one of the reasons that Obaa-san started to freeze after Momo left. (headcanon post by @alexiethymia) I loved the premise though, especially that I can totally see it as canon that their powers both balance each other out and they really are stronger together :)

I also definitely headcanon that through some revelation concerning Momo does Toushiro finally overcome whatever inner block he has and is able to learn the name of his zanpaktou. Definitely inspired by the drama CDs, I think there��s such rich material that expands on the hitsuhina relationship. In my mind, she’s kind of the like the defroster on his frosty glass that is his mind hahahaha

See you all in the next one :)

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina week 2021 #momo hinamori #Toshiro Hitsugaya #i realize i have a fic trope #it's writing hitsuhina at night #idk why #but i fully admit to it #SO MUCH POTENTIAL IN LATE NIGHT CONVERSATIONS #haha but definitely hinting at what the next one will also be of lolol #canariie: my fics #bleach fanfiction #hitsugaya x hinamori #Hitsugaya Toushiro #hinamori momo

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hopetofantasy · 4 years

Text

‘Tout oublier’

Title: ‘Tout oublier’ Square Filled: Crackship Ship: Jens Stoffels/Robbe Ijzermans Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Mostly longing and softness, no kissing or smut - only hinted at. Created for @skamevents

Notes: As a huge VDS and Sobbe supporter, I challenged myself to write something outside my own comfort zone. A crackship that I don’t entirely support, but hey, I tried my best! :) (Btw, who can spot the cameo?)

The title comes from an ‘Angèle’ song, a Belgian singer Luca referenced (and sang along with) in S2. I thought it fit this work like a glove.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour. It’s about time that you showed up!”

A seemingly casual statement, answered by a mischievous smile. Long brown locks radiating a ‘I just got laid’ look, covered by a two sizes too big sweatshirt. Clearly not his own. Dark eyes anxiously darted towards his.

Oh yes, my dear, you are in so much trouble now.

“Robbe, what were you thinking?! You just went with the guy, like that, without saying anything to us. We couldn’t find you anywhere! You didn’t answer any texts or calls, we had no clue where you were! He could’ve been a rapist for all we know! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Wow, back up there, turbo. You need to relax.

He slowly lifted up his hand to pinch his nose, in a desperate attempt to relax. Breath in, breath out. Damn, it wasn’t his intention going off like that, especially since he looked like a parent now. Robbe didn’t deserve this. Not only because they were best friends, but also roommates. Broerrrs, but there was still a line.

Don’t go there, Jens. You’re not responsible for everything he does.

He just wished the boy would listen. It’s a harsh world out there, especially for LGBT youngsters. And they didn’t know the neighborhood that well. They’ve only just moved in, like, a month ago. The boysquad knew a thing or two about Antwerp, but Ghent? A whole other ballpark. Even though, you know, the fishing pond was bigger here than it ever was in Antwerp, he had to admit.

Soooo not the point, Stoffels.

Robbe pulled out a smile, watery smile. He knew exactly what he was doing, with the innocent Bambi look. A hand on his shoulder, a reassuring nod, yet with a hint of irritation.

“Yeah, okay, Jens, I’m sorry I didn’t leave a message. But if I wanted to have sex with some random dude, then that’s my choice. Something I decided. What I wanted to to! Alright? I don’t want people parenting me. I already have a father, well, only my father, but-”

The smaller boy paused for a while. A glimpse of hurt clouded his face, for just a second. Just enough to weaken Jens’ anger. He knew how hard it all had been, coming out in the midst of his father’s mental health. Oliver had worked too hard for his family. To keep it all together. Completely burned out, the specialist had said. He kept trying to provide a good home for his son, despite every financial struggle they faced in the past.

Jens knew Robbe blamed himself for this. Even though it was never his fault, the scars were there nevertheless. He sighed and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever since high school, he had felt responsible for the boy. Trying to compensate for everything people did that made it all harder. So when Robbe asked him to be his roommate, he said ‘yes’ on the spot. Now he only needed to learn about their boundaries, where they lie and what they were.

Since Robbe walked into the room, he had felt something stir in his stomach. Relief? What else could it have been? That the other was safe, at home. Or what you could call their home. A four-by-four dorm room, entirely filled with boys’ sweatshirts, leftover pizza boxes and mismatched furniture.

Yet, something still gnawed in the inside. To be honest, he never knew Robbe was the type of guy for random hook-up with a random stranger. Jens always thought that was more his forté. Robbe was the romantic, doe-eyed boy with the heart on his sleeve. So maybe Jens didn’t want to be left behind? Especially now that they’re both out and proud, with way more game than their small town high school.

Was it that what’s bothering him?

“Hmmm, whatever, bro. Next time, chill out. I’d rather not tell you every time I go with a guy. It’s bad enough that we share a space with barely any breathing room. I’ll be hearing too much of you anyways. And vice versa”, Robbe huffed. He pushed his roommate out of the way and started to undress for bed, before flopping down. Almost passing out immediately.

Jens’ features started to soften a little. Gosh, it was sometimes unnerving how easily Robbe could get away with things, by pulling his infamous puppy eyes and awkward jokes. It turned everyone’s insides into mush.

Nobody could stay mad at him, ever. His roommate was wired like that. So it also didn’t come as a shock when Robbe mumbled the following:

“I still have his number, by the way, if you would like to ‘have a go’ at it”

What did came as a shock, however, was how fast a pillow could hit a face that didn’t expect retaliation.

The topic of hook ups came up again a few weeks after that.

“So, Jens, if you had to choose: would you rather kiss a boy or a girl? I mean, you do have a preference, right?”, Moyo coughed out with great effort. This question was instantly answered by a bitch slap to the head, followed by a collective fit of laughter.

The boys were lying on the common room floor, in the midst of their building, passing around the joint. They had been binging on chocolate bars before. Empty wrappers still scattered around their heads, close enough to ball one up and hit Moyo. He deserved it. The boy wasn’t exactly known for his friendly behavior. On the contrary.

“What kind of question is that? I don’t care. So why would you?”, Jens answered hazily. He’d already grown tired of these questions in the first months of his coming out, when everyone walked up to him to ask really personal stuff. ‘Did you have sex with boys before?’ ‘Are you sure that you are bisexual and not just homosexual?’ ‘You’re now attracted to everyone, right?’

“I don’t, bro. I’m just asking, because I have some options for you. As in, hot girls’ numbers in my phone and friends who know hot single gays. So, if you’re want, just say so. I can hook you up with anyone. Male or female. I mean, it’s been ages, right? When was the last time you got laid?!”

Another laugh accompanied Moyo’s loud howl. “It’s true, you know, I’ve gotten more D than you in these last few months.” Gosh, Robbe was such a traitor. Jens sighed and pulled himself up by the elbows, looking around the group of misfits. Aaron was already dosing off next to him. No surprise there, he never could handle his weed.

Especially Dutch marihuana.

Out of nowhere, Moyo started humming a popular rap song, instantly forgetting what he asked minutes before. Robbe joined in by tapping his fingers on his bleached jeans. A burgundy beanie covered his eyes as well as the messy mop of hair. Jens found himself more and more fascinated by his best friend’s locks lately, ever since he started growing it past his shoulders again. He never noticed how nicely they framed his face.

“I can fix my own hook ups, broerrrs. I don’t need any help.”, Jens huffed out eventually after being distracted by the sudden change.

“Don’t bullshit me, Jens, you don’t even hang out with anyone but us lately!”, the brunette retaliated. He immediately snatched the joint out of Jens’ hands, blowing some smoke clouds into the air. Jens caught himself looking at it.

The smoke...

The eyes...

The lips...

Euhm, what? What the hell was this? Since when I stare at my roommate’s lips? Okay, maybe, maybe I do need some relief after all. That could be the only reason I want to stare at Robbe.

Right?

His mind was still frazzled, but he was eventually able to huff out an agreement towards Moyo. The latter one pulled out his phone immediately to check out the options. A tall leggy blonde? A beautiful chocolate colored man? A petite pixie-cut brunette? Wow, Moyo didn’t overreact when he said that he knew people.

They finally settled on a guy Jens had spotted in the local skatepark before. A somewhat rugged, beach blonde with beautiful eyes. Leather jacket, artsy vibe? He seemed cool. Moyo’s friend Noor had been to school with this dude. It wasn’t necessarily his type, but hey, it was just for one night. Nothing more.

So it was a date.

Kinda.

Then why was his brain still picturing smoke on a certain someone's lips?

The thought still occupied his mind a couple of days later. Jens never knew how this situation came to be. How he suddenly felt something towards Robbe. Attraction. Because that’s exactly what it was. There was no way of denying it. He had felt it for weeks, maybe even months, without acknowledging it. He couldn’t be feeling this. It was wrong, so completely wrong!

Robbe was Robbe, he was like a brother, he was his best friend and roommate.

Okay, there was only one way to get over someone, Moyo always said:

“Get under someone!”

So why didn’t he?

The cute guy in front of him was the perfect distraction. He was a smooth talker, a sight for sore eyes and surely knew his way around guys as well as girls. He was pansexual, he explained, gender didn’t matter to him. When he liked someone, he liked someone. Didn’t think twice about it. And he seemed to like Jens. Enough to kiss him. Enough to go back to his dorm room.

Except...

Something in Jens closed down the moment they arrived at the door. His date seemed to have felt his hesitation, immediately stopping the trail of kisses from his ear to his shoulder. The air between them seemed to cool down in mere seconds, filled with insecurity and unanswered questions. A leather jacket was the only sound heard in the heavy silence.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

Jens’ eyes said it all. He knew that he didn’t need to tell the stranger what he felt. People always claimed the dark haired boy was an open book, which was a blessing as well as a burden. God, why couldn’t he just do this? Just be with a guy, any guy, especially one as attractive as this one and get it all over with? Stop being such a frikking dumbo and take him inside!

But he didn’t move. He wasn’t truthful to himself, to the other boy, to Robbe. He needed to end this before it even started. It wasn’t right. So he slowly backed away from the beach blonde and said his fast goodbyes along with a string of sorrys. The other seemed to accept this sudden change of behavior, with a knowing glint in his eyes. As if he knew how much of a mess his head felt. As if he’d experienced something like this before.

Once inside, he’d only wished he had stayed with his date. Robbe was lying on the floor, seemingly upset, clinging to an old stuffed animal. Red rimmed eyes. His hair a total mess. Sobbing like a baby. His own heart shattered on the spot.

A chernobyl explosion.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”, he whispered silently.

He tried to look inside those brown eyes he liked so much. The ones who moved his world, made him feel all things at once. He needed to see what caused this distress. Because Robbe didn’t cry. Ever. He didn’t cry when his mom left at age 10, he didn’t cry when he father got diagnosed at age 15 and he didn’t even cry when his grandparents called him hurtful names when he came out to them at age 17.

Jens slowly crawled towards the smaller boy, hauling his body off the floor and cradling his head into his arms. The soft touch confused his heart. He knew Robbe was able to hear the thrumming beat, but he could care less at the moment. His boy was crying. His boy needed reassurance. So he held him tight and listened. Listened to the hiccups and the slurring speech, the wails and the cries. Half an hour later, Robbe was finally able to answer the question.

“Dad... he couldn’t deal with me leaving. Broke down completely. He’s inside the hospital, psychiatric ward, Jens. They don’t know if he’ll ever heal from this. He’s empty. He’s clinically depressed. He doesn’t even know how to feel love anymore. I’ve got nobody to love me anymore. And it’s all my fault, I left him...”

The sobbing continued at a louder volume. The beautiful brown eyes filled with such pain, it made Jens sick to his stomach. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled the boy out of his arms, his hands firmly gripping Robbe’s upper arms. It’ll bruise, but he didn’t want to let go. Robbe needed to know.

“Robbe, listen to me! Clinically depressed doesn’t mean your dad doesn’t love you anymore, okay?! Your dad is going through a hard time in his life. He probably struggling with this for a while and it only now faced the world. It’s not your fault! He held on as long as he did, because of you, Robbe. Because you were the light in his life. You still are! You always are, for everyone I know. For your family, for your friends, for me. Especially for me... Gosh, I love you so much, you don’t even know.”

Oh my god.

What did he say?!

Fock, fock, fock.

Oh no. Robbe suddenly looked at him with a puzzled expression. He saw the mechanics whirring inside his head, linking every accidental touch with his upped heartbeat, every soft sentence with his longing stares. Jens knew he went too far. It’ll only take a couple of seconds to realize how much the raven haired boy had concealed. From the world, from Robbe and from himself. He loved him? Really? Since when?

Robbe had pulled away quickly, like a deer caught in headlights. Making his heart ache for a do-over, another chance to explain everything. To come clean and tell him it was a mistake saying this. But before he could say a word, he felt a slight pressure on his chin. Lifting it up. It was the smaller boy again, sitting up this time.

Brown eyes stared into his, like he wanted to communicate something without forming a sound. They didn’t need any words. They would never. The sorrow was forgotten, the love was touched. The heart was healed again. Their sweet touches, their soft sighs, their teasing glances. Between them and their feelings.

Everything was said that night.

It was always them.

Against the rest of the world.

Only the two of them.

And the next morning?

Well, the next morning,

they never spoke of it again.

Everything was forgotten.

Tout oublier.

Pour y croire, il faudrait tout oublier.

#wtfock #wtfam #skambingo #don't judge me okay? I'm trying something new #something fun

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bronzeflower · 5 years

Text

I Do Adore-Mindy Gledhill

Also on ao3

Day 6: Recognition/Appreciation/Admiration

-----

Being in love was illogical. A lot of the times, it was just a weakness that was inevitably going to be exploited by villains.

Not to mention the fluttering stomach and weak knees and blushing cheeks and the heart that kicked into overdrive the moment you were around the object of your affections.

And somehow, someway, Shouta had married the person he ended up in love with, but he couldn't really bring himself to care much about how illogical it all was.

Hizashi was just too amazing.

~Everything you do it sends me Higher than the moon with every Twinkle in your eye You strike a match that lights my heart on fire~

Shouta was careful to not let himself be seen with Hizashi by the students. Hizashi made him act irrationally, and that wasn't the kind of persona Shouta wanted to have in front of his students.

But he supposed it sometimes couldn't really be avoided.

Shouta was fine with some PDA in the teacher's lounge. Nothing more than a quick kiss though, and that was only in place because Shouta had a weak will when it came to getting affection from Hizashi.

Again, illogical, especially as Shouta still went braindead whenever Hizashi kissed him, which meant that he occasionally forgot to bring papers to class that he needed.

"Oi, Eraser!" Hizashi greeted as he entered the 1-A classroom. "You forgot to take the test sheets with you."

Hizashi had that look in his eye that looked all too pleased at the fact that Hizashi just giving Shouta a small kiss made him forget to bring the all-important tests with him to give to his class.

"Thanks, Mic," Shouta said, shooing Hizashi out the door as his students groaned at the idea of a test even though they've known about it for several weeks.

~When you’re near, I hide my blushing face And trip on my shoelaces Grace just isn’t my forté But it brings me to my knees when you say~

Shouta was almost glad about his mummification after USJ, especially as Hizashi requested that he announce with him. No one could see Shouta blushing at the fact that Hizashi thought to ask him to help announce.

His injuries also gave him an excuse as to why he was a little less graceful when around Hizashi.

"Watch out, Eraser," Hizashi caught Shouta when he began to trip. "Are you sure you're up for teaching, I mean, you're basically blindfolded at this rate."

"I'm fine," Shouta insisted. "It will be a good lesson for the kids, let them face the fact that being a pro hero means risking your life."

"That doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself," Hizashi pouted, and it made Shouta feel maybe a little guilty.

"...I'll be going to Recovery Girl often enough. Don't worry yourself too much about it."

"Alright." Hizashi smiled at him, and Shouta's knees turned into jelly.

~Hello, how are you, my darling today? I fall into a pile on the floor Puppy love is hard to ignore When every little thing you do, I do adore~

"I'm back, my darling starlight!" Hizashi greeted out loud when he got home from the radio station. Shouta, himself, had just gotten back from patrol.

"Welcome home, sunshine," Shouta responded, and he soon found himself in a crushing hug.

"I missed you!"

"You were only gone for about five or six hours..." Shouta said, but he held onto Hizashi anyway, for fear that he would just melt into a puddle of love.

"Still!"

"...I missed you, too," Shouta whispered as quietly as he could, but he was almost certain Hizashi still heard.

~We’re as different as can be I’ve noticed you’re remarkably relaxed And I’m overly uptight We balance out each other nicely~

It was one thing to fall in love. It was a completely different thing to fall in love with your total opposite.

And Shouta and Hizashi, well, they were opposites in almost every sense of the word.

Shouta was calm, quiet, logical, and harsh. He took down villains as quickly as possible with little to no fuss. He hated the media and being in public.

Hizashi was loud, brash, emotional, and cunning. He took down villains with a scream or a pitch with a dramatic flourish. He thrived in the spotlight.

By all means, Hizashi was probably the last person Shouta should have fallen in love with.

But that didn't stop Shouta's heart from pumping a little faster when Hizashi was maybe a little too loud or when he rambled on about a new album that came out or about the complexities of the new language he was learning.

It figures that Shouta would fall for the loudest person he knew.

~You wear sandals in the snow In mid-July I still feel cold We’re opposites in every way But I can’t resist it when say~

"Come on, Sho! The snow canceled school today, and we haven't played in the snow in forever," Hizashi explained. "Let's go!"

"No," Shouta said firmly.

"Why not?" Hizashi whined, his puppy-dog expression starting to get to Shouta. "It'll only be for about an hour, and then we can come back inside, and I can make us some hot chocolate, and then we can build a pillow fort and watch movies while cuddling underneath all the blankets and pillows we can find in the house."

"..." Shouta refused to respond. He knew that, the moment he opened his mouth, he would end up agreeing, and then the two of them would just mess around in the snow, and one of them would likely get a cold from it.

Hizashi turned up the cuteness on his puppy-dog expression, and Shouta finally broke.

"Put some proper shoes on first. You aren't going out there in sandals."

"Alright! Thank you, Shouta, I love you!"

Shouta's will was much too weak when it came to Hizashi.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you, too."

~Hello, how are you, my darling today? I fall into a pile on the floor Puppy love is hard to ignore When every little thing you do, I do adore~

"Good morning, Starlight," Hizashi greeted as Shouta was awoken by the smell of food.

"Mmmmm," Shouta hummed as he opened his eyes. "Morning."

Shouta sat up and leaned over to give his husband a kiss. Hizashi happily returned the kiss.

Shouta started his dastardly plan to get Hizashi back in bed with him when Hizashi pulled away.

"Nah-uh. I know what you're doing, Sho," Hizashi pointed aggressively at him. "I just made breakfast, and if we do anything, then it's going to get cold."

Shouta pouted. Hizashi was pointedly looking away from Shouta.

"We can just reheat it," Shouta reasoned. Hizashi made a disgusted face.

"Reheated pancakes are just gross. Come on, I'll come to bed after we finish breakfast, okay, darling?"

Shouta reluctantly agreed, if only because his stomach was growling.

"You owe me a hundred kisses," Shouta said.

"What!? That's so many!" Hizashi exclaimed.

"I'm gonna hold your favorite mug hostage until you give me one hundred kisses."

"At least eat breakfast first," Hizashi stated. "And besides, you don't need to hold my mug hostage to get me to kiss you."

Hizashi kissed the pout off of Shouta's face.

"Come on, now, Starlight. Breakfast is getting cold."

~Finding words, I mutter Tongue-tied, twisted Foot in mouth, I start to stutter Ha, ha, Heaven help me~

Hizashi had taken Shouta clothes shopping. Shouta didn't really know why. He never really had any opinions on the things Hizashi got.

"What do you think?" Hizashi came out wearing a yellow button-down with a flower pattern that was paired with a long and flowy black skirt.

"It looks comfortable," Shouta pointed out, and Hizashi sighed.

"Is that really your only criteria for fashion?"

Shouta nodded.

"Clothing should be practical and comfortable above all else."

"Ah, you really are hopeless. Whatever." Hizashi went back into the dressing room to put on his next outfit. When he exited, he was wearing a pair of jeans and a pink crop top.

Hizashi did a twirl to show off the outfit, and Shouta found that the entire backside of the jeans were bedazzled.

"Wouldn't those hurt to sit down in?" Shouta asked, and Hizashi huffed and went back into the dressing room. Hizashi went through several more outfits of which Shouta commented on the comfort level.

"What about this!?" Hizashi almost angerly yelled after many critiques. It was a bright yellow hoodie with some black accents paired with a pair of light pink sweatpants.

"...Y-you look good," Shouta sheepishly said, looking a bit to the side and blushing slightly. What could he say-he thought his husband looked sexiest when comfortable.

"Y-you're only saying-saying that because it's comfortable," Hizashi flustered.

Regardless, Hizashi ended up buying the hoodie and sweatpants.

~Hello, how are you, my darling today? I fall into a pile on the floor Puppy love is hard to ignore When every little thing you do, I do adore~

"Good morning, Sunshine," Shouta greeted when he entered the kitchen where Hizashi was already making breakfast.

Hizashi practically jumped out of his skin.

"Ah! Sho! You're not usually up this early, especially on our-" Hizashi was briefly interrupted by Shouta hugging him from behind. "Uh, on our d-day off."

Shouta was kissing Hizashi's neck, and Hizashi gave him a light smack on the head.

"Shouta! Don't distract me while I'm cooking!" Hizashi said firmly. "And don't give me that pout! We've been over this!"

Shouta pouted even harder. Hizashi frowned at him for a few seconds before sighing.

"I guess I have no choice then," Hizashi gave Shouta peck on the lips.

And one turned to two, which turned to ten until Hizashi started smelling burning.

"Ah! This is why you can't distract me while I'm cooking!" Hizashi quickly turned off the heat and scraped the burnt residue off the pan.

Hizashi was also weak-willed when it came to Shouta.

#erasermic #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #erasermic week 2019 #bnha #my hero academia

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royaljeongin · 6 years

Text

back2u

back2u (one shot)

pairing : taeyong x reader

genre: fluff, rivals!au, (ish) enemies to lovers!au, fake dating!au

word count: 3k words

summary: “i’m always coming back 2 u.” or when taeyong, your enemy and you go through fake dating while trying to not cut each other’s head.

a/n: dramatic twist at the end, it’s been literally a year since ive written so this is rusty.

your heart beat when the teacher announced your name. you got up from your seat to take the corrected exam. you snatched it away from the teacher a bit harshly but you uttered a light sorry before you paid attention to your copy.

your heart dropped when you saw your grade and was worried you couldn’t come first this time. you went back to your seat and the brown-haired boy next to you eagerly asked for your grade.

that was lee taeyong.

from as long as you can remember, you guys were always ennemies. a series of events turned both of you from best friends to enemies and rivals. it was either you or taeyong who ranked 1st. and both of you despised the idea of getting 2nd. he was able to have every girl’s heart at the snap of his fingers (except yours) maybe because of his outrageously good looks or maybe because of his likeable personality. either way, you didn’t see where his hype was coming from.

“i got 99 percent,” you silently muttered trying to not make eye contact.

“haha loser, i got 99.5 percent!” he proudly said with his annoying smirk. you rolled your eyes.

“fuck off!”

“maybe next time, you will be able to beat me, my dear,” he boasted before someone interrupted him. it was again one of the girls.

it’s been weeks since she’s been trying to get closer to taeyong and has been constantly pestering him. you looked at him, his eyes didn’t have the same sparkle as before; clear annoyance showed all over his face.

you then observed her, she was pretty but her whole aura felt off as she was glaring at you for no reason. you usually gave her a ‘are you serious?’ look as you thought she could do better but today, you thought that they were perfect for each other. two assholes always make a good couple.

school ended and you were in the study room like most students. it was past nine now and you were copying your notes you took that day. you heard footsteps approaching and then, the presence of a boy and you looked up.

“what are you doing here?”

“i just want to discuss something,” he declared while taking out the chair beside him to be able to be next to you. “date me.”

you spat your water on him. you were too shocked. in normal situation, he would’ve yelled at you but he really wanted this so he kept his composure.

“asshole! not real, just fake dating is enough.”

“why would i accept?” you questioned.

he said that the girls that were chasing him were annoying and he had enough. he thought that perhaps, having a girl would make them back off and leave him alone.

“what do i gain from this?”

he smirked while crossing his arms and now comfortably seated with his legs crossed. his eyes had fire burning with confidence.

“money.”

you rolled your eyes. he knew you way too well and you hated to admit it, but money was your weakness. you don’t believe that it brings people happiness but you sure knew that many of your problems surrounded around that. it didn’t seem that bad, accepting money from probably the richest boy at your school seemed very appealing.

“come on, i know you are having difficulties right now. i’ll help you with that. i’m only asking you for one month.”

you looked at his trainers, a pair of white sneakers with classic roses embroidered followed by the green and red stripes from gucci. you bit your lips. you weren’t particularly jealous per say, nevertheless you were curious how life would be when you had all of the money of the world.

“you fix my money problems and you buy me shoes. deal?”

he nodded his head. spending a couple thousands dollars for something beneficial wasn’t bothering him.

“sure bye, i’m going home. i already finished studying unlike you.” he playfully stuck his tongue out as he was leaving the room.

you were woken up by the repetitive sound of an alarm. irritated, you quickly reached your phone that was on the nightstand next to you to turn it off. you blinked once or twice before checking the time.

you sighed. today, you were dreading to go to school because of that goddamn oral. even though you practiced more than necessary, you couldn’t help but feel anxious. speaking to a crowd was definitely not your forté.

you finished getting ready as you take out a toasted bread with peanut butter spread on top. you zipped up your coat and carried your backpack. when you got out of the building, the harsh air hit your face.

“you think you’re in some kind of anime?”

you easily recognized this voice.

“fuck off, why are you here stalker.” it was an understatement to say that you were irritated, you liked being left alone in the morning.

“picking my girlfriend up so that we can go to school together dumbass.”

“how do you know where i live?”

“i used to go here all the time come on.”

your heart ached a little bit. he used to be your best friend when you were kids. hell, he was even your first kiss, back in eight grade, but when the whole school knew you were apparently a bad kisser, you hated him ever since. it hurt to admit it, but the moment held a special moment and he was a really good kisser. you wouldn’t have asked for anyone else to be your first kiss.

shocked was an understatement when the majority of your grade saw both of you this morning entering school while holding hands. the rivalry you both had was so legendary that no one would have ever imagined that taeyong and you would be dating.

“so you guys are really a thing now?” asked joohyun, your friend.

you wondered if you should tell the truth but you confirmed that you guys were indeed a thing. joohyun clearly didn’t buy it but you couldn’t explain further as the bell rang. you bid your goodbyes and joined your respective classes.

the red-haired boy was saving you the seat besides him. he really was going for it. you felt obliged to join him. classes started. as you were taking notes, you felt a poke on your shoulder. taeyong was giving you a note.

‘meet me at the bleachers during lunch. -ty’

“people aren’t buying it that we are dating,” you implored trying to start a conversation. he has been looking at you for the past ten minutes and hasn’t yet said anything.

he grinned.

“what kind of stupid idea you have again?”

he finally started speaking. “well there’s a reason why i wanted you at the field’s bleachers. there are always a ton people. guys practicing and girls watching them and hoping that they would get noticed by those douche.”

“as if you aren’t one of those douche,” you muttered under your breath.

“did you say something?” you shook your head in denial. you did not want to argue with him today.

“let’s make it believable then. let me kiss you.”

your eyes widened. it was a sudden proposition and kissing wasn’t part of the whole fake dating scheme.

“are you sure you want to do this?” you asked awkwardly.

“i don’t care.”

you took a deep breath as you nodded your head. he was leaning in and your heart was pounding. you hoped that he wouldn’t hear it. you closed your eyes while the temperature of your cheeks was raising. then you felt it. the plump lips on yours. it sure felt good. he even got better than the first time. he then pulled away. he had a smirk on his face as he felt everyone’s gaze even though you did see a slight blush but maybe your imagination was going crazy.

it wasn’t uncommon to see taeyong make out with someone at a party but kiss someone on school grounds?

that was unthinkable. you heard from others that he always ended up breaking people’s heart because ‘he didn’t do relationships.’ every girl thought that maybe they would be the one to change his attitude but it was you. the last girl he could possibly end up with.

as two weeks passed have passed, taeyong and you spent a lot of times together. you always studied together. even though insults were still thrown at each other, it felt a more playful now. you also went on two dates so that he could take pictures and post pics of you both on his instagram. you were even his lockscreen now and vice versa.

taeyong was holding your drinks right now. he always had the orginial milk tea with grass jelly, 80% sugar with 50% ice and you also had the original milk tea but with tapioca bubbles, 50% sugar with 50% ice.

you both sat down and you started drinking your bubble tea.

“y/n?”

“hm?”

“why haven’t you had any boyfriend since like forever.”

“i could ask the same question for you.”

“just answer please.”

you quietly thought before answering.

“i think it’s because i am scared of love. you know? feelings are scary. plus, nobody has asked me out anyways. and you? why haven’t you gotten any serious girlfriends?”

“you would laugh your ass off because my answer is the same as yours. except, people always ask me out.”

“how does it feel to be needed? isn’t it special?”

“i guess it was nice at first but they don’t really need you, they like the idea of you or the things you have. that’s way i broke up with my ex. i heard her and her friends say that they liked my money so yeah i am scared of commitment.”

taeyong had an ex, they were seriously dating for 8 months during junior year. he definitely had his heart crushed to small pieces but he got over it with hookups, always no strings attached.

it was now the fourth week, you didn’t talk to him. to be frank, you have been avoiding him, avoiding his eye contacts, his phone calls and his texts. at first, taeyong was wondering why but then, it seemed like he didn’t care anymore. you did all of that because you may have realized that you had feelings for him for a very long time and you were terribly scared.

it was one of those sleepless nights where students studied their asses off, trying to cram as much knowledge as possible. you still studied with taeyong but he is a lot more productive than you so he finished earlier. he even proposed to wait for you so that he could walk you home. you insisted that you didn’t need to because you didn’t want to waste his time and you aren’t ready to confront your feelings yet. he didn’t push it so he left. 20 minutes later, you were finished revising your aesthetically pleasing rewritten notes. you packed your back and turned off the lamp on your study table.

you were on your phone while leaving the room. someone bumped onto your shoulder, almost making your phone almost fall off but you caught it at the right time. you let out a sorry and bowed.

“it’s fine.”

you looked up as the sound of his voice was familiar. it was jung yoonoh more commonly known as jaehyun. he was one of your childhood best friends along with taeyong. they were both still friends but jaehyun and you had drifted away because of different interests. it didn’t take a long time before the long conversations only turned into hi in the hallway.

“oh hi jaehyun!”

“hello! how have you been?” he said smiling.

“i have been doing good, my grades are still good.”

“come on, i don’t care about your studies, i wanted to know more about you and taeyong! it seems both of you haven’t killed each other yet.”

you shrugged.

“i guess he isn’t that annoying,” you mumbled.

“taeyong seems to be quite fond of you.”

your heart skipped a beat, it always did when someone said his name.

“i guess he’s starting to fall for you!” he winked. he probably knew about the whole fake dating trope. they would know each other’s secrets without needing to say it.

“don’t lie.”

“i am not y/n, the way he always looked at you. i really don’t know how you guys became enemies overnight.”

“i don’t know he is irritating! i hate everything about him.” you indeed hated his insanely good looks. you hated his sharp jawline when he turned his head to the side. you hated the eyebrow slit that suit him so much. you hated the small scar besides his eye that made him even more special. you hated the way he playfully smiled at you during classes. you hated his habit of ruffling your hair while you were studying. you hated when he genuinely laughed at your dumb jokes because it clenched your heart knowing that all of your interactions were put up for an act.

“sure jan.”

you quickly bid goodbyes and left. the night streets felt extremely lonely. your hands were shaking from the extreme cold. on your way home, you felt a presence behind you, but you were terrified of seeing who was behind you. you were probably overreacting -that’s what you told yourself- but your gut feeling felt like something wasn’t quite right in the atmosphere.

then, someone grabbed your arm and put a hand on your mouth. making you unable to scream for help. you kicked his leg, the person winced in pain and let go of you. you ran but he quickly caught up as you weren’t exactly usain bolt. something hit your head and everything was black.

you woke up attached to a chair, duct tape on your mouth. there was an old table with a clock in front of you. too far to reach it but close enough to read the time.

“12:54am”

you felt relieved as your parents wouldn’t be worried because both of them have night shifts. you looked around and found yourself in a dirty huge and abandoned warehouse. plenty of bodyguards were there. it felt so surreal, like a movie. rich people really do live in another universe. a middle-aged man got closer to you to remove the duct tape.

“it’s no use to scream, there is no one.”

panicked, you asked him what did he want.

“i want a part of your boyfriend’s money.”

“he is not my boyfriend. he won’t come.” you tried coming off as confident but your voice was shaking.

“oh, he will my dear. you woke up at the right time, five minutes ago, i sent him a picture of you all tied up on this chair. i threatened him with you in exchange i will get money. what he doesn’t know yet is that he might be killed and he’s threatening to kill me but what can this boy do.”

“who the fuck are you?”

“let’s just say his parents made me go bankrupt, thank god i had leftover money in the black market but they made me lose everything. so i planned a revenge!”

you felt your phone ringing in your coat’s pocket. the man pulled it out and made you look who was calling you.

my soft taeyong

your eyes widened. “let me talk to him, i beg you!”

he put the call on speaker. you were desperately trying to free yourself from that chair.

“are you okay?” he sounded really worried.

“taeyong!” you screamed to him. “can you hear me? listen, please don’t come and save me.” you choked up your tears.

“just hold on y/n. i am coming whether you want it or not.”

“oh and y/n?”

“y-yeah?”

“i am gonna tell you when i come, please hold on there.”

“n-” and before you could even finish your sentence, the man hung up. you felt extremely stressed and were hoping that taeyong wouldn’t come. you did not want to lose him. not today.

a dozen of minutes passed. he was there. you couldn’t hold back your tears now. you couldn’t believe his dumb ass was standing at the entrance of the warehouse. the man smiled and taeyong was tense. you could tell that he was scared and yet confident.

the moment he was going to give the briefcase. the police siren could be heard clear and loudly. a swat team barged into the warehouse. it did not take long for the man and his crew to chicken out. the police cut the ropes and you ran towards taeyong.

you legs were now around his waist and your arms around his necks. your lips on his. it tasted sweet and salty from your tears and his honey lip balm. you were still shaking but you immediately found a sense of security while holding him.

when the kiss ended, you asked him.

“taeyong, what did you want to tell me?” the lights made his beautiful eyes shine.

“i love you y/n for the past i don’t know, ten years probably? i never understood why you hated me. i never did.”

“taeyong, you said i was a bad kisser and it was my first kiss and it was special for me. i don’t know, i hated you since then, probably because i felt like it didn’t mean shit to you.”

“it was my first kiss too and let me tell you, it was magical. since then, i always think of you and how i always come back to you. maybe that’s why i said that, i was afraid that you would actually like me, i am scared of love but now i don’t anymore. so let’s date, for real this time?”

you smiled and gave him a small peck. he whispered in your ears.

“come on, it’s 1:27 am, let’s go home.”

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