#and then I promptly started LOSING it laughing for like the next thirty seconds as I did it again

[venture-through-the-mist]

So, the ‘Lone Ranger’ emote might be a lil…off when you use it for your Operator.

At least, mine is.

It took me a good few seconds to realize that, no, that was not just her face looking weird.

Nope.

[xjoonchildx]

last call | jjk x reader

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

synopsis: jeon jungkook is the hottest bartender in the city. everyone has their sights set on him, but it seems he has his sights set on you.

warnings: oral (female receiving), protected sex, jungkook thirst, excessive jungkook thirst, hello we’re talking about jungkook here -- there is a jungkook-sized amount of thirst, unsanitary use of a space designated for food and beverage

A/N: this fic is a commission for the @ficswithluv​ special project “Changes with Luv”. The awesome @dee-ehn​ made a donation to BLM for this fic and she asked for sexy times with long-haired JK with tattoos and dammit that’s what she’s gonna get.  Thanks so much for making the donation, this is a cool way for authors like me to pitch in for an important cause!

*********************

Jeon Jungkook is the sexiest man in this city.

That’s not a matter of opinion, that’s an actual fact -- voted into law by you and the rest of the Council of The Thirsty after a night of downing shots at The Black Swan.  The four of you piled into the bar’s single-stall restroom to check lipstick and chat shit and it was decided, that was that.

The Black Swan is open long after the other nearby bars and restaurants have locked up for the night. After the tables have been cleared and the tips have been counted, it’s where just about everyone who works in the service industry in this part of town ends up for a post-shift nightcap. They’re drawn by the late hours and the strong drinks and, well --

Jeon Jungkook.

On any given night, his bar is packed with flirts -- men and women alike -- all hoping for just a taste of his attention.  You can’t blame them, really.  It’s far too easy to get lost in Jungkook’s massive, dark eyes, or that slow, confident smile.  And it’s far too hard to look away when he tucks an errant strand of inky hair behind his ear or when he rolls his sleeves up to reveal those toned forearms covered with tattoos.

Jungkook works his bar with the confidence of a man who understands his magnetism, a man who understands why people get sucked into his orbit and never want to leave. 

Suckers just like you.

*************************

Jägermeister is totally fucking disgusting and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

You’ve just bellied up to the bar to grab a drink when Jeon Jungkook drops a shot of the foul shit right in front of you.  The look you give him is equal parts confused and revolted.

“What’s this?” 

“Oh, come on,” he teases with a smile, “You work at a bar.  Don’t tell me you don’t recognize a shot of Jäger.”

“Oh, I recognize it,” you tease back. “I just refuse to acknowledge it.  Who sent this to me?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes playfully, pulls another shot glass from under the bar and pours himself a shot of the dark, thick liqueur.

He holds it up in the air and waits for you to do the same.

“I did.”

Your eyebrows shoot sky-high in surprise.  Jeon Jungkook buying you a shot? 

You’re probably just in the right place at the right time, you reason. The lucky recipient of a free drink because he’s in the mood to get one, too.  

Or unlucky, you correct yourself -- looking down at the glass.  But one more look at Jungkook and you know there’s no way you’re going to refuse the offering.  

You’re picky, but you’re damned sure not stupid.

You raise your shot glass in the air and Jungkook looks pleased.

“Bottoms up,” he says, eyes twinkling.

***********************

Something strange happens a few nights later.  

You’re seated at a high-top near the bar with your girlfriends when you hear Jungkook call something out across the room.  Your friends freeze, wide eyes and shocked stares focused on you for one awkward moment.

He says it again, this time louder -- and there’s no mistaking it.

It’s your name.

You ignore the frantic whispering of your girlfriends and stand up from your seat at the high-top to approach Jungkook’s bar.  He’s leaned over it, hands bracing the dark wood -- pen tucked neatly behind his ear.  His long dark hair is pulled back into a glossy knot, but one lock has fallen into his eyes.  

He looks insanely good -- but honestly, what’s new?

You clear your throat before you approach so you don’t croak your way through whatever comes next.  Spine straight, you get close, slide into a barstool and do your best to appear casual.

“What’s up?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna threaten you with any more shots of Jäger,” he laughs, flashing his million-watt smile.  You smile back, hoping he can’t hear the holy shits and what the fucks flying at the table behind you.  “I’ve got something else for you tonight.”

“Okay,” you breathe, dazzled by the personal attention he’s bestowing on you.  “What’s on the menu?”

Jungkook reaches for two fresh shot glasses and pulls a heavy amber bottle from the well behind his bar.

“Grand Marnier,” you answer for him, watching as he pours you both a shot.  “An upgrade from Jäger, that’s for sure,” you tease.

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most goddamned adorable way possible.  “I figured this might be more your speed.”

Figured how? As far as you know, he doesn’t know a thing about you -- apart from the fact that you usually drink a vodka tonic.

And your name, apparently.  How does he know your name, anyway?

“Cheers,” he says in that low, sexy voice, and you shiver.

“Cheers,” you agree, tongue swiping at the taste of the sweet liqueur on your lips.  

Jungkook’s eyes darken for a split-second and heat creeps up your neck.

“So, um -- how do you know my name?”

You can thank the alcohol for giving you the courage to ask.  Sober you wouldn’t be nearly so forward.

Jungkook shrugs.  “I’ve seen it on your credit card.”

“Ah,” you smile.  “Well, thanks, again.  Next time, I’ll be the one buying, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grins.

But as you’re walking back to your table something dawns on you.  

You turn and head back to the bar.

“Hold on a second,” you say, eyes narrowed at Jungkook.  “I’ve never paid with a credit card here.  I always pay my tab in cash.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs -- and fuck if the slow smile that spreads across his features doesn’t make your panties wet right then and there.  

“Is that right?”

**************************

“Jeon Jungkook wants to fuck you.”

“For the love of God, Tifa,” you hiss, ducking your head.  “Keep your voice down.  Jungkook and every last one of his ancestors can hear you when you’re talking that loud.”

Tifa shrugs, unbothered.

“I said what I said,” she sniffs, checking for non-existent dirt under her nails.  “You see any of us getting free shots from The Golden One? Or any of the other women in here, for that matter?”

Well, she’s kind of got a point there, doesn’t she?

You have no idea why you seem to have captured Jeon Jungkook’s attention, but you’re not going to question it, that’s for sure. You’re going to enjoy your good fortune while it lasts.

“He’s being nice,” you argue, and even you aren’t buying it the second the lame deflection comes out of your mouth.  Tifa rolls her eyes.

“You know what else would be nice? Getting dicked down by the hottest man in town.  Wouldn’t that be nice?”

You sigh.  

It would be, actually.  The part of your brain that entertains such outlandish fantasies has been working overtime these days, imagining exactly what that would be like.  Imagining the body that lies underneath that sinfully fitted shirt and the almost-too-tight-but-not-quite jeans.  

Jungkook certainly walks and talks and moves like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing in bed.  You’d love nothing more than to know if there’s any truth to that theory.

You chance a glance over your shoulder, back to the bar -- and Jungkook is deep in conversation with a patron.  She’s leaning over the bar, practically throwing herself at the man, but he looks away from her to catch sight of you.  His picture-perfect face breaks into a wide smile and you break into a sweat.

“See what I mean?” Tifa asks, brow raised when you turn back to face her.  “The man is trying to fuck you.  I’ll be right here after he does, waiting to say I told you so.”

You sputter a laugh into the rim of your glass.

“We’ll see about that, T.”

*************************

Nothing ruins the end of a night of drinking quite like last call.

All the fun screeches to a halt when the house lights come on.  No one looks good under the harsh fluorescents that hum to life as tabs are being paid and drinks are being slammed and tables are being wiped -- no one.

Well, no one except for Jeon Jungkook, of course.

He’s in the weeds tonight -- trying to settle tabs for at least twenty people all trying to cash out at the same time.  He nods in your direction to confirm he’s seen you, that he’ll get to you -- that eventually you’ll get your chance to pay.

So you wait.  And wait.

The crowd starts to thin as Jungkook closes tabs at top speed -- tip jar flush with obscene amounts of cash.  No one tips better than people who make a living on them -- and tonight is no exception.  From what you can tell it’s been a good night for Jungkook.  

Hell, every night is probably a good night when you’re Jeon Jungkook.

You sip what’s left of your vodka tonic and scroll through your phone while you patiently wait for your turn -- then promptly lose track of time.

How long have you been sitting here? 

It’s only when your ears pick up on the echo in this place that you look up from the screen.  Jungkook is cashing some guy out -- and as you take a look around you realize this guy must be the last person in this place. 

Correction -- you are the last person in this place, or at least you will be in about thirty seconds. 

Your pulse picks up as Jungkook wraps the transaction and sends the guy out the door with a friendly wave.  You’re definitely the only two people left in The Black Swan now, no doubt.

“So uh -- ” you drag the sound out on a nervous breath, “ -- I still need to pay my tab.”

Jungkook flips the house lights back off before sauntering to your end of the bar, wearing his most dangerous smile. He dries his hands with the towel at his waist then sets it aside.

“Your tab was paid hours ago.”

Oh.

“Because you paid it,” you say slowly, forcing yourself to drag your eyes from the man’s muscled thighs and trim waist to his flawless face.  Your heart stops a bit at the smirk you find when you finally get there.

“Yup.”

You grab for what’s left of your vodka tonic and slug it down.  

Jungkook laughs.

“You want me,” he says, fingers working the top buttons of his fitted shirt open.  You watch with wide eyes, so distracted by the action that you barely process what he’s said.

“Wait, what?” you ask in a daze.

“You want me,” he repeats casually, like it’s no big deal.  His fingers stop only a few buttons down, the tease -- but he chooses that same moment to pull his hair out of the loose knot he’s been wearing all night.  The dark strands fall into his face and you stare like a moron.

“What makes you say that?” you ask, weakly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jungkook teases.  “My vision is 20/20.  My hearing is pretty good, too -- though it would be pretty hard not to overhear the things you and your friends say about me.”

Dammit, Tifa, I told you to keep your voice down.

“Yikes,” you murmur on a shaky laugh.  “That’s embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says with no hesitation.  “‘Cause I want you, too.”

You pull back from the bar so far, your stool nearly tips over. Jungkook waits for you to right yourself in amused silence.  Then he waits for you to speak.

“I’m, I  -- “ you sputter, searching for things like words and thoughts.  Jungkook’s brows lift as he awaits whatever is on the other end of that sentence.  “ -- I think I need another drink.”

Jungkook winks before reaching down to pull glasses from under the bar.  He sets a brown bottle with a familiar orange label down beside them.  You hold your breath when you see him walk out from behind the bar to slide into the stool next to yours.

“Fireball,” you say thickly, watching him pour the cinnamon liqueur into the shot glasses.  He nods, handing you your glass.

“Think this will help?” he asks, smiling wickedly.  

“No way to know but to do it,” you smile back.

You clink the glasses together before draining them.

You can almost feel the alcohol working its way through your veins.  The warm burn of it starts in your throat, slides low into your belly and spreads out through your arms and legs.  

“Think that did the trick?” he asks in a low voice, dark eyes fixed on your every move.  He leans closer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He’s close enough now you can smell the warm cinnamon on his breath.  Between the booze and the hormones, you’re starting to feel a little reckless.  “That depends.  Are you trying to fuck me in this bar?”

“Absolutely,” Jungkook deadpans.  You suck in a breath.

“Then I think we’ll probably need one more.”

Jungkook chuckles as he refills your glasses.  His eyes glint with unconcealed mischief when you knock the second round back.  This time, the warmth that spreads down your throat seems to pool between your thighs.

You dip the pad of one finger into the remnants left in the shotglass, emboldened by the buzz you can feel coming on.  Jungkook watches rapt as you slip it between your lips.  You are weightless and shameless by now, more than prepared for the moment he slips two fingers under your jaw to tip your mouth up towards his.  

He tastes like the pleasant spice in the alcohol and he smells like sweat and bodywash and your senses are overwhelmed.  Your fingers dive right into his hair, desperate to feel the silky strands between your fingertips.

“Fireball was a good idea,” Jungkook groans between kisses, hands going to your back to pull you close.  You stand out of your barstool to position yourself between his thighs.  “I like the way you think.”

He pulls away to tug at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off,” he orders with a quiet authority that makes you desperate to comply. His eyes are heavy-lidded; glued to the nipples pebbling underneath the thin cotton.  You cross your arms across your body and lift the shirt over your head.

Jungkook doesn’t bother to take your bra off.  You jolt with surprise when he surges forward, mouth seeking the skin peeking out of the soft cups.  He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses across the heated flesh before leaning low to graze the outline of one nipple.  You jerk at the sensation -- at the way his lips and tongue and teeth make the fabric rub against the straining buds.

“Oh, God,” you hiss, “That feels good.”

Jungkook pushes the straps of your bra off your shoulders, eyes dark and focused when your breasts spill out of the cups and your nipples are exposed to the cool air in the bar.  You shudder.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, touching his tongue to your nipples now without a barrier.  You allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair again, anchoring yourself to him to keep steady in the onslaught.

It’s bad manners that you haven’t pulled yourself together enough to thank him for the compliment, but how can you be expected to think straight when his teeth are scraping against your nipples? 

Jungkook pauses to look up at you -- eyes smoldering, lips swollen with use -- and you squirm in his hold.  “You should take these jeans off,” he whispers, fingers slipping into the belt loops. He tugs at them gently. “I wouldn’t want them to get wet.”

Oh honey -- that ship has sailed.

You nod slowly and Jungkook leans back in his stool, eyes hooded as you unbutton the denim, slide it down your legs and step out of it.  

“You gonna take any clothes off, or am I the only one stripping tonight?” you tease, shivering at the loss of his body heat. 

A slow smile spreads over his face. “We’re getting to that, I promise.”

He reaches across the bar for the bottle of Fireball and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Wait, are you gonna -- “

“Yeah,” he cuts in, dripping the cool liquid onto your breast.  His lips swipe at the liqueur that spills over your nipple and you groan out loud.  “I own this bar,” he teases, his warm tongue a stark contrast to the cold alcohol.  “I can do whatever I want in here.”

You certainly can.

He drips more of the liquid onto a nipple and watches with satisfaction as it slides down your skin.  He laps at the cinnamon taste as his hands roam the sensitive skin of your stomach and down to the band of your panties.  Your breath hitches in your chest.

“I can do whatever I want on here, too,” he smirks, nodding at the bar.  You laugh.

“You’re the boss, right?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook winks, before his hands drop to your waist. His grip is firm as he helps lift you on to the bartop. 

You brace your hands against the wood and watch as he slips his fingers under the satin seam of your panties.  In this position, you have a front-row seat to what is sure to be the hottest sexual experience of your life.  Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration and his tongue swipes across his lips as he pulls your soaking panties away from your legs.  The sight of him preparing to debauch you on top of his bar alone could make you come.

He steadies you with firm hands to either side of your hips before dipping his head down to test your taste with a light flick of his tongue.  You buck in his grasp and he muffles his laughter against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  “You’re not allowed to fall off of my bar,” he teases.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you laugh, fingertips gripping the bartop for dear life.  

Jungkook pulls his mouth away from your aching center and you damned near whine at the loss of his warmth.  But in a split-second he’s back, and so is the Fireball.  

“Just a little,” he rasps, tipping the bottle to the side.  You hiss as the frigid liquid seeps down into the crux of your thighs.  Jungkook purses his lips and blows a puff of air against you, sparking an intense tingling sensation and earning a loud whimper.  He’s satisfied with your response, if the look on his face is any indication  --  but his wicked smile disappears from view when he lowers his mouth to your center again.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head dropping back between your shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispers, slipping one long, calloused finger into your channel.  The added sensation makes you whine when he swipes his tongue against your clit.  

“Like --,” you gasp and try again to formulate a thought. “Like fire and ice.”

He hums his approval of that assessment right into your cunt and you nearly break your promise not to fall off his bar.  Your arms are shaking with the same tension that is building between your legs. Jungkook pulls back to drip more of the Fireball onto your sensitive center and you shudder.

The alcohol burns a bit, a pleasant pain that is somehow heightened by Jungkook’s warm, wet mouth.  He doesn’t rush, seemingly content to take his time as you slowly come undone. 

“I’m so close,” you whimper, elbows threatening to buckle underneath you.  Jungkook finally picks up the pace, tonguing you deep as your thighs tighten in anticipation.

“I can feel how bad you want to come, sweetheart,” he goads, finger crooking inside of you, stimulating that spot that makes you feel like you can’t see straight.  “Do it.”

The moans Jungkook pulls from you in those final seconds are made all the more obscene by the echoing inside this empty bar.  Every muscle in your body tightens and then melts as your orgasm hits with the intensity of a freight train.  Jungkook seals his mouth over your cunt to capture the wetness he’s earned, prolonging the sensations, prolonging your moans. 

It takes a moment for the roar in your ears to subside, for your ability to focus to return.  When you can hear and see and think again, you look back down to the space between your thighs and find Jungkook wearing a look of utter satisfaction.

“Believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve eaten pussy on top of my bar,” he teases, dimples emerging as his lips quirk into a smile.  “How has your service been tonight?”

“Pretty good,” you taunt, a lot ballsier with a few shots and an orgasm under your belt.  “Would be a hell of a lot better if my bartender would take his clothes off.”

Jungkook feigns a wounded look as his fingers work the rest of the buttons on his shirt open to reveal a tight white tank underneath.  He pulls that overhead and reveals the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long.  Whatever you’d imagined was lying underneath those clothes pales in comparison to the real thing.  His body looks cut from stone, his smooth skin the perfect canvas for the tattoos that run across his arms and onto his chest.

“Better now?” he chuckles.

“Not yet,” you say, savoring the power of your position on the bar.  You watch his one-woman striptease with the hint of a smile on your lips.  “The jeans have to go.”

“Bossy,” he mocks, fingers unbuttoning the dark denim.  Your jaw drops about the same time the jeans do.

“Well,” you laugh, slipping down off of the bar to stand in front of him.  “Your review has just improved.”

He smiles into the kiss you plant on him as your fingers snake between you to wrap around his cock.  He thrusts firmly into the tight grasp of your fingers as his tongue delves deep into your mouth.  He sucks in a breath when your thumb teases as the moisture gathered at the tip of his cock.

“My cock is gonna explode if I don’t bury it between those thighs,” Jungkook groans and you shudder from head to toe.  “Turn around for me.”

You do as you're told, turning away from him to brace your weight against the bartop.  You can see Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar.  You watch as he grabs a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and makes quick work of rolling it down his thick length.

He presses the length of his warm body against yours, and you tense when the blunt head of his cock teases your entrance.  One hand lines up his cock and the other grips the soft skin of your hip.  He looks at you in the reflection of the mirror and your knees almost give out when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

You arch back just as he sinks inside -- going to the hilt in one firm stroke.  

“Shit,” he groans between gritted teeth. “Fuck, that’s a tight fit.”

“Oh, God --” you gasp as he begins to rock against you.  After a few languid strokes he sets a steady rhythm, hips smacking against your ass with the force of his thrusts.

He leans over you, bracketing you in with one arm braced on the bar while the other helps guide your hip.  Your eyes fall closed and your head drops forward as you push back against him, rendered boneless by the thick slide of his cock.  The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes loud in the empty bar.

Jungkook leans down to take your earlobe between his teeth and you whimper.

“Look at me,” he orders in a whisper.  “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snap open to find Jungkook’s reflection and the sight nearly makes you come undone for a second time.  His damp hair is falling into his face, body covered in a sheen of sweat and his mouth is curled into a dangerous smile.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when your eyes meet in the mirror.  “I want you to see how good you’re getting fucked.”

Your rhythm falters at his provocation but Jungkook refuses to let either of you get off track.  He drops both hands to your hips and begins pounding into you with relentless strokes, huffing a laugh when you squeak in response.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he groans, thrusts going frantic.  “Can you come for me again?”

You nod -- completely out of words -- reaching one hand down to the aching button between your thighs.  Jungkook pulls your body back against his, angling deeper into your aching cunt at the same time your shaking fingers manage to apply a light pressure to your clit.  

That’s all it takes.

You come apart a second later and Jungkook pulls your hair back to expose the column of your throat as he rides you through it.  His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of your neck as his own orgasm starts to ignite.

His fingers grip your hips so hard you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning.  But it’s worth it -- so damned worth it when you get to watch Jeon Jungkook come undone for you.  You’ve never seen anything sexier than Jungkook with brows knit in utter concentration, mouth slack with pleasure and coming for you.  Inside of you.

 You lean against the bar, legs like noodles as he comes down from his high and seconds later, he’s slumped over you, body lax against yours.

“Hey,” he says after a moment of silence, as you’re catching your breath.  He leans his chin against your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you manage, craning your head to face him.

“Come back tomorrow and we can break open my bottle of Goldschläger.”

*********************

You wake with an ache between your temples and an ache between your legs. 

The pounding in your head is your punishment for drinking way more than you should have last night.  

The pleasant soreness lingering between your thighs is an entirely different story.  That’s the only souvenir you get to keep to commemorate the best sex of your life.  And it’s not going to stick around.

You roll over in bed and reach for your phone.

Tifa picks up on the first ring.

“I’m not even going to play the game with you, girl,” she says, in lieu of a proper greeting. “I just wanna know how it was.”

***********************

[bokettochild]

Hyrule’s “Magic Touch”

I couldn’t resist and I’m not sorry :)

Based on this post, I have no regrets.

 Groans sound around camp as Warrior’s knuckles touched stone.

 “Another win for Twilight!” Wild cheers, taking his earnings from the betting pool that had been started while Warriors rubs his tender knuckles, shooting his fellow knight a look of betrayal while Twilight laughs.

 “No shame, Wars.” Twilight jabs playfully. “Pretty boys aren’t meant to have strong hands.”

 “Shame.” Wind scowls, pouting as his rupees are snatched up by the cackling winners as Wild and Four divide them. “You just cost me thirty rupees!”

 “That’s not that much, Wind.” The captain sighs, wringing his hands and wincing, prompting a look of concern from Twilight for the briefest of seconds before the soldier turns on his brother, blue eyes twinkling. “As least my hands aren’t too pig to sew my clothes up properly.”

 Twilight rolls his eyes at the jab and squares up for his next opponent, breathing heavily as Time settles across from him. “Don’t hold back on me, Pup.” The old man teases, flexing his fingers and clasping Twilight’s boney hand with his own.

 Eager whispers joins with hearty cheers as the bout starts, both heroes straining against each other as they wrestle to knock the other’s hand to the stone beneath, veins bulging and sweat forming on their brows as blue locked with steely blue.

 One the edge of the camp, Hyrule giggles softly, his own fingers tangled in thread as he attempts to work over the tear in his tunic. Ordinarily, he’d ask Legend to help him, but the vet was currently seated on the edge of camp with a scowl, sulking for some reason that no one had been able to determine, and not even the rancher’s offer of a friendly match had done the trick. The offer had been taken by Four, who’d bested the rancher with a surprising bout of strength that had prompted Warriors calling foul, only for the all to discover that the smithy was, in fact, not wearing any strength enhancing items.

 “I’m a smith.” Four reminded them as he collected his winnings. “I swing hammers and lift heavy things on the daily.”

 Since then, each of the other heroes has tried their hand at beating the rancher, only Hyrule and Legend sitting out, the vet for his own reasons and Hyrule because, as the team healer, he needs his hands to be usable should something happen. He doesn’t mind though, even though he is of the opinion that getting his knuckles backed against stone would probably be better than pricking himself with a sewing needle time and again.

 For only the second time that knight, Twilight’s knuckles scrape over stone, the others counting down in frenzied shouts as the rancher strains against his mentor to raise his hand again.

 “Two! One! Time wins!” Warriors cheers, grinning widely as he bumps the old man’s shoulder, Twilight wincing and wringing his hand to regain some feeling as he offers the other for a friendly hand shake.

 “Good game, Pup.” Time chuckles softly, shaking the hand offered to him. “You nearly had me there.”

 “You won, fair and square.” Twilight shrugs. “But I’m beat you next time, pa.”

 Matching midnight eyes blink at each other as red flushes over the rancher’s cheeks, but Time only smiles at him, lips twitching upwards as he lightly squeezes the hand in his own before releasing it.

 “You’re both pretty strong.” Four observes, brows furrowing as he hands the grinning captain his winnings.  

 “They have to be.” Wind pipes up. “They’re heroes after all!”

 Their leader’s scarred face twists up in a grin as he meets the sailor’s silver-blue eyes. “But strength isn’t the only thing that makes a hero, Wind.”

 The kid grins right back, hopping to his feet so he can muse Time’s hair, surprising Twilight and making Wars shake his head. “I know that! After all, there’s no strength in a sword unless the one swingin’ it has courage!”

 Time’s smile brightens as he pulls away and it’s quickly replaced by a playful scowl as he straightens his mused hair, but Wind only laughs at him, easy and cheery as Warriors’ chuckles fill the camp. “Gremlins, both of you.”

 “Proud of it, Cap’n!” Wind blinks. It’s supposed to be a wink, everyone knows as much after seeing Tetra, but Wind is cursed with the inability to blink only one eye at a time, and no one, not even time, could properly explain to him how it worked.

 “The hand that holds it has courage, huh?” Sky muses aloud. “That sounds like poetry of some kind.”

 “It’s accurate though.” Warriors returns sliding down to sit between his fellow knights as Wild finishes stashing away his earnings in the slate, the champions eyes carefully not meeting Twilight’s betrayed expression that his own protégé would bet against him. “We used to say as much in the army, or rather, they did. Arty would remind me of it when I was feeling down.”

 “But what does it mean?” Wild cocks his head to one side.

 “That only those with a strong heart full of courage can wield a blade to it’s true potential. That doesn’t mean the triforce of courage mind,” The captain adds quickly when he sees Wild’s face fall. “Although it originated as a saying about the heroes of the past, it’s grown common to use for any who wields the blade. Only the bravest can face the dangers of the world as we do and come back alive to take on the next task.”

 “Like Legend?” The champion presses, cornflower blue swiveling to stare at where Legend is curled against a tree, staring into the forest with a stare that could set the forest afire.  

 “...Yeah.” Warriors nods. “Like Legend, like Time, like all of us really.”

 “What’s wrong with Legend.” Sky hisses in a soft whisper, so quiet Hyrule only just catches it from where he’s sitting on Wild’s other side. The captain only shrugs, shaking his head with a sigh as three sets of blue stared towards the vet.

 “Of all the things I’ve faced,” The captain muses. “I think only facing a newly woken Sky can best the levels of courage one would need to approach a grouchy Legend.”

 He laughs. “Legend’s not that bad! He’s just having an off day!”

 Sapphire, cornflower and royal blue all turn to meet Hyrule’s twinkling golden-hazel as the three knights stare at him in confusion.

 “He would tear us apart.” Warriors states slowly, and Hyrule can’t stop the snort that escapes him as he pulls himself to his feet.

  “No, he wouldn’t! Watch!” And despite the hissed whispers of ‘No!’ and ‘Hyrule, wait!’, he saunters over to where the vet sits and broods at the edge of the camp.

 The vet’s eyes are shadowed with heavy bags and his violet eyes snap indigo as they stare out into the forest, fingers rubbing mindlessly across his numerous rings as he sits and scowls at nothing in particular. Hyrule isn’t sure what set him off, or if it really even matters; some days they just get overwhelmed and need some space, but the vet doesn’t say anything when the traveler’s boots crunch through the fallen leaves around them, or when they come to a halt only inches away.

 “Legend?” Silence falls over the camp behind them as Warriors grips his hair with a murmured ‘R.I.P. Hyrule’, Legend’s empty eyes swiveling his way with a scowl. “Can I have your wrist?”

 “Why?” The vet scowls, but he’s already extended his wrist to Hyrule, and the traveler promptly grasps it in his hands and pulls Legend to his feet, startling some sort of emotion back into Legend’s eyes as he pulls his mentor towards the camp. “Okay, we’re walking.” Legend grouses, where are we going?”

 In the midst of the camp, eyes widen as Hyrule continues, unscathed by harsh words or swinging hands as he pulls Legend towards the fire.  

 “Sit.” The traveler commands, settling down on the ground and pulling Legend with him. Confusion plays across the vet’s face but he obeys, sinking down and crossing his legs beneath himself as Hyrule releases his hand.  

 “Relax.” Hyrule orders again, one hand trailing up to pull off Legend’s baby-blue cap and gently stroke cherry-blossom hair.

 As if under a spell, Legend’s shoulders lose some of their tension, the vet butting his head against Hyrule’s shoulder with a huff before settling into place. Squeaking snores erupt mere minutes later as the heroes of Hyrule stare in utter shock at their brother.

 “How!” Warriors exclaims, throwing his hands up as the others all blink and shake their heads in surprise.

 Beneath the weight of his sleeping mentor, Hyrule smiles. “Magic touch.”

[shinysobi]

i came in from the outside, burnt out from the joyride

this was born out of a conversation with @akinosakiya, so all credits go to her >.<

chapter i | chapter 2 (coming soon)

Han Joon Hwi and Kang Sol, years after graduation. post-canon fix it, idiots to lovers.

ao3

a/n : i got this idea as i feverishly dm'd my friend about a solhwi prompt,,, i took it too far i think >.<

please tell me if you like it!!

a/n: title taken from Hozier's Almost (sweet music) which i recommend while reading this.

chapter 1: you and i are lovers in the dark

There has got to be another way of doing this. I can’t be doing this all my life.

“You know,” the words from Yeseul makes her look up, “you didn’t have to do this to yourself. You could have not taken the case, eonni. I told you not to take the case.”

Sol doesn’t say anything, just hangs her head in shame. The soju burns as she tips her head back, draining the last dregs of it, “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you for help. You’re being insufferable now that you’re dating Bok-gi.”

Yeseul laughs, reaching for the soda can, “eonni, I think you’re thinking about it too much.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she looks at the other girl, clearly panicked, “does it show? Oh, it shows, doesn’t it? Oh, what am I going to do—”

“Ah, noona, you shouldn’t have taken this case on, then,” Bok-gi says as he enters the room and take in the sight of a dishevelled Sol and a grinning Yeseul, “oh, Yeseul noona, I was looking all over for you!”

Sol scowls, “haven’t the two of you been dating forever? Why do you still have the honorific? And for your information, I took the case before I knew it was going to be him that I would have to go up against.”

Bok-gi looks affronted, and Yeseul comes to her boyfriend’s rescue, “ah, I like it, eonni.”

“Of course, you like it, you’re just as gone for him as he is,” she grumbles, “so, Bok-gi, Yeseul’s been telling you everything now, has she?”

“Ah, eonni, leave him out of it,” Yeseul soothes her, rubbing circles into her back, “do you want me to take the case? Instead of you—”

“The client won’t agree on it,” Sol whines, “and just when I thought I had got rid of him.”

“Rid of who?” so Bok-gi doesn’t know, Sol notes with some amount of pleasure, good. At least Yeseul didn’t tell him about the fact that—

“Oh, eonni might have to work with Joon-hwi oppa,” Yeseul chirps, looking entirely too pleased for Sol’s liking, “she’s the public defender for Joon-hwi oppa’s case.”

“The attempted murder one?” Bok-gi sounds as perplexed as Sol is, “but I thought hyung only dealt with financial cases, what happened? Didn’t you say you had some other prosecutor to deal with, noona?”

Sol groans, “apparently he’s taking criminal cases too, and the first one he chose to take was mine,” she stands up, “can’t I ever get rid of him?”

Yeseul blinks, “why did you have to get rid of him in the first place?”

Sol groans, sitting down on the chair with a thump. This was becoming a frighteningly regular occurrence, groaning at the mere mention of his name, “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“You sound like a sixteen-year-old right now, noona,” Bok-gi giggles, and she scowls at him. How dare they find happiness in my misery. Just because she loved them didn’t mean she would put up with everything that they did.

Liar. You’ll always put up with whatever they do.

Wait, why did that sound like him? Did he finally manage to get inside her head?

No. no, calm down, Kang Sol. Joon-Hwi is not inside your brain. Your brain is filled with statutes of law, precedents, your grocery list, the things you need to buy Byeol for her birthday—

You have too many things on your mind.

Ah, fuck.

She stands up again, taking a look at Bok-gi and Yeseul’s surprised faces, and sits back down, “never mind. It’s just him. how bad could it be? We just lost touch over the years, and I specifically made sure to not keep in touch with him after we graduated—I’m going to die, Yeseul-ah.”

“No, eonni, you won’t,” Yeseul props her up gently, pushing the bowl of bibimbap towards her, “at least eat something before you cry.”

“No, you’re right,” Bok-gi agrees, although Sol knows he’s laughing at her internally, the little shit, “it’s wrong to cry and not eat. I’ll be dehydrated.”

The food tastes bland in her mouth, although she knows she’s made it spicy, but Sol works her way through it with tears in her eyes (she passes it off as due to the spice) and promptly starts sobbing again, lamenting her crappy life.

“Eonni, the trial isn’t until next month, you have enough time to prepare,” Yeseul tries to placate her, but it only increases the volume of her groans.  A whole month spent dreading the presence of Han Joon-Hwi as she prepared for the trial. “You’ll win it, right?”

There. That was what had been bugging her. The fact that he hadn’t lost a single case since he’d become prosecutor. It isn’t like she hadn’t expected this from him, coming first in her class, but—

“Is this even fair?” she wails, “the attempted murder case doesn’t even have to have him as the prosecutor, it is going to be easy for me to win, the client was framed, and there is no evidence—”

“Noona,” Bok-gi peers at her, his eyes going wide, “you’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Ah, it isn’t like that!” she tries to defend herself. But Yeseul just stares, “fine. You caught me. I’m scared of losing to him, he hasn’t even lost a single case since he made prosecutor, he’s on his way to becoming head prosecutor in less than a decade, and I’m—I’m barely surviving as it is, so why did Attorney Geun-Tae give this case to me?”

Both Bok-gi and Yeseul look shocked, and Sol isn’t surprised. They should be. She was the one who cut off contact with Joon-Hwi after graduation, claiming he didn’t need her to weigh him down, and she was the person who did everything without a single glance backwards, so why was she being so defensive? “It’s not like I don’t want to whine all the fucking time, it’s just that—”

“Whoa, noona swears a lot when it comes to Joon-Hwi hyung, who knew.” Bok-gi says, clapping a hand over his mouth, “have you always been this way, or did this just happen after you found out that you were going up against him?”

Sol scowls, “you’ve been trying to act cute, don’t try that with me, Min Bok-gi.”

Yeseul nods at Bok-gi. Sol scowls again. Traitor.

--

The truth is, she should have known this was coming. Their field doesn’t leave much for anonymity, and even if it did, why did she think it would be so easy to avoid Joon-Hwi? The boy—sorry, man, she supposes she should give him at least that much, they were both in their thirties now—the man was everywhere, the newest rising star in the prosecution. Even her boss, the clueless Park Geun-Tae knew about it, and had requested her to work in a case against him. her, the person who barely passed her law school course at Hankuk. Who has a sister far smarter than her, better than her at all aspects, who really isn’t cut out to be in this profession, something which she’s heard all too often from everyone, and all she wants to do is yell I know, I know, she knows it all.

Which is why, when Han Joon-Hwi approached her after the graduation ceremony, a determined look on his face, she dreaded the words that would come out of his mouth, and instead chose to flee. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best decision, but Kang Sol A isn’t known for making the best decisions.

She still lives with her mother and Byeol in that same house, where Joon had once installed a CCTV camera, which Lee Man-Ho had broken with a well-aimed rock, but the camera is still there, and while Byeol is in middle school now, a big girl, who doesn’t like Sol picking her up from school every day and who is already getting into trouble with that big mouth of hers, and certainly doesn’t need protecting, the camera is still there, and every once in a while, she likes to take a look at it, sipping beer after a long day at work. It’s obviously dysfunctional, but she likes to imagine that Joon-Hwi still takes a look at the camera feed, doing whatever “top secret” things he did.

She sighs, opening the door to their home. I have work to do if I need to beat Joon-Hwi.

--

“Why was I assigned to this case?” Joon-Hwi asks, surprise evident on his face, “I usually take financial dispute cases, this is an attempted murder, and the evidence doesn’t even look solid. Why am I being given this?”

He’s speaking to the wall in his office, and his paralegals are out on break, but he feels as though he should at least vent about this to something, if not someone. He’s supposed to be a star prosecutor, someone who hasn’t lost a single case since they stepped foot into the District Prosecutor’s office. And it’s true, he hasn’t lost a single case since he began working here, spurred on by a desire to both step out from under his uncle’s shadow and to prove himself.

The cases he has handled until now, have all been financial, catching the people who use money to get their way in the world, much like Ko Hyeong-Su, people so entitled to the world that they didn’t consider the rest of them as human beings. He liked bring them down to their level. Hell, he loved it.

But his specialty is not criminal law, and that too, a case that would be difficult for him to win, given that there was very little evidence and whatever he had, would never fly in a court of law. He’s kind of pissed at Prosecutor Lee for giving him the case. No, scratch that, he is pissed at Lee for giving him the case.

Defending lawyer—

Defending lawyer, Kang Sol.

Could it be?

He turns to his computer, and contemplates for a second if he should ask the police officer about the defending counsel, but decides against it. I don’t want to seem like a fool. Which—is correct. He is a fool.

So, he calls up the person who had the case before him, Prosecutor Shin, and tries not to hide the excitement in his words when he asks, “did you meet the defence counsel when you arrested the defendant, Prosecutor?”

“She didn’t have one,” the prosecutor replies, voice scratchy, and he wonders of he did the right thing by disturbing someone who was in the hospital, “we’ve indicted her, but the defence counsel was changed at the last moment, something about the public defender dropping the case. Her new counsel is some young lawyer, although she has a lot of experience.”

A lot of experience. “A lot of experience?”

“Yes,” the voice on the other side cracks, and there’s some commotion in the background, “I remember meeting her in the courthouse once. People call her crazy, the lengths she goes to defend her clients are insane. She’s a good egg though, doesn’t take on cases that she doesn’t like.”

“Hmm, thank you, Prosecutor,” he mumbles, hanging up the phone. So that’s what you’ve been doing all this time, Kang Sol. how long has it been, four-five years? And we’ve never met once, impressive.

He’s suddenly very excited for the initial hearing, even if he knows its going to be nearly impossible to win. But at least he can see her for the first time in years, even if its on the opposite side in a court of law. At least he has that.

—

“You’re being stupid,” Jiho says without much in the way of context, but Joon knows what he’s talking about, “you had to take a case just to meet her? A case you are most likely going to lose? What kind of person does that?”

Joon-Hwi rolls his eyes. Jiho was a good man, but sometimes, he really didn’t know the reason behind things. Or to be more specific, why Joon-Hwi did some things. Still, it was understandable as to why he would behave like this. Neither of them has had any connections with each other over the past five years, missing each other by mere moments at times, and yet, he’s still enamoured by her memory, of the way she used to look at her law books and the way she used to stick her highlighters in her hair, her triumphant smile after she answered something correctly; he remembers everything, and he gets nostalgic sometimes, but such is human nature, one supposes.

“It’s been five years, hyung,” Jiho mutters, pushing the bowl of soup towards him, “isn’t it time you gave up on Sol noona?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think you addressed anyone as noona.”

Jiho shrugs, “she’s older than me, so it’s only right. And I did work with her on a case about three—two years ago, and she’s really become good. Or is it all the experience that she has had now, working as a partner at Attorney Park Geun-Tae’s firm, which is unheard of, at her age, but she’s far more competent than him—”

He’s talking, but Joon-Hwi doesn’t register anything anymore, “you’ve worked with her? Together?”

“Hmm?” Jiho mumbles, thrown off his track, “yes, I literally just said that I did, what are you thinking about?”

“No. no, back up a little,” he insists, and Jiho’s confused expression clears when he realises what exactly is Joon-Hwi implying.

“Really? You’re jealous over the fact that I worked with Sol noona? That’s how petty you’ve become now, hyung?” Jiho rolls his eyes, and Joon has the incessant need to just—bury his face in his hands, “you could just give her a call, you know.”

He glares. Jiho nods, “guess not,” and resumes eating. He takes another look at the case file, and sets it down, proceeding to shove food into his mouth. The Japanese restaurant has good food, he does agree, but nothing beats eating too-hot ramyeon at three in the morning with your best friend after you’ve finished reviewing three lectures’ worth of notes together. Crap. He still remembers her as his best friend, even though they haven't had any contact over the past years now. Pathetic.

But self-deprecation isn’t his forte, and he shakes his head at Jiho, who’s determinedly eating, “how’s Sol B doing? Isn’t she going to be a judge?”

“She’s still practicing,” Jiho replies, “her mother wants her to be a judge, although I don’t think Sol wants to do it. She’s happy being a legal scholar. Wants to become a professor at Hankuk later on, if the constitutional law position opens up.” His face has a curiously fond look when he’s talking about her, Joon notices, or perhaps it’s a trick of the light, because Jiho straightens up, “who gave you the case, though?”

“My superior sent it to me because the prosecutor in charge had fallen ill, and had to be taken to the hospital,” Joon-Hwi replies, “it isn’t east for me to win this one, even though—”

“Even though you’ve never lost a single case?” Bok-Gi’s voice almost makes the two of them jump, and Jiho sends a well-aimed smack his way, “so you’re taking noona’s case, are you, hyung?”

Jiho snorts, “he’s losing sleep here.”

“When did I say I was losing sleep?” Joon-Hwi begins to say indignantly, but Bok-gi is still grinning as he slides in beside Jiho, “who told you that, Seo Jiho?”

Jiho doesn’t say anything, so Bok-Gi fills in for him, “hyung, you look terrible. Haven’t you been eating properly?”

Joon-Hwi squints at the other boy, how did he know I haven’t been sleeping well? Does it show on my face? Is it that bad?

“It is that bad, hyung,” Jiho pipes up, “you look like death warmed over.”

“It isn’t that bad, honestly,” Bok-gi says, and promptly shuts up under Jiho’s glare, “jeez, all right, all right, he looks bad. Very bad. Bad with a capital B.”

Joon-Hwi groans. He was supposed to have been handling another financial scam by this time, but he’s now talking to two of his classmates, preparing for a case that he was sure of losing, just to see the girl of his dreams.

Pathetic.

--

It had been two weeks since she had found out that Han Joon-Hwi was going to be the prosecutor for her newly-assigned case, and Sol already felt like she was going to drown amidst a sea of precedents, case studies, and more cases that she needed to read just once, in order to keep her client from getting a guilty verdict. She would have to work harder if she needed to beat him, and had even contemplated asking Professor Yang for help, not that the man would do anything to make her life any easier.

Instead, she settles for the next best thing, calls over Sol B and Yeseul for help, and while Sol B grumbles, Yeseul agrees enthusiastically, even offering to bring over Bok-gi for an extra pair of eyes. Not one to be outdone in anything, Sol B offered to bring over Jiho, who grumbled more than Sol B (if that was possible), but agreed to come along nevertheless, and they all sat in her tiny living room, looking as though they had lived there all their lives, and had helped her with the case, although the boys were more interested in devising ways to make Joon-Hwi lose, as Jiho put it, “noona is our best bet, and he owes me food if he loses.” No one could argue with that, honestly.

Except she feels like drowning, and the trial was only two weeks away.

Stupid Joon-Hwi. Why did he have to take my case? Why couldn’t he just remain in civil law? Why did he have to do this? Why, why, why?

She knew that she was being irrational. He didn’t have much control over the cases he was assigned to, and given the fact that the prosecutor in charge had been admitted to the hospital, she doesn’t think he had any sort of control over what cases he would be assigned to. Still.

You’re being irrational now, a voice that sounds surprisingly like Professor Yang’s pipes up in her mind, you’re being distracted right now, Kang Sol. You won’t win if you’re distracted.

Right. She turns back to her papers, trying her best to push the thoughts out of her mind.

I can’t be distracted.

—

He was distracted.

It wasn’t his fault, perhaps, but Joon-Hwi feels guilty nevertheless, especially as he stares at his two paralegals who are stuck alongside him, working into the night.

He’s been staring at the same picture for the past thirty minutes. In his mind, it qualifies as work, but what sort, he isn’t sure. It’s a picture from their graduation day, the seven of them (Seung-Jae hyung was behind the camera) and Professors Kim and Yang, Yangcrates even had a rare smile, something which he hadn’t ever imagined witnessing, at least not sober. Him with his arm around Jiho, who clearly didn’t want to be dragged into a conversation then, his attention focused on someone else. Sol B, staring straight into the camera, grinning ear to ear. Bok-gi and Ye-beom, the latter gesticulating wildly and Bok-gi just laughing at him, Yeseul with her head thrown back in laughter, and Sol—Sol was radiant, (he laughs at that, radiant, the Greek meaning fitting her like a glove, Sol, the Sun) the way she smiled at the camera, her hand held up in a peace sign. It was an imperfect picture, and he has the final, proper version hung on his living room wall, but it’s the warmest picture he has ever been in.

The trial is the next day, and he should be getting some sleep, but he finds himself staying awake even after his two paralegals have gone home, apologising profusely for leaving him alone, and then he takes out his phone, which has been blowing up with messages from Bok-gi and Jiho, asking to come out with them for dinner. He knows it’s a bad idea, that they would try and get him drunk, or worse, that he would voluntarily get drunk, and showing up hungover at the courthouse isn’t a great idea.

Except… he really wants to do so. It’s like he’s back in university again, trying to find ways to rile Kang Sol up, teasing her, to revel in the way she would get angry with him for cutting short her study times, even though she should have been in bed three hours prior. She would always look at him with that strange sort of expression in her eyes, Joon-Hwi remembers, as if she couldn’t decide whether to hit him or to just kiss him and shut him up.

His phone pings, and it’s a text from Jiho, telling him that hyung, do you want to come out for dinner? Sol’s buying.

He really shouldn’t. even if it had taken him a moment to know which Kang Sol Jiho had been talking about and even then, he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the mention of her name, he shouldn’t.

Oi, Han Joon-Hwi, aren’t you a little too old and a little too responsible to be drinking before the day of an important trial?

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Sol, not Sol B—Sol A, although he doesn’t know how anyone could confuse themselves between the two—they were as different as light and day, and the one on his mind was not the one who was offering to buy him drinks and dinner. He sighs, texting Jiho a quick apology before he heads out of the office. He needs to be alone tonight, trying to get his thoughts in order before he faced Kang Sol in the courthouse the next day.

Even though he’s sure to lose, he just might win.

--

[softomi]

Cheer for me

Bokuto Koutarou

The practice match was one that you didn’t need to show up for, but coincidentally the cheer team was also practicing that day at the school; and the volleyball team insisted, that you show up in your uniform to lift the guys spirit for having to play a practice game on a Saturday. You tried to tell them that just like the boys when they practice, the cheer team doesn’t practice in their uniform. Their minds shattered into pieces, some starting to tear up at the realization, and so you conceded; telling them that you’ll come in your uniform.

So you stepped through the gymnasium doors, white and gold cheer uniform, pompoms in your hand; the boys straightened up. You had even gone the extra mile, hair put up in cute pigtails with the school colors as ribbons, a heart on your left and right cheek drawn with matching colors of your uniform.

The boys straightened up so fast once they saw you, blushes on their cheeks as your skirt swayed as you walked. Even the competing school couldn’t help but stare. A volleyball rolled in front of you, boys clattered to their feet to be the first to reach you.

“Hi.” The rat’s nest of his hair, a cheeky grin on his face, the red jacket on his shoulders signified he was part of the other school, “I’m Kuroo, I believe we haven’t met yet.”

He was promptly shoved aside, a foot knocking him to the ground. Your boyfriend stood in front of you, encasing you in the grandest hug as he twirled you.

“You look so good!” He’s peppering you with kisses, even letting his hand drag just ever so lightly on the back of your thigh, “Are you here for me?”

You laugh, a kiss on his cheek that sends him swooning, “I’m here for everyone!” You jump to the side, pom poms waving in the air, the way his hair slightly deflates makes you giggle, “But I’ll cheer for you the loudest!”

He straightens up, the largest grin on his lips as he skips over to Akaashi to point you out; as if your entrance didn’t attract literally everyone’s attention.

Oikawa Tooru

It was Monday and on Mondays he does many things that he can’t do on other days. He can take his time eating breakfast, he can casually focus on his studies, and at the end of the school day, instead of heading straight to the larger gymnasium like he would on most days, he takes a turn to head to one of the smaller gyms. As he reaches closer, he can already hear your voice echoing from the gym. Your back is turned on him, hands on your hips as you look at your team whose smiles are starting to grow.

You shriek when a hand comes out of no where to rest on your stomach, instinctively your elbow moves back, striking him right in the abdomen, “Oh my god, Tooru!” You smack his shoulder as he feels the pain in his abdomen, “Don’t scare me like that!” You turn back to your team, “everyone, ten minutes to warm up.”

“I think I’m dying.” He says as you lead him to one of the benches. He shoots you a grin, “I think it needs a kiss.”

You’re fully aware his hand is tapping against his abdomen and instead you press a quick kiss to his lips, “You should have told me you were coming. I wouldn’t have elbowed you.”

Oikawa pulls you to sit on his leg, keeping you secure with a hand on your waist, “I was hoping that I would be able to see you in your uniform.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you guys practice in your uniform?”

He pouts, “No, but I’m thinking I might suggest to the captain of the cheer team that they should practice with their uniforms.” His lips touch against your chin, “I can be very convincing.”

Your arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, “Suggestion denied.” When the coach walks in, you’re quick to swat his hands away to stand to your feet.

The cheer coach notices Oikawa, “Deciding to watch our practice today?”

He grins, flashing the widest smile he can to the coach, “Yes! It isn’t every day that I get to cheer for our cheer team!”

Tsukishima Kei

You were purposely doing this, purposely trying to throw him off of his game. In a cheer uniform, pompoms sitting in front of you as you stretched on the ground. It was all fun and games in the beginning; losing a bet with him and the smug smirk on his face when he said that you had to show up to his practice and cheer for only him. He knew it would be embarrassing for you, it’d be embarrassing for anyone to have to cheer for someone loudly at a practice. It wasn’t even a practice game with another school, just a plain old practice day.

So yeah, you were going to make him as embarrassed as you were. You had purposely ignored him for a week to get your outfit ready; a black pleated skirt with orange details you personally sewed on yourself, a cropped long sleeve shirt that just barely showed the skin of your body, and you had even printed the school name on the front with his name on the back. Under your left cheek, you wrote his jersey number in black and orange colors.

“You’re the worst.” He approaches you who’s sitting on the sidelines.

You wave the pompoms in the air, looking up to him, “You’re the best!” Your cheer makes him scowl more while others giggle in the back. You’re grinning, the happiest smile in the world on your face, “That was a great block Tsukki!”

He throws his water bottle to you, a blush creeping on his cheeks, “Shut up.”

You scream out happily as he walks back to the court, “Go! Tsukki!”

“Be quiet!” He shouts back at you, his voice snapping but his face flushed, “Go Home!”

“No!” You disobey his order, the pompoms waving, “Let’s go Tsukki! Block another one!”

He’s deep crimson at this point, his whole game thrown off for the day but it’s safe to say that barely anyone could pay attention with you cheering his name every five minutes. He regrets the bet, but he can’t help but stare at how he likes the way his name is on the back of your shirt.

“Did you like my cheer for you today!” You’re hanging onto his arm as he throws your pompoms into his bag. You’re purposely also acting all lovey dovey, just to mess with him a little more. He only grunts in response, “You know, the other girlfriends absolutely loved this idea. They want to make some of their own so we can all wear it to the next game, we were thinking of just making shirts with the school logo.”

He stares down at you, fingers playing with the end of your skirt, “I like this one.” He bluntly states, “It tells everyone that you’re mine.”

Miya Osamu

Everything was getting under his skin, he was uneasy, uncomfortable, just what were they planning. It had been thirty minutes since he walked into the gym, Atsumu and Suna with matching eerie smirks on their face as they said something that shook him to the core “we have a surprise for you later”. It struck panic, he spent almost all of warm up looking over his shoulder, running faster than Atsumu, even sticking close to Kita just in case.

But his eyes narrowed at the way the two were walking into the gym after disappearing for ten minutes. They snickered and giggled as they looked at him, pointing to the gym doors and he sees it. He wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a good surprise out of kindness or an evil surprise to make him flustered. He thinks the latter, because as you walked in, a blush grew to his ears.

“Hi everyone!” Your voice draws the attention of the volleyball team. Your cheer uniform flowing as you step forward, pom poms in your hands resting on your hip and you look over the group, “In an unfortunate circumstance.” You look at the two laughing second years, Suna already has his phone out on video, “I have a message for someone in this room.”

Osamu feels his heart dropping. Your gaze meets his and you’re taking in a deep breath.

You wave the pom poms in the air, a grin on your face, “Miya Osamu!” Blood is rushing to Osamu’s head, he may just pass out. The pompoms drop from your hands, your arms fall to your chest and your fingers form hearts, you wink in his direction, “Have a great day at practice!” You take a step forward, finger pressing against your lips to blow a kiss in his direction,  “You’re going to do great!” You’re arms form a heart over your head.

His hands fly to his face, boys are snickering, some are jealous; Suna is replaying the video so loud it’s echoing in his ear. Atsumu throws an arm around your shoulder, slipping you money to which you take happily.

“Ain’t she the cutest.” Atsumu pinches your cheek and you elbow him in the stomach.

You raise the cash at the boys, “All for money boys.”

Atsumu leans on you, loudly enough for Osamu to hear, he teases, “How much for you to follow Osamu around for a whole day in your uniform cheering for him?”

Your eyes catch onto the boy who peeks through his fingers, his hands don’t hide the blush, “Since he’s so cute, I’ll do it for fifty.” Osamu throws his head back, “Free if he walks me home.”

The boys are hollering, you smile sweetly as you pick up your pompoms, legs skipping out the door after you shoot him another wink. He suddenly feels blood dripping from his nose.

[nameawoman]

Walk On By - Part 2

A/N: yay!!!!!! another installment in the shroomrry cinematic universe is here!! i want to say a huge thank you to el ( @harrytheehottie​ ) and brailey ( @daydreamsofh​ ) for being excellent beta readers and supporters. <3 <3

and thank you to everyone who has shown my writing love. i truly appreciate it so much. i hope you like this part just as much as the first one. :-)

if you haven’t read part 1, catch up here!!

🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: just under 5k

**September 15th, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

The brakes on your car squeal as you pull into the last empty spot along the curb and shift into park. The music from your radio comes to an abrupt stop when you turn the key back to shut the engine off. Your head hits the headrest behind you before you empty your lungs into the silence.

Cars drive past on the street to your left. It’s just past five thirty, so all of the after work traffic is in full swing.

You’ve been avoiding this errand for two weeks now. There’s a record that you’ve been wanting to get your hands on ever since one of your coworkers played it at a work function. After looking through shelf after shelf in all of your favorite shops in L.A., and even making some calls to shops in surrounding areas, they’ve all come up short.

This seems to be your very last resort. Right across the street, sandwiched between a donut shop and a hair salon, is Jupiter House Records. From what you remember, this shop has a really good selection and variety, but the handful of unpleasant interactions you’ve had with the owner have been enough to make you look somewhere else. You’ve been stubbornly avoiding this place for years. Now you have a whole other reason for not wanting to spend hours in this store digging through to find your favorites or discover new ones.

Harry works here.

You haven’t seen him since he showed up on your doorstep to return your address book. The conversation you had with Jenny when she came home from work that evening plays through your mind again.

Both of you plop down on opposite sides of the couch in your living room. You sigh and take a big sip from your glass of wine before explaining the whole interaction to her, starting from the moment you opened the door to the moment you saw him drive away in his car.

Jenny grins. The only sound in the room comes from the ticking of the clock on the wall as you wait for her response. “I think he likes you.”

You squint. “That’s what you’re taking away from all of that?”

Her eyes widen and she springs forward, almost sloshing the wine out of her glass when she sets it on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re telling me he saw the ‘If lost please return to..’ in your address book and decided to make a trip to our house to return it to you in person, when he could have just sent it in the mail?”

You can feel a crease forming between your eyebrows and you take in a sharp breath, fully prepared to counter her point, but she barrels through.

“And he wanted to ‘make sure you were okay’. Out of all the dealers that we’ve met, how many have just shown up at our houses to check up on us? Zero.”

You press your lips together. You can’t argue the fact that this alone sets Harry apart. However, this doesn’t mean he likes you. Maybe it just means that he’s the kind of person that goes the extra mile for the people he does business with. He could have easily left you and Jen sitting on the sidewalk after the concert, but he decided to help, to do what any other good-natured person would do.

“And let’s not forget how he threw the paper on the doorstep so you wouldn’t have to walk all the way down the driveway.” Jenny clutches her chest and swoons.

Scoffing at the way she’s adding dramatics, you challenge, “How do you know he didn’t show up here to see you?”

“He didn’t ask about me, did he?”

“No,” you begrudgingly mumble into your glass.

She grabs her glass from the coffee table and gives you a knowing look. She’s made her point, and the more it lingers like the aftertaste of wine, the more conflicted you become.

You’ve spent more idle moments than you’d like to admit since then thinking about the night you were sitting outside of the Forum. Thinking about what possessed you to lean in and study his face so closely. Was it solely the effects of the drugs? If that’s the case, then why do you want to go back to that moment so badly? And why didn’t Harry pull away? Did he really blush when you were staring at him? Was his heart really racing when you gave him a hug, or was that just your wild imagination?

The honking of a car brings you out of your thoughts. You take a deep breath and trill your lips. There’s a slight break in traffic. If you don’t get out of your car and cross the street now, you fear you’ll stay here stuck in your thoughts all evening.

With a huff, you rip your keys from the ignition and push your door open. You cross the street, walking with a purpose, and make it to the sidewalk.

The full strength of your nerves doesn’t hit you until you’re just in front of the store and the glass door swings out with a simultaneous chime of a bell. Your heart drops from your chest to your stomach and you freeze on the sidewalk to avoid colliding with the man exiting the shop.

When he stops to hold the door open for you, it takes you a moment to gather yourself. You mutter a ‘thank you’ as your hand firmly grips the cool metal of the door handle. Almost like you’re using it as a crutch to get you through the threshold.

Your shoes meet the shaggy mustard yellow carpet, matted down by years of customer traffic.

A woman that looks about your age greets you from behind a counter to your right. You return her half smile and she goes back to flipping through the magazine on the counter in front of her. The nametag on her floral shirt reads ‘Nora’. Behind her is a door with a red ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign taped to it.

Underneath the counter that she’s leaning on is a glass case holding records and cassette tapes, all marked ‘deluxe’ or ‘limited edition’. Spread out next to them are a few t-shirts, buttons, and stickers with the store logo printed on them.

You weren’t expecting it to be so quiet. Right now it seems like you and Nora are the only people in the store. The coast is clear. You can relax a bit. The adrenaline rush you were feeling on the other side of the door has now been replaced by the whirring of the air vents and David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” playing over the speakers.

You turn to your left to take in the rest of the store, meandering into the first row of record shelves.

The large window taking up the entire front wall lets in plenty of evening sun that warms your skin through your shirt. More shelves, each one three tiers deep, line the rest of the walls and create aisles in the middle of the room.

Signs hanging from the ceiling above each section indicate the genre. The one you’re standing next to is labeled ‘new releases’ with a smaller font that reads ‘alpha by artist’. Other sections are labeled country, rock, disco, classical. Your eyes land on the back corner of the store where the funk, soul, and jazz sections are.

You make your way over while pulling your sleeves up to your elbows.

Unsure of which specific section the record you’re looking for will be in, you decide to start on one end of the corner and search all the way through to the other in hopes of finding it.

You fall into a familiar routine of searching through the first tier, then the second, leaning over to search through the top tier, and then taking a step over to start the whole process again.

Once you’re about halfway through the soul section, the bell on the door chimes again. You can’t be bothered to look, not wanting to lose your place.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Goddamnit. Your hands freeze their movements and your heart begins to race all over again. You know exactly who just walked through that door.

“Harry,” Nora admonishes, “I finally have a date after two months and you’re gonna make me late.”

Harry’s mumbled response is drowned out by the loud creak of the door behind the counter, but judging by Nora’s gasp and the unmistakable thwack of a magazine, maybe it’s better left between the two of them.

You begin to slowly file through records again, this time not paying much attention to what you’re doing. More-so to give your hands something to do and appear busy while trying to hear the rest of their conversation.

Nora sighs, “It’s been really slow today. Hopefully it’s a slow night for you.” All you hear is some shuffling before she adds, “Oh, boss wanted me to remind you not to play the music too loud.”

“Did he? Dunno what he’s talking about,” Harry says, feigning innocence.

Nora laughs, “Whatever.”

The next thing you hear is the jingling of keys and footsteps across the carpet.

Harry raises his voice from the back room, “Are you gonna punch out?”

“Will you do it for me? I’ve gotta go.”

“Sure.”

The bell on the door rings and Nora yells from the doorway, “I left three boxes in the back for you to restock!”

“Oh thanks,” Harry yells back with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Bye,” she sings as she walks out.

The door slams behind her. The bell’s high pitched ringing seems to hang in the air.

Silence falls on the room when the song playing over the speakers stops suddenly, making the room quiet enough to hear the traffic outside. You hear a needle drop and after a few seconds, the opening guitar notes of “Can You Get to That” by Funkadelic begin to play. The corners of your mouth turn down to fight a smile when the volume is promptly turned up much louder than what it was when you walked in.

You take a sharp breath in, realizing that you’re going to have to turn around at some point. Surely you can’t just stay in this corner and keep your back turned to him until the place closes. You don’t know what you’re going to say to him. Will he even recognize you after not seeing you for weeks?

There’s not much time to decide what to do when the sound of footsteps approaching on the carpet is getting closer to you.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you hear his voice.

“Finding everything alright?”

You turn your head to the left.

Harry is standing a few shelves apart from you with a box propped between the shelf and his hip. The sunlight from the window shines through the ends of his hair and the sleeves of his white t-shirt when he grabs a record from the box and reaches out to carefully wedge it back into the right place. You scan down to where his shirt is tucked into a pair of dark brown corduroy pants, and further down to see a pair of dirty white sneakers peeking out from the ends of the flares. When he turns his head to the box again, you notice that his mustache is significantly thinner from the last time you saw each other.

Heat rushes up your neck and onto your face when he glances up at you.

His hand pauses in the air and his eyebrows raise slightly before the corners of his mouth do the same, revealing just a hint of his dimples. His head tilts back and he blinks in surprise. “Oh… hi.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding when he addresses you by name. Mirroring his smile and turning your shoulders to face him, you reply, “Hi. I… didn’t know you worked here.”

A flat out lie, but thankfully he doesn’t seem too suspect about it.

He frowns and looks down at his shirt, pulling it out in front of him to reveal his nametag. “Hm. M’ afraid I do,” he says flatly.

A breathy chuckle leaves you, amused at the way he’s effortlessly making sarcastic remarks like this with you and his coworker. Quite different from the stiffly awkward interactions you’ve had with him. It’s like you’re seeing him in his natural environment. Him being at ease is having the same effect on you.

“Do you need help finding anything?” he asks, continuing his previous actions, this time with a soft smile.

“Actually, yes,” you clear your throat, “I’m looking for this specific record. I’ve looked all over for it by now. I’m pretty sure it should be in one of these sections if you have it, but...” you trail off as you cast a glance over your shoulder to the shelves you have yet to go through.

“I can take a look in our inventory. Save you some time?”

Of course. Why didn’t you just ask about that when you first walked in? “Sure. That would be great.”

Harry hoists the box into the crook of his arm with a faint grunt and you follow him over to the counter. After setting the box at the end of the countertop, he walks to the other end and reaches underneath the register, pulling out a large beat up binder with ‘inventory’ written on the spine.

It lands on the counter with a plop, probably due to the huge stack of paper inside, separated by multicolored tabs.

“What’s the artist’s name?” he asks after opening the binder to the first page.

“The Equatics.”

He pulls on the ‘A’ tab and folds it over.

“Oh, sorry, it’s Equatics with an ‘E’.”

He tuts and shakes his head before tracing his finger down and pulling on the ‘E’ tab. “Equatics with an ‘E’,” he mumbles.

You fold your lips between your teeth.

Now you’re thankful for the loud music filling the room as you’re standing wordlessly in front of the counter watching him flip through the pages of the inventory binder. Hair hangs in front of his face as his head is tilted down to scan over the pages, all filled with scribbles, arrows, and notes in the margins written in blue, black, and red ink. It all means nothing to you, especially looking at it upside down. You can only imagine how tedious it must be to keep up with.

With his left hand pressed flat against the counter, the expanse of his arm is right in front of you. Hopefully he can’t feel your eyes surveying his tattoos, at least the ones you can see from this angle. A small cross on his hand, an anchor on his wrist, the tail of a mermaid, a delicate rose near his elbow, a heart just beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

He inhales sharply and clears his throat into his fist, “Looks like we do have it. It’s actually in our as-is section.” As he’s speaking, he spins the binder in your direction and slides his finger almost to the bottom of the page to point out where it lists the artist, album title, and the section it’s in.

Despite the relief that comes with finally finding something you’ve been searching for, your face falls a bit. You know that ‘as-is’ is often just a nice way of saying that something is heavily used. “Does that mean it’s… damaged?”

Harry hums and tilts his head to the side, not meeting your eyes until he responds.

“Not always. Honestly we’re pretty much required to put stuff in that section even if it’s just the sleeve that’s messed up. Sometimes the record itself is still in great condition. You can still find some good stuff in there.”

“Okay. Where’s the as-is section?” You don’t remember seeing a sign for it when you walked in, unless you just overlooked it.

“Right. It's, uh, down this hallway here. Kind of hidden.”

Harry rounds the end of the counter and you follow him over to a doorway covered with a ruby red beaded curtain. Harry pulls it to the side and steps through first, pausing to hold the curtain back for you. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and step into a long hallway that extends to your right.

He releases the curtain, letting the beads crash together, before starting down the hallway.

Both walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of cassette tapes, with each row of shelving just tall enough to fit their size. There’s so much packed in this long stretch of narrow space, like a condensed, fluorescent-lit cornucopia.

“I had no idea all of this was back here,” you comment, slightly dumbfounded that you probably would have overlooked this hallway entirely if it hadn’t been pointed out to you.

“Yeah, lots of people think it’s off limits because of the curtain. I need to put some signs up or something.”

As you’re walking behind Harry, you realize you were too distracted before to see print on the back of his shirt, let alone make out what it said. Bold purple font reads ‘MY MIND IS UP ON THE MOUNTAINS’ with a smaller font at the bottom that reads ‘(and i didn’t even have to climb)’. The words are surrounded by a sun, a few flowers, a picture of a mountain, and two mushrooms on the bottom.

A smirk creeps onto the corner of your mouth at how incredibly on the nose it seems for him. It makes you wonder if anyone here knows about his other job, or if he’s hiding in plain sight.

Once you’re both about a third of the way down the hallway, there’s a gap in the shelves on the right filled by a nondescript doorway.

“Here we are.” Harry stops and reaches on the other side of the doorway to flip the light switch before stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in first.

You step into a small room. It only contains two long folding tables pushed against opposite walls. Rather than fancy, neat shelves, the records here are stored in milk crates and cardboard boxes lined up on the tops of the tables. It almost looks like you’ve come across a garage sale.

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips to the side as you walk up to the first box at the end of the table closest to the door. When you reach in, Harry speaks up.

“I could help you look for a bit, if you want.”

Harry’s now leaning against the doorframe, running a hand against his jaw. Do you see a slight tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks as well?

“I don’t really have anything better to do. Plus this section... isn’t really organized,” he continues.

You bring your attention back to the box in front of you, a sharp breath escaping your nose when you turn the Johnny Cash record back to reveal a Mozart one behind it. “I can see that.”

“But if you want to look around by yourself I understand, I can leave you to it,” he says, already slightly backing up into the hallway.

“No, I wouldn’t mind the company. You could take that table and I’ll take this one?” Your own words surprise you as you’re speaking them. Moments ago you had been dreading crossing paths with him again, but now that you’re having a moment that feels comfortable, you find yourself wanting him to stick around longer.

A curiosity is growing in your mind, wondering if Harry is feeling the same way, if that’s why he offered to help, if that’s why he slowly joins you in the room and mirrors your position at the table behind you so you’re not standing back to back.

You both search through the crates without a word, only the faint sound of the music from the front room coming down the hallway. Meanwhile, your thoughts are going back and forth between Jenny insisting that this man likes you and talking yourself out of that idea, insisting that he’s simply being nice, doing his job.

“How have you been?”

The question catches you off guard, taking a moment to realize that he’s actually said it out loud. “Um. I’ve been good. Nothing exciting going on, just working a lot. You?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’ve been working a lot too. Where do you work? Don’t think I’ve asked you.”

“Do you ever listen to KIIS-FM?”

“Yes?” He responds, possibly thinking that you’re trying to shift the subject.

You smile to yourself, “You’re welcome. I’m a sound engineer there.”

“Oh shit,” he says enthusiastically. “That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

Briefly turning to look at him, your smile grows wider when you read the interest and excitement on his face. An expression you’re seeing for the first time in him, and it's because of something about you. Your heart flutters and you turn back to your table.

“Most days, I do. It can be a real dick fest sometimes though. Not in a good way.”

Despite mumbling the last sentence, Harry seems to still pick it up.

He barks out a laugh. You turn, eyes wide, to see his shoulders shaking and him covering his mouth with his hand.

When he turns back to you, clearly making a lot of effort to compose himself, he places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh yeah, the way you laughed really convinced me,” you lightheartedly roll your eyes.

“No it’s just… the way you said it was really funny,” he says, chuckling through his words. He continues, “So you studied engineering at UCLA then?”

Your eyebrows crease as his words hang in the air. You guess it’s not wild to assume that people who live in L.A. have attended UCLA. However, since you’ve never mentioned any kind of schooling to Harry, you can only gather that he’s making that assumption from the UCLA t-shirt you were wearing when he showed up at your house.

“I thought I remembered Jenny mentioning that you both went there.” His tone is cautious now, hesitant even. Like he’s picked up on his own blunder.

You decide to brush over it and simply nod, “Yeah, that’s how we met, actually.”

You return to looking through the crate in front of you. You gasp when you see the familiar red cover of the album you’re looking for.

You feel Harry turn around behind you. “Find it?”

You pull it from the crate. The bold red cover with a blue-grey circle in the middle, running your finger over the lines and arrows creating rings around it with a few stars placed here and there. You turn to smile at Harry, holding up the record in place of an answer, too excited to form words. The paper dust liner crinkles as you slide the plastic disc from the sleeve. Holding it by the edges, you tilt it to the left, to the right, and hold it up closer to the light to inspect it. Your shoulders visibly fall when you spot a long scratch running from the middle to the edge.

“Oh no,” you whisper, bringing the record closer to your face. You lightly run your finger over the scratch. It doesn’t feel rough, you actually can’t feel it at all. A fraction of hope is restored knowing that the scratch isn’t too deep into the grooves. However, there’s no way to know if it’s unplayable unless you actually try to play it.

Harry seems to read your mind. “You could test it out on the player up front if you want.”

“Really?” You spin around, seeming to shock him judging by the way his upper body slightly jerks back. “I mean-- I would appreciate that. If it’s not too much--”

He shakes his head, “It’s not a problem.” He walks toward the door where he waits for you to gather everything up.

The front of the store quiet once you both emerge from the other side of the curtain.

“I liked your choice of work music, by the way,” you say once you’ve both made it back to the counter, hugging your record to your chest.

“Oh yeah, Maggot Brain. S’ a fun album.”

You lean forward to rest your forearms against the smooth wood of the counter, waiting while he takes the record off the player to make room for yours. “Do you listen to a lot of funk music?”

“I do. I’ve never really understood why some people aren’t into it. What’s not to love, right?”

“Exactly! My coworker showed me this album and I think it’s one of my favorites now. It was recorded by this group of high school students in seventy two. They won some studio time in a contest or something and they really made the most of it.”

“Hm. M’ excited to listen to it now.” He stretches his hand out, “I’ll take that.”

You hand over the album. “Could you start it on track two? I think that’s my favorite one.”

“Sure.” He places the record on the player and carefully moves the needle in place.

A warm feeling washes over you when you hear the familiar soft guitar and drum beat at the beginning of the song. You both stand in place as the bass line comes in and all of the instruments’ parts crescendo.

Once the beat drops and the main guitar comes in, Harry turns to you with raised eyebrows and an impressed smile.

“Amazing, right?” you ask through a chuckle.

“It’s really good.”

“I know! And I don’t notice the scratch at all. It sounds perfect.”

“S’ exciting. I’m glad you found it.”

He walks over to where you are and starts to inspect the sleeve, turning it over to read the back. He adopts a similar position as you, forearms resting on the counter as he taps his fingers on his bicep to the beat of the song.

“That guitar part is amazing.”

He’s leaning close enough now that you can see a hint of stubble along his jawline and his upper lip. His cologne, a swirl of vanilla and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. He looks up when you don’t respond and you avert your eyes immediately.

“I think so too,” you mumble.

“I find it crazy how something really amazing can be right in front of you for so long and you never notice it or you just keep missing it.” A pause. “This has been in the back room for… I don’t even know how long, and I probably never would have listened to it if you hadn’t been looking for it.” Another brief pause as he scratches at his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. He shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s weird, but I think about that kind of thing a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s weird. That can happen with… so many things, too.”

“Like people.”

His eyes quickly dance over your face. You swear they linger on your lips for a second  before returning to meet your eyes.

“Like people,” you repeat. “And I think it is good to think about that stuff from time to time but… it can get overwhelming. Sometimes it could even distract you from the things you’re enjoying now.”

Your eyes do the same motions, glancing all over his face, lingering on his lips, and then back to his eyes. This feels extremely reminiscent of the night you were sitting outside of the Forum, when you were practically nose to nose after you had taken a whiff of his hair. You had been telling yourself that the gravitational pull you felt that night was solely induced by the shrooms. However, you seem to be feeling it again now as your eyes trace over the plane of his cheek, the tip of his nose, the arch of his lip.

A slight crease between his eyebrows slightly contradicts the almost tender look in his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak.

Unfortunately he’s interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on the wall behind him.

You flinch at the sudden noise and Harry huffs in annoyance before clearing his throat into his fist.

He walks over to the player to turn the music down before answering the phone with a simple, clipped “Jupiter House.”

He covers the receiver with his hand and mouths ‘sorry’ to you before holding up a finger and going into the back room, closing the door until it's just cracked behind him.

You release a heavy sigh and rub your temples.

After a short conversation, Harry comes back and hangs up the phone.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, untangling the cord from his fingers. “Are you happy with this, then?” He asks, pointing to the record player.

“Uh- yes. Yes. I am.”

You go through the transaction in silence, watching the way Harry slides your record into a brown paper bag and the way he makes your change. At this moment, you’re wishing Harry came with a cartoon thought bubble over his head so you could know what he’s thinking right now. What exactly did he mean when he said ‘like people’? What was he about to say before he was interrupted?

He carefully folds and creases the paper, but instead of handing it over, he pauses, hands poised on the top of the bag.

“Sorry, I forgot something.” He opens the bag again and crouches down behind the counter.

“What--”

Before you can get your question out, his hand reaches into the glass case between you, hovering over the merchandise that you noticed when you first walked in. He picks out a button and a sticker. You hear them drop into the bag before he pops up from behind the counter.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I know.”

His smile and his voice are reassuring, absolving your confusion in a matter of seconds. 

“Thanks for your help. It was nice running into you,” you smile, taking the bag and holding the record to your chest once again.

“Take care. I’ll see you around.” He smiles.

You back away from the counter and push open the door. The bell rings in your ears one last time.

*********************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 2, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

-> STAY TUNED FOR PART 3 <-

[meow-bebe]

Pairing: Ten x reader Genre: fluff, friends to lovers Word count: 1.3k Warnings: food mention(?) Tonight’s soundtrack: What You Waiting For - Somi A/n: written in participation of @neoculturechristmas​‘s sectret santa event

this is for @jaeyoonurl​! hi mar! as im pretty sure you know, im cosmo, and i got to be your secret santa for this event. i had a lot of fun coming up with this, and im truly sorry i ended up being pretty late, but it gave me a chance to remake the header and finish things up. I hope you enjoy this, and that the holidays have been good for you! <3

“So are you planning on going to Johnny's New Years party next week?” Ten asks as he flops down on the couch next to you, offering you a plate and a styrofoam takeout box.

You groan in response. “Is New Year’s really next week? I am not ready to deal with going to that party alone for the third year in a row.”

“Want me to be your plus one?” Ten jokes through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

You sigh out a little laugh, shoving a bite of food into your mouth. "Really though, I'm tired of everyone's slightly pitying glances because poor me still can't find anyone to tolerate me long enough to date me. It's been—" you pause to mentally count back— "six months since I've even been on a date." You sigh to yourself, eating in silence for a moment.

"What if I take you out?"

You raise your eyebrows at this. "And what's your intention with that?" Secretly, you wished it would be something slightly nefarious. Part of your dating issue stemmed from the fact that you were infatuated with your roommate, though you could do absolutely nothing about it. He wasn’t interested in you, and it’s not like you could force him to reciprocate your feelings.  

“I’m just trying to be a good friend,” Ten says, and secretly your heart sinks a little. Perhaps allowing yourself even the slightest bit of hope could cause more pain than living with the fact that he’ll never love you back. “You’re sad that you haven’t been on a date in forever, so I’ll take you on a date!”

--

Several days had passed, and the date with Ten had consumed your mind. It was all you thought of. Was he really just trying to be a good friend? Was there another intention masked beneath his proposition that lay closer to your own?

Ten hadn’t mentioned anything about it since he first brought the idea up, and you were starting to lose hope that he was being serious in the first place. He’s always been quite the jokester, but at the same time in all the years you had known him he had never once broken a promise or gone back on his word.

For the most part you had been doing your best to keep the churning mess of thoughts and emotions that came with this sudden proposition under control, but constantly doing something to keep yourself distracted could get exhausting and you had given up. Thursday early afternoons were your lazy time anyway, as it was the only day when you had several hours between classes, so you ended up back in your apartment and couldn't do anything productive anyway. 

So what better to do than sit around thinking about how you’re absolutely in love with your roommate who has given you no reason to believe he felt the same. Except for the invitation for a date he extended and then promptly never brought up again. Sure, it had only been three days and Ten had a tendency to forget to tell people when things were going to be happening, but overthinking seemed to be a talent of yours and unfortunately this was a topic that couldn’t be easily shoved under the rug. 

Just as you were ready to get up and actually start pacing, your phone dings. Grateful for any distraction, you lunge across the couch to grab it. 

[Ten: are you busy tonight?]

[You: what a stupid question]

[You: you know i do almost nothing]

[Ten: awesome! i’ll be home around five thirty to pick you up]

[Ten: don’t bother asking where we’re going, its a surprise]

[Ten: oh, and dress warm but cute ;)]

You roll your eyes at this, holding in giddy laughter and sending back an equally flirty reply. Perhaps your worries were unnecessary after all.

--

The sound of a key in the door alerts you of Ten’s arrival, and you hurriedly finish shoving all of your necessities into the pockets of the coat you had just been eagerly modeling for yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you had put a little more effort into your outfit than you usually would for a date. You wore quite a few layers, but your favorite coat and boots disguised the slight bulk, and the cherry on top of the whole outfit was the scarf Ten had gifted you a few years ago. 

“Hi!” you say, ducking out of your room to greet Ten. 

“Hi,” he responds, “ready to go?”

“Yep!” you say, following him out into the hallway and failing to keep the bounce out of your gait. “Care to tell me where we’re going?”

“Well that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it,” Ten finally gets the door locked and pulls it shut behind him.

“I suppose it would,” you huff out a melodramatic sigh, but can’t keep the smile spreading across you face down. “Well, come on then.” You take his hand, and though he refuses to look in your direction, you think you see a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. 

---

“How did you know I’d want to go ice skating?” you ask incredulously, staring up at the sky and the snow slowly drifting down through the air. After open skate had ended you had wandered around the city hand in hand with Ten until the sun set and you finally decided on a restaurant. "That's literally my ideal date."

"You've mentioned it a few times," Ten says, unable to hide the smile fighting its way across his face. He always tries his best to stay cool and collected, but the truth is Ten is a romantic at heart. 

“That was like once,” you say, letting your gaze slip away from the streetlights illuminating the snow and to your best friend’s face. 

“You do realise I actually listen when you talk right? Maybe more than I should.”

You brows scrunch together, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ten’s fingers start to fidget a bit, and you squeeze his hand in encouragement. 

He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your eyes as you stare up at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. 

“This is something that I probably should have brought up a long time ago, but things get away from you sometimes, you know. Especially when it comes to—”

You squeeze his hand again. “You’re rambling.” Ten had a tendency to just talk when he was avoiding something—about the topic of avoidance, something to steer the conversation elsewhere—but it was always the same, and you knew it annoyed him just as much as it did everyone around him. 

“Sorry,” Ten says, obviously steeling himself for the big reveal. You listen intently, ready for whatever he’s about to hit you with. “I….like you. A lot. Like in a romantic way.”

You were not, in fact, ready for this. “Oh. I, uh—”

“I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that's okay—”

“No! No, no, not at all.” Concern flashes through his eyes and you panic for a second, wondering if you’ve made it seem like you're attempting to communicate the opposite of your feelings. “Ten, I’ve liked you for more than a year.” 

A different type of surprise seizes his features now, and you choke down a laugh at the way his eyes seem ready to pop out of his head. 

“Seriously?” You nod, and Ten just about skips with joy. “You mean this whole time we could’ve—God, I could just kiss you.”

“So do it,” you smirk.

Ten’s eyes widen in surprise, but he tugs you closer to him anyway. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Actually,” you say, “I think I know the feeling.”

[bakutae]

haikyuu headcanons #1

today's menu:

a platter of sugawara koushi, drop of kei tsukishima, dash of tobio kageyama and sprinkle of tadashi yamaguchi

scenario:

taking care of you during your period

author’s note:

i hope this will be the last time i’m reposting any of my works because of tumblr shadowbanning me but i’ll try having a lot of tags which ky @hanniejji​ recommended me having

sugawara koushi

'baby do you need help?'

you're preparing meals? 'baby do you need help?'

you're trying to get out of bed? 'baby do you need help?'

even when you're on the goddamn toilet trying to give birth through your butt? 'baby do you need help?'

he just loves you too much to let you do anything alone (￣Д￣)ﾉ

he's just really really mother husband material, period or not

he would be very patient with you, through your mood swings and what not, and will never ever lose his temper when you yell at him for no reason

in fact, he'd actually find you yelling at him humorous and start laughing right there and then, which would irritate you incredibly and cause you to scream louder in frustration

it is only during your period that he will get to see so many new sides to you and he frankly loves

but if it gets too much, he just gently wraps his lean but muscular arms around you and you'll stop screaming immediately

cuddles galore!!

he'll lowkey pull you into bed with him whether you like it or not and press his body against yours and uses your body like a body pillow

snuggles into your hair and comments on how good it smells just makes you feel warm inside

he'll end up sleeping in that position so even if you aren't sleep too bad you'll have to stay in that position until he wakes up unless you have the heart to wake him up but who will

honestly, days during your period are just the more chill ones compared to your usual hectic and busy ones with him having volleyball training very often

wouldn't be surprised if he skipped a little bit of training just to spend some more quality time with you

he'll not just ask you if you need help constantly, he'll also follow you around the house cause he's afraid you'll lose too much blood and fall unconscious suddenly

he just doesn't want to find you on the floor half dead let's be real

kei tsukishima

this sadistic boy-

lowkey would tease you during the first two or so days of your period

would ignore your cries for him to cuddle you just to get a rise out of you cause he's just like that unfortunately

enjoys seeing you all flustered and needing him to be by your side

'tsukkiiii come here please i want to hug you'

you even pouted and looked at him with your best puppy eyes as an attempt to win him over

'no'

within seconds the response came that you expected but still felt disappointed regardless

okay, if he wasn't there for physical support, he'd be there for emotional support when you just suddenly burst in tears while watching a puppy getting fed on youtube

'tsukkiii don't you feel bad for the watermelon that was fed to the puppy? watermelons have feelings too!'

he'd be so done with you ngl

but he wasn't that much of an asshole cause he did, after all, love you

he'd roll his eyes, grab a pack of tissue and sit by your side while looking at you with a tiny bit of concern but then again you were crying because you felt sorry for a watermelon

finally, he would pull your head towards his chest and press it firmly against it as he gently strokes your head with affection with one hand, the other one trying to pull out a piece of tissue from the pack

when he finally did get tissue out though, your tears had already soaked his t-shirt enough to see his skin because of the thin material

he'd gently tilt your head up and try to dry your tears

the keyword was try

you started squealing under his touch, saying something about 'being an embarrassment to him right now' and resisted his touch, refusing to look him in the eye

'am i taking care of my girlfriend now or am i taking care of bokuto?'

he just pressed a soft kiss to your lips, though the kiss was mixed in with some of your tears, he didn't care

he'd leaned in for seconds, this time holding on for longer, a small 'smack' sound ending the kiss promptly

that'd do the trick

he'd look at your wide-eyed self with a smirk then proceed to dry off your tears with a gentle touch

and you don't even try to resist him again

tobio kageyama

i lowkey feel like he would be caught incredibly off guard when he sees you on the floor, numb, laughing over some joke that's not even funny

'y/n are you broken? do you need me to bring you to see a... um i don't know where to bring you to y/n please stop laughing you're scaring me'

cue the intensifying laughter

he's mildly concerned and he wouldn't know what periods were at all, despite having an older sister

so he gently pushed up against your flesh, carrying you up without any difficulty and brought you to the bed

'tobiiii, i'm on my period'

'your...what?'

so you had a thirty minute talk with him, explaining to him what a period was and how it was to release the unfertilized egg as blood

he was desperately trying to get out of the room, uncomfortably yelling out 'idiot' constantly, trying to block off your words

however, your tight grasp around his arm was preventing him from executing his great escape plan

'how do i get your period to stop then? does like massages help increase blood flow and decrease the chances of me having a heart attack like this again?'

'well... i don't know about the massage part... but i do know one way to stop my period for around nine months though'

'what is it?'

'you'll have to get me pregnant'

0-0

kageyama.exe has stopped working

'i can't believe you don't know what periods are tobio, didn't you learn it in school?'

'well i couldn't possibly ask yachi to explain to me topics like human intercourse and periods can i?'

'i guess not'

you'd then smile at him, eyes tracing over his crimson cheeks as his gaze dropped to the bed, not looking at you

you threw yourself at him, finding your own comfortable spot in his neck as you pressed a brief kiss to it

'y-you idiot! w-what are you doing?'

'it's called mood swings, tobio, get used to it'

when your period was over, he was so relieved he didn't have to go through all that anymore

until he found you in the toilet, around a month later, a sheet of toilet paper in hand, howling in laughter about how the toilet paper looked like a melted snowman

tadashi yamaguchi

soft boyfriend ™

he had his suspicions that you were on your period on your first day because he noticed the little things you did different that day

he usually pays a lot of attention to you everyday so that day was no different

he noticed how you grabbed the cornflakes instead of the usual lucky charms cereal and he knew something was up

yamaguchi would be such an attentive boyfriend period

yamaguchi knew what periods were but was too shy to speak up to confirm his suspicions

'y-y/n, a-are you on your...um...'

honestly at that point in time you didn't know you had your period yet so you eyed him curiously, raising an eyebrow

he was incredibly nervous and you didn't know why; with his cheekbones colored pink and him not looking at you at all

you poured the cereal in and then reached for the milk carton next to your bowl, eyes still fixated on him

of course, like the clumsy person you were, you spilled the milk all over yourself instead

yamaguchi immediately brought a cloth and a small towel over, cloth to prevent any spillage on the floor and towel that was to be covered over your shoulders as he asked you to change out before catching a cold

pulling the warm towel against your now cold skin, you inched your way over to the bathroom, careful to not make a mess on the way there

when you were taking off your pants, you noticed a familiar faint red stain on the bottom of your grey sweatpants that you totally did not steal from yamaguchi

you cried out in agony as the most dreaded period of the month had come, which resulted in yamaguchi running after you, into the bedroom and peering over the joint bathroom within seconds

'y-y/n-'

his already colored cheeks grew ten shades darker, having seen you in your underwear and sweatpants in your hand

his gaze quickly shifted away as he whimpered

's-sorry for intruding, y/n! a-are you okay?'

a smile crept up your face quickly, staring at him, amused from his timid reaction

'yes tadashi, i'm just having my period'

'i knew it'

'hm?'

'n-nothing!'

taglist: @bnha-homeroom @shiggywiggy @sushij1ma

[voidstilesplease]

untitled 3/?

~•~

Theo is always second.

He is the second son, the second businessman, the second acknowledged, the second option, the second opinion, the second to know, the second they ask about, the second to receive glances. He is never first, maybe because his entire identity is a hand-me-down.

He is an orphan - was - before the Hales adopted him. He was ten and an addict. His father used to inject him just for fun - but it was all right if it dulled his empty stomach from the feeling of hunger. His father died in a drug raid and left Theo to fend for himself. His father had all of two dollars in his pockets. How was Theo to survive without money and relatives to take him? The answer to that was an orphanage where the Hales were sponsors. He didn't know how he was able to charm the couple - probably it was during his rehabilitation period to wean him of toxin dependency. But in less than five months, he was out of the institution and into the Hale mansion.

The Hales owned businesses from advertising to small food chains. The two largest are the sister companies Alpha Advertisements in New York and Beta Promotions in California. They said as an official Hale he could be managing one of the branches in the future.

Theo set out to do just that.

But he is always second - second to the Hales' only son, Derek.

It was always transparent that Derek did not like him from the beginning, as well. Theo had developed a good relationship with his adoptive sisters Laura and Cora. But he and Derek had long had an unspoken agreement that they weren't going be friends, much less be brothers.

God, he hates Derek. It isn't enough that he's a real son. He also has to be the better one. He always has to be first.

•••

Theo is not thrilled to be going home to New York. But Laura is going to get married to her soulmate, and he loves his sister. So, he leaves Beta Promos and flies to the other side of the States.

Theo spends the entire flight listening to Laura's pre-recorded gushing about her soulmate. Theo rolls his eyes every time Laura says the word. It's an old belief, soulmates, but they still exist today. Everyone is born with a red cord around their little finger. It hangs about three inches long with its tip glowing in soft sparks, like a severed thread. Only they can see the string unless it connects to their soul-bonded. The red cord then lengthens and ties around the finger of its other half. Only a few people meet their soulmates in their lifetime. Most live and die without finding the other end of their thread. And Theo's all right with that. His parents had been soulmates. But Theo's older sister died, and his mother followed a year later by overdosing. His dad had turned to drugs after losing them. Then, Theo lost him, too. Even soulmates aren't guaranteed a perfect life. They can even be destructive. Maybe it's for the best if they never cross paths at all.

•••

He wakes up the next day in his hotel room and notices it. 

The thread in his finger has expanded. He no longer sees the glowing tip - there is no more tip. Instead, there's a bright red cord flowing from his bed. Then, down to the floor, and out of the hotel room door. 

Theo's stunned. He pries his hand and stares at it wide-eyed. Experimentally, Theo tugs at the string - it feels concrete in his touch, instead of the usual semi-abstract existence. He can't believe it. His "soulmate" is somewhere close.

But when his initial shock has subsided, he decides to disregard the string. He doesn't have time for soulmates. He's going back to California after the wedding and obsesses over his work in the company. Theo will outrun Derek in the race. 

That's where his soul bonds to, not to some stranger that he's never going to love, anyway.

•••

He's supposed to meet Laura in the Alpha building before going out for the lunch date they had arranged weeks prior. So, Theo gets into the vehicle that Laura sent and rides the way to Alpha Ads in contemplative silence.

He enters the property thirty minutes later and is aware that his red string continues inside the building. He tries to neglect it once more, but when he steps out of the elevator to Derek's floor, he gives up on his avoidance. The string's other end is somewhere on that same floor, and it bothers him to no end. Barely catching the assistant droning on in his tail, Theo holds the thread and starts following its tug. 

He doesn't hear the assistant trying desperately to call his attention when he comes face-to-face with Derek's office door. He's only half-aware of the new voice attempting to warn Theo. The string goes through to the other side, so without second thoughts, he pushes it open.

What he sees is not exactly unexpected. Theo has heard from Laura that Derek has a younger boyfriend, about Theo's age, who works at a law firm owned by a Hale family friend. Theo's seen pictures, as well. And Cora has said his name is Polish from his roots, and a mouthful to pronounce, so he goes by the nickname Stiles. Theo has no doubt that the tall, slender man perched on Derek's glass table is that Stiles. 

He never imagined seeing him in person. Derek is not the long-term relationship type; one of the few things Theo understands and can relate to him. Stiles has been the first one to pass the six-month mark --- but they're not soulmates. Laura has said so. Which isn't a problem, she said, because she likes Stiles. Cora is friends with Stiles; their parents adore Stiles, and Derek has never willingly introduced anybody into the household. It's pretty apparent that Derek caught feelings this time. They didn't need to be soulmates to work. They didn't need to be soulmates to love.

Derek jerks back from his previous position in between Stiles's legs, hands clutching the man's hips and sucking at his pale neck. Stiles also promptly leaps off the table, flushed from ear-tip down to his collarbone, trying to smooth down the creases of his clothes. Derek turns slightly aside, hands reaching to adjust himself in his pants, before turning back around and sending Theo his most vicious glare.

Derek signals his assistant, hovering awkwardly by the door, face horror-filled - at catching her boss getting it on with his boyfriend, or for having no power to stop Theo from interrupting; he doesn't care either way - to close the door. When it's shut firmly, Derek doesn't waste time barking his displeasure.

"You can't barge into my office unannounced, Theo! Are you crazy?"

But Theo doesn't hear it. His eyes are on Stiles.

His eyes are on the other end of his red string.

•••

He laughs, bitter and dry.

Theo is always second. He's even second at finding his soul mate.

•••

The joke's on Derek. Maybe soulmates are meant to cross paths. 

Fuck if Theo's going to let Derek win this time.

~•~

check out this lovely moodboard by @sunel0. I can't appreciate it enough 😍🖤

[edit 12.30.20]

[seungminotes]

Necessary | Kim Seungmin

Warnings: 1.7k highschool au

A/N: I consider this to be the best thing I have ever written. I love Kim Seungmin, thank you.

Kim Seungmin was the last person you expected to be taking a lower level math class. Him being one of, if not the smartest student in your year, the only word you could possibly use to describe him was big brain. Yet there he was being seated next to your mathematically-disabled self, bright and early on a Monday morning, in a remedial math class.

Somehow you felt out of place now, as if you’d taken the wrong class, maybe there was some sort of even lower remedial math class where you actually belonged.

Seungmin had that effect on people. Though he wasn’t one to properly notice it. He made others feel inferior, but wasn’t one to take notice. He didn’t care about those around him anyway. A true tsundere, you often hear others call him. But you couldn’t tell if he was cold or just plain arrogant.

The way he sat next to you, with his perfect posture and head held high, and the way he didn’t even bid you a morning greeting, left quite a bad taste in your mouth.

How does one sit so properly and mannerly, yet doesn’t have the manners to acknowledge another’s existence?

Whatever, you decided, this wasn’t going to bother you, or get in the way of you getting better at math. This class wasn’t exactly the place you were used to either, but last year for whatever reason the numbers in your head jumbled around and you couldn’t pass a test to save your life. Now you were here, and you were determined to ace every test this year.

As if he had read your mind, Seungmin turned to you.

“You’re bad with numbers,” he said, no emotions displayed in his voice.

“Why else would I be here?”

He didn’t answer you, he just turned back towards the board, opening his notes and laying his head down on them.

You scoffed, there was no way you were going to fail a test in this class, your pride was going to make sure of it.

-

As time went on, you noticed Seungmin was not exactly happy about being in a lower math class that was obviously much too easy for him. You really wondered why he was here in the first place.

He never took notes, paid any attention, or even turned in the homework. You’d assume these bad habits were what landed him in this class in the first place.

The workload wasn’t even that bad, would it kill him to spare thirty minutes of his day to solve a few problems?

Despite this lazy lifestyle, Seungmin never received anything below a 100 on any test. Now that you envied.

Because even though you had made a promise to yourself and so far had kept it very well, you struggled to keep it that way. Studying until the wee hours of the night to make sure you could understand the subject with no problems at all, you lost sleep and just a bit of your sanity every time an exam was coming up.

This time was no different, only the restlessness was quite unbearable as you tried to stay awake in class. Your teacher’s droning voice did nothing to help and eventually your head slumped a little heavier on your arm, you had fallen asleep.

-

Falling asleep in this class was always a nightmare for you. Missing the information you desperately needed to make by in the course, you couldn’t understand how some students didn’t take notes, how did all the information possibly stay in their head.

When you had woken up, your teacher was just wiping down the board full of equations from the period. You looked down at your blank page of notes, regret and anxiety soon sinking in.

You could easily ask a friend for notes, it wasn’t that of a big deal to be honest. But taking in your own made sure you had everything, you couldn’t think of anyone who made sure to do the same.

The bell rang and it was time to go to your next class and you hurried to get your stuff packed up in time. As the boy next to you got up, you noticed he wasn’t sitting in his usual lecture position, head down and eyes closed. Today he had sat straight for whatever reason, and as he stood he pushed a stack of papers onto your side of the desk.

You hadn’t noticed at first, still wondering about his sitting position, but once he walked out of class, you looked down onto your table and inspected the overturned pages.

Considering you were most likely to be late soon, you just shoved the papers into your notebook and ran out of class.

-

It wasn’t until when you got home that you remembered the odd papers Seungmin had slid you after class and got your notebook out to examine them.

Turning them over you realized the boy you had once considered lazy and arrogant, took such detailed notes on today’s lesson that you could consider it a textbook guide.

His neat handwriting sprawled the paper elegantly and the pink highlighted titles accentuated the already sophisticated aesthetics of his notes. This was the type of organization you’d see on a study blog you only wished to emulate. On the margins he’d put a star next to things considered more complicated, and a happy face at the end of a concept, there were even slightly adorable doodles of a puppy’s face at the corner of one of the pages.

Seungmin never took notes. It was common knowledge. You’d never even seen the boy’s handwriting. Were these even his?

Deciding not to question further, you silently thanked the lord for such a gift. You’d have to thank Seungmin too, you thought.

That night you placed Seungmin’s aesthetic notes in a protective plastic and placed them in your binder. You studied them extensively and even rewrote them. He worded things much better than your teacher ever could. Everything was so simple. That night you could sleep peacefully.

-

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had taken a liking to you and your rather determined nature, something he wished he had when it came to studies, yet didn’t exactly need. Seeing you work so hard for a measly math class seemed pointless to him at first, but when he realized it was quite important to you, enough for you to lose sleep over, he discovered how much of a strong trait it was in you. It low-key made his heart squirm when he walked in to you reviewing notes before a test, or when you had set up your colored pens and highlighters in front of you before a lecture, or when you raised your hand when you genuinely didn’t understand something. Seungmin was deeply infatuated with you, but simply chose to ignore that. Seungmin never wasted his time on things he thought unnecessary. Yet that night he laid in bed, wondering for hours if you were awake and if you were, if you may have been looking at his words.

-

The next morning you woke up refreshed from a good night’s sleep and ready for school.

In class you placed the extra hot bun and a pink carton of strawberry milk on your seatmate’s desk as a small thank you, you had to repay him somehow. No matter what you had previously thought of him, he had in a way saved you.

You don’t think you had ever seen Seungmin smile. It was a slight and shy smile, but a smile nonetheless when he saw the cute little snack awaiting him on his side of the table. He knew it must have been you and it tugged his heartstrings quite hard, no one had ever really done this for him.

Still he didn’t look at you as he sat down, and he most likely wasn’t going to. You had to make the first move.

“Thank you,” you turned to him, holding out your hand in hopes of a friendly handshake.

Seungmin didn’t respond, though he did turn to face you wide-eyed with a straw stick in his mouth. His hand gently held the carton of strawberry milk and he didn’t make a move to reciprocate your friendly greeting.

You slowly pull your hand away.

“You can have them back, I don’t need them anymore,” you reach towards your binder to pull out the protected notes, but Seungmin finally does move, stopping your hand.

You eye him blankly, confused at his actions. He looks at you nervously before looking down.

“You can keep them,” his voice is firm yet soft and gentle.

Kim Seungmin is not cold or arrogant, you decide, he’s adorable.

You simply nod, absolutely dumbstruck by his change in nature.

Class starts and ends and though you promptly take your notes, you are considerably distracted by the actions of the quiet boy beside you. Today he placed his head down as usual, but his eyes were not closed, instead they traveled around the room, ever so often landing on you and halting.

As you and your classmates begin to put away their materials before the bell, you notice Seungmin softly spring up.

He takes out a pad of unused sticky notes from his bag and quickly scribbles his phone number and a puppy doodle on the pastel pink paper, hurriedly handing it your way as the bell rings.

Once again you look at the boy, eyes blank of emotion, only now his shy smile returns for a second time and he confidently reaches for your hand to put the sticky note in it himself.

“I think you’ll like these numbers more,” he slyly flirts.

“That was horrible,” you laugh at his rather unexpected words, making him flush a pleasant shade of pink.

Seungmin had never been one to flirt, heck he never even really spoke to girls, but he was definitely willing to make an exception. Because Seungmin never wasted his time on things he deemed unnecessary, but now it seemed that you were necessary in his eyes.

“Call me sometime?” His voice was smaller, much more reserved than his confidence outburst from before.

“My pleasure.” You beamed up at him.

And with that smile Seungmin could now guarantee that you were absolutely necessary.

[shoyodon]

Stories

𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Words: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: language, Tattoos (?)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU FUNKY LITTLE VOLLEYBALL MAN HERES YOUR GIFT BOKUTO STANS!! THIS IS MY LONGEST WORK YET AND I TRIED TO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT WITH MY STYLE OF WRITING!! this is a lot more story based than dialogue based so enjoy!

After having the privilege of being with Bokuto for so long, there are many stories you have to share. Not a day went by that felt dull. There was always an adventure or antics for the two of you to be up to no matter the time, weather or place. 

Here's some of the stories that you can recall like they were yesterday.

-

Seven years ago when you agreed to assist the boys volleyball team as a temporary manager, the day you met Bokuto. This is a story you enjoy to tell, not once failing to perk up when a friend or relative asks how the pair of you met, eager to share what, to you at least, feels like the love story of the century.

When you saw him for the first time, a smile on his lips as if it was made to be there, chatting loudly amongst his less vocal friends, throwing his hands in the air and jumping around to emphasize points in his story was like breathing for the first time. He was so animated, speaking his mind without a thought weighing him down. It was a skill he had mastered, that you hadn't yet. When he noticed your presence awkwardly standing in the doorway of the gym, he decided then to greet you for the first time. Which, in time, he realized was the single most important and life changing decision he ever made.

You became friends within the first day, exchanging numbers as practice ended before waving goodbye to Bokuto, who stood in place, watching you walk away. Seconds after you turned the block and were no longer in view, a buzz rang from your pocket, and on your phone sat a notification from the number just recited back to you.

The night was spent texting back and forth until your eyes got heavy, and only when you closed your eyes, resting your head on the pillow beneath you did you realize just how speaking to Bokuto came so easy. For the first time you didn’t hesitate when talking to him as you did everyone else. There was no fear of judgement if you said something wrong, or asked something silly. It felt like he listened to you and wanted your opinions and commentary, just as you wanted his.

Late night texts turned into calls that lasted until the next morning, small waves in the hallway became lunch dates and study sessions in the library, and the lone walk you took home every night after practice became a nightly adventure as Bokuto insisted he would come along, despite his home being in the complete opposite direction.

-

The months after your friendship bloomed, when he finally realized his feelings for you. (-Or, rather, Akaashi did.) Which is also one of the fondest memories you have.

It was the first day since you met him that he was nervous.

 Akaashi wasn’t blind, but he was aware how blind his best friend could be to his own emotions. The way Bokuto’s eyes softened when you spoke, or how Bokuto would smile more with his eyes when he was talking to you, but still you offered the biggest grin to urge you to continue to speak, or even how he’d cut people off who interrupted you when you spoke, loudly declaring that you had something important to say and was talking before being “rudely” interrupted, even if you weren't saying anything even relatively significant at the time. 

He could understand just how head over heels his best friend was, despite his best friend being completely oblivious to it himself.

The day Akaashi asked Bokuto if he liked you is the day Bokuto’s entire world shifted. Now that he was aware of his own feelings he felt as if everything would change. How would he ever face you? You probably didn't even like him back. Could the two of you ever be friends again if he couldn't get over his crush on you? A million thoughts raced through his mind at once, and the far away, almost anxious look on his face caused Akaashi to blurt out the obvious solution to the issue at hand. 

“Why don't you just tell her and see what she says?”

So he did. The same day.

He told his coach quickly before practice that he'd be a little late then sprinted to the nearest convenience store. He hadn’t a clue how to confess or what girls in general liked, so he went off of the things he'd seen on T.V.

He bought a large bouquet of flowers, chocolates and some of your favorite snacks, paying quickly before stuffing everything in his duffel bag. He ran back to school, tossing his bag in his assigned gym locker before getting to practice. He didn't wave at you, nor did he shoot you a glance, and the entire practice he was off his game, hitting shots out of bounds or bouncing directly off the blocks and into his court, however none of that resinated enough with his mind to pull him into his “emo mode.”

After practice was over he ran to the locker rooms to change, being interrogated promptly by the rest of his team on his odd behavior. Their gripes and concerns landed on deaf ears as Bokuto got dressed, grabbed his bag and ran from the room, greeting you in your usual spot outside by the gym doors. Sweat started to bead along his forehead, rolling down his red cheeks. Raising a curious brow, you ask him if he's okay before he bows quickly, apologizing loudly before unzipping his duffel bag, revealing what used to be a full bouquet of roses, but has now been reduced to stems with loosely hanging petals littering the greenery, and a couple squished snacks. 

He pushes the ruined bouquet into your chest, yelling in a higher pitch than his usual tone that he’d like to take you out on a date, slowly he looks up, and just then realizes just how tattered the roses were. He quickly retracts his hands, putting the stems behind his back and his shoulders slump. Silence ensues for seconds, which felt like hours to the boy, before your laughter rings loudly upon his ears. It wasn’t in a mocking tone, but pure joy. Slowly the flustered boy giggles too, before the pair of you are sitting, laughing with tears brimming the corners of your eyes on the concrete walkway into the dimly lit gym.

After the laughter died down, the happiest “I’d love to.” left your lips.

-

The night he met your parents, which is still your parents favorite story to retell seven years after that night.

Bokuto was nervous, yet again. Since your relationship officially began and the pair of you put a label on yourselves, he had become a bit more accustomed to this feeling of nervousness. He felt like he could lose you, and it scared him. So the day you brought up meeting your parents it struck such an intense feeling of fear in him you had to physically jostle him out of his thoughts.

It took a long time and a lot of convincing but he agreed. The Friday night of the dinner arrived and Bokuto showed up at your house an hour early. As you opened the door, still adorned in pajamas, hair only half way done. He stood with a bouquet of flowers, this time, untarnished. 

His hair was done nicely, dressed in a button up shirt, half of it tucked in and the other side hanging out and a belt with nice jeans. You stared up at him, eyes wide, partially because you didn't expect him so early, before walking onto the porch with him and closing the door behind you. He stuttered out apology after apology, saying how Akaashi told him he should arrive a little early to make it seem like he respected your parents time, and to prove to them he REALLY respected their time he showed up an hour before dinner. 

Giggles left your lips as you fixed his shirt, adjusting his collar and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of your sleeve. You spent a couple minutes talking him down until he was relatively more relaxed before inviting him in. Instead of berating him like he thought they would, your parents laughed it off when they heard his explanation.

 His flowers were put in a vase and your father sat to speak with him over various things. You left the room with a kiss on your fathers and Bokuto's cheek, heading up to your room to finish getting ready while your mother busied herself in the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later you came back down to the sound of raised male voices from the room you had left the two men previously. There your father and Bokuto sat, talking animatedly about sports. A friendly argument had broken out, both yelling out their opinions to each other with lighthearted smiles on their faces. 

You stood, watching them for a moment, admiring the fact that it took a mere thirty minutes before Bokuto had already made friends with your father. 

As dinner was served the four of you made your way into the kitchen, sitting down at the table next to your boyfriend, who was less tense, but still somewhat on edge as he had yet to properly speak with your mother. The dinner went smoothly, your father and boyfriend cracking jokes and playful jabs at each other, and your mother finally getting in a good conversation with Bokuto.

The night was coming to a close, plates empty as the four of you just chatted idly. Your hand was resting in Bo’s beneath the table, rubbing a soothing thumb over the back of his hand whenever he tensed up at a question or topic. Before your father decided it was time to reel it in for the night, he asked Bokuto one final question.

Your father asked Bokuto's intentions with you, the playful glint in his eye disappearing. The look he was giving the boy made him want to disappear. Eyes wide, mouth now suddenly dry despite the multiple glasses of water he had throughout the night, he stuttered. 

“Uh-I-i um- well I love her! I mean- no I don’t-shit-oh god- excuse my language- I do love you is that too soon? By the look in your eyes it looks like you're going to say it's too soon and if it's too soon I take it back!” words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even really comprehend what he was saying, your parents sat back stunned and you sat there mouth agape, still holding his now sweaty hand.

 Your parents excused themselves awkwardly after a moment, stifling laughter as they made their way upstairs, and the two of you sat in silence, as Bokuto apologized quietly you cupped his cheeks, pressing an ever so gentle kiss to his lips

This, as well, was another first for the night.

His entire body was ridgid, before melting into the feeling of your lips against his slightly chapped ones. As you pulled away, Bokuto hesitated before leaning in once more, pressing a quick, simple peck on your lips, then retreated as well, noses just barely brushing against each other.

That was the only response he needed.

-

The night the both of you had a little too much to drink, another favorite of the two of you.

The both had downed just enough beer to get tipsy, having celebrated Bokuto's 21st birthday the night before, and still having some alcohol your friends so gracefully left over for you both, you decided to not let it go to waste and chugged down a couple bottles. 

Drunken words and kisses were exchanged in the living room of your shared apartment, giggles and hiccups echoing through the home. Bokuto, whose head was resting on the couches arm, perked up, looking at you, whose body tucked away between his slumped over form and the cushions on the couch. 

‘Y’know...I want...a tattoo…” he muttered, returning his focus back to the ceiling which for some reason had him entranced. A laugh shook your body, causing him to giggle as well. shrugging , you asked him why he wouldn’t get one, to which he responded, eyes wide, with “I...I dunno…” before jolting up and running, or more stumbling, to your shared room to grab his phone and wallet.

 “Lets go now! Now let's go!” he yells, bouncing up and down excitedly. Seeing no problem with it in your intoxicated state, you agree, pulling on shoes while Bokuto called an uber, then driving, at 9pm on a Saturday, to a parlor. As you arrived, Bo hesitated at the door, turning to you with a pout. “Wait..” he grumbled, hunched over in thought. “if i get one you have to get one as well!” 

And that's how he convinced you two to get matching tattoos, the first letter of your name etched into the side of his ribs, and a big “K” etched onto yours.

The morning after, the killer headache and soreness from your ribs woke you. Barely remembering what happened, you stumbled to the bathroom, waking Bokuto up in the process, and pulled your shirt up in the mirror. It didn't even surprise you. A breathy laugh left your lips as Bo entered the bathroom as well, lifting his shirt off to see what his looked like. The biggest grin stretched across his face, sprinting back to the bedroom to get his phone, promptly taking pictures of your tattoos and sending them to Akaashi.

-

As the years progressed, and Bokuto had his rise to fame as a professional athlete, stories like these dwindled. He had a job now that required him to be away more than not, and loneliness creeped in every once in a while, despite Bokuto’s determination to call and text you every day before bed.

 Offhandedly, the week he was home, you mentioned that its weird feeling for him on his side of the bed and it being empty and cold. That same day, maybe an hour later, Bokuto left. Then, two hour later, he returned home with a small Shiba Inu puppy. 

“I didn’t know which one to get...but I saw you liked a meme with this dog in it on instagram...so I got him…” 

And so, without even questioning his antics, the two of you named him Taro, and spent the next week with your new addition to the family to get him accustomed to living there. 

-

Now, seven years have passed, and here you lay, the morning of your anniversary, Taro's large sleeping form warming the bed next to you, while your boyfriend worked hard in a training camp in America so he could obtain his dream of being recognized as one of the most powerful players in the Japanese league.

 The ceiling seemed especially appealing as you recounted the last seven years, a faint smile on your face. Even though Bokuto wasn't able to be here today, he sent you a short: “I love you, relax for me today, happy anniversary!” text, presumably as soon as he woke up, which was enough for you.

You sat up, bare feet hitting the cold floorboards of the apartment the two of you have, more recently, began to pack up as to move into a new house. Your first house, together. 

Standing up, you shook your head, rubbing your eyes and made your way to the bathroom. There you took a long shower, taking more time than usual to cool yourself down. Afterwards, breakfast was made and served for yourself and Taro, and the two of you laid comfortably snuggled up on the couch for more than half the day.

 As 3pm rolled around there was a soft pounding at the door down the hall, Taro got up quickly, trotting to the door and waited patiently for you to open it, standing alert in case it was an unwelcome guest. 

You unlock the door quickly, not expecting anyone to show up today, and as the door swings open you notice a line up of the MSBY boys you’ve come to love, all standing at the opposite end of the hallway from you, facing you as you open the door, each holding a couple roses, some holding stuffed animals and others holding boxes of your favorite snacks, adorning nice button ups and jeans, all with somewhat tired expressions (presumably from being jet lagged), but big smiles. (excluding Sakusa)

As you look around, taken aback, but an excited look amongst your features, you finally notice Bo, standing at the end of the line. He smiles widely and rushes in to hug you, spinning you around excitedly before laying the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I know you weren’t expecting me home, but I may have lied just a bit about when the camp would end...I couldn't miss our anniversary.” he chuckles. Too shocked to speak, he gently grabs your hands, drinking you down one last time before he takes one hand off of yours, moving to his back pocket. “So...I wanted to keep this a surprise...mostly because I felt like seeing you shocked like this would be really cute- but also because It’d make doing this..” He mutters, slowly kneeling down on one knee in front of you. “A little bit more romantic.” 

That was your breaking point. Sobs fall freely down your cheeks as you watch him kneel in front of you, the most genuine, loving smile on his lips. The one that never changed or altered even after all these years. There he knelt, rambling on about how much he loved you. How he was so happy he could spend the last seven years with you, and that calling you his wife would be the greatest privilege you could grant him. The man you loved the most, the man that single handedly changed your future the day you met him, wanted you, and only you, for the rest of your lives. 

You said yes, of course.

And as he slid the gorgeous diamond onto your finger, he pulled you in for the tightest hug. Soft sobs leaving both of you as he held you. And seconds later, the rest of the MSBY boys tackled the two of you in a hug as well, all either sobbing (Hinata and Atsumu) or somewhat teary eyed but would always deny it when this story would, ultimately be retold (Sakusa).

Out of all the stories you reminisced upon today, you just knew that this one would be your favorite.

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story -- KHR remix

[this fic is my first attempt to write in the KHR fandom. i apologize in advance.]

II.

The first time it happens, Tsuna doesn’t see it coming at all. It’s not the kind of thing one sees coming.

He’s following up on one of the many, many anonymous tips they receive daily, about villain movements, suspicious sightings, potential collaborations, the works. Nowhere in the official Vongola Inc. recruitement speech do they tell you that working for the world’s largest superhero organization mostly means digging through trash and interviewing witnesses, rather than bashing a supervillain’s head in.

Granted, most teams go out and get at least some action and technically Tsuna’s team is no exception. Tsuna is, though.

“You’re more likely to get one of us killed than be of any help!” Mochida had snapped when he’d seen Tsuna trott after the others on their way to the briefing room. “Make yourself useful for once and stay out of the way.”

[continues under the cut]

[In all honesty, Tsuna can’t blame his squad leader. He never thought he, Dame-Tsuna, always too slow, too clumsy, too useless, would get recruited by Vongola Inc. The best, most powerful, most feared superhero organization the world has to offer and they wanted Tsuna.

Of course that turned out to be bullshit. Tsuna should’ve expected nothing less. Should’ve seen it coming. Why doesn’t he ever learn? But he’d been so shocked, so gratefulrelievedelated to know that someone saw something in him. That someone wanted him.

If he’d known all Vongola wanted was Sawada Iemitsu’s son -- his bloodline -- well. Tsuna knows himself well enough to realize that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it had.]

Mochida is cold and cutting and often cruel, but he’s not a terrible team leader. He takes his responsibilities seriously. And even though Tsuna knows the man doesn’t like him, sees being saddled with Tsuna as some kind of creative punishment by his superiors, Mochida doesn’t let Tsuna’s inability to walk a straight line without running into a a door and his utter lack of super abilities get in the way of their job. It usually ends with Tsuna being sidelined and manning the coffee maschine or the phonelines -- wherever he can cause the least damage -- but Tsuna doesn’t mind much.

Sure, it’s not glamourous, but it’s still little things that need to be done and Tsuna is glad he can be of help, even if his co-workers rarely appreciate it. Mochida doesn’t expect much of anything from him and sometimes that hurts, but he never sets Tsuna up for failure just to have something to laugh at either -- and that means more to Tsuna than it probably should.

Besides it’s not like spending yet another endless day at work, following up on various anonymous tips, 98 percent of which always turn out to be a useless waste of time, is a bad price to pay for a steady job in a respected profession.

It’s only in retrospect that it occurs to Tsuna that what happens next is not at all surprising. That it is almost inevitable. Because no matter how many crazy, paranoid or joking people call the Vongola Emergency line, sooner or later Tsuna was bound to stumble over a nugget of valuable information. That this was why they kept a tip line in the first place -- because it occasionally proves to be useful.

In Tsuna’s defense, he’s pretty sure none of the others expected today’s calls to be real either. They sure wouldn’t have sent him out otherwise.

But here he is. Searching -- read: stumbling through -- a long abandoned warehouse that Tsuna just knows would have Hana sniff in disgust at the utter cliché of it all. Without back-up or any particularly useful weapon.

[His team learned in their first month together not to arm Tsuna with anything he could use to hurt himself with. Or them.]

Staring in horror at the supervillain staring at Tsuna with equal surprise.

At least I’m not the only one caught off-guard, Tsuna thinks hysterically. And he’s allowed to be hysterical when he finds himself trapped alone and unarmed in an abandoned warehouse with Skull De Mort of all people.

[Tsuna doesn’t have many hero-like qualities, but he’s got a lot of free time on his hands when manning the phone lines and pulling graveyard shifts on days where even villains prefer to catch a break and sleep in. Tsuna also, by virtue of his heritage, has access to the kind of high-level intel most field agents can only dream of.

As such, Tsuna has a better understanding on the recently active and inactive supervillains than most.

Whereas the average newsreporter likes to scoff and sniff derisively when Skull De Mort pulls one of his outrageous attacks that always mean impressive amounts of property damage and no civilian deaths because Skull is just an ambitious, loud-mouthed thug with ideas above his station as far as the general public is concerned, Tsuna knows better.

Skull De Mort is an Arcobaleno. As in one of the seven most powerful villains in the entire world. He might not drown the city in blood, but it’s sure as hell not because he can’t do it.

Sure, Skull baffles Vongola Inc. regularly with his antics, but his name is spoken in the same breath as Reborn, Fon or Viper and the point is oh god, Tsuna is gonna die here.]

With perfectly reasonable, if unhealthy amounts of panic and horror fighting for dominance within him, it takes Tsuna several long seconds to realize that Skull isn’t launching into one of his infamous supervillain speeches. Isn’t even throwing glitter bombs at Tsuna -- and those glitter bombs might not kill anyone, but walking into Vongola HQ and leaving a trail of glitter everywhere just might.

Hibari-senpai -- who isn’t even Vongola, is the definition of unaffiliated asset everyone is too afraid to alienate -- hates glitter.

Tsuna is so dead.

Except he still isn’t. He’s been standing here, gaping and panicking for close to five minutes and Skull still hasn’t made his move. In fact, now that Tsuna pays attention, it’s not just his breathing that’s unnaturally loud and heavy in the empty hall. And-- Tsuna squints. Skull doesn’t seem to be leaning against the wall so much as clinging to it and he’s watching Tsuna with a look that no one has ever directed at Tsuna in his life, something that almost looks like, like wariness and-- 

“Are you okay?” Tsuna blurts out before he can think of all the reasons why starting a conversation with an Arcobaleno is a terrible idea.

It’s just— this is a supervillain and that’s terrifying and Tsuna should probably call someone more qualified to deal with this situation, but also this is an injured supervillain and somehow that makes all the difference.

Skull scoffs, ironically putting Tsuna a little more at ease. People always scoff or scowl when he reminds them of his existence, this is no different. Besides it’s hard to take the villain’s derision seriously when he promptly sways on his feet. He’s not wearing his helmet, either, and despite being dressed in the usual black motorcycle suit, Tsuna is pretty sure his violett hair is matted with blood.

“You’re hurt!” he exclaims, horrified. Promptly drops the taser he’s been trying to pull out of his overstuffed bag with shaking hands and rushes towards the villain’s side, who’s eyes widen in alarm as Tsuna approaches.

Somehow that makes it easier to breathe, but it’s not enough to distract Tsuna from the long cut along the man’s temple and the dark bruises on his jaw.

“The Great Skull-sama is fine!” Skull protests frantically.

He’s clearly not, considering he promptly loses his balance when he tries to take a step back. Instinctively, Tsuna reaches out to catch him, realizing a second too late that one, he doesn’t have the strenth to keep the taller man upright and two, Tusna is a walking, talking disaster who inevitably trips and brings Skull down with him. They hit the ground hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs and land in a graceless heap on the floor.

“Sorry!” Tsuna squeaks, breathless from where his face is smushed against Skull’s padded shoulder. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Skull-sama!”

Kami-sama, he’s knocked the poor, already injured man over! Trying to untangle them immediately, Tsuna accidentally rams his elbow into Skull’s side, which earns him a pained groan and Skull another flustered apology.

This is why his team doesn’t take Tsuna on missions. He’s a hazard not just for himself but everyone around him.

Scrambling away from Skull before he manages to kill the guy through sheer clumsiness, Tsuna forces himself to take one deep, steady breath — only one, though, else he’ll have time to think about how stupid what he’s gonna do in a moment really is — and starts to unpack his bag. Tsuna might not carry as many weapons as a Vongola Superhero on duty technically should, but his emergency kit would make any aspiring doctor proud. And Nana too, but that’s because Tsuna’s mom thinks he’s healing the innocent bystanders — "My Tsu-kun has such a gentle heart!" — not himself. 

"What are you doing?!" Skull asks while slowly pushing himself off the floor and into a sitting position.

"I’m just looking for the— there!" Tsuna knew he still has one of Irie’s newest ice packs. He kneads the white package for a few moments to activate it, then holds it out to Skull. "Here. Hold this to your jaw for at least ten minutes, but no longer than thirty. Ichi’s still working on some issues long-term use has on human skin."

Tsuna babbles like he always does when he’s scared. [It drives Mochida crazy sometimes because Tsuna is scared most of the time and Mochida hates babbling.] It doesn’t stop him from noticing the odd look Skull shoots him, a bit like he’s measuring Tsuna’s worth. Except that’s a look he’s intimately familiar with and would recognize anyone, so it’s something close, but not exactly that.

"Please take it, Skull-sama." Tsuna shakes the ice pack lightly, pretends like his hands aren’t trembling when those bright, violett eyes fixate on him. "That looks like it really hurts." 

[He’s not sure if all Arcobaleno carry their superpowers on the outside. If it’s part of the costume, colored contacts and all, or if their bodies are brimming with power to the point where they’re overflowing, where it pours out of them in any shape it can.]

Slowly Skull takes the ice pack. Looks at it as though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

"H-Hold it against your chin, please, Skull-sama." Tsuna busies himself with sorting through his various bandages and tries very hard to pretend his voice isn’t shaking and squeaky like a frightened mouse. "It’ll help keep the swelling down."

"…The immortal Skull-sama heals fast." Skull says the words like a question. Tsuna doesn’t look up, but he can feel the weight of the man’s stare.

Hunching his shoulders, Tsuna pulls what little courage he has together, and stutters, "That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Skull-sama. Please, can you just take it? I— I don’t like seeing people hurt."

Skull is still staring, Tsuna can tell, but it feels less like he wants to lean over and rip Tsuna open to figure out what’s inside, and more like he’s just watching Tsuna drop the disinfect spray for the third time. After a moment, he presses the ice pack to his face and even though Tsuna’s still trembling a bit, he smiles.

"Thank you."

Skull doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t protest when Tsuna tells him to disinfect the gash above his eyebrow — not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully. He draws the line at more bandages, though, which is worrisome. Tsuna is pretty sure the man has at the very least bruised his rips, but Skull is a supervillain, not runaway kitten, and maybe that means he knows what he’s doing.

That would at least make one of them.

Finally convinced that there’s no other injury Skull will let him help with, Tsuna carefully packs up his things again and bids the villain a hesitant goodbye. Which brings up a somewhat awkward point.

"I have to go back to work now and someone might ask where I’ve been." Eventually. Maybe. Tsuna rocks back on his heels, not sure how to put this. "If they ask, they might come here. And you— might not want to be there when they come," is what he settles on.

Skull’s watching him with another strange expression, both eyebrows raised as he watches Tsuna make a fool of himself. "Why?"

Tsuna eeps. [It’s not a full-on shriek, thankfully, but it’s far too close for his comfort.] There’s an intensity to Skull just now that has the hairs of the back of his neck stand up and reminds Tsuna rather violently that he’s talking to an Arcobaleno. That he’s been treating an Arcobaleno’s wounds. For a moment, Tsuna sways on his feet, as though his body wonders whether it should just give up on him completely.

"Ireallyneedtogonow!" Tsuna rushes the words out so fast, they trip over themselves, grabs his bag and high-tails it out of there. "Please take care of yourself, Skull-sama!" he adds over his shoulder, almost walking into the door as he does so.

It’s not until Tsuna is sitting in his comfortingly safe work chair that it occurs to him that not once during the entire, surreal encounter [he still can’t believe he was in the same room as an Arcobaleno and survived] did it occur to him to call Vongola. Even now Tsuna is hesitating to speak up, to tell one of his co-workers. Because while his gut feeling tells him that Skull got out of that warehouse as soon as Tsuna turned his back on him, he isn’t one hundred percent sure and what if they catch Skull because of him?

Tsuna resolves to spill the whole story as soon as someone asks — he’s a terrible liar and he never promised Skull he wouldn’t tell, not that the man asked himto — and tries not to think too much about the many crimes he committed by letting the chance of catching a supervillain of Skull’s calibre go to waste. Not that anyone would expect Tsuna to catch a supervillain, but still.

[His team returns two hours later, bright-eyed, bruised and breathless with the enthusiasm of a successful mission tangible in the air around them. Mochida even greets Tsuna with a smile and doesn’t scold him when Tsuna drops his tea cup in response and Haru tells him all about the exciting and ultimately successful arrest they’ve pulled off.

No one asks Tsuna where he’s been or if anything interesting happened while they were gone. 

Tsuna tells himself he’s relieved, for Skull’s sake if nothing else, because the pang he feels at the thought that no one would miss me if I was gone has gone beyond pathetic a long time ago.]

[huilian]

The king of Attolia, Annux of the Little Peninsula, walked alone across the halls of the Eddisian palace. This would not have happened in his own palace, but they are in Eddis, and Eddisian customs take precedence. No one in Eddis would dream of stopping the Thief from roaming the halls of the palace of Eddis, no matter how much the captain of his guard protests.

He slipped easily from one empty room to another, avoiding the many sets of eyes that, even now, still lingered in the palace. It was easier than it used to be. There were many empty rooms in the palace of Eddis, and not all of them are because their inhabitants had moved to the lowlands.

Still, even with the abundance of empty rooms and the decrease in the number of guards, he was forced to backtrack a few times to escape notice. The guards’ patrol routes had changed since the last time he was here. A display of caution for the queen of Eddis that he could not help but be pleased about, despite the inconvenience it was currently causing him.  

The guards had no chance in catching him, however. There was no man alive that knew these halls better than he, and there was no place on earth that he knows better. His own palace was a close second, but he had grown up here, and he knew every single nook and cranny etched into these halls.

With a quick look around to make sure that his presence remained unnoticed, Eugenides slipped through an unremarkable door in an unremarkable hallway. He arrived at his destination.

*

“There you are!” the king of Sounis cried out, carrying his daughter in his arms. Sounis was talking to the man sitting at the table in the library, looking for all the world like he was at home. Sounis’s daughter, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the book that was in front of the man.

Eugenides, who, for all intents and purposes was at home in the library of Eddis’s palace, looked up.

“Everyone is looking for you,” Sounis said, looking at him meaningfully.

With a wave of his hand, Eugenides dismissed that. “Helen knows where I am. If they truly need me, they’ll find me. Come on, Sophos, sit down. Don’t tell me you want to join that theatrical production in the courtroom.”

Sounis shook his head, but gave a small smile of concession. He took his own seat next to Eugenides, settling his daughter in his own lap. She immediately started pawing on the book in front of Gen, who deftly moved it out of her grasp.

“Feisty, aren’t you, Gitta?” he asked the princess of Sounis.

Her father chuckled. “She was getting antsy in the nursery, so I brought her on an adventure.” He bounced her several times in his lap, before looking up to the other king’s eyes and said, “Speaking of children, where are yours?”

Eugenides made a face. “With Teleus,” he said, sighing. “They scream if I try to take them before they are ready to be separated from him.”

Sounis laughed outright at this. “Are their screams as loud as yours?”

“Louder,” Attolis said mournfully.

Unfortunately, the princess of Sounis chose this time to also scream her displeasure at the fact that her father had stopped bouncing her in his lap. The two kings looked at each other for a moment, before Sounis placed his daughter back in his arms and started walking around the room to try to calm her.

Satisfied at having the attention of the two men firmly on her once again, she quieted down. Sounis made to sit down again, but Eugenides stopped him by saying, “You’ll just make her cry again. I think she wants our full and undivided attention.”

“Speaking from experience, Gen?”

The king of Attolia, Annux of the Little Peninsula, snuck out his tongue, looking very unkingly indeed. “Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Alright, alright. What do you have in mind?”

“Do you know Hern’s poetry?”

“Yes,” Sophos answered.

“You do?” Gen looked up at him, surprise etched on his face. But one look at the younger king���s face stopped the surprise in its tracks. “You do,” he said again, before turning to look at the child in Sophos’s arms and continuing, “Well, I’m no goddess of scribes, but I think I can do well enough for the princess of Sounis.”

“I don’t know, Gen,” Sounis teased. “I think the princess of Sounis deserves the best, don’t you agree?”

“Are you implying that I am not the best?”

“Did you not imply that yourself?”

“Sophos!” Eugenides said in exaggerated surprise. “I didn’t know you have it in you! Do you talk like this to my dear cousin too?”

“I do not, because she, unlike you, is not insufferable. Now, I believe you promised me a recitation of one of Hern’s poems.”

“Excuse you, I promised Gitta a recitation of one of Hern’s poems.” Eugenides then plucked the princess of Sounis from her father’s arms, who, for all his teasing of the other man, relinquished his daughter easily enough. “Now, my darling niece, shall we ask your father to leave the room so that I can give you a private recitation?”

The princess of Sounis lets out a happy gurgle that was more excitement at being held by a different person than an actual agreement, but Attolis seemed happy enough to take it as so.

“See, Sophos?” he said to the other man. “Your daughter agrees with me.”

At that, Sounis laughed again. “Very well, then. I shall leave the room for you and Gitta. But the moment I exit that door without the princess of Sounis in my arms, her retinue will come hounding down.”

“You would not.”

“I would.”

Eugenides looked at the other king with horror in his eyes, because that was a threat, and the other man knew perfectly well that that is so. He shook his head, and said, “Bested in my own game by Useless the Younger! I never thought this day would come!”

Sounis gave him a mock bow from where he’s seated, and said, “A recitation, if you please, my king?”

“Oh, very well. Gitta will just have to share.” He adjusted the girl in his arm, deftly positioning her away from his hook, which, if no longer as sharp as a knife, was still dangerous enough for tiny wandering hands. Then, with two of his audiences enraptured, even though only one was truly listening, the King of Attolia began his recitation.

*

“I never want to see another amphora in my life!” the queen of Eddis exclaimed as she burst through the door on her library, interrupting her cousin’s recitation. She threw herself onto the nearest seat, continuing in her rant. “What does it matter if we take ten or eleven amphorae of that particular design down to Sounis! And why do they have to have me decide on it!”

Eugenides, recognizing his cousin’s mood, and fearing for the fate of the scrolls he was reading before he was interrupted by Sounis, stopped in his recitation and gently transferred his niece onto her mother’s waiting arms.

Still incensed, but a calmer now that she had her daughter in her arms, Eddis continued. “They asked me the same question for every piece of furniture or decoration! What do I care if I have one less vase to bring down to Sounis!”

It was then that the queen of Attolia, who had been following Eddis to the library, albeit at a more sedate pace, entered the room. She spoke for a moment with the increasingly large group of people outside the library, the amalgamation of the retinues of attendants and guards for the three monarchs, before closing the door on them.

“Oh, I remember doing that. My entourage was to bring thirty pitchers of wine, and I had to personally select every single one of them,” Attolia said as she walked across the room to take her own seat. She glanced at her husband, promising retribution later for the fact that there were only three retinues of attendants and guards outside the door, not four, before asking, “Children?” which was promptly answered by Eugenides with, “Teleus.”

She gave a sharp nod, and turned back to Eddis to shrug. “Just say that you trust their judgement and discretion in these matters. It’s what I do.”

“Makes you glad that it’s not your duty to move all these things, doesn’t it, Sophos?” Eugenides said.

Eddis adjusted her grip on her daughter, and then pointed one finger towards her cousin. “You are not getting out of this that easily, Gen. There are piles of your stuff to be sorted out.”

“My stuff?” Eugenides asked.

“Your stuff! They found your stashes! All those bits and bobs and knick-knacks that you stole! I would have just given them back to their owners, but none of them will take it if it isn’t you giving the stuff back to them personally!”

“Ah,” Eugenides said. “That stuff.”

“I thought everything the Thief of Eddis stole has to be dedicated to their god?” Sounis asked.

“Not everything,” Eugenides answered. “Besides, those were practice. It was hardly worth the effort to place them on my god’s altar.”

“Hardly worth the effort or not,” Eddis countered, “they are your things now, and you will deal with them, if I have to tie you down to the courtroom myself.”

“The captain of my guard might take issue with that,” Attolis pointed out.

“He won’t once I’ve explained why I’ve done it,” Eddis said darkly.

Eugenides looked to his wife for support, but she simply raised an eyebrow and said, “I believe that Teleus might make an exception for Eddis. And to see whether or not tying you down works.”

He gaped at his wife, who smiled serenely and adjusted her skirts. He looked at Sounis, and then Eddis, before turning back to his wife and shaking his head. “Oh, I see you’ve all discussed this without me.”

“Discuss what?” Attolia replied.

“Outsmarting me in my own game.”

Attolia’s smile changed. “Are you losing your touch, my king? Shall I call on Petrus to examine you?”

“Don’t forget Galen,” Eddis added from where she was now calmly seated, playing with her daughter.

“Yes,” Attolia nodded. “It would not do to slight Eddis’s royal physician, especially now that we’re in Eddis.”

The outraged look that Eugenides sent to his wife was broken by Sounis’s laughter, which was then joined by the two queens. Dejected, Eugenides pouted, before he walked over to where his wife was sitting and sat on the ground beside her feet, resting his head on her lap.

The laughter quieted down after a while, which was immediately taken advantage of by Eugenides to complain. “I am surrounded by treachery,” Eugenides said from his wife’s lap.

“Poor king,” Sounis teased, which caused the laughter to begin again, even louder this time.

Once all of them had calmed down enough, Eddis turned to her husband and said, “As enjoyable as insulting Gen is, it does remind me. Has the Magus sent his list?”

“He mentioned working on it in his last letter, but as for the actual list itself, no, not yet,” Sounis answered.

“Ah,” Eddis made a face. “I was hoping to get started on that. Transporting all these books down to the lowlands is going to be hard enough, we do not need the additional difficulty in trying to do it in one go.”

Sounis shrugged, and said, “It might still come in his next letter, which should reach us either late today or tomorrow. Besides, there’s no reason why we need to—”

“You’re moving my library to Sounis?” Eugenides jumped up.

Eddis and Sounis stopped in their planning to look at him, before Eddis said, “Well, of course, Gen. We’re moving everything. Or would you prefer to leave them here to be destroyed?”

“Of course not!” Eugenides said. “But to Sounis? Really, Helen?”

Eddis blinked at him once, before bursting into laughter once again. “Did you expect them to come with you to Attolia?” she said between bouts of laughter.

“Well, not exactly,” Eugenides sputtered, “but Sounis?”

“What grievances do you have with my library, Gen?” the aforementioned Sounis said.

Eugenides turned to his friend and said, “There’s no way I’m trusting the contents of my library to Useless the Younger!”

Sounis would have protested, but he wasn’t given a chance.  Instead, his wife said, “My library.”

“Did you not swear your loyalty to me?” Eugenides asked his cousin.

“My loyalty, yes,” Eddis nodded. “But not the contents of my library.”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Eugenides looked at his wife for support. However, if he was expecting reinforcement from that direction, he was sorely mistaken. “She is right,” Attolia said, looking directly at her husband’s eyes. “I made the vows myself.”

“Sophos,” Eugenides quickly pivoted his attention to the younger man, realizing that his wife would give him not an ounce of support in this matter. “Tell Helen that this is my library.”

Sounis was, in his heart, a kind man, but since he was so recently insulted by his friend, he felt no particular need to be kind just now. He took his time in settling in his seat, enjoying the pleading looks that Eugenides was giving him, before finally saying, “I remember feeling so jealous of your library when I first saw it.” He leaned forward, smirking as he met Eugenides’s eyes. “I look forward to adding them to my own collection. Especially now that I know Hern’s book of poems is in here somewhere.”

The only thing that can be heard afterwards was one indignant shout and three ringing peals of laughter.

[sparklingskz]

stuck with you | han jisung

▸ genre: neighbors au, fluff, like .5 seconds of angst

▸ description: riding the elevator towards your apartment was nothing new. now, said elevator breaking down while you and a cute boy were on it? that was new.

▸ word count: 3k

▸ warnings: elevator breaking down? confined space

▸   a/n: every time i wrote for this it was between 2 and 3am so i apologize for any mistakes jshdjs enjoy!!

As soon as I step into my apartment I swear I will slump on top my bed and sleep for ten hours, you thought as you were waiting for the elevator to arrive to the lobby. Oh, but I need to do that report that’s due in two days… I guess I could manage to get a short nap in before I start. Wait, I’m kinda hungry, too…

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the elevator doors opening, and you waited until everyone had gotten off before stepping in yourself.

You heard rapidly nearing footsteps and a shout of "hold the door!", and your hand darted out to keep the elevator doors from closing right on this person's face.

Hair disheveled and breathing quickly, a boy made his way into the small space with you, immediately leaning on one of the walls as if to rest.

"Thank you," he let out in your overall direction.

"No problem," you nodded before turning to look at him, taking in his appearance.

Oh, he was the boy who you had crossed paths with a couple times before, sometimes sharing the elevator early in the mornings before you headed to class or during the evening, after they had ended. It seemed like he had moved into the building not too long ago, as you only started catching sight of him recently.

Your few interactions so far had consisted of just exchanging a short greeting, each of you going your separate ways after the elevator doors opened.

You didn't know the exact reason why, but you thought that he exuded this cool aura that made you want to know more about him. Maybe it was the way his messy, brown hair fell in front of his eyes, maybe it was the mask resting on his chin, or maybe it was the headphones hanging loosely from his neck.

Either way, he was mysterious, but in a good way. 

"Which floor are you going to?" you asked after realizing that you were indeed on an elevator and you had to press a button for it to move.

The boy looked like he had also forgotten he needed to go somewhere, as he muttered a small "oh right" before speaking at a normal volume. "Can you press the fourteenth floor for me, please?"

You did as he said and then pressed your own floor number, the fifteenth. You both exchanged a quick, polite smile before turning to look in front of you, the doors of the elevator closing before it started heading up.

You stood there, the silence that characterized elevator rides surrounding you two: the one where you don't really have anything to say, but it isn't needed anyways. You watched as the number displayed on the tiny screen right on top of the buttons went up, pointedly trying to ignore the entrancing presence of the boy next to you.

The number turned into a ten, and all of a sudden the elevator made a loud thumping noise right as it abruptly came to a stop, making you lose balance slightly. A second later all of the lights turned off, and you found yourself in total darkness for few moments before the dim emergency lights were prompted to turn on.

Well, it seems like you were stuck.

Oh, and remember how you said that the boy had a very captivating and cool aura? Well, it completely shattered the second the elevator came to a stop, a high pitched squeal leaving his lips as he tried to grab onto the wall for support.

"What's happening?" he blurted out, eyes wide open like plates.

You looked around, feeling slightly shaken up. You went up to where the buttons were located, moving carefully as to not cause any more commotion. You quickly identified a red button labeled with a speaker symbol, and pressed it to try and communicate with someone, as you had seen other people do. Obtaining no results, you resolved to try and press it a few quick times in succession, giving up after a few seconds when nothing happened either.

You sighed in defeat and turned to look at the boy, who was still pressed against the wall and breathing heavily.

He looked pretty shaken up, so you tried to reassure him. "The power probably went out, we just need to wait until it comes back."

Your words seemed to do nothing to soothe the boy, who looked more distraught by the second. "Oh my God, we're trapped. We're going to be in here forever. What about my family? My friends? Isn't my friend's dog going to notice his favorite uncle is gone?" His rapid rambling caused an amused smile to appear on your lips.

"Look, calm down. It’s not that bad-"

"Help!" He suddenly shouted, making a move to head towards the closed doors, which caused the elevator to sway a little. This instantly made the both of you hold your breath and freeze in place, waiting for everything to stop moving.

"Okay, no sudden movements," you muttered, just a little bit of uneasiness filling your body.

"Shouldn't that red button work? Why didn't it do anything when you pressed it?" The boy inquired.

A shrug of your shoulders was the only response you could muster.

"Oh my God, we're actually trapped," the boy said again, his fear seemingly being replaced by a feeling of disbelief.

You tried to adopt the most confident tone you could. "Look, this is not like those clichés you see in movies, we won't be stuck in here for hours. Someone's going to notice the elevator isn't working and we'll be out of here in no time, give it five minutes."

-

Around fifteen minutes had passed.

"So? Where's the help we should be getting?" The boy, who you had learned was named Jisung, asked.

The both of you had moved to sit on the floor, backs resting against opposite walls. You lifted your gaze from the floor to stare at him, trying to ignore the way the dimmed lighting made his features more alluring.

(you finding the boy attractive didn't help the situation at all.)

"Okay, for sure they should've noticed by now that something is wrong. But, in all honesty, I have a feeling we're not getting out here in the next few minutes." Your tone was soft, trying not to make the boy panic again.

Jisung's lips formed into a pout, and he rested his chin on top of his propped up knees. You looked around, not sure if you were trying to avoid his pretty eyes or to find a way out. Preferably the latter.

You had tried to make small talk to pass the time, exchanging names and some basic information about yourselves. Still, the mere fifteen minutes that had passed felt like so much longer, and it seemed like no amount of wishing for someone to get you out would work.

"I'm hungry," you heard Jisung blurt out all of a sudden, moving to rest his forehead on his knees, hiding his face from view. "Everything I have inside my fridge sounds really tempting right now, and that’s including three-day old chicken." 

Your first instinct was to retaliate with a snarky comment of some sort, but you promptly remembered the unopened bag of candies you had inside your backpack.

"I have some candy if you want some."

This immediately made Jisung perk up and look at you with wide eyes, giving a few quick nods. You chuckled as you reached into your backpack and took out the bag, opening it in a swift motion before placing it on the floor between you two. Jisung immediately reached into it to take out some of the candies, putting them into his mouth. He made a sound of contentment before he started chewing, his cheeks puffing out while he ate.

(he kind of looks like a cute squirrel, your brain provided before you promptly shut it up.)

"You know," he started saying in between munches. "We probably have a lot of time left on this hell device," you let out a laugh at that, which made him smile in return before continuing. "So we could get to know each other! Who knows, maybe the universe meant for this to happen, we should take advantage of it."

You contemplated his words for a few seconds.

You had this -very- cute boy sitting right across from you, the both of you sharing a small bag of candies with the prospect of not getting out of this faulty elevator in the near future. Not the situation you expected to find yourself in when you left your apartment that morning, but people did say that the best moments in life were the unplanned ones. Or was it a quote you read on Pinterest? Either way, it didn't really matter in that precise moment.

You saw no faults in his reasoning, which led you to nod your head a little and let out a quick "Okay, I don't see why not."

-

Thirty minutes later and you were still sitting on the floor, trapped inside the elevator, bag of candy resting emptily on the floor.

However, you now knew pretty much all of Jisung's life story, and he knew yours in return. You surprised yourself as you felt strangely attached to the boy already, after only knowing him for less than an hour.

You found that his way of talking was very unique. His eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he talked about something he was clearly passionate about, his hands always were always gesturing along wildly while he was telling stories, and he was very quick to switch between different voice tones according to what he wanted to express.

Not only that, but whenever it was your turn to talk, you could tell that he was actually paying attention and taking in whatever you were saying, always adding a little "Oh", "Really?", "That's cool!" or a cute smile after each of your sentences. It made you want to keep talking to him forever.

You would've done exactly that, if it weren't for the sudden voice interrupting the story Jisung was telling you involving him and his friend's dog.

"Hello? Are there any people inside the elevator? Please speak while pressing the red button if you’re there." 

You hurried to stand up and walk over to the board with all the buttons, putting your finger over the red one before you spoke.

"Yes, there’s two people in here." Hope filled your voice, as you kind of were staring to think that you two would be in there trapped for a long, long time.

"We're really sorry for the inconveniences,” the voice said, and you heard Jisung scoff in the background. "Apparently there was a problem with the power, and the elevator shut down. We're not really sure what caused it, but we're trying to solve it. Please hold tight."

Well, that was... helpful?

You released a heavy sigh and turned around to face Jisung again, and you found him sporting the same terrified face he had at the start of this mess, his eyes wide open.

"They don't know what to do. They don't know how to get us out. Oh my God, we're actually going to be in here forever." He hid his face in his hands, his knees brought up to be closer to his body, as if wanting to look smaller.

You didn't like to see him in that state, you much preferred the cute giggly boy he was when talking to you. You felt the need to comfort him, to be closer to him, so that's exactly what you did. 

Instead of sitting down across from him like you were doing before, you made your way to his side and plopped down, grabbing his hands in yours and getting them away from his face.

"Hey, look at me." You waited until he did what you asked, turning to stare at you with his deep, brown eyes. "We're going to be okay. The people working on this are professionals, our best shot is to trust them and stay calm. I can assure you that at the end of the day we'll be able to walk safely into our apartments and we'll laugh about this whole experience."

That managed to get a small smile out of Jisung, and maybe you stared at his lips a tad bit too long, but he hopefully didn't notice.

"The best thing we can do," you continued, "is to distract ourselves and forget that we're trapped here in the first place. I bet that while we were talking you didn't even notice we were inside of an elevator."

Jisung seemed to think about that for a moment. "Yeah, that's true," he muttered. "So you suggest we... talk?"

You thought you saw him leaning in a bit closer to you, and suddenly you were hyperaware of everything surrounding Jisung. The way his hands were still placed between yours, the way your legs were touching, the way his eyes seemed to be locked with yours.

"I... I mean," you managed to let out. "If you want to talk, then we... Uh... Can talk, yes."

Jisung moved a bit closer to your face. "What if I want to kiss you instead?" 

Oh.

Thoughts of "you just met him", "you're literally on the floor of an elevator" and "you're literally trapped in an elevator" probably should've ran through your head, but instead every part of you was screaming at you to close the distance between you and him and do what you desperately wanted to do.

"Then I suggest you do it," you answered, your heart beating slightly (much) faster than normal.

At your words, Jisung broke into a smile before placing his hands at the sides of your neck, leaning in closer until your lips connected in a soft kiss.

You were surprised for a few fractions of a second, until your eyes fluttered closed and you slowly started to kiss back. 

Your senses were filled with nothing else but Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. The smell of his cologne invaded you, something resembling fresh laundry and rainy days. His delicate hands holding you, the metal of his rings touching your neck slightly sending chills down your spine.

After a few seconds of just kissing, Jisung pulled away just a little bit and you resisted the urge to chase his lips.

The corners of his lips curled up into a smile. "Well, you're a good distraction," he muttered, and didn't let you give an adequate response as he immediately leaned forward to connect your lips again, this time with more purpose and less careful.  

You let yourself get lost in him for a few seconds, when you took notice of the awkward position you found yourselves in, twisted towards each other as you were sitting side to side.

In one swift motion you brought your leg over his lap, effectively settling yourself on top of his thighs.

This time it was your turn to pull away just a little, and mutter a few words right on top of his lips. "Glad to be of help."

You went back to kissing him, now having parted your mouths so you could freely explore each other. He tasted faintly like the chocolate candies you had offered him earlier, which you thought was so, very him.

Sweet, and a little entrancing.

Your hands now were resting on his shoulders and his had found a place on your waist, the contact making you forget that you should probably be paying attention to the fact that someone could come rescue you any second now.

You had more important things to do, though.

You kissed for what felt like ages, his lips moving with yours like they belonged there. You weren't planning on stopping anytime soon, but a sudden thump along with the elevator lights coming on made you two quickly break apart and look around in surprise.

Well, it looked like the power had come back.

You felt as the elevator started moving upwards, and you were suddenly aware that you were still kind of sitting on top of Jisung's legs. You made a move to stand up, extending a hand over to him so he could take it and get on his feet too. 

A small part of you felt disappointed in the fact that they decided to fix the elevator right when you had started to enjoy your time in there the most, and dreaded what would happen when you stepped out of those doors.

The both of you didn't say anything for the short travel to Jisung's floor, the button indicating the number fourteen still being lit up from when you pressed it some time ago. The elevator made a "ding" sound when it reached the correct floor, and the doors opened to reveal the hallway.

Neither of you made an effort to move, the atmosphere having turned somewhat tense after the safety of being in between four walls had been broken, reality settling in your bodies.

Jisung made the first move, stepping out of the elevator. Once he was out, though, he turned towards you and extended one of his arms to prevent any attempt of the elevator doors closing.

"So," he started saying, and you looked curiously into his eyes. "Remember how I said that the universe meant for this to happen and all that?"

You nodded at his words, a little spark of hope igniting inside of you.

"Well, the universe also told me that I should get your number, to, you know, maybe hang out someday? Preferably not inside a scary compartment that could break down in any second."

You let out a chuckle at his cute antics, before quickly nodding in response to his request. He stepped closer and took out his phone from his bag, handing it over to you so you could put your number in his contacts. 

"Text me, okay?" You let out as you handed back the device to him.

"Yeah, I will." You noted how a faint blush had taken over his cheeks, making them look more adorable that they already were.

"I'll hopefully see you soon then.” You smiled at the boy, watching as he stepped away fully into the hallway.

"See you!" he exclaimed with a wide smile on his face, and that was the last thing you saw as the elevator closed its doors.

[alicedopey]

A Stormy Birthday

gif by @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​

Fandom: Vikings

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Halfdan / OC (Gaby)

Words: 2185

Summary: A year later, Gaby tries and makes a wish for her birthday.

A/N: This is a fic written for @naaladareia​ ‘s birthday. I’m more than a month late so yay...I’m a horrible friend.

Lockdown at home because of a deadly virus? Check. Working in her own kitchen because going to work was impossible? Check. Spending her birthday alone? Check.

Gaby let out an enormous sigh as she looked at the lonely lit candle set on a chocolate chip muffin, waiting to be blown. The last year had been hectic to say the least; losing her mother, getting sick quite often, awful stress at work…holidays had been more than welcome. Nonetheless, being stuck on a tropical paradise and wondering when she could go back home was not her definition of good and restful holidays. Fortunately, she was now safe in her own apartment. Alone, but safe.

She gazed at the candle again and a smile suddenly pulled at her lips. Lightning could not strike twice at the same place but it was worth a try. Anything could happen.

“Happy birthday to you, Gaby.” She softly blew the candle as she closed her eyes and wished she could spend the night with Halfdan the Black.

She waited, waited, waited…and tentatively opened one eye. Nothing had happened. She was still at home, alone.

Gaby sighed again and ragefully bit in her muffin. Lightning could definitely not strike twice. Maybe a good bath would help. It always did. Well, that and a good glass of red wine – or maybe two.

When she got out of the bathtub some thirty minutes later, she could indeed verify her theory. The bath had helped her relax, as had the wine. She was ready to go to bed and leaving her lonely birthday behind. She slipped into her bed. The sheets and blankets felt like Heaven. It was hot, comfortable, fluffy, wet…wait? Why was it wet?

She briskly opened her eyes and realized she was not in her own bed but on a bed of leaves in the middle of the woods. It was raining. Heavily raining. Gaby abruptly stood up and took a few slippery step forwards and shielded herself from the rain with her arms above her head. There was absolutely no light in sight. She was probably lost in the countryside somewhere. Some place with endless woods. There was no noise apart from some animal cries in the distance and the leaves crunching under her feet. Something was definitely wrong. Where was she? When was she?

There was a slight chance that she could…but surely no, that was impossible. Such things only happened in novels or movies.

Looking up, she saw a cabin in front of her eyes. Hesitantly, she staggered towards it and prayed that a bloody assassin was not waiting behind the door to slit her throat.

She cautiously opened the door and tried to spot something or someone thanks to the help of the moonlight. No life in sight. The rain was still heavily pouring so she came inside and closed the door.

Suddenly, a strong hand was put against her mouth and a body pressed her against the wall. Her eyes widened as she recognized the musky scent and she let out a silent gasp.

“Missed me?” Her attacker whispered in her ear, then his hand left her mouth.

Gaby took a deep breath and slowly turned around, his muscular body still pressed against hers. That same muscular body which had made her cried out of pleasure a year ago. He was watching her intently, his lips tugged upwards by a wicked smile.

“Halfdan, what…what are you doing here?”

“You asked for me, remember?” He leaned forwards until their lips were almost touching. “I wish to spend the night with Halfdan the Black were your very specific words.”

Wow…those birthday wishes of hers were really strong. What surprised her in a good way was that he remembered it as well as she did. His mind was probably full of questions.

“Who are you?” Here you go. “A seer? A witch?” He asked in an accusatory tone. She felt his hand on her throat and wondered if he would hurt her but he simply stroked her skin, a pensive look on his face.

“None of that.” She cleared her throat. “I just made a wish, blew a candle for my birthday and there we are.”

His brows furrowed. “You’re not from my time, are you? From what I recall, your place seemed quite odd and comfortable.”

“I’m from the future, you may say”. She added hesitantly. She did not wish to scare him, she knew what he could do in case he was faced with a threat.

He nodded as if he was processing all the new pieces of information he was getting. “Maybe the Gods sent you to entertain me.”

She arched a brow. “You think?”

Feeling bold, she stretched out her hand to touch his shaved head. To her surprise, he leaned into her touch and let her explore his skin. “Because I’m the one who made the wish so technically, you are the one supposed to entertain me.” She added in a whisper, her fingers gliding over his lips.

“I’m all yours, then.” His eyes were full of mischief and sinful promises when he said those words.

Gaby could not resist the temptation and pecked his lips gently. Halfdan did not make a move and let her dispose of his body in any way she wanted.

Setting her hands on his chest, she bit his lower lip. The Viking got the message and granted her access to his mouth but he did not respond to her kiss.

Gaby let out a sigh of frustration and led his arms around her body so that they would embrace his waist. Then, her lips went down to attack his throat, his neck that she sucked wildly. His skin was delicious, something between salty and spicy which screamed manhood. She had missed this, missed him.

Halfdan finally reacted to her ministrations with a groan. She smiled against his skin. It felt good and exhilarating to have some power over this bloodthirsty warrior. Not losing her smile, Gaby left kisses over his collarbone before kneeling down before him. Her nose bumped against the bulge in his trousers. A bulge she palmed.

Halfdan’s hips lurched forward in response and the Viking hissed. He was aroused and very impatient, she could tell. She was impatient too and decided to put an end to his misery here and now, undoing his trousers promptly.

Her mouth watered at the sight of his sex in erection. There was no hesitation in her gestures when she gripped it between her fingers, pumping it a few times, letting her fingers run along his soft velvety flesh, her thumb stroking his tip leaking with precum.

She looked up at Halfdan who was watching her with lustful eyes. Without breaking their eye contact, she took his cock in her mouth and started sucking wildly. As soon as her mouth hit his flesh, Halfdan let out a shaky sigh and let his hand fell backwards in pleasure. He did not hold back after that. His hands went down her hair and he massaged her scalp, showing her how he wanted to be pleasured. His hips’ motions mirrored the moves of his hands on her soft hair to guide her the best way he could.

Gaby accelerated her moves and rest her hands on his thighs for support. Saliva was now rolling down her chin but she did not mind. The only purpose was to please him as much as he had pleased her one year ago. The memory made her lower belly tighten and she felt her sex getting slicker by the minute. Desire was running through her veins, all of this just by pleasuring him.

He was getting bigger in her mouth; his release was getting closer. She tried to speed up her moves on his cock but Halfdan seemed to have other plans because he gently tightened his grip on her hair and asked her to release him. Her mouth let go of his sex with a wet pop. Intrigued, she looked up at him. Halfdan smiled and lowered his face toward hers.

“I want to please you.” He whispered against her mouth before taking her lips in a sweet kiss. He cupped her face and helped her stand up. He tugged on her still damp night dress and slid it up her body. She raised her arms so that he would take it off. Their lips got separated for a few seconds during which Gaby shivered. Halfdan quickly got rid of his furs that he spread on the floor of the cabin and attacked her lips again. Shivers ran through her body except this time it was not due to the cold.

The Viking led her in the middle of the room and made her lie down on the furs. He lay on his side next to her, taking his time to admire her body. Gaby’s cheeks flushed under his hungry gaze. It felt good to realize he was desiring her as much as she desired him. Growing bold once again, she reached out to touch his sex but he stopped her.

He took her hand and kissed the palm tenderly. His lips followed a path down her arm. Gaby’s breath had become erratic, his light kisses were making her feel dizzy.

By the time his lips had reached her shoulder, he was hovering over above her, his muscular body set between her legs.

Gaby whimpered. She was desperately waiting for him to possess her. He gave her a seducing smile and leaned in to take her lips. Their kiss was heated, passionate. Their lips were making love, their tongues were wildly dancing together.

When Halfdan finally thrusted into her, Gaby cried out in his mouth. He did not move at first, letting her some time to adjust to his size. Breaking the kiss, he stared at Gaby intensely, bulled back and went back in slowly, diving into her inch by inch.

Gaby saw his eyes darken as he was getting deeper and she assumed he was seeing the same passion in her eyes.

She whimpered again with need and he started moving. But his moves remained controlled, deep, powerful yet slow. It was good but agonizing. Gaby hooked her legs over his hips and dug her heels in his buttocks in order to urge him to go faster.

“Is there a problem?” He asked mockingly. His voice was hoarse though, heavy with lust and need.

“Faster!” She whined desperately. “Please, you murderous sexy Viking”.

He laughed. That damn Viking laughed at her words. “Sexy, am I?” His eyes were glowing with mirth.

As Gaby was about to reply, his hips snapped into her more forcefully. The rhythm of his thrusts accelerated. Gaby’s nails dug into his shoulders. She pulled him closer and raised her hips to meet his thrusts. They danced together, their bodies glued to one another. Nothing could have even slipped between them.

Lost in her own bliss, Gaby closed her eyes.

“No, no, no lady…” He tsked at her. “Open your eyes. That’s right.”. He added when she obeyed him. “I want you to look at me, I want to see you when you finish.”

His words aroused her in a way she could not describe. Her hands let go of his shoulders to cup his face and share another passionate kiss with him.

His hips began their wild ride again, their eyes still locked into each other. They never broke their eyes contact. Not when he slipped a hand between their sweating bodies to play with her most sensitive place, not when she finally came undone, her mouth opened on a silent scream and that he followed her with a guttural groan.

He fell on her, his head on the crook of her neck. She hugged him and deposited a kiss on the salty skin of his shoulder. He gave her a kiss on the neck in response and slowly pulled out of her. Then, he rolled them on the side and pulled Gaby against his chest. Sighing contently, she softly caressed his tattooed chest. Her eyes dropped, she was exhausted, ready to fall in a refreshing sleep.

Halfdan was not ready to go to sleep though. His hands were already roaming all over her body.

“There will be no sleeping tonight” She opened her eyes. His look was hungry and made her shiver in a delicious way. “After all, you asked for a night. I’m not done with you.”

He gripped her ass, letting her feel his hard-on. All signs of fatigue deserted Gaby’s body as she lost herself in the pleasure Halfdan was giving her.

Gaby woke up in her bedroom in the morning. She was alone. Her body was sore once again, except this time, she vividly remembered the reasons why. Rolling on her side, she nestled herself into her soft pillow, a big smile on her face. What will she wish for next year?

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia​ @gearhead66​ @tephi101​ @akamaiden​ @ivarswickedqueen​ @captstefanbrandt​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @medievalfangirl​ @ivarandersen @therealcalicali

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (8/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Eight

Emma wakes with a start to the sharp and abrupt sound of Henry's crying.

The next thing she hears is thunder, booming as soon as she opens her eyes. Rain pounds against the roof and slaps the windows while the wind howls and moans like a wailing woman.

The room is dark and warm, and she immediately runs her fingers through her hair, feeling just a little bit disoriented. 

She’d fallen asleep feeling dejected and upset by Killian’s declaration, wondering why she’d even felt that way when in her mind she knew it made not one lick of sense.

Now, with a storm raging just beyond the four walls of the tiny house on an island, she feels small and alone.

“Bloody hell,” Killian's voice carries from the other room.

He bolts into the bedroom with his clothes thrown on, his scarf and coat hanging unfastened, and he calls out, "Lights aren't on. I'll be back- just-"

She furrows her brow, listening as the man hurries back out of the room and closes the front door with a crash.

Emma lifts Henry into her arms as a roll of thunder washes them over. It's so weird that it can storm in the middle of a week filled with cold weather and snow.

"Hey, shh," Emma bounces him a little. "Henry, it's okay. I'm here."

She carries him into the kitchen as best as she can and starts to prepare him a bottle, not wanting to wait an eternity for Killian to come back.

She continues to try and quiet the sobbing child while she waits for the milk to warm up on the stove and finds herself aggravated, because honestly, she could be anywhere but here right now.

She has a fussing baby in her arms, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Tears find her eyes as she's reminded of the very impressive fact that she isn't at home.

She isn't a phone call away from her mother's soothing voice. 

She isn't a car drive away from her comfy bed or from Granny's grilled cheese and onion rings. 

She isn't anywhere close to people she cares about at all.

She is on an island, with a man with whom she has quite possibly the most complicated relationship with, and she has to take care of someone else's crying kid, just because it’s what fate wanted for her.

Her heart races and her stomach churns as she blinks hot tears free, streams gliding down her cheeks as quickly as they start to fall.

All she wants is a warm hug from her father and a mug of hot cocoa from her mother. Maybe even one of those ancient black and white movies they always end up putting new words to just for fun.

Emma takes a shaky breath, trying to steady herself again as she pours the warm milk into the bottle and she turns the stove off before taking Henry to the table to feed him. She bites down on the inside of her lower lip and sniffs, wiping her eyes and cheeks on her shoulder.

She isn't sure how long after she burps him she sits there, watching his little face as he falls asleep to the sound of the tossing world around them.

She's still so overwhelmed and she swallows at the lump in her throat to no avail, blinking out more tears. 

The door squeals when it opens and she shuts her eyes, because Killian can't see her like this. The air is cold when it blows in from the outside and she only gets relief a moment later when the door closes again with a gentleness as if he'd closed it himself.

Emma opens her eyes away from him, wiping at her eyes with her hand with haste, pulling on a weak smile when she faces him again.

He shucks off his coat and scarf, everything about him soaking wet, and kicks off his boots.

"Is he okay?" he asks softly.

Emma looks down at the boy and nods, pushing back the chair a little as she stands.

She avoids Killian when she goes back into the bedroom. She puts Henry down into his bed and sits beside him on the floor, clasping her hands in between her thighs to warm them.

She doesn't want anything but home right now and home is three weeks away.

Killian enters the room a few minutes later, as if sensing that something has changed in her all of a sudden.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the sleeping little boy, envisioning her mother's smile and her father's warmth wrapped around her in a hug. It doesn't help as much as she wants it to.

"What's wrong, love?" Killian drops beside her, his face filled with worry.

Emma shakes her head. Nervously, she pulls at her sleeves and keeps her focus on Henry. "I just… I want to go home and I can't."

Tears come sliding out of her eyes and down her cheeks and Emma sniffs, closing her eyes to let more tears out.

"Time will go by much faster than you think."

Lower lip trembling, she takes a shaky breath, unable to speak. 

Finally, she manages, “My parents probably think I’m dead.”

Through blurry vision, she feels him reach out for her. His touch is hesitant and she flinches a little at first, but then relents, sliding into him as his arm goes around her shoulders.

He holds her while she cries and she feels no closer to better than she did a few minutes ago. The only solace she has is that the tears are done and her breathing has evened out again.

When Emma pulls away, she stares at Killian and breathes a laugh as she wipes at her eyes. “I don’t usually cry like this. Sorry.”

Killian reaches out to run his hand down her arm a few times, as if she needs him to warm her up.

“What happened to you is a tragedy.” he says, his voice as gentle as she’s heard it, “You’re injured, on an island in the middle of the ocean, stranded here until help comes. You’re allowed to feel upset. Trauma is painful.”

Emma’s chest heaves with a gasp of a breath, feeling understood, somehow.

"Would you like a hot cocoa?" his words are practically whispered in the midst of the crashing storm around them. "Might help you sleep."

His suggestion almost makes her cry again, but she manages to hold it together, instead nodding vigorously before Killian rises from the floor and walks out of the room.

Emma has another long look at Henry, wondering for the millionth time just who his parents are and why he was just washed ashore in a basket. 

When Emma walks into the kitchen, the storm outside beats loudly against them and rings louder in her ears than it had before. She wraps her arms around her chest and has a seat at the kitchen table while Killian busies himself at a nearby counter.

It takes him all of thirty seconds before he turns around with a mug in his hand. He carries it to the table, sets it down in front of her, and then sits next to her. 

It's probably the most comforting thing she'll get here on this island.

Emma smiles thankfully and wraps her hands around the mug. She stares down at the whipped topping and cinnamon. For someone who has tried to show time and again that he doesn't care, Killian definitely has shown her he does.

"Did Henry come with a note or anything that gave any clues about where he's from?" she asks, looking back up at Killian.

He seems surprised by her question, but then furrows his brow in thought. "I don't think he did. I didn't think to look, actually."

Emma shrugs. "Maybe his basket-?"

Killian doesn't need her to finish her statement. He stands up and goes to go find the basket he'd tucked away somewhere with Emma's soiled shoes.

In the meanwhile, she has a sip of her cocoa and thinks about the first thing she’ll want to do once she’s home again. Probably sleep for as long as she possibly can. She misses the comfort of her own bed, in her own room.

"Well, this is a surprise," Killian pulls her out of her meditation.

He holds a small envelope wrapped in a plastic bag in his hands. He promptly undoes the packaging that's secured with tape as if to keep it waterproof.

"How'd you miss it before?" Emma asks. Curiosity rises within her and she feels nerves in the pit of her belly, as if this is going to change anything about their situation at all.

Killian shakes his head. "The boy was crying. Besides, it was hidden on the bottom of the basket, out of sight."

Emma nods in understanding. She watches on bated breath as Killian scans the front of the envelope.

"To whom it may concern," he reads. He tears open the envelope and folds open a small note written on what looks like notebook paper. "To whom it may concern: I hereby relinquish my son to whomever reads this letter. I can't take care of him. It was never something I wanted. I never even gave him a name. I hope you'll give him a name and a future that I never could. I realize placing his basket in the sea seems like a stupid idea, but I think the sea will bring him home."

Emma watches Killian look up at her after flipping the page over, as if searching for an end to the note. She shakes her head slowly. "So… his mom's a mess."

Killian raises his eyebrows. He sighs heavily and sits down again, settling the note down on the table. "I guess you could say so." He glances up at her as she sips her drink. "Do you want to keep him?"

Her heart jumps once again in her chest. 

Of course she's thought about it. She's thought about what she'd do if she got home and had the chance to keep him. They'd probably move into a little house and Emma could paint his bedroom and in a few years they could get a puppy or a kitten that would lick his toes and make him giggle uncontrollably.

"Um…" Emma takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "Yeah." She smiles a little and brushes her hair behind her ears. "I mean, if you don't-"

"No," Killian says, doing that pathetic thing he does, smiling half-heartedly before losing it completely. "Can't very well raise a child out here."

Emma stares at him in silence. Rain crashes against the roof and thunder rumbles nearby. She can hear the chaos in the midst of this night and she knows it'll be impossible to sleep.

"I don't suppose the TV works in the middle of thunderstorms, huh?"

Killian laughs once. "No, most certainly not." He straightens up. "But I do have playing cards if you'd like to play a game."

Emma holds open her mouth thoughtfully. She shrugs, not sure what else they could do with their time. She's not tired anymore and the storm would probably keep her up if she tried sleeping.

"Sure."

/

Killian lets her win, but he doesn't tell her that. He likes the way her eyes light up, and how she laughs every time victory finds her side.

"I win again," Emma grins.

She sets her hands down on the table and Killian groans playfully in defeat. "Damn. I was quite close that time, wasn't I?"

The storm still rages on, but he can tell Emma's getting tired. She cracks a yawn and he can't help but mirror the action.

He eyes her afterward, tilting his head back. "Are you ready for bed, then?"

Emma smiles softly. "Hmm. Yeah. What time is it?"

Killian shakes his head. "It's definitely too late for us to be awake. I know that for certain."

She yawns again, shorter this time, and eases herself onto her feet. She's getting better at walking on her own, and he thinks her leg might be healing faster than they anticipated.

Regardless, she waits for him to catch her under his shoulder and he helps her into the other room. The contact makes his stomach flip more than it usually does- probably the result of spending far too much time making eyes at each other and laughing the night away.

"Did you let me win?" Emma wonders.

Killian scoffs. "What kind of a man do you take me for?"

She looks up at him with a wry smile on her lips. "As one who would let me win because I'm feeling homesick."

Emma stops moving, so he has to as well. His arm falls away from her and she turns toward him.

She tilts her head to the side as if she's disappointed in him. "You know I didn't need you to do that."

"I thought it would help you feel better," Killian admits with a sigh. He watches her smile kindly. "Did it?"

Emma shrugs. "A little. I guess."

She searches his eyes and he loses himself in the way her eyes crease at the corners and how gentle the blush colors her cheeks. She's so beautiful. He's never noticed it before, really, how completely radiant she looks even with tiredness weighing her eyelids low.

Emma looks away for a moment and returns her gaze as she speaks, "When I get back home, I have to see someone I don't really want to see."

Killian raises his eyebrow. "Oh?"

Emma nods. "His name's Neal. We used to date but we broke up-" She grimaces, not wanting to get into it. "Anyway, he wants to get back together because he swears he's different." 

She pauses, this time examining him with a thoughtful glint in her eyes. "I think I was going to say yes, before I ended up here."

Her admission has his head spinning. 

“What changed?”

Emma laughs quietly through her nose and shrugs. “I don't know. Something about being stuck with nothing but my thoughts and Henry…”

She pauses, clearly dealing with something in her heart. She searches his eyes and her jaw tightens just a little.

Killian's heart softens. He smiles. "You love that boy more than you thought you would."

Emma has tears in her eyes as she nods. "Yeah."

He watches her carefully. She doesn't look away from him for a second, as if he's more interesting than her drowsiness.

Killian, feeling as if he should say something, clears his throat and shrugs. “I admit, I've grown more attached to him with time.”

She laughs again at that. "That's good." Emma stares at him in silence, their bodies swaying closer together than before. He doesn’t think he breathes. "Killian, I-"

Before he knows what's going on, Emma has her fingers gripping his shirt and her lips are on his.

He shuts his eyes and delights in the feeling swelling up inside him. Her fingers slide away from his shirt, instead finding a grip in his hair so they can wreck him in the best way. 

Killian hears her sighs mix with his own, starts feeling absolutely drunk on the feeling of Emma, and that's when he pulls away, breathing heavy as he rests his forehead against hers.

“Emma-” he tries, cursing himself for enjoying that as much as he did. He manages to open his eyes and finds her staring back at him timidly.

"Sorry," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I thought... I thought we were on the same page."

She sucks in a breath and steps away from him.

It only takes her a few steps to get into his bedroom and in that time, his heart and brain both absolutely scream at him that it's a mistake if he lets her go to sleep thinking he doesn't want her as much as he does.

Gods above, he wants her. Every part of him physically aches with grief and frustration that he could allow her to walk away from him now.

Killian presses his fingertips to his lips. He can still feel the gentle press of her tongue on his lower lip, can still feel her warm body pressed against his.

"Bloody hell," he grumbles, slumping down on the couch. He rakes his fingers through his hair angrily. "You've ruined it."

He almost gets up to promise Emma that her advances weren't in vain, but then he thinks about where they'll be at the end of this. She's going home, to America, and he's never going to leave this place.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Killian mutters to himself, playing the devil's advocate on behalf of himself. "You could go with them."

He likes the picture he sees in his mind's eye. A family. He, Emma, and Henry.

Killian tosses onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. 

He thinks of Liam and of the time they'd put into this place. He thinks of Milah and his unborn child. He thinks of leaving all of those memories behind. It would be wrong to abandon them on the island. 

Wouldn’t it?