#exam in less than a week.. report in exactly a week.. second exam in a week and a day...

[cant-icle]

Feed your anger like fire sojiro! And also maybe shiho? Either or. I just miss Her so much

(you didn't give me a situation so i'm just gonna go with the first thing i thought of <3)

Sojiro doesn't know exactly what he was expecting when he agreed to host an unruly teenager for a year. More of a sukeban type, maybe? Outwardly loud and brash? He was prepared to confiscate weapons, prepared to be as harsh as he needed to be to knock an ounce of sense into a delinquent's head.

He wasn't expecting her.

She's the next best thing to silent from the day she moves in; he gets a stilted bow and curt "please-take-care-of-me" , a nod good morning and good evening, an unhappy explanation her first day of school, and otherwise nothing. It's like living with a ghost. She's quieter than Futaba.

He was expecting trouble. She's trouble, alright, but in a far different way than he would have thought. Her eyes shoot towards him whenever he moves; she flinches when he talks. She never lets him walk behind her without shifting in her seat. Like a stray dog waiting for a shoe to come her way at any moment.

There's no tattoos or piercings that he can see. She doesn't walk with a sukeban swagger. Her uniforms are as standard as standard can be, he watches her walk out every morning. No excessive makeup, no snarls or swears. No trouble.

Until he pokes his head upstairs and finds her upchucking into the trash bin, crying fit to burst. She's even silent doing that.

What has he missed over the last few weeks?

The doctor (and he knows it's a private clinic, but the shoes alone... he would have taken Kurusu a little farther but she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other long enough to get here in the first place. He doesn't like the vacant look in her eye or the cold sweat beading at her temples; part of him thinks drugs but the other part, the louder part, worries sick sick sick and can't stop thinking of another girl, just a few blocks away)--

Anyway.

The doctor, as unconventional as she may be, still does have her license. She's efficient, gets Kurusu up off the bench and into the back room. He busies himself scanning the medical pamphlets until the door opens and closes again.

Takemi is almost as tall as Sojiro himself in the impractical heels she wears. Her long strides are almost silent as she glides across the clinic towards him. "You said this girl was your ward on the phone, yes?" she asks with barely-restrained irritation. "Had her under your care for just over a month?"

He'd said all this over the phone, so he nods.

"And you're aware, I assume, that children need to eat?"

Sojiro's brow furrows. "Her parents said they were sending her with a food stipend. She's supposed to get breakfast and lunch from school."

Takemi just barrels on, though, and a cold pit forms in the bottom of his stomach the longer she speaks. "And as the responsible adult, have you been checking in on her? Because that child--" she stresses the word, jabbing one pointed finger back towards the exam room door, "looks worse than some I used to see as chronic patients when I worked in the hospital. She's dehydrated. She's underweight. I had my eyes on her for less than ten seconds and could see that. Sakura, you're lucky if I don't report you--"

He holds his hands up, trying to forestall the verbal tirade. "Look, I'm a busy man, I have a business to run and if she needed something she should've said it--"

"She's terrified of you!" Takemi grits out. "Terrified of me, too! She almost flew across the room when I touched her! If she hadn't said no, I would have thought you'd been 'touching' her."

The implications send a roil of nausea through him. He steps back; Takemi does too, taking a deep breath. "I...you're right," he says, heavy, low. "Damnit, I should have been paying closer attention. She's a quiet little thing. I'd thought the worst of her when she came, but..."

"Even that isn't an excuse to neglect your ward so much," says Takemi, but some of the fire in her eyes is banked. "I'm recommending bed rest for at least 24 hours. She needs to relax or she'll give herself a heart attack, and I'm not being hyperbolic. I'll fax the note over to her school myself." She inhales, blows it out through her nose. "Sakura, just feed your fucking kid."

She's not mine, his brain points out. Futaba's not even mine, and see how I can barely look after her. "Yeah, yeah," he says, dipping his hat lower over his eyes. "You'll give me the discharge instructions?"

"I'll type them up in there with her so she knows them too." She turns on her heel, striding back over to the door.

Before she opens it, she turns over her shoulder. "And what's up with the cat?"

All he can do is shrug.

[catb-fics]

Forbidden Part 1

I have so many parts to post before I can get up to date with this story! Student/Professor AU. Cliché as fuck I know but it has been so much fun to write 🖤

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None really for this part… just Van’s skin tight jeans 🤭

Story Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Remember the coursework's due in on Friday. The deadline's 2pm. I won't be accepting any excuses."

You feel your heart sink at your lecturer's words. You'd barely even cobbled together enough material to write a 1000 word report, let alone the mammoth 6000 word essay that needed to be submitted. And it definitely needed to be submitted. You were barely scraping through as it was, teetering on the edge of failure. Another unsatisfactory module mark and your chances of progressing on to the second year were looking pretty bleak.

It's not that you couldn't cope with the content of the BA History course you'd joined the previous year in September. You were certainly bright enough. In fact with your A Level grades you had probably sold yourself short in picking your current university. You'd not chosen it on its academic merits or league table rankings though, you'd blindly followed your boyfriend there who'd bagged himself a full sports scholarship playing football whilst studying Sports Science. What you hadn't banked on was finding him in a compromising position with the student coach of the ladies volleyball team only a month into the first semester.

Things had swiftly gone downhill from there. All of a sudden poring over textbooks in the evening was replaced with downing shots in the Students Union bar. You told yourself you were having fun, you were only young once, it was just the first term, you had plenty of time to buckle down and better your weak grades after Christmas, but unfortunately your first semester exam marks were a harsh wake up call. If you didn't pull your socks up you'd be out of the course and off campus by the time early summer rolled around. And then Professor McCann came on to the scene...

Professor Ryan Evan McCann or 'Van' as he urged the students to call him was a recent addition to the Faculty staff. Fresh from his PhD studies and eager to teach, he'd fast become a firm favourite amongst both staff and students alike. He was friendly, enthusiastic and always took the time to explain the course content thoroughly. But it wasn't just his engaging teaching style which saw his module fast oversubscribed with keen students. He was drop dead gorgeous, and the flurry of excited whispers that had flowed around the lecture theatre when he'd stepped up to the lectern to deliver a short introduction on semester two options day had less to do with real excitement for the subject, and more to do with the tightness of his skinny jeans and his piercing blue eyes. You could practically hear the collective sigh from most of the females in the room... and a few of the males too.

And now here you were, three weeks into the term, your self-made promises of turning over a new leaf looking more and more like empty vows as night after night you ventured out rather than taking your studies seriously. Not even the thought of impressing your attractive professor was enough to tempt you away from two-for-one cocktails at the Union club nights.

In fact he'd been the main reason you'd been out until two in the morning the night before. It had started innocently enough. Loud cheers and cheeky remarks as the usual gang of revellers from your hall of residence had spotted Van and a male colleague enjoying a quiet early evening pint in the corner of a bar in the town centre. You'd struck up banter backwards and forwards across the room until Van had caved and agreed to join you all at the next bar in your planned pub crawl. Pint after pint had been sunk, and soon enough it was impossible to tell exactly who the responsible adult was. You'd all seen another side to Professor McCann, a fun, reckless, impulsive side which only served to make him all the more attractive. If only you'd not had that last cocktail you probably would have been able to restrain yourself.

You cringed internally as you recalled bumping into him as he was coming out of the toilets at the nightclub you'd ended up at. How you'd grabbed the lapels of his shirt and backed him into the wall of the narrow corridor, showering him with compliments which he'd awkwardly rebuffed. If you'd left it at that you probably could have laughed it off, kept your head down for a few lectures and there would have been no harm done, but you hadn't. Spurred on by your drunken state and your worries about flunking the course, you did something bad. Something you weren't going to recover from with a flushed face and an awkward apology.

You'd propositioned him.

One hand flat against the wall, the other toying with his belt buckle before slipping down to firmly caress between his legs as he looked back at you wide-eyed and disbelievingly.

"So... Sir," you'd slurred, voice thick with inebriation. "Is there anything I can do to help me pass your module this semester?"

You'd seen a spark of something in his eyes, but it was only fleeting. He'd quickly recovered, firmly pushing you back, hands on your shoulders, spinning you around so you were now the one against the wall.

"Y/N... you're drunk," he'd stated. "I'd think very carefully about your next actions if I were you or you're going to get yourself into a situation that's beyond your control."

"Ooh... d'ya like being in control then?" You'd giggled, pouting suggestively, reaching for him again.

He'd grabbed your wrists, hard, his grip firm as he pushed them back against the wall. "I mean it. Don't make me do something I'll regret."

His eyes flashed dangerously, boring into you for a long moment before he pushed himself back from the wall, releasing you and then stepping away, muttering that he was leaving.

You let him go.

It was supposed to be a warning, a show of his authority to deter you, but it didn't have the desired effect. In fact it did the exact opposite, and as you stumbled home and into bed that night all you could think of was his hands on your wrists, pinning you back against the wall. How it would feel if his lips had met yours and his body had pressed against you.

You fell asleep that night full of thoughts of him running through your head and woke up just hours later, hungover and restless, your head pounding.

"Come on Y/N, you've got a 9 o' clock lecture. You can't be late again."

Your best friend and room-mate Lizzie had appeared at your bedside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a couple of paracetamol in her other open palm. You'd raised your head stiffly, blinking at the harsh sunlight and groaning before sinking your head back down into your pillow face-first.

"Y/N!" she'd grumbled, louder this time. "Hangover or not, you're gonna be in so much trouble if you don't go to McCann's lecture."

The sound of his name reverberated around your head, bringing to mind images of you blatantly  throwing yourself at him the previous night. You considered just pulling the covers up over your head and blocking out the day, but you knew Lizzie was right. If Van decided to fail you then you were out, no second chances. If you even still had a place on the course after your shameful behaviour.

You'd grudgingly dragged yourself out of bed, dutifully swallowing the painkillers and the entire glass of water, then slunk off to the shower.

You'd kept your head down, quite literally, for the whole of your two hour lecture. If it had been any other academic up there presenting the material you would surely have dozed off by now, but you weren't going to miss a second of Van. It captivated you how he commanded every student's attention, his obvious enthusiasm shining through as he animatedly delivered the lecture. And what's more, despite being out until the early hours on a brutal pub crawl like you were, he didn't look hungover at all. In fact he looked fresh as a daisy and even more devastatingly handsome than normal. How the fuck did he even do that?

"Remember the coursework's due in on Friday. The deadline's 2pm. I won't be accepting any excuses."

So here you are, fuzzy-headed and shame-faced, trying to keep your head down as you merge into the steady stream of students as they file out of the lecture room. A sigh of relief is waiting with the big inhale you've taken as you step past Van, eyes fixed firmly on the carpet as you notice his boots in your peripheral vision. You’re nearly there, the threshold of the doorway just inches away...

"Y/N... I'd like a word please."

It isn’t a question. You don’t have a choice. You stop in your tracks, letting the remaining students slip past you, waiting until the last one walks through the exit and the door’s closed behind them.

It’s quiet in the room, stiflingly so, and it makes your heart pound with a raw kind of nervousness as you turn slowly, eventually looking up at Van as you come to a stop facing him.

You’re expecting him to look stern and disappointed in you, a disapproving glare to show that you've let him and yourself down, so when you clock the slight smirk simmering at the edge of his lips you’re taken aback. Your cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet as he holds you locked in his gaze.

"How's the head?"

You giggle girlishly, overcome with a shyness that doesn’t usually afflict you, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, it's... errr... it's... I've been better I suppose... Look... about last night..."

You tail off, see his eyebrows raise expectantly as he cocks his head to look at you, his smirk widening. He knows you’re mortified and he’s thoroughly enjoying this. This is how he’s going to punish you, but you deserve to squirm. You suppose a touch of humiliation is a small price to pay for your actions. Especially as trying to bribe your way into an academic's pants to get an honours degree is grounds for an instant expulsion.

You carry on awkwardly, stumbling over your words, tongue-tied and pathetic. "I'm... really sorry. I was just... drunk... I... errr... I didn't really mean it."

"So what did you mean Y/N? Do you want to enlighten me?"

He takes a step towards you and you counter it, then another and another and then you feel your back hit the wall. You take a deep breath, holding it, your mind scrambling for a fitting response.

"I just... I... I don't know..."

"You thought you'd just suck my cock and I'd award you a First? Is that it?"

This hits you like a slap in the face and you let your exhale go quickly, your mouth falling agape.

It’s the way he says it, matter-of-factly like you’re discussing a mundane topic and not a sexual act in payment for your success. He isn’t flustered in the slightest, in fact he looks calm and collected. In control. It makes your heart race and that wild, wayward part of you come to life. The part that takes chances and doesn’t conform.

You look at him right back, a challenge you aren’t backing down from.

"And what if I was? What then?"

A spark lights in his eyes and he isn’t hiding it this time, it simmers there with a tension that you feel in every fibre of your being as your nerve endings bristle with electricity.

"Well... I couldn't just leave it ignored. You'd need to be punished of course."

His words light a fire between your legs as a dark part of you stirs and comes to life. Your pulse races and your breathing deepens.

"Van..." you begin, but your words don't come.

They catch in your throat as he leans in, one hand flat on the wall and the other rising up, two of his fingers trailing gently down your jaw. You swallow deeply, anticipation thick in the air as his fingers come to rest on your chin, tipping your head back so you have no choice but to look up at him.

"It's not Van to you, it's Sir... You got that?"

"Yes... Sir..."

It comes out like a whisper, breathy and full of desire. His lips curl up into a devilish smile as he looks down on you. There’s a long moment where you just look at each other, your heart thudding hard in your chest, your fingers twitching at your sides as you long to reach out for him, tangle your fingers in his hair, grasp at his hips as you push your own against him. Anything... anything to satisfy the ache between your thighs.

But it isn’t happening. He steps back, eyes still on you as he backs up, watching you carefully.

"Don't be late for my lecture tomorrow... or there will be consequences."

Then you watch as he turns and walks away, pushing through the door without so much as a look behind him, leaving you there breathless and wanting, coiled tightly like a spring.

[chelseydavidson]

Week #13 Progress

What is working?

Honestly, at this point, I dare say that my business is working…

Let’s break it down a bit: I have – count ‘em – TWO MORE CLIENTS!!!

Last week, I got a text from a post-secondary student – let’s call her Tina Turista – who was looking for “remedial Spanish” (this is how she described it via text message). I responded that I could help and eventually we spoke on the phone to clarify exactly what she was looking to achieve. She explained to me that she is going to Spain for an internship this summer and wants to brush up on her Spanish (just conversational, not technical jargon for her job) for the next six weeks before she heads out in July. I scheduled some time with her and actually went for the first hour-long session with Tina yesterday. (A quick sidenote: Tina is actually outside of the prescribed geographic region, but only slightly as an Oshawa resident living pretty much on the borderline between there and Whitby, so I felt it was more than fair to make an exception.)

Tina is actually an anomaly in which she is both the student and the paying client, as opposed to the parents I’ve become accustomed to dealing with. This first session went well, in my opinion, in that the client seemed to engage with me (less of a surprise on account of her being the person paying) and ultimately was extremely pleased with her progress. It almost felt like she was looking for a hitting partner to try out her Spanish backhand.

Tina also mentioned the fact that it was difficult to find a Spanish tutor in such a short timeframe and that my prices were insanely low. Like everything, feedback is always golden, so I may consider increasing my rates for Spanish tutoring on a small scale next time, or perhaps at minimum doing more research on the going rate for a Spanish tutor in the area. 

In case we were in danger of forgetting, shall I remind you that I secured two clients this week? Yes, I have lined up client #4 in my list. I received a phone call today from someone I’ll call Exam Sam. Sam was interested in scheduling me for the second week of June to do a bit of a longer tutoring session than the norm to prepare her child for grade 9 final exams, specifically English and French. As a result, I am booked for June 9 for three straight hours with Sam Jr. While I am excited for the opportunity to have a fourth client, I do recognize that this client might not have longevity in mind, so this might be a one-time deal. All the same, a customer is a customer, so I will do my level best to exceed expectations.

Oh, and let’s not forget my little world of existing clients! It feels like a very busy week. I saw Johnny Appleseed for French tutoring last Wednesday (and will also see him again tomorrow, since Mrs. Appleseed has increased sessions to twice a week as we head into his final exam period); I also saw both Jan and Marcia Brady last Friday for math tutoring. Progress is continuing at a similar pace, so clients (and by that, I mean parents) are happy and students seem to be proud of their accomplishments, too. 

Since this will be my last post regarding this venture, I will likely go into further detail in my final report and presentation with a roundup of my schedule for the next few weeks to best capture the total number of hours accomplished so far and other such details. All the same, the business model seems to be working in my opinion, with a meagre but steady flow of clientele (an amount that I alone can sustain). 

What is not working?

Did I mention how tired I am? 

Running a business is positively exhausting. I constantly feel like I’m running behind, even though I do seem to be keeping pace. I am reminding myself of marathoner thoughts with reminders that any sprinting bursts forward will just tire me out even more in the long run. A lot of tortoise and hare parables have been slinking around my brain as of late. 

In other areas that I’m less than pleased with, my marketing plans obviously didn’t pan out the way I planned. (More about this will come in my final report and presentation – I can assure you.) My digital game never really clicked in, and I’ve frankly been too tired with operating the business to run another canvassing campaign with the remainder of the printed flyers. That being said, at some point, I suspect a lull of some kind will appear and I’ll seize the chance to do a little extra marketing. 

At the same time, though, I am also well aware that the result of effective marketing is – gasp! – more clients. At this stage, do I want them yet? Sometimes fast growth is not the right move; sustainability is. So, I am kind of making peace with the fact that my organic marketing aspirations fell flat because it turned out that I didn’t quite need them as much as I thought. (I do think a great deal was luck, but I’m also just going to blindly take the credit.)

How do you feel the project is coming?

Is it obnoxious to say I’m proud of myself?

I am perpetually in shock that this is working and frankly feel like a fraudster. (I'm no stranger to impostor syndrome, but this is next level.)

That being said, a wise woman once said, "And it's fine to fake it 'til you make it / 'Til you do, 'til it's true." (She actually said it again recently, in fact.)

All right, fine, I just quoted Taylor Swift lyrics, but she was Person of the Year, catapulted her way into the top of Forbes list and last month managed to break onto Forbes Billionaire List, so I think she’s fair game for a blog about entrepreneurship, don’t you?

What are you learning about running a business?

The more I do it, the more I’m learning that it’s kind of like having a baby. There is a lot of advice that people want to give you, but ultimately you decide what’s going to work for you. You feel completely unprepared and it comes with no manual,so you just have to figure it out as you go. You are so freaking tired, but you actually love every second of it, so the lack of sleep feels a little euphoric. Short of officially registering its name (something I didn't do operating under my legal name), it’s pretty darn close in terms of experiences, in my humble opinion. 

What are you learning about yourself?

I have a few little pearls to add to the necklace, some of which are just reinforcing reminders of what I’ve been learning this entire time.

Marketing does not come naturally to me – not at all. I can read every social psychology book available (and honestly, I think I just might have), but it’s just not quite the same as doing it. I will never be the female version of Don Draper. (Wait, was Peggy the female version of Don Draper?)

I am still Type-A, even if it doesn’t always do me any good. I think that it is just entrenched in my soul and I’m okay with that. 

I am learning to recognize why limits are good. No, I might not be able to grow exponentially, but if I don’t have the capacity to handle that much in terms of operations right this moment, why would I want to? In short, I am learning how to pace myself. I have always been good at time management and project management, but learning to be better at expectation management is turning out to be a fantastic little addition for me. 

Last but not least, by the dictionary definition, I am an entrepreneur.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

It's Going To Be You

Click here for my masterlist.

Add yourself to my taglist.

Spencer Reid Taglist - @asherhunterx, @ilovespencerreidmarryme, @canadailluminate, @nomajdetective,@reidsbookclub, @filmsbyblair, @ready-4-spencie, @mrs-scottmccall, @roseslovedreams, @j-cat, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29,

Prompt - I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was…not love at first sight exactly, but - familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you.

—————————————————–

Spencer Reid knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you were something else, he could tell from one glance that you would change his life. No words needed to be exchanged for the man to be completely and utterly taken by you. He watched as you walked through the door, though your head was held high, shoulders pushed back giving the impression of complete confidence, he saw the way you fiddled with the strap of your bag with one hand. When he looked at your other hand he could see your forefinger picking at your thumb, clearly a nervous habit. He watched as you looked around the room, watched as Rossi made his way over to you, guiding you over to Hotch’s office with a smile.

“Down, pretty boy.” Derek grinned as Spencer startled, his head snapping around to face Derek just as you entered Hotch’s office. “I’ve never seen that look on your face and you don’t even know her name.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer replied, cringing at how unconvincing he sounded.

He turned away from Derek and tried to focus on his paperwork but he could stop his eyes from straying over to the closed office door every few minutes much to Derek and Rossi’s amusement.

“Who is she anyway?” Derek asked.

“She’s lucky number ten,” Rossi told them, smothering a smile as Spencer looked over, “who knew finding another agent would be so difficult.”

“Wait,” another voice interrupted, “there’s a new person here? Is she nice? Why is that always my first question?” The group laughed as Penelope quizzed Rossi.

“Listen, I know as much as you people.” He said and before anyone else could speak Penelope was being handed a folder causing them all to groan.

-

“Agent Hotchner?” You asked as you were granted access to the office.

Hotch stood as you walked in, moving around his desk to hold a hand out to you.

“Yes and you’re Y/F/N Y/L/N, I presume?” He asked, smiling slightly at you as you nodded, still fiddling with your bag. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, please have a seat.”

“Thank you sir.” You smiled, taking a seat in the offered chair watching as he made his way back behind his desk.

“Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I spoke with him, your success rate is impressive.” Hotch praised, glancing down at the file in front of him. “Your latest case seemed rather difficult, are you sure you’re ready to be back in the field again?”

“I passed all my psychiatric exams, I was cleared to return.” You told him stiffly.

“I’m aware of your results, I just want to be sure you’re ready. Infiltrating yourself into the life of Douglas Miller couldn’t have been an easy feat.” Hotch watched as a look of satisfaction took over your face.

“I’m ready, sir.” You told him, relaxing slightly. “It was a tough case, I’ll be the first to admit that seeing what I saw had an impact but I can do this.”

Hotch smiled at you before closing the folder.

“I believe you,” he said, “I think you’ll be a valuable addition to this team.”

The words were what you were hoping to hear, you’d wanted a job with the BAU for longer than you could remember but you paused. Surely it wasn’t that easy, right?

“Wait? That’s it?” You asked.

“That’s it.” Hotch confirmed, fighting back a smile at your expression.

“But- but I’ve been here less than five minutes.” You countered back, there were so many emotions going on within you that you felt slightly overwhelmed.

“Y/N, ever since your name was put forward I looked into your work and I was impressed. Your skills at undercover work are far above what I’ve seen in a long time, that alone would be an incredibly useful assest to the team but on top of that your ability to connect and empathise with unsubs, fast thinking and your profiling skills- trust me, you deserve this job and I have complete faith in you.” Hotch’s words had left you speechless, you had no clue how to respond but thankfully you didn’t have to as the door was pushed open and both you and Hotch turned to look at the brightly dressed woman in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt sir but we have a case.” The woman said and Hotch stood gesturing for you to follow.

“You have a to go bag?” He asked as you both walked out the door.

“Yes sir.” You nodded, still baffled by how well things had gone.

“Good, welcome to the team Y/L/N.”

-

“Everyone, this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m sure proper introductions can be made later.” Hotch said as the two of you entered the room before gesturing to Garcia that she could begin.

“Ok, yes, so, we have five bodies so far found in Wyoming. The first two bodies were hidden amongst some trees close to firehole bay. The ME presumes that the time of death was mostly likely a week ago but we should have full confirmation when you arrive. The victims, who we haven’t been able to identify yet, but I am working on it, were stripped completely and the wounds, that are in your files because I so do not need to see that, show heavy signs of torture. ” Garcia informed you all.

“The next body was a single male, again stripped and tortured and the ME says this death is most likely four to five days old. This body was found a few miles away from Basin Bay Point campsite.”

“Wait a second,” somebody interrupted, causing you to turn your head. There sat a man, younger than the rest of the team, he was…how you had missed him you didn’t know but now you felt like you couldn’t look away. “If I’m not mistaken those places are roughly twenty miles from each other at walking distance.”

“And driving distance?” An older man asked.

“I don’t think there is a way to drive to Basin Bay Point, especially not to where the body was left.” The younger man replied, looking down at the folder he was given with a frown.

“I’ll have a map ready for you on the plane.” Penelope assured him before continuing. “Now, the next two bodies were the most recent, ME says they were killed a day or two ago and these victims we have been able to identify as Taylor Gomez and her boyfriend Jack Gaskarth.” Penelope said as she brought their pictures up. “They were never reported missing because they had told friends and family they were going camping, which checks out because their bodies were found three miles away from Lewis Lake campground. They show the same wounds as the other vics.” Garcia explained.

You grimaced as you looked down at the tablet Hotch had passed you as you saw a young man and woman, naked with slices all across their bodies, as well as deep bruising to the neck.

“What was the CoD, Garcia?” The younger man spoke up again.

“ME still needs to run a full examination but her best bet is that it was asphyxiation.” She told him with a frown.

“That makes sense, there isn’t a lot of blood or scabbing which suggests they were done post mortem.”

“So what,” you spoke up, pausing for a moment when everyone turned to you, “the unsub blitz attacks the victims and kills them before torturing them? What’s the point in that?”

“It could be a number of things actually. Perhaps it’s not about the kills for him but more to do with the fascination of the human body, we’ve seen it before where curiosity leads to this kind of attack. It could also be that he has to kill, he has a compulsion to kill and once he’s given into that compulsion he gets to fulfil other urges. If I had to guess I’d say the victims are victims of opportunity-” The younger man rambled, his hands gesturing in front of him as he spoke causing you to smile.

“Because there is no set pattern, he crosses race and gender lines and there’s no secondary location.” You cut off the other man who looked at you with a grin.

“Exactly, the area is so isolated that he can get away with quick and easy killings but because it doesn’t seem like there’s a secondary location yet we have to presume that the torture is a means to satisfy himself when he can’t hold his victims hostage.”

“It’s a long flight and this unsub doesn’t appear to be slowing down. Wheels up in fifteen.” Hotch said as he stood up, everyone was quick to follow until it was just you and the guy you had spoken to left.

“Hi.” He said, causing you to turn around with a smile.

“Hi.”

“I’m Spencer, Spencer Reid.” He introduced himself.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you.” You replied, reaching out your hand to shake his, your eyebrows pulling together slightly as he shook his head.

“Sorry, I don’t um,” He said, causing you to drop your hand and nod understandingly, “it’s nothing against you, just…germs.” He trailed off, berating himself in his head.

“No problem.” You smiled again, god that smile. Spencer felt his heart race.

“Congratulations on joining the team.” He praised as the two of you walked out of the round table room.

“Thank you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He watched as the smile fell from your face before you shook your head slightly.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, understanding the nerves. He couldn’t help but glance down, almost smiling as he saw you picking at your thumb.

“Yeah, I’m just, what if I mess up?” You couldn’t help but ask. After wanting this job for as long as you had, all the hard nights and long days spent training you were finally here and you’d be damned if you screwed everything up.

“You won’t, Hotch wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were good enough, trust me. I think you’ll be amazing.” He told you, flushing slightly at his own words and the soft smile that replaced the frown on your face.

“Thank you Spencer.” You replied softly and before he could respond the rest of the team was calling for the two of you to head to the air strip.

-

On the plane you were properly introduced to everyone as you took a seat next to Spencer, sitting opposite Hotch and Rossi. On the table in front of you Spencer had both a map of the US and a smaller map of Wyoming. You watched his fingers trace invisible lines as his eyebrows knitted together.

You were trying not to stare, really you were, but there was just something about the man that made you want to get to know him.

Thankfully before anyone noticed your eyes glancing at Spencer every few moments, the man himself spoke.

“Guys, if you map out where the five victims were found,” Spencer began, circling three places on the map as he did, “it looks like the victims might have been hiking the continental divide trail.”

“Pretty boy, isn’t that trail like thousands of miles long?” Morgan asked, watching as Spencer nodded, pushing the little map of Wyoming out of the way for a moment and drawing a line down the map of the US.

“This is the continental divide trail, it’s 3,300 miles long and it’s actually quite difficult to hike. These people had to have been exceptionally fit and healthy which further backs up the theory that these were blitz attacks. You can go days without seeing other people when hiking the trail and most hikers have to give up because of lack of supplies or needing urgent medical care from injuries and illnesses they attract. A part of the Wyoming part of the trail includes a 120 mile stretch of desert with water sources few and far between.” Spencer rambled and you couldn’t help the soft smile, though you did try to hide it behind your hand, glancing away from Rossi when you locked eyes with him and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“So we have a serial killer and 3,300 miles of potential hunting grounds?” JJ asked.

“So far he seems to be focusing on Wyoming, which narrows the geographic profile down to…’ Spencer paused as he pulled the Wyoming map closer to him, “550 miles.”

“I hope you all brought your hiking boots.” Rossi said as groans filled the jet.

“Hello my crime fighters.” Garcia’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Hotch, the families of the latest two victims are at the station waiting for you.”

“Thank you Garcia,” Hotch replied before turning to the team. “JJ, I want you to come with me to the station and help interview the families. We also need to get ahead of the media on this before they start glorifying the unsub. Reid, since the geographic profile is mostly established, I want you to take Y/L/N and head to the latest crime scene. Dave and Morgan, the two of you head to the second crime scene.”

You and Spencer both shared a look at the news you were travelling to a crime scene that couldn’t be driven too. Whilst you managed to pass the FBI’s training and fitness tests you weren’t exactly athletically inclined and seeing from the look Spencer was giving you neither was he.

Judging from the chuckles that filled the plane the others had come to the same conclusion that you and Spencer were not going to recover from this trip.

-

You had driven as close to the crime scene as you could get, which was thankfully closer than the one Morgan and Rossi had to go to. It was still a hell of a hike to get to where the unsub had dumped the bodies.

“Ok, ok,” Spencer panted, cheeks flushed from the heat. “Let’s take a break.”

“Please.” You were quick to agree and the two of you sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk. You had all been warned that you needed supplies, even for a short hike. So you had both been sent out with backpacks filled with water bottles and food. There were other supplies like maps, compasses and first aid kits that you were hoping you wouldn’t have to use. Thankfully you had been paired with the man with the eidetic memory because you couldn’t read a map to save your life.

After the two of you gulped down some water and caught your breath Spencer spoke up.

“Why the BAU?” He asked suddenly, causing you to look up in confusion.

“Sorry?” You replied.

“You said you had wanted to join the BAU for a long time, why?” He asked again, not pushing you when you paused.

It wasn’t a secret what had happened to your family, Spencer could easily find the information out if he wanted to but you wanted to be the one to tell him. It wasn’t a story you liked sharing with people but something about Spencer made you feel…safe.

“When I was a kid there was a serial killer but he was in the next state over and we were from a small town so nobody thought to worry and after a while things went quiet so everyone just assumed he stopped, you know? Anyway, one day I went to my friend’s house, it was summer and I was always out with my friends. I was there for a few hours but I was always home in time for dinner except for this day, I ended up losing track of time and headed home an hour late. When I got home, my momma was there in the kitchen. She was covered in blood and I just screamed. The rest of my family didn’t make it either. When the police came they said the markings were the same as the victims from the next state over.” You told him, not pausing for breath as you rushed through the story. You watched as his expression fell, his sympathy written on his face.

“I’m so sorry.” He told you and you could hear the sincerity in his tone. You gave him a small smile before continuing.

“I could just never understand why. The thing that kept me up at night was that question: why? Why them? Why did he come here? Why wasn’t I home? Why did I deserve to live? I started researching and somehow came across an article about the BAU, from there I knew I wanted to work there.”

“Most people wouldn’t be able to come back from something like that, especially at such a young age.” Spencer said, causing you to glance over at him. “They’d be so proud of you.”

You couldn’t help but let out what sounded like a chuckle and a sob at those words, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen in fear he had upset you further but then you smile brightly and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I like to think so.” You said softly. “You ready to continue?” You asked, chuckling as he groaned before standing up.

“I hate Hotch.” Was the grumbled response and the laugh he received in return made every sore bone and the aching feet worth it.

-

“We know that this unsub is a physically fit white male in his mid to late thirties.” Hotch began.

“Looking at the geographical pattern it’s safe to assume that he too is hiking the Continental Divide Trail in search of victims who are isolated from the rest of civilization. He also has no problems taking down two victims.” Spencer continued.

“The period in between kills is lessening so we should expect to find another body soon, have as many officers as possible on the rest of the trail.” You picked up.

“Considering the last kill was two days ago, the average person could walk up to 30 miles a day on normal terrain but we have to consider that the terrain out there is harsh so lets say he walks 20 miles a day that gives up a 40 mile radius he could be in. He is guaranteed to stay on the continental divide trail so stop every male you see.” Spencer told the LEO’s and after some more information was shared everyone headed off in different directions, the BAU members heading into the room they had been given to work in.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, causing everyone to look over at you.

“Yes sir?” You asked, looking up from your laptop.

“You’re probably the most skilled undercover agent in this room,” He said, causing your cheeks to flush and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t exactly the type of case you’d usually be assigned but perhaps if we send you out there we have a better chance of catching him. This man is impulsive, if he sees you he won’t be able to control himself.” Hotch explained, ignoring the questioning looks he was getting from most of the team.

You, however, relaxed, thankful that you hadn’t done something wrong. Undercover work was easy, you were comfortable with it, you knew you were good at it. Obviously you weren’t as confident at this part of the job yet, how could you be on your first case, but undercover work? That was your area of expertise.

“Of course sir.” You agreed easily before remembering how fun the small hike to the last crime scene was…your body would not thank you for signing up for a much longer hike.

“Hotch, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Morgan spoke up causing you to frown. Sure they didn’t know you yet but surely your record spoke for itself. “No offence to you,” he said quickly as he turned to you, “it’s just-“

But before he could finish Hotch cut him off, “I have full faith in Y/L/N’s abilities.”

You couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride at Hotch’s words, a man who you looked up to, a man who barely knew you but was trusting you with so much already. You locked eyes with Spencer who smiled at you reassuringly.

“I’m not doubting the kid’s abilities,” Morgan continued, missing the way you rolled your eyes at being called a kid. “I’m just saying maybe don’t send her in on her own on her first case.”

“I’ll go with her.” Spencer spoke up before Hotch could argue back.

Your eyes widened at Spencer’s offer, he did just as well as you did on your first outing and now he was offering to put himself through hours more of that for what?

“Are you ok with that, Y/N?” Hotch asked you.

You didn’t even hesitate to nod, more than happy for the opportunity to spend time with Spencer Reid.

-

“We’ll be close by the whole time,” Hotch told you as he passed you your backpack filled with supplies, “the second we hear something, we’ll be there.” He assured you and you couldn’t help but smile at his concern.

“I’ll be fine, sir. This is actually the part of the job I’m good at.” You laughed, watching as his lip twitched upwards.

“You’ve been a great help in coming up with a profile too.” He assured you and before you could say anything the rest of the team was flooding in.

The plan for you and Spencer to hike up to a specific spot that Spencer had managed to pinpoint the unsub at and set up camp there. From there you would wait and hope for the unsub to appear. The man was impulsive and his need to kill would be overwhelming by now. The two of you were wired up so that if the unsub appeared the rest of the team could step in and help with the arrest.

You and Spencer were dropped off half an hour away from your campsite just so that if the unsub was around he wouldn’t suspect anything.

The walk was mostly silent, both you and Spencer focusing on not breaking an ankle on the uneven terrain when Spencer finally spoke up.

“Morgan didn’t mean anything insulting.” He told you, causing you to pause before shrugging your shoulders and continuing. When you stayed silent Spencer continued, “he’s just protective but sometimes he isn’t really good at showing it and it comes across…”

“It comes across like he thinks I can’t do my job despite this being my forte.” You finished with a huff before sighing. “I’m sorry, I just…you can’t imagine how many times a male colleague has said I can’t do something and then a supervisor has agreed, you don’t understand how hard I have to fight to be given assignments and not have somebody constantly berating me.” You ranted.

“People look at me like I’m a child. When I first joined the BAU nobody would take me seriously, without Gideon I don’t know what would have happened.” Spencer told you quietly, causing you to frown.

“So you can understand why it’s so frustrating that someone who doesn’t know me didn’t even want to give me a chance.” You replied, causing him to nod sadly. ‘I know he probably didn’t mean anything but…”

“You’ve heard that your entire career.” Spencer finished.

“Hotch was the first person to give me a chance without any hesitation.” You told him softly, watching as he smiled at that. “This should be close enough.” You said as you looked around, the place looked similar to the image Spencer had shown the team.

“Please tell me you know how to put a tent up.” You said, watching as his face twisted.

“I know the theory?” The way his response sounded like a question made you smile as you pulled poles and material out of a bag. The two of you staring down at the mess with matching expressions of confusion.

“Now would be a really good time for the unsub to attack.” He muttered, causing you to laugh loudly. Spencer couldn’t help but grin over at you, your cheeks flushing as you caught the expression.

It took longer than either you or Spencer were willing to admit to put the tent up, despite the fact that it wouldn’t get used, you had to make it look like the pair of you were really camping. There was a lot of grumbling, many curse words and a cut or two.

There was also a lot of laughter coming from the comms in your ears causing both you and Spencer to roll your eyes.

Once the tent was up, Spencer lay a blanket down outside of it and sat down, gesturing for you to do the same. Miraculously the two of you got a fire started and as the sun set and the night time air chilled you were thankful for it.

“I don’t camp but I guess I can see the appeal.” Spencer told you as he titled his head back to look up at the stars. You glanced up too, the sky wasn’t totally black yet, more of an inky blue colour and you could see every star on the cloudless night.

It was beautiful and yet you still found your gaze falling back on Spencer.

“Yeah, me too.” You replied softly, your voice quiet so as not to break the peacefulness around you.

Somehow the two of you ended up laying down and looking up at the sky, you had a smile on your face that refused to move as Spencer’s hushed voice told you facts about stars.

“I’m glad you’re on the team.” Spencer whispered after a long pause of silence. It took you a moment to register his words before you turned your head, coming face to face with the man.

“Me too.” You whispered back, meaning the words with your entire being.

Just as Spencer went to say something you heard a rustle in the bushes and locked eyes with Spencer who nodded.

The two of you waited, not waiting to disrupt the operation if it just turned out to be an animal, but as you pushed yourself up on your elbow and discreetly looked around you saw a faint outline of a man. He was hidden behind a tree but he was watching the two of you.

“The hike up here was exactly what we needed.” You told Spencer and through the comms you heard the team moving out.

“You’re right.” He played along, smiling up at you from his reclined position.

Before you knew what was happening Spencer had his gun out and the unsub grabbed you, placing you in front of him as a human shield. If someone asked you, you would never have been able to recall the events that led to you having a knife held to your neck.

You saw the panicked look in Spencer’s eyes but you couldn’t hear his thoughts, they were overwhelming. Thoughts of Maeve passed through his mind as he pleaded with anyone who would listen to let you be ok, he couldn’t lose you too. Hell, he’d only known you a few days and yet he knew you were special, he knew he had to have you in his life. If you died now…

“Just let her go.” Spencer said, keeping his gun trained on the man.

“I let her go, you ship me off to death row.” The man responded, his face close to your face, too close. The smell of his breath had you grimacing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Spencer responded, not even thinking. He just needed to get you away.

“Spenc, what you doing kid?” He heard Morgan through his ear piece but he just shook his head before shooting you a reassuring smile, trying not to focus on the tears in your eyes or the blood on your neck.

“I’m listenin’.” The unsub replied after a moment of silence, gesturing for Spencer to continue.

“Let her go,” He said, lowering his gun, “I won’t arrest you. You can get a head start before anyone else gets here. Just let her go.” Spencer pleaded.

It was a tense few seconds in which Spencer never took his eyes off you, he hated to see that scared look in your eyes, the fear in them made Spencer ache.

“Let her go.” Spencer said once more and he let out a sigh of relief as you were pushed into his arms.

Just as the unsub ran to leave, you twisted around in Spencer’s arms and drew your own gun, shooting the unsub in the leg. The rest of the team ran in just as the man fell to the ground.

Spencer turned you around so that you were facing him, his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you ok?” He asked, Morgan and Hotch walking over whilst Rossi and JJ dealt with the man.

You didn’t respond with words, instead you wrapped your arms around Spencer. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around you, holding you close as you let the tears slid down your face.

You pulled away abruptly, rubbing your eyes as you did.

“Sorry, you don’t like to be touched and here I am-“ You said but Spencer just cut you off.

“It’s fine, really.” He assured you before his attention turned to your neck. The knife hadn’t pierced the skin too badly, there was a small bit of blood where the knife had nicked you when the unsub pressed a bit too hard.

“Are you ok?” He asked again, fingers on your jaw so that he could tilt your face and get a better look.

“Spencer, I’m fine.” You assured him but that didn’t stop him from getting you medical attention the moment you were back in the town.

Spencer watched as you squirmed away from the nurse seeing to you with a soft smile.

There was something about you that made him feel so free, like he could be himself and the thought of losing you…he didn’t want to think about it again.

“You like her.” Derek said as he came to stand next to the younger man.

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve known her for a few days.” Spencer shot back but he knew his friend was right.

“If she’s the right girl, a few days is all you need.” Was Derek’s reply before he walked away, leaving Spencer looking at you with a thoughtful look on his face.

-

The plane ride home was uneventful.

You took the seat next to Spencer again and watched him pull a book out. You couldn’t help but glance down at it, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you didn’t recognise the language.

“It’s Russian.” He told you quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone as they settled in for a long flight.

“You read Russian?” You asked just as quietly, watching as he smiled bashfully and shrugged before nodding. You glanced down at the pages again before letting out a small yawn. “Can you read to me?” You asked him, smiling as he nodded again.

“Of course,” He said and with that it wasn’t long before you fell asleep to the soothing sound of Spencer Reid.

-

“Ask her, man.” Morgan said as both he and Spencer watched you leave the office after finishing your paperwork. Spencer too was done and Morgan assured him he’d make sure Hotch received it.

There was only a brief moment of hesitation before Spencer snatched his satchel up and ran to the elevators, getting there just before they shut on you.

“Hey.” He greeted as he stepped in.

“Hi.” You smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

“I was wondering, I mean if you wanted to, of course you don’t have to, I was only suggesting but I’d really like it if you would,” Spencer rambled before cutting himself out with a groaning causing you to giggle.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, cheeks flushing as you asked.

“I’m trying to,” he told you, “but I’m not very good at this.”

“Just ask.” You told him softly.

“Would you like to go out with me?” He asked after taking a deep and calming breath.

“I’d love to.” You grinned, thankful that the man had made a move. You wouldn’t have risked asking him on the chance that you were reading him wrong and he didn’t like you but thankfully he had taken it into his own hands.

“Good. Great. That, that’s great.” He repeated, a soft grin spreading across his face causing you to giggle as the doors opened.

The two of you walked out together and there was a moment of awkward silence before Spencer dipped his head down to kiss your cheek, making your blush even more prominent.

You looked so pretty when you blushed, Spencer thought.

“I’ll call you.” He promised.

“I hope so.” You replied before heading towards your car, when you turned around you saw Spencer still stood by the doors with a smile still on his face. You giggled to yourself but couldn’t stop smiling yourself if you tried.

Spencer Reid was something else and you couldn’t wait to learn everything about that wonderful man.

[erensrag]

bimbo!reader x judgmental nerd eren

eren x y/n (wc: 3173)

warnings: nswf, slut shaming, slight dubious consent

i don’t think i did this correctly….

"no please, take your time. it's not like we've been here for hours." eren's sharp voice brings you out of your thoughts.

his piercing gaze is right there to meet yours when you finally stop staring at the wall. you chew on your pencil, quickly diverting your attention to the paper in front of you. you've done your best to avoid looking at him the majority of the time you've been here.

it's not your fault you can't look into his eyes for longer than a second. he's the one who's always observing you with that cold, calculating stare. you've been on the end of judgmental looks and not so quiet whispers for years now and have learned to not let them bother you—well you thought you mastered the art of simply ignoring those kinds of people. until eren.

you didn't even know he existed until a few weeks ago. the introduction for you two consisted of a simple bumping into each other in the crowded hallways of school, it ended with him bitterly muttering something about idiot cheerleaders as he stumbled away. not even sparing you a second glance. after that, you saw him often and he made his dislike for you evidently clear.

which makes no sense. how can someone not like you?

it's usually jealous girls giving you the stink eye and making up the ridiculous rumors. they're the ones who don't want to associate themselves with you. not nerdy nobodies who can't walk without stumbling over their own two feet. no, people like him usually worship the ground you walk on. or at least drool a little.

seriously you've tried everything to get rid of that menacing stare and frigid tone he always greets you with. it's like he's immune. "jesus y/n, how dumb are you?"

and they definitely don't talk to you like that. you know you're not the brightest, which is why your teacher got this jerk of a nerd to tutor you right before exam week but is that really an excuse for him to treat you like this? biting the inside of your cheek, you nudge a corner of your sweater until your left shoulder is exposed. leaning forward and batting your eyelashes which gets no response from him other than a blank stare. "i'm not dumb. i just don't get it." you pout. "can't you just tell me the answer? we've spent like thirty minutes on this question."

"thirty minutes cause you're an idiot." he mutters more to himself.

"i'm trying my best!"

"you should've learned this months ago. you would've if you didn't spend your time skipping class to hang out with your pig muscle boyfriend."

"he's not my boyfriend..." you go back to chewing on the pencil.

"so you just make out with any guy behind the bleachers?"

"you seem to know a lot about me." you look at him again, that stupid cold stare looking back at you through those glasses.

"who doesn't. you're y/n. the whole school knows of your...activities."

"those are just rumors." some of them are. most are true. you enjoy living life to the fullest. it's not your fault the people in your school saw a confident, attractive woman and instantly decided to put less than appealing labels on her. "and besides they're none of your business."

"whatever. just solve this, this is taking longer than our usual sessions and my mom will be home soon."

you groan, looking down at the textbooks and not understanding a single word. “please just tell me the answers.” you ask one last time, desperate.

“no.”

you huff, returning your attention to the book. “you’re going to age badly with all that scowling you do. just so you know.”

“shut up.”

"eren..." you say after five minutes which causes a frustrated sigh to leave his lips. "do you have an issue with me?" it's been four sessions of the frigid tension he always puts between you two and there's a lot more to come before graduation so you just want to get whatever problems he has with you out of the way.

it takes a few seconds before he's looking up from the textbook, pushing his glasses up as he sends you probably the most intimidating glare you've seen from him. "excuse me?" the very tone of his voice has goosebumps forming on your skin but you force yourself to stand your ground. you're not going to let some loser who's probably never even kissed someone to look down on you.

"you— you just seem to—"

"i don't have an issue with you y/n." he slams the book on the table causing you to jump. "having an issue with someone like you would imply i care enough and trust me i'll never care for such a ditzy little slut who doesn't respect herself."

you've been called worse than that and usually by scorned boys you hooked up with. but they were popular gym rats, not some overconfident lanky freak. you had a snarky reply on the tip of your tongue but with the cogs in your brain suddenly malfunctioning, you could only stutter out a pathetic, "i—i'm none of those things!"

"really?" he scoffs, actually getting up and walking over and as he does you think maybe it would've been a safer option to just keep your mouth shut. "wide doe eyes without nothing behind them. check." he starts. "plump lips perfect for what you do best. check." and the asshole has the nerve to slowly swipe his fingers across your bottom lip.

you should stand up, tell him to go to hell and get out of here but you're frozen. limbs not moving an inch as he continues, "empty little head. check. skimpy outfits to attract attention. check. i mean let's face the facts.."

you never would've thought the loser that always sits in the back of the class with his nose buried deep in a book would speak like this to you. it's insulting. freaking degrading. he knows nothing about you and yet he has that expression on his face like he does. "if i'm such a ditzy little slut as you so nicely put then i'd be jumping at the chance to hook up with you but here we are." you seethe.

that seems to finally strike a nerve as he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. you cut him off before he can defend himself.

"is that it...you're angry i haven't made a move on you because that's what sluts do isn't it? bone everything they see? is your pride wounded that i don't see you in that way, eren?" you let out a mirthless laugh. "well news flash, pretty girls like me don't go for freaks like you."

you got up, ready to grab your things and run out all while trying to ignore the nerves inside of you. he just stands there, rigid and glaring. "really?" he asks once your books are back in your bag.

"y—yes. now if you'll excuse me—" your wrist is being grabbed before you can take another step and for a second both of you are stunned, you mostly frozen in your spot because this creep has the audacity to touch you after everything he just said. you don't know what his excuse is but he only stands there like a shocked puppy before pushing you on the desk.

a gasp escapes your lips at being manhandled by him  of all people, what the fuck is he doing? you're on your stomach, feet on the ground as the fucker puts a hand on your back, keeping you there. "w-what are you doing?" you pant out, bewildered at everything that just happened.

"i..." he trails off, not saying anything before manhandling you again. only this time it's for you to lay on your back and fuck, you could fight back. he's surprisingly strong for such a lanky freak but you're a cheerleader who does complex moves out on the field almost every day. you could kick him off, slam that big textbook in his face to the point his nose breaks and run out, making sure to report him.

but you don't. it's not that you can't. for some reason, you just don't want to. maybe it's curiosity, to see what exactly he plans on doing. to see if a loser like him actually has the balls to do anything but back away and apologize profusely.

"you're not fighting back." he simply says, sounding a bit confused as he comes to lean over your body. his hands on either side of your head as he stares down, those stupid piercing eyes staring down at you. "why?"

"shouldn't i be the one asking the questions here? like why the fuck you have me on this desk?"

he raises an eyebrow, leaning back and grabbing your thighs causing you to squeal in surprise. he spreads them, raising the dress you’re wearing until it's pooling at your stomach before you can even blink.

shit. what's wrong with him?

what's wrong with you? you should be kicking at him, you could easily shove him off. you could do it in a blink of an eye so why the hell aren't you.

where there's supposed to be fear...there's only anticipation. "you really are a slut." he laughs cruelly, pulling your panties down until they're completely off. where he throws them, you don't know. probably in some corner to hide so you forget about them, who knows what a pervert like him would do with it?

"you barely know me and yet...look at this." you shudder as his finger circles your clit before swiping across your cunt, bringing his hand up to show you your slick as if for emphasis.

"shut up." you grit through your teeth. "you're—" you don't have time to finish your insult before he's kneeling down, tongue immediately latching onto your clit.

your nails instantly scrape against the desk, shuddering as he begins to suckle on your clit. his tongue delves into you, fingers digging into your thighs on purpose as if the freak wants to hurt you. you can play that game too if he wants, fingers going to grab at the strands of his dark hair, pulling as you ground your hips against his annoyingly experienced tongue.

usually, your sexual partners don't willingly choose to eat you out but here is he. practically eager to get to business. he acted so high and mighty and still has the gall to continue doing so yet he's the one on his knees right now. freaking nerds are so easy. even overly judgmental ones with sharp gazes.

he’s basically lapping at you, moving from sucking your clit to eagerly drinking up your juices. never coming up for air as if he was made to simply do this. "f—fuck." you didn't want to make any noises, any implications that what he's doing is actually making you feel good but dammit it's hard when a tongue is diving deep into your most sensitive parts.

a particular bite has you instantly bringing your legs together but he quickly grabs them, forcing them apart to shove his face in between your thighs again. your breath catches in your throat as he licks up your dripping pussy. he doesn’t relent even once and the moans won’t stop escaping your lips, “sl—slow down. gonna…dammit.”

his tongue licks…freaking everywhere. the obscene noises causing you to hang your head back, he’s licking and sucking everything up as if it’s his favorite meal.

and it’s embarrassing. how fast you come. but how can not you? you mercilessly pull at his hair and shamelessly moan when you do. somehow you're the sweating and panting one as he stands up. "so that's what all the hype is about?" he tsk, seemingly bored.

it takes a few seconds for you to find the breath to say “don't act like you didn't enjoy that, with the way you were eagerly—”

"shut up." he takes his glasses off, putting them to the side before grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him.

"you're disgusting, you know? the nerve you have—"

"i spent the last two hours teaching you simple biology and somehow you couldn't do one question by yourself, if i'm testy that's all on you.

"it's not my fault." it comes out as a whine and you hate it, you were supposed to be insulting him. at least have some pride when you're about to be fucked by the guy who looks at you like you're nothing but a dirty piece of gum.

"shut up, for crying out loud. shut up." his voice is raspy as he unbuckles the belt to his revolting khakis.

you can't help as your eyes widen once his cock is in view. for such a nerd, he's actually packing. one hand holds your hips as the other guides his dick towards your leaking area and slight panic starts to take over. "a-aren't you gonna prep?" as orgasmic as that oral job was, you doubt just that will be enough to prepare you for that.

he grins, probably the first smile you've ever seen on his annoyingly handsome face. "don't worry, i'm sure a slut like you has a loose enough cunt."

"you little shit! that's—" your words get caught in your throat, back arching as he moves his hips forward, piercing inside of you. "fuck."

a broken sound leaves your lips as he continues to push his length in. it doesn't hurt like you expected it to but there's still a strong ache that you know will leave you limping tomorrow morning. it burns, burns so good you have to squeeze your eyes shut. you need something to hold onto as he starts to move, anything to give you some sort of balance but the flat surface underneath you offers no help. "ngh...eren..." you're not sure what you want to say but he doesn't give you time to think of something before he sets a rhythm.

it's surprisingly slow at first, like he wants you to feel every vein on his cock and you do. your walls desperately clench around him as you bite on your bottom lip, the room suddenly feeling too hot as his fingers grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. into that stupid gaze he won't stop staring at you with. his mouth is slightly open but no sound comes out. he's perfectly collected and you hate it. people like him should be cumming the second you touch them but he's...it's annoying.

his pace starts to speed up—he doesn't even give it another second before he's ramming inside of you. holding your hips with both hands as he sets a brutal pace that has you moving up and down the desk. "p-pretty decent for a nerd—ah!"

still, he stays silent. ugh, what's wrong with him? you bring your arm up to your mouth, muffling the moans spilling out of your lips in spite but his hands are immediately pulling them off. he chuckles, coming close enough that his breath fans against your face and a lewd moan comes out of you as he hits an even deeper spot. "don't do that, we all know this is what you want. to be fucked hard and fast to the point you're nothing but a mindless whore whose only purpose is to scream in pleasure."

you don't respond, biting down hard on your lips. his thrusts became more aggressive as he scoffs, "fine." his hand finds its way to your throat, squeezing slightly.

you suck in a shuddering breath just as his hold tightens, bordering on dangerous but for some reason the lack of air only makes your pussy throb, clenching tight around him. why does it feel good? why does everything he's doing to you only make you want more? his thrusts have now gotten erratic, almost forcing your body off the desk but the hold on your hips and throat keep you right where you are. you want to let out the moan clawing out from inside your throat but his grip stays, merciless as he pounds into you.

you don't know how much of this you can take, everything feels too hot. it's too much. "fuck look at you, didn't think you could look even more dumb." he pants, staring down. he finally removes his hand from your throat and you cry out the second he does.

"eren, please i'm—fuck...too much, it's too much." you gasp even though a sick part of you knows you could do this all night.

but right now...with the way his voice is dripping with cockiness— you hate it, hate the way he looks at you and talks to you. it's infuriating and too much. a tsk comes out of his mouth, "who knew you had a limit?" he rolls his eyes and in the next second, he's spilling inside of you. spilling and spilling until some drip on the floor.

like he's been holding himself back all this time.

fuck. he could've at least let you release a second time. you didn't think the asshole would be finishing right after you said that. you're panting, eyes staring at the white ceiling as he pulls out. he zips up his stupid ugly looking khakis as he steps back. "can you get off my desk now?"

the nerve of him...ugh. you slowly sit up, dress sticking to your skin due to the sweat and you have to refrain from asking to use his shower before leaving.

he gets you your bag and you slowly take it, throat aching and dry. there'll definitely be bruises around your throat and hips tomorrow and you're sure he's secretly delighted at that fact. "uh...." you trail off.

this is usually the part where they ask for your number, pleading for a second night with that desperate look in their eyes but he doesn't even send you another glance as he gathers up the papers on the desk, putting them into a binder. "make sure to study before sleeping tonight...if your body can handle that." his lips slightly curve up at that last part but he's not bragging, no just mocking you.

"o...okay." you lick your dry lips, suddenly needing a mint. "uh...bye?" you stand up too fast, cursing at yourself for it but his arm is around your hips before you can fall.

you bite the inside of your cheek, the proximity too close even though he was just inside of you a minute ago. he sighs, "do you need a ride home?" he asks grudgingly.

and you should say no. you don't need to be in an enclosed space with this asswipe for another second. just say no and walk into class the next day, demanding for another tutor. and then you'll never have to talk to him ever again.

but instead a weak nod comes out.

[thatgoblin]

Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy x Rookie Reader Headcannons

Leon

At first you were in awe of your lead. THE Leon S. Kennedy was showing you the ropes and helping train you for the job you'd dreamed of. Hero worship was common in this line of work, but you did your best to keep it to a minimum. You didn't want to embarrass yourself after all.

In place of that hero worship came this insatiable need to make Leon proud. Whether it was memorizing and nailing every written exam or physical test, you wanted to earn his praise.

You worked hard, harder than almost everyone it seemed. Leon never saw you slacking and saw how serious you were about the job. Protecting people was what you had always wanted to do with your life.

So when the grades came back that you weren't doing so hot, you were mortified. How could you let this happen? You didn't slack off, you studied everything you could get your hands on, hell you watched instructional videos on YouTube before bed! But you still weren't making a passing grade.

You thought you would be okay with the physical part, but no matter how hard you trained, no matter the extra hours you put in, you just couldn't seem to get what everyone else did. The moves were simple, why couldn't you just grasp them?

The only thing you thought you had going for you was the firing range, but even that was less than acceptable. Every time you tried to do something the pressure got to you and you messed up. You were so busy trying to make sure you didn't fail Leon that you were failing yourself.

It was when you were called into your commanding officer's office to speak about your grades that you were sure you were done. You were given two weeks that were used for break to study and practice and retest. But you'd already had nearly four months and the best you could do was subpar.

You were in your room, packing your bags because you knew you were going to be kicked out of the program when Leon showed up.

"Hey, Kid, you leaving for break?" He asked as he leaned against the door frame of your dorm.

"Uh. . . No," you said, hanging your head in shame. "I'm flunking out. Figured that it would just be easier to pack my bag now than wait later till I was officially asked to leave."

"What? How are you flunking?" Leon asked, straightening up. "I watch you every day and you're one of the hardest working cadets I've seen."

"Hard work doesn't mean much when you can't apply it correctly," you said. "I can't get the fighting technique right, the written exams are all a bust, and I can't even shoot a gun right. I don't deserve to be here."

"Have you asked for help or for someone to tutor you? That's what I'm here for, you know," he said, moving into the room to sit on the bed next to you.

You stared at the floor as you took a deep breath, feeling all the insecurities come rushing through to the surface.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," you said. "I mean, I wanted to do it all myself without help. I wanted to make you proud that you were my lead. If I was always asking for help, what good does that do? It shows that I can't do something on my own and need my hand held like some baby."

Leon sighed as he folded his hands together between his knees.

"I get it. I do. Wanting to make your leader proud and show how good you are, but we're a team here. No one is by themselves. You're only so good as your team is and if you're not doing well then that's a reflection on us," he said.

"Oh god, are you guys getting in trouble because of me?" You asked, looking at him horrified that you were possibly making things hard for your team.

"No, no, I mean. . . We're a team for a reason. You have to lean on us and trust us so when we need to, we can lean on you and trust you. If you need help studying or practicing outside of classes, I'll help you. That's why I'm here. It can be hard to ask for help in any situation cause it means you're admitting to a weakness, but that's okay. That's how we get stronger as individuals and as a team," Leon said.

You nod with a sigh. "I have two weeks to get better before I officially am asked to leave. I don't know if I can do it on my own," you said. "Can you help me?"

"Of course. I've got your back, Kid," Leon said, giving you a soft smile.

Chris

The B.S.A.A. was not for rookies, but they needed recruits so here you were. They provided training on weapons, protocol, how to work the gear, basically everything. Because they wanted everyone to be a well oiled machine out in the field, they made sure if you couldn't cut it that you didn't make it out of training. It was life and death and while they needed the hands, they weren't sending people out to die.

The trainers rotated to take classes of trainees. You were lucky enough to get the legendary Chris Redfield for your class leader. He would be teaching everything and making sure that everyone was ready. You had heard of him before, knowing that he was a weathered agent and could almost do anything was daunting.

Which was probably why you tried to avoid him at all costs in one on one situations. He wasn't mean or an ass, but he was intimidating. His stature and history were more than enough to show he knew exactly what he was talking about. You didn't want to feel stupid or embarrass yourself, so you kept him at a distance as you worked almost on your own.

Sure there were classes and work that you were trained in, but just the fear of being the weak link in front of others was hindering you. All of your tests and physical training was mediocre at best. Sure there were people that weren't going to cut it obviously, but you were much closer to their end of the spectrum than the other end that was running circles around you.

It wasn't that you couldn't do it. You could, but sometimes you froze up because your hands did something your mind didn't want to do or nerves made you stutter and stumble over your words. Everyone in the class at least had a background in the military or the police force or FBI or CIA or some other group that was similar to this.

You on the other hand did not. You came from a more technical background rather than a physical one. While you were miles ahead on the written tests, the physical ones were going to kill your career.

So when the notice went out that you were on the chopping block to be let go unless you could prove you were capable of being in the field, you weren't surprised.

Half of you wanted to keep trying, but the other half was telling you to pack up and go. You weren't unique or special, so why bother to continue to try?

It was when you were were working with one of the large guns by the shooting range, that Chris approached you. Before then, you two hadn't said a word to each other outside of the classes or even directly to each other.

So when his large frame took a seat across from you, folding his hands on the table after setting a file next to him, watching you with the gun, you weren't sure what to think.

"Hi," you said, freezing as you looked from the gun to him.

"Y/N, right?" He asked. You nodded as you set the pieces of gun on the table. "Why are you here?"

Oh Jesus, no. Why now? Why here?

"Uh," you said, blinking rapidly as your brain tried to come up with an answer. "Because I wanna help people."

"That's usually the answer I get," he said, sitting back to let his hands drop into his lap. "That or 'to kill bio weapons.' That's also a popular one."

"Yeah?" You said, unsure of what he was getting at.

"But I don't think it's why you're here," Chris said. "Because I think you don't know why you're here." Opening the file, you could see it was all information about you. Your background, schooling, family, credit score, even online usernames. They had everything. "When I was looking through the potential trainee's info, you struck me as odd. It's not exactly an every day thing that we get people who are more tech inclined rather than have a police or military background, but it happens. Usually they wash out though and end up in our research department."

"But I don't want to be in the research department," you said, frowning. Was he going to push you over to that section of the organization? You didn't want to be there though, otherwise you would have applied there.

"Every time I talk to someone and they have the chance to go to research after speaking to them about it, they take it," Chris said. "They figured out they can't cut doing the ground work so they move to a different field, but not you. I see you everyday in training, working your ass off to keep up with everyone and you almost make it. Not quite, but almost. Almost isn't going to cut it out on a mission."

"I know, I just. . . I'm working on it," you said, trying not to sound hateful or rude as your hands started to move on autopilot, putting your gun back together. "I'm really trying and I just can't get over this stupid hump that's holding me back."

"What's that? What's holding you back?" Chris asked.

"Me. I'm holding myself back," you said with a sigh. "I second guess everything because everyone around me has the experience that I don't, but I know I can do it. I just choke when it's time to act."

"I know you have some experience that they don't," Chris said. You nodded, understanding what he was talking about.

"I was a kid when it happened, I could barely call it working experience," you said, pushing the empty magazine into the gun.

"It was for Sherry Birkin," Chris said. "Raccoon City for a 9 year old isn't something to sniff at. From what the reports said, you were by yourself for three days before you made it out."

"Yeah," you said, nodding as you moved to the handgun next, disassembling it easily. "Hid in my apartment till I saw military trucks driving by then ran out."

"You lost your whole family to what we're training you to fight," Chris said, keeping his eyes on your hands as your fingers moved without faltering as you put the gun back together. "You were a kid when that happened. I say it still counts for experience that no one else really has. You know what you're doing with the infected and you know what it's like in the aftermath. We need people who know what it's like so that we can stop it from happening again."

"So what do you propose?" You asked, looking up as you finished putting the handgun back together. "After school training? Tutoring? Or do you want me to be counselor for survivors or shove me off to R and D?"

Chris chuckled as he closed the folder to look up at your face.

"I'm not gonna cut you," he said. "You know what you're doing and you're right. You're hang up is yourself. I'm gonna work with you to get over it. It's probably one the easiest things to work through really."

"You mean I can stay?" You asked, relaxing back into the chair, not even realizing you had grown so tense.

"Yeah. I just watched you take those weapons apart and put them back together in record time without even pausing," he said, pointing to the guns in front of you. "I want to work with you, Y/N. This isn't going to be an easy fight, but I really believe you have what it takes to be a good B.S.A.A. agent."

"Thank you, Sir," you said, smiling softly. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. We'll start some one on one combat training tomorrow before class. You're going to be working double what the others are, but it'll be for the best in the long run," he said.

"Whatever it takes, I'll do what I need to," you said.

"Glad to here it. Now, while we're here in the shooting range, let's test your aim."

[hobipaint]

Graffiti and Chalk- two

summary: You thought you knew him. You thought him gone. Kim Taehyung was part of you that you had carefully suppressed, keeping his memories to one box near the wall of your mind. That was your fault, though - empty walls demand for art. And who other than your own neighbourhood vandal?

↳ pairing: ex police student turned vandal! taehyung x officer! female reader

↳ genres: angst, fluff

↳ word count: 9.6K

↳ disclaimers: pg15!, vandalism, police officers, criminal past and heavy discussion of it, mentions of character deaths.

one | two

a/n: FINALLY AFTER A MONTH IT'S HERE! This took me really long to write but I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out : it's my longest work yet, and I feel like it would be among my best as well hehe. a massive thank you to @kookiestarlight because i swear i completed this in the first place because of tasha, @swcetnight who pointed out exactly where I need to elaborate stuff and places in which I was loosing parts of the plot because did I forget the whole storyline while writing this 🤡, @vaekth because this bby is absolutely amazing. she's supported me throughout the process of writing this, thank you so much!! thank you to @taecup-fics for beta reading this at the last minute and pointing out a bunch of grammatical errors because otherwise this would be a mess to read 😭 to everyone who has waited - I'm so sorry that it came this late, I suddenly had a bunch of exams that were announced and had to focus on those. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations!! Enjoy reading :)

Morning often dawns with a feeling of hope. With wistful sights of sunrise. Flowers open up to the golden haze that thaws the frost of the night. Birds roam the skies that had been but mysterious domains in the dark. People wake up with groans about the impending day, hopeful for it to end soon. You hoped for your mornings to always be similar to this- some constants were needed in places where you had cases as bewildering as missing pumpkin plushies piling up in your office. 

Your morning today, though, was much different. Much to your annoyance. 

You held the coffee you had brewed for yourself - another espresso, the universe knows you needed it - and handed one to Taehyung just as the cuckoo perching on the clock shrilly announced that it was eight in the morning. 

"Do you still have no answers for me, Y/N?" Taehyung looked at you. His eyes were sullen - no signs of the cheekiness that had peeked at you last night. Scattered rays fell across his body, highlighting the sunken cheeks, brooding eyes and tight smiles you could now see better in the daylight. 

You sighed- probably for the millionth time this night. "I do not understand your question, Taehyung." 

"You remember it. I've asked you thrice since I saw you again, Y/N. Do you not remember anymore? Do you not care for me? Was our idea of us nothing for you?" He looked at you with a myriad of emotions written all over his face- you looked away, not wanting to see them. 

Sighing, you gathered your thoughts the best you could. "Like I said, Taehyung." You looked at him- looking at the person you once fell in love with. The feeling you felt today, though, was much different. There was a feeling of running towards him, taking him in your arms and remembering who he was to you all over again, but it was overwhelmed by the confusion you felt - should you prioritize a past that wanted answers, or a future that was unsure? For now, you chose none pushing the time to make that decision further ahead. "We were an 'us' for only a few hours. Until you stood me up."

He rolled his eyes."That wasn't intentional, Y/N." 

"And how was I supposed to know that, Taehyung? I thought it was, since you had never told me anything beforehand."

Taehyung's eyebrows bunched together, as if coming to hear the stories that his eyes longed to tell- stories of events that you had never seen and never known. "Would you not hear me out, even once? For the sake of our old love?"

You bristled. "What love, Taehyung?" You got up to stretch your legs out, looking at the patchwork blanket that was stuffed in the corner. You had taken that for your first date with Taehyung, planning to cuddle with him and watch the stars - a date that never happened. "What love? A love where you don't speak to me for weeks, and then vanish for some crime? We were young then, and I got hurt then as it is. There's no need to go over this right now." 

"That was not my fault, Y/N. You know that." Taehyung seemingly sunk back into his chair, eyes downcast. "I had said I loved you. Before I ever went out with you." 

"Like that matters,” you scoffed, “what's the point in reminiscing promises from an old love?"

"At least, hear me out?" He looked up at you with hope sprinkled in the abyss of his eyes. "I don't want you to forget me."

You turned back to your chair, tearing your eyes away from the blanket that was now a pale blue in the sunlight - a few shades lighter than the cerulean colour it would be in the afternoon. "Not now, Taehyung." 

Taehyung sighed, looking at the floor, tension exhaled into the room. He sat silently for a few seconds, the ticking clock announcing each moment clearly to you. "That's fair. It's just.." He looked back at you. "I'm used to thinking of you as the person I loved." He nervously let his eyes pan around the windows, gazing at the sunshine that streamed through the window, before turning back towards your gaze. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I'm just really grateful for your presence-" 

"Taehyung." You sharply interrupted him. "Two years ago, when your case was reopened for investigation. Who did that?" 

"They told me that it was a well wisher in the neighbourhood. Another jailor said it was for good behaviour." He shrugged. 

You scoffed aloud, more loudly than you would have liked him to hear. 

He frowned, lips drawn in a tight line in annoyance. "Don't believe me? I'll have you know, Y/N, I was among the most well behaved at prison. Absolutely no tantrums. I even ate the salt-less, disgusting food they'd give there. No crying. Nothing. I can show you later on if you want, I think I have a report stuffed somewhere here," He got up, shuffled towards his bag and checked the last zip, hunting for a report you had never heard of. 

"It was me." 

Taehyung whirled around to face you, unruly hair swinging like the seats of a carousel at a carnival, and raised an eyebrow. "What were you?" 

"I was the one who insisted on opening the case for reinvestigation, the case of your stepfather's assault. Went around collecting evidence, searching for people who knew about your family better, getting their voices recorded, finding about the whole deal to frame you and stuff. Nearly got fired." You shrugged, sipping your espresso and wincing- too bitter. "You're welcome, by the way. The coffee is getting cold." 

"I don't care about the coffee." He moved the cup aside - nearly spilling the liquid, roughly settling back into the seat he had been occupying for the last few hours. "You were the one who asked for re-opening the case?" 

"Just said that." 

He slumped back in his seat, and your eyes took in how he spread himself out on the chair, tiredness lacing his figure. "I didn't know that." 

"Now you do." You said, sipping your coffee and watching Taehyung do the same. 

Taehyung stared blankly at you, and you couldn't fathom what was swirling in those ebony orbs of his. "Why did you do that, Y/N?"

"Honestly," you smile softly at him, "I was expecting a thank you."

"You should have expected questions, Y/N. Why did you help me?" Taehyung's blank expression made way for a confused one, eyebrows furrowing and lips pouting. 

"I did what I had to do as a-" You paused here, unsure of what to say. "As a friend, Taehyung, nothing more. I knew you were innocent-"

"How were you so assured?" He pressed on."I could be a complete 180 from the man I met you as. I could be fake. I could be an impostor. I could-"

"You could do a bunch of things, Taehyung." You stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep your emotions at bay. "But you could never tell a lie." 

Taehyung scoffed. "You sound like one of the wishy-washy pick-me kind of girls in the movie. No, I don't lie, but I could." 

You sighed. As much as you cared for Taehyung, you had never really cared for his argumentative attitude. "I went with the assumption that you were the same person I knew, Taehyung. The one whom I respected and trusted. I acted on that feeling." 

"That wasn't trust, Y/N. It was naivety. You were naive to believe me." Taehyung paused, uncertainty lining his forehead as he spoke. "You shouldn't have trusted me." 

You rolled your eyes- you couldn't understand why he was so desperate to make sure that you remained aloof from him. What had you done to be treated like that? What had he done to force everyone away from him? 

You tried to play off his remaining doubts and frustrations as insecurities he developed while in jail, and moved on."Alright then, you impostor. I was naive to trust you. And even more naive to believe you. Happy? Now shush. I don't want to talk about this." You tried to clear your mind of any doubts you had about Taehyung, but his behaviour, the way he interacted with you - it couldn't help but increase the worry and confusion in your mind.

Taehyung leaned forward to look you in the eye before smiling softly at you - you couldn't understand why. You were going to give him a criminal record, maybe arrest him. You were potentially ruining his life again, and he smiled at you. "If you say so, officer." Taehyung said, settling into the chair - leaving your mind reeling with questions you weren't sure you wanted the answers to. 

You opened the laptop again, wearily. "Let's get back to the questions; the sooner we finish this, the better. Where did you source the paint from?" 

"You mean the graffiti? And chalk?" You nodded. Taehyung sighed."Terminology, Officer, terminology. Make no errors." He raised a finger to wave at you, as if to say no. You rolled your eyes -it seemed that you were the only one concerned about what would happen to him after this, because Taehyung quite clearly was not. "I bought it with the allowance money that was kept for me in the bank- as much as I hated that man, his cards proved to be useful."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You didn't steal it." 

"No. Took it from my step-father's account. Technically, now mine. Apparently he left everything to his children, and I'm the only one alive that I know of. Maybe he had other children- I wouldn't doubt it for a moment if he had, but that doesn't change my right to his money either." 

"Any other members of your family who had been granted access to that account?" You asked, wanting to make sure that there were no loopholes - you didn't want a future possibility of Taehyung being entangled with the wrong side of the law again. 

He rolled his eyes, leaning further. "Curious little thing, aren't you? Like I'd told you last night, most of them are dead. Mom had died a few months before I was arrested - thanks to my stepfather being an alcoholic and taking everything out on her. Grandmother already had massive health issues - she passed away after two years of me being in jail - they had let me come out for her funeral."

"My siblings - a brother and sister, if you remember - were taken in by a distant relative, and the last time I spoke to them was three years ago. I'm not allowed to contact them because I might end up being a 'bad influence'," he air quoted the words, laughing mirthlessly. "Guess they won't be too delighted to see me again. You probably know about my stepfather - got drunk and passed out. Permanently. But yeah, that's all. I'm pretty much the sole benefactor from that account."

Hearing how nonchalantly he spoke about it, you were forced to maintain a strong face and be professional. You couldn't possibly think of even wanting to comfort him in any way. "So, you were absolutely not stealing."

"Nope. No. Not at all. Want any further repetitions?" 

"That won't be necessary," You said, having typed out the information - tracking his expenditures would also be necessary now, apparently. "Any expenditure you make shall be monitored, now. Be careful."

"Always have been." He chuckled, getting back to spinning the glass on the table. "You know me." 

You ignored him. "Your cards will be tracked, and any loose cash will be checked by us. If we feel that there's any room for suspicion, you will have reason to be monitored." 

An odd silence filled the room while you tapped away at your laptop, filling in more details about the incident. Taehyung would be having a criminal record again, you thought to yourself. It was the only thought that echoed in your mind. It made you feel uneasy in a way, but you swallowed your unease down. There's a promotion to focus on. 

"Taehyung, something has been bugging me since I caught you vandalising." You shifted a little bit, before deciding to spit out the question. "Why did you do it?" You leaned forwards on the table, elbows digging into the wood as you tried to grasp the answers from him. 

Taehyung looked you in the eyes, and then looked away. "I don't know."

"You don't know." You raised your eyebrows, leaning back incredulously. "Taehyung, that's not an answer." 

"I did it because I wanted to. It was fun. I'd see kids in the morning pointing at my graffiti work and they would like it. There would be people claiming it looked good. I felt acknowledged and I just-" He pleaded, unable to continue without pausing to recollect his calm. "I felt like doing it. After years of having questions raised at me for committing a crime I never did, I finally had people talking about the work I did. Even if it was just chalk drawings." 

You exhaled in confusion. The Taehyung you had known - he was never like this. Confident, assured, independent. That was what he seemed to you when you were younger. And now, to see him want to be validated by others who never even cared for him- it felt ridiculous to you. Why was his only way of feeling validated involving something against the law? "Okay, then." 

You went through the complaints that had been registered against him, hand resting against your forehead as you asked him the most commonly asked question. "Why the insignia 'V'?" 

"V for victory?" He made a 'V' sign with his fingers, "I liked to think that I won against the world by rebelling against its sense of black and white. I saw everyone talk about it, and I felt like the same people who had once pointed fingers at me, blaming me for something I hadn't done, were now pointing fingers at something I had done - I felt victorious. I didn't need to show myself and possibly want more than I had already let myself have - this was enough for me." 

You pulled your lips in a tight line, and hummed in response - there were two places that together had put in about twenty complaints, so you had to respond to all of them. You kept reminding yourself that neither did you have the space to feel sorry for him, nor did you have the power to say sorry to him. You simply kept your head turned to the screen, typing in answers to all the complaints. 

Taehyung leaned forward after a few seconds. "What punishment do you think I'll get, Officer?" 

"If the chief is feeling good, maybe you'll get community service, with a fine," You looked up at him. "Or maybe some time in jail." 

"How much time?"

"Maybe a month or two?" 

"Oh." Taehyung slumped back into his seat nonchalantly. "Cool then." 

How was he this calm? You thought to yourself. He might be going to jail. For a second time.

"Yup." You shut the laptop, finally, after hours of typing information and recording it. Sighing, you lifted the porcelain mug once again to absolutely drain it of coffee, your rather loud gulps echoing in the silence of your office. 

Taehyung tapped his fingers on the table- probably some old tune he had learnt before. You remembered that he played the saxophone - from nights of serenading tunes that he had played for you with his beloved instrument. "How long do you think the chief will take to reach here?" 

"A few hours, maybe? I'd expect him around ten, to be honest. Nevertheless, let me check." You quickly called the chief on your phone, hearing his ringtone play some old Korean trot song before it was picked up. 

"Hello, yes, yes, Y/N. I expected your call." A gravely, rather rough voice responded to you- like it hadn't been used for a few hours. "I shall be reaching the office around eleven. Keep Taehyung with you." 

"Yes sir," you said, keeping the phone on your table and turning to Taehyung.  "The chief said he'll be here by eleven." 

Taehyung nodded in acknowledgement. 

"It's nearly eight thirty now." You looked at the cuckoo clock again. "Would you like to freshen up?" 

"Where?" Taehyung asked, eyes widening. "Shouldn't I just be at the office?" 

"Yeah, you should. My place is right here- the back of this office is where I live, so you'll be fine." You look down at his clothes, grease, paint and metal shrapnel all over them. "Besides, you look like you need a change of clothes." 

Taehyung stepped into your house with an air of curiosity, to see how his once classmate was living. His head stooped low to enter through the small door you had, eyes widening in surprise when he found that the hall of your house was larger than he had anticipated. 

The house was quaint, a hall with an old couch which doubled as a bed when needed. There was a table in the middle of the room, too low to be a dining table and too high to be a center table. For coffee, maybe? There were maybe five or six magazines scattered haphazardly over it, covering nearly every inch- except for one corner, where Taehyung spotted a shining acrylic blue. 

You, however, spotted what page you had left a magazine open at. Squeaking, "I'm sorry!" you ran to shut the booklet close, afraid that Taehyung would spot your love for shirtless men. 

Picking up the magazines, you grinned sheepishly at him. "Just a moment! I'll be back, a bit of cleaning to be done, sit right here!" You patted the couch, trying to convince Taehyung. 

Taehyung turned away from the pictures he had been observing- was there one of you both? - and nodded, eyes widening in surprise as he saw how you scuttled away to hide the magazines. He looked around again, taking a feel of your house- it seemed like the old you. There was some patchwork embroidery you had left in a corner, atop what seemed to be a showpiece? Taehyung stepped closer to see it in detail, and was amazed at the way you had managed to drag the red thread over and over the pink fabric to make floral designs. It reminded him of the rose he had been trying to complete the previous night, and he grit his teeth. He shouldn't be thinking about that now. That shouldn't be what he does anymore. No more.

You came back, looking quizzically at him. "Take a seat, Taehyung! It's alright." 

"Uh, yeah." He shuffled over to the couch again. "Did you make that?" 

You looked in the direction his finger pointed to. "Yeah. Tried doing embroidery for stress release purposes." 

Taehyung grinned at you. "Stress release?" He asked, bemused. 

"Yup." You said while making sure that the magazines were well hidden. "The department I wanted to be in was forensics, you know?" Taehyung nodded, he had been privy to most of your discussions about the advances in forensic technology and analysis - even if he didn't understand anything, he knew your love for it. "Well, they didn't allow me. So the whole 'stress' thing began." You walked back to him, making air quotes as you emphasized on stress. "My mother suggested embroidery would take my mind off it. So, that incomplete piece you see there?" Taehyung nodded, concentrating on every word that left your mouth. "That started a few days ago." 

"It looks like it's complete, though- are you really good at it?" Taehyung looked at you again, turning back from the embroidery you were now rising to get. 

"Pretty much? It's easy once you get the hang of it." 

"Ah." Taehyung said, a dull silence settling into the room for a few moments as Taehyung looked around your room.  

"That picture." He pointed, and you turned your head around. The picture he was focusing on was on your mantelpiece, resting happily. The frame had butterflies stuck on its corners, two large and two small. The border was white, now off white, and had pink dots in certain places. It was a picture of fireworks- red, yellow and blue mixing together in a dull sky to breathe life into the picture. And right in the middle, surrounded by this liveliness, were you and Taehyung. Beaming. 

Taehyung turned to, finger still pointing at the picture. "That's our picture, right?" 

You hummed in affirmation. "That's us, freshman party. We had known each other for a few weeks at this time."

"And I had stopped someone from asking you out, right?" Taehyung reminisced. "That was fun." 

You snort. "You had punched him in the face when he asked for my name, Taehyung." 

Taehyung smiled. "I didn't want anyone to harm you, Y/N, and he seemed like he would harm you." He spread out his arms and grinned smugly at you. "In a way, I rescued you. That night." 

And so many other nights, you wanted to say. For all the time you had known Taehyung, he had been fiercely protective of you - for reasons he never truly told you. You didn't question it either, basking in the feeling of being wanted by someone. 

You cleared your throat, hoping to clear your mind as well. "You should go take a shower, Taehyung." Glancing at the clock, you noted the time and motioned towards the washroom. "It's nearly nine. Go take a shower, call for me if you need anything. I'll go get some clothes for you."

Taehyung nodded, rising up slowly to go in the direction you pointed. "Towels are inside," you shouted after him, and he yelled in response to say he understood. In some ways, too many ways, he felt like the Taehyung you once knew. 

You went to your room to pick out some clothes, opening your meager collection to salvage something that would fit Taehyung. Your eyes scanned over your uniforms, jumpsuits, jeans, t-shirts and finally landed on the hoodies- probably the largest collection in your wardrobe. Thankfully, you loved large, loose hoodies. You started pulling them out, holding each one up and imagining Taehyung's proportions in them. 

The red one, with blue paw prints. "Nah. Too tight." 

The black plain one. "That's mine, I'm not sharing that." 

The grey ones- nearly three. You skipped over all of them, not understanding how none of these oversized hoodies would seemingly fit Taehyung. He'd gotten humongous, broad shoulders and everything. 

You picked out a few more, trying to see whether it would be a fit. None worked. 

When you picked up the next one, you could already picture him wearing it. It was the hoodie you had taken from Taehyung during the first year you knew each other. You looked at its loose sleeves, stretchy from you tugging Taehyung behind you with it way back then. The green fabric of the hoodie was slightly pale in a certain spot - you had spilled soda all over him in a fit of anger.

During your forensic chemistry class,  the teacher didn't recognise their mistakes in the procedure (they used the wrong test for detecting the sample, and blamed it on you), and you were pretty miffed the whole day. Taehyung had bought sodas for the two of you, having planned to go stargazing later on. And you, in a terrible mood, flipped him off in a way that had the soda spilling over him. You cried, Taehyung laughed, but the hoodie was still stained. You took it with you later on to clean it - but the stubborn stain never left. You were agonized, Taehyung amused, but the hoodie- it was still stained. Taehyung had laughed it off, telling you to keep it with you for as long as you wanted- he could buy a dozen more hoodies to last him till then. 

When you left to head home that winter break, you had taken the hoodie with you. You had taken it on your date, crying on its sleeves when you were stood up. And when you came back, Taehyung was suddenly a criminal. 

You shook your head to remove the memories of that time, holding the hoodie in your hand and gently caressing its sleeves. So many memories were held in these threads that meshed together to form the fabric of your youth. Good or bad? You didn't want to dwell on that. 

"Y/N? Could I get the clothes now?" Taehyung called from the washroom. You picked up a extra large pair of cotton shorts and a hoodie, and passed it to him without really thinking- you'd done it before when he got drunk at college too, having him come over at your place, shower, change, and practically behave like a couple- at least, that's what you had thought of it then. 

Get it together, Y/N, why are you thinking about that? 

"Thanks!" he shouted again, grasping the clothes with his fingers and whisking them away to the confines of the washroom. 

You gripped at your hair and pinched your cheeks. You couldn't keep thinking about the old Taehyung. You didn't know if it was truly him anymore. 

"Uh, Y/N?" Taehyung stepped out of the washroom, the previously oversized shorts clinging to his thighs for dear life and the hoodie snugly fitting his figure. "I think it's a bit tight, but I'll make do." 

Your eyes widened in horror; Taehyung looked like he was moments away from bursting the shorts. "I'll get you new pants, wait a second. These ones don't fit." 

You turned back to your cupboard, looking for the loosest bottoms you could find. "I think the hoodie still fits though, right?" 

"Yeah." You heard Taehyung right over your shoulder, scaring you. 

"Jeez, when did you get this close to me?" You turned to face him, crossing your arms, looking at his hair which still had droplets sticking to its edges. 

"When did you get this far from me, Y/N?" His eyes bore into yours, sweetly intense eyes gazing at you like it was the first time he saw you. "What happened?" 

You shrugged, not wanting to answer it. You picked up a loose pair of denim jeans that you had found stuffed away at the back of your closet. Pushing it into his hands, you told him to go change. 

Apparently, your instructions fell on deaf ears. "What happened, Y/N? Answer me. Please."

You moved your gaze to his clothes, not wanting to focus on the thoughts that rushed back when you thought of him. What had happened? You moved your hands to your sides, resisting the need to hold him and know him all over again. "The hoodie looks good on you. Would you-" 

"So do our hands." He held yours, snugly fitting his palm- your calloused fingers against his calloused ones, heat burning in the sleeping embers of your palm. His eyes gazed at the joint fingertips almost reverently. "They fit well."

"Taehyung, now is not the time-" You begin, cut off by his frantic breathing.

"When is the time, Y/N? When will I get to live? When will I get to feel like a human? When will I be innocent?"

His hand caressed your palm, touching your forearm, your elbow, your shoulder, and your cheek -leaving a burning trail behind him everywhere he touched. You shivered. "Do you know how long I have wanted you, Y/N? Years. Seven years, now. I have loved you for years. I have wanted you for years. I did all sorts of things to remember you while in jail- kept asking for you, kept calling for you. I didn't want to forget you, Y/N. Not you. I couldn't forget you, no." 

He pressed your palm to his chest, and you could feel a dull thump echo through the clothes, reverberate in your palms. "That fire, Y/N. My passion in the promises I'd made to you. It never went anywhere. I always loved you. I always will. You can't make me leave again, not again. Please, no." 

He held your palm up to his cheeks, not regarding the tears that were streaking your cheeks and his. "You feel me, right? It's me. Taehyung. I am the one you trusted. I'm the same. Trust me again. Please." 

You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to slide down your cheeks, not wanting to pain Taehyung anymore. He held your forehead to his, pressing on the back of your head to meet his - upclose, you could see the redness that clouded the shine that his eyes would normally have. You couldn't hold back your tears anymore, nearly whimpering when you saw how broken he was- sirens swimming in the whirlpool of his eyes, singing songs of misery. "You know me, right? Do you know me? Do you recognize me? Kim Taehyung, police cadet. Your friend. Your classmate. You know me, right?" He asked, nose nearly brushing yours. "Do you know me?"He cried, eyes washing over the fire that ignited behind his pupils. You didn't see a vandal, or a criminal, or a friend. You saw a broken man. 

"Taehyung, oh, Tae," you cried, putting your hands on his shoulders, watching him slink down to the ground as his body trembled and shivered. You wrapped your arms close around his figure, unable to understand his pain but just wanting it to go away. 

You sat like that for a while, coaxing the tears and short whimpers out of him as he held onto your fingers, wanting to remember something he once had: you. 

"I always asked for you, you know that?" Taehyung shivered as he spoke, even if the chills of the weather outside barely seeped into your home. "I always loved you. I don't know why they kept me there for so long, Y/N. I didn't do anything wrong. I don't know why I'm made to feel like this…" he trailed away, tears gathering at his chin as they endlessly flowed down his cheeks. 

You glanced a nervous eye at the clock, wanting to make sure that you get to the station- no matter what happens. The bubbling of water distracted you from the ticking of the clock, and you turned off the stove. Scouring your cabinets for a chamomile tea bag was hard, but you knew you needed it. Taehyung always seemed to calm down with tea - you had used it multiple times before. Times of which you have multiple memories. Times you wish to forget. 

Why did I ever love Taehyung? The question kept echoing in your mind as you leaned on top of the kitchen counter top. Things would have been so much simpler if simply looking at him wasn't so hard. His smile, his behaviour, his tears - it was all but a painful reminder of what you could have been if things had gone different. If only. 

You poured the hot water into the mug you had settled on the kitchen top, watching the water bloom into a serene shade of yellow as you dipped the tea bag into it repeatedly. You prepared one mug, then another, hearing the soft declarations Taehyung kept repeating while he was seated. 

All you had wanted to study was forensic science, and that was simply for one reason: you didn't want to interact with people. 

People are complicated, over emotional beings. and you couldn't help but feel helpless every time you had to encounter a suspect. You would constantly be told by your professors to see them as lawbreakers - but all you tried finding was signs of humanity in them. That even the most vicious killers had scope for reform. That's why you stuck to the subjects you wanted - you were good at finding signs of life, not squashing them. You consistently failed those classes, without any doubt. And today, it seemed like all those classes were laughing at you. 

"Here." You handed the mug to Taehyung, who muttered thanks. He rubbed his hands once or twice on the pants you told him to change into and took a sip from the warm tea. You resisted the urge to reach out and wipe the tears that lined his face, and try and wipe the scars of the past that had scarred him so badly - but you couldn't. You were a mere spectator in the game of his life. You couldn't possibly do anything other than hurt him more. 

"Thank you. For letting me express all of it. I could finally say everything that I wanted to before I was forbidden from speaking about it again." Taehyung tapped against the mug, fingernails resting on ceramic as the sun slowly headed westward. "I'm sorry that I've been such a burden to you, Y/N. I wonder if I can do anything to reduce the pain and confusion I put you through - I doubt I can." He looked at you carefully, though you couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Thank you." 

You let his words echo in the room, preoccupied with your thoughts. It hurt you to see him so broken, and you couldn't help but worry about him. 

"Taehyung, I-" You opened your mouth to respond, watching Taehyung pay attention to every move you made - only to be interrupted by your phone loudly ringing. 

"Sorry, this must be important." You got up to get your phone, watching Taehyung slump in his seat from the edge of your vision. 

"It's the chief," you announced, picking up the phone. 

He got straight to the point. "Come to the station, soon. Bring Taehyung with you." he told, his voice laced with a rather sharp edge- a tone that you had recognized in the years you had worked under him. Things were- most probably- not good. 

You responded with a simple "yes", mind dwelling on the impending result that Taehyung would get. You felt that it would be unlikely that he would be going to jail- at least, you hoped so.

Turning to Taehyung, you tried to hide the fear and shakiness that lined your voice. "Let's go." 

Taehyung sighed, playing with the mug as he rose up. "It's time, isn't it?"

"Good morning, Sir." You greeted the chief as he hurried into the small office, giving Taehyung a glance and then facing you. 

"Morning." He gruffly responded, turning to your laptop. "We found an eyewitness for the vandalism, so we are getting them for the interrogation as well." 

"Another interrogation? We've already done it, sir, and all the information is recorded here. I doubt it will be necessary-"

"Please, Y/N," He calmly said. "Leave the decision about it being necessary to me." 

You stepped back, subconsciously edging closer to Taehyung - a move noticed by the chief as well. 

"Y/N," he began, "I need to speak to you. In private. Step outside for a few moments, please." 

You nodded, briskly walking towards the doors and yanking them open. There was a warm gust of wind that blew across your face, and you turned to face the chief. 

"Y/N," the chief began, before pausing for a moment, "Officer Y/N. I'm going to need you to think clearly now." 

"Yes." You set your features as tightly as you could, not wanting to seem distracted in any way. 

"Do you have any type of bias in this case, perhaps due to your past relation with him?" he looked quizzically at you, as if trying to decipher an enigma scribbled onto your face. 

Your blood chilled, for some reason. Were you having any bias? "No, sir." 

The chief hummed - you couldn't make head or tail of his reaction. He kicked at a pebble before continuing. "From the recordings I heard the previous night in the office, and the way you let him come with you to freshen up a bit, one particular thing has struck me: you were trying to find reasons for Taehyung to be justified as a victim, weren't you?" 

You gulped before responding. "Yes, sir. I believe the culprit committed vandalism as a coping mechanism to get over the hurt caused over the years." 

The chief sighed heavily. "Well then," he said, "I suggest we continue with our investigation, and find a way to make sure the culprit in the matter is stable as well. We can't have repeated cases like these - we have a reputation to uphold for the police as well." 

You nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir." 

The chief sighed again, glancing at the street. "Our witness should be here soon." He turned to you again. "Funnily enough, she volunteered as a witness with CCTV backup to claim that Taehyung had vandalized her shop too. Apparently she heard you arrest him last night - so we have to hear her out." 

The chief turned again to the road, eyes narrowing in hopes of spotting the witness soon. "The investigator whom she contacted has said she is a reliable witness, but I'm going to need to verify her statement nonetheless." He turned back, heading into the office.

You stared at the road that the chief was looking at before - the direction from which the supposedly reliable eyewitness would come, before heading back inside. 

Taehyung was still slumped in his seat, fingers tracing drawings all over the pants you had given him. The chief was shuffling around behind the desk, pulling two spare chairs ahead - one for Taehyung, you presumed, and one for the eyewitness - whoever that would be. 

"Mr. Kim Taehyung," the chief began, "there has been an eyewitness who has offered their testimony - whether it is to defend you, or further establish evidence of you vandalizing public spaces, I'm not yet aware. We shall be interrogating them - and maybe you, as well, now." 

Taehyung rose up from the corner he had settled into, and shuffled into the seat the chief had set for him, wordlessly. 

The door opened to reveal an older lady, dressed in a purple shaded hanbok, hair delicately pulled back into a tight bun and eyes peering around the whole office in curiosity. She found the chief, walking closer to the desk where he was arranging the records. "I'm here as the eyewitness..?"She said, looking at both you and the chief. 

"Ah, yes. I presume you're Ms. Park?" The chief asked, pulling the chair out for her to settle into it. Under the light that shined across her face, you could make out the wrinkles that lined her skin and the greys in her hair - not that that was relevant to what would happen. 

"I saw him vandalize the outside of my store a few days ago," she earnestly began, pulling out pictures that she had taken of the design on her window.  "I'm a florist, you see. His designs are clearly inspired by that, aren't they?" She pushed the pictures in front of your vision, and you could see what she meant - the designs of orchids, hibiscus and asters stared back at you, intricately painted onto the glass windows of the florist's shop. 

She pulled out more pictures. "There's been similar instances all over the neighbourhood- the other florist had a rose, the school received drawings full of children's stories and fairy tales, and had their walls painted with similar stories. In fact, the restaurants around here even said that their menus were drawn onto the streets, right in front of their doorstep." 

The chief looked at the pictures carefully, with you peering at them as well, taking in the detail that Taehyung had while he worked while making each of his works- no, vandalising, you corrected yourself. He raised an eyebrow at the eyewitness, who seemed to shrink into her seat. "What does this bring forward as evidence for or against the culprit? We already know what the crime is, and its details. We just have to determine a punishment- either a hefty fine or jail. Do you have anything that can justify him getting exempted from either?"

Ms. Park looked at you and the chief before turning to Taehyung apologetically, placing a hand on his knee - as if consoling him. "I think that at the end of the day, all he was doing was beautifying the neighbourhood, wasn't he? And most of the residents here don't have a problem with it-" the chief looked at her incredulously- "so please, don't punish him or something. A lot of people appreciate his work in our neighborhood, you know?" 

"But we have been receiving complaints about him since the past few days," the chief said. "Why the sudden change in opinion?"

Ms. Park fidgeted with the hem of her hanbok for a few moments, shaking her head nervously. "Some of us shopkeepers were really bothered by it at first, yes, but we also had some customers come over to inquire about the artwork. It looked professional to them. So we came to an ultimatum : we will let this young man paint and draw for us, on our walls, as much as he wants - as long as it's pretty," she emphasized, one hand patting her chest, "we'll pay him to do it." 

You held back a sob as you saw Taehyung's eyes glimmer - a ray of hope shining in them.His knee bounced up and down- a habit you knew was something he had had since years - and he smiled softly when Ms. Park squeezed his hand. You felt like things were finally going to go well. The chief exhaled roughly before rubbing his forehead, glancing at Ms. Park, who smiled at him in the hope that he would understand her reasoning. 

"The law, honestly, doesn't care about intentions- I don't think I really understand why I should even let him go. Vandalism is a punishable offence, and the perpetrator has been aware of its consequences. Why the sudden feeling to save him?" The chief questioned, eyes steely and tough. 

Ms. Park hesitated for a few moments. "I believe he deserves a second chance." She pulled her chair ahead, the metal ends scraping against the tiles, and pleaded once again. "He was arrested for years for something he hadn't even done - and now, might face a few more months in the same place for simply being artistic. I don't think it deserves punishment."

"That's for the law to decide, not you, madam." The chief sternly said. "I suggest you leave such decisions to us."

The room remained tense and quiet for the next few moments, and your eyes were trained on Taehyung. You noticed the quiver in his hands, the way he shrunk into his chair - as if to hide away from whatever the upcoming decision would be. 

Ms. Park was the first to interrupt the loud silence. "Oh, come on. Let me just pay for the boy's bail." 

The clock chose that moment to loudly announce the next hour: was it eleven? Twelve? You weren't paying attention. You only saw the way Taehyung rose up from his seat - in happiness, you thought - with fists sticking to his sides. "No. I won't accept it." 

You felt the chief look with just as much disbelief as you did. Why was he so hellbent on being a perpetrator when he could be free? 

Ms. Park laughed. "No. I'm not listening to that whole self righteous thing that you probably have," she swatted the air with her hand, as if to push away any explanations Taehyung could give.

"Look, ma'am. I have the money to get a bail, or even pay the fine. I don't want you to pay for me and then hold it above my head like a massive favour you have done for me." Fire blazed in his eyes as he spoke up, rather indignantly. "I can take care of myself." 

"To hell with that attitude," Ms. Park said. "I decided to help you because I didn't want you to suffer once again because of misunderstandings." She pulled Taehyung back to sit on his chair, clasping his hand between her wrinkled ones. "You had to go through so much pain at such a young age - no one deserves that. I was a mere bystander at the time you were arrested, and I regretted it then. I still regret it now." 

She sighed before caressing the back of his hand lovingly, thumb gently pressing on the skin- as if to feel the pain those hands had to go through, and you thought you saw a hint of a tear on his cheeks. "So don't question me for 'saving' you, or something - what you did was perfectly fine for me. I love the way my street looks now, and so do the neighbours. All that really remained was the artist's identity- and now that I know it's you, I don't feel any sort of guilt in justifying what you did." 

You were right. Taehyung was crying. It wasn't silent tears that rained gently down his cheeks, it was a whole thunderstorm. You saw the chief turn away, from the corner of your vision, but you couldn't bring yourself to do the same. He was biting on his bottom lip to hold back any of the sobs or whimpers that came, head lowering to hide the tears. 

Ms. Park simply caressed his hand, over and over, till he calmed down enough to wipe his tears with his free hand. And when he raised his head up, you saw him like a new person. The wound up Taehyung you had met again a few hours ago was slowly vanishing - in his stead, there was a free Taehyung who smiled like the world's burden had been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured. 

The chief sighed again. "I still don't understand how it came to this." 

"Neither do I," Ms. Park laughed. "But it is what it is. We'll pay the fine."

"I'll do it," Taehyung started, only to be shushed by the elder lady. "I want to do it. Let me do it." She turned again to the chief, the bubbly happiness giving way to seriousness. "You can make sure he pays the fine, right? Withdraw the complaints for us too." 

The chief looked at you and nodded, and you got to work - carefully opening the laptop again and making sure that you transferred the report from 'investigation' to 'resolved', and that the complaint was withdrawn. 

The chief, meanwhile, made physical records of it, and informed Taehyung of the fine - which, despite his insistence, Ms. Park paid off, whipping out a cheque she had kept ready, somehow. You added the details to his resolved record as the chief dictated them to you, keeping them for future references - which you hoped would only be needed to prove his innocence in any situation. 

Nearly twenty minutes of details, questioning, and a written assurance from Taehyung that he would be liable to arrest if he continued illegal activities, it was done. Taehyung was free. 

The chief read over the details once again, thoroughly, eyes getting heavier and softer with every document he checked. Once it was all done, filed, and you had stacked the records back in the drawers they were placed in, the chief sagged into the chair, hands clutching the steel arms for support. 

"Thank God," he whispered, eyes closed. "You're fine now." He got up shakily, hands wiping at his eyes to erase any traces of the tears that had possibly leaked out. He walked around the table, reaching for Taehyung - as if beyond the lines of that desk, his duties as an officer stopped and those as a teacher resumed. "Don't you dare do that again, Taehyung. Never again." He held his student by the shoulder tightly, gripping him and shaking him a little - like a parent would scold a kid. "Live a good life, please." 

Taehyung nodded frantically, eyes still wide in disbelief as he ignored the grubby tear streaks on his face. "I will, sir." He had his hands placed politely in front of him, trembling fingers clutching onto the rough denim fabric of the old, loose jeans you had made him wear. 

"Live well," the chief repeated again, thumping Taehyung's shoulder once and then turning around to collect the documents he would need to take with him. He bowed to Ms. Park, who acknowledged him before something at a corner of the small office caught her eye, and turned sharply to you. "Officer Y/N," he began, and you tensed a little bit more. "There was an opening last night in the forensic science department that I got notice of," he said, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips when he saw how your demeanor brightened. "Reach the head office tomorrow in the morning at ten, and I'll give you the details. All the best." 

You hastily held back the sudden smile that threatened to split on your face, smartly saluting your senior before he turned around to leave the office. As he opened the door, you felt a burst of warmth all over your body - the heat of the sunshine rushing into the room. 

Ms. Park walked from her corner to Taehyung, taking his palm between hers and squeezing. "I'm happy that you're free now, Taehyung." She looked carefully at his face - sternness making way for soft concern, and said, "Live wisely. If you need money, or a job to get you started, come to my shop - it's the one you painted with orchids. You remember it, right?" 

Taehyung responded with a rather choked 'yes', nodding his head frantically. He placed his other, trembling hand upon the lady's hands, and solemnly thanked her. 

"That's not needed, I told you." She smiled, before patting his cheek. "You deserve to let yourself live, so use this chance well. Work hard." She turned her head to look through the window behind her, groaning a bit at the sight of the brightly burning sun. "I better leave now - it seems that I'll end up getting a sunburn the nearer to twelve it is." She turned back to Taehyung, smiling softly, and patting his cheek. "Turn up at the shop tomorrow morning, we'll figure something out." 

"Oh, and officer?" she faced you, pointing in the corner where she was standing a few moments before. "I think my grandson had left his plushie over here a few days ago - it's this one, right?" You followed where her hand was pointing, finding a pumpkin plushie left casually on top of a table. "Sungwoo told me he had lost it some time ago, so I just thought it was this one," she laughed awkwardly. 

"I think it is his, he had come yesterday to file a missing complaint for it too," you said, causing Ms. Park to laugh. "He really loves it, doesn't he?" 

"He's not slept well since it went missing. Anyways, I better take it with me, if that's all."

"Just a moment, ma'am," you stopped her hastily. "He'd left a note for the plushie too - I believe Peter?" 

The elderly woman laughed at her grandson's antics, taking the note you offered her and grinning as she read it. "Yes, yes, Peter. I'll take the note with me. Thank you so much for everything, officer."

Thank you, you wish to say - unable to understand how she volunteered to be an eyewitness and defend the one person you cared so much for. Maybe words wouldn't be enough for you to convey how grateful you were to her, so you simply bowed to the woman. 

She took Taehyung's hand again, gently pressing on the back of his hand. "Your mother used to help me out in the shop, you know." Taehyung nodded, and she smiled. "Your hands are like hers. Delicate, yet strong. You can craft beauty with this hand, Taehyung." She squeezed his hand, smiling. "Don't just let that beauty slip away from you." 

She patted his hand again, before turning to you and smiling, and heading out. The sunlight bounced off her gray hair to shine on Taehyung as you looked at him - even with a tired expression, he looked more alive than you had seen him in the last few hours. 

"I'm free," he said, saying it aloud and letting himself feel the sensation for a few moments. 

He turned to you, watching the way your eyes told him that you understood everything you wanted to tell him - even the things he himself didn't understand. "I'm free, Y/N," he repeated, carefully examining his wrists that were once bound with handcuffs - no. There were no restraints there. 

His eyes panned around the room. There was no investigator who questioned him about why he simply couldn't admit his crime. No one who made fun of him for seeking comfort in his art - even if it was illegal. "I'm really free," he murmured again.

Taehyung leaped towards you, pulling you close and holding you tight, as if unable to believe that you were there with him: and that he was here with you for as long as he wanted to be. You let your arms circle around his neck, one curling through the hair at his nape and pulling him further into your embrace, and the other spread out over his back - trying to remind yourself that yes, he was here, with you. 

"Thank you," you felt him murmur into your shoulder. 

"For what?"

"Just being here. With me." He sighed, further tightening the hands that rested around your waist. "After so many unfamiliar faces over the years, seeing yours feels like a reward of sorts for behaving well." 

You laughed at him, slapping his back light heartedly. "Don't talk like you did anything wrong all those years ago. It's not good." You let your hands pane across the expanse of his skin, feeling him cling on to you as you tried to calm him down. "I'm happy for you, Tae." 

He held you like that, for a few more moments - like you were slowly pulling him back into what could be his new normal life. Waking up every day in a room that doesn't have steel bars as a door. Not having to crash at the old house that had haunted him for years. Not having to hide his face in the fear that someone would taunt him for his past. Actually doing something that made him feel happy, confident, and alive. 

"I'm happy too," he murmured into your shoulder. You hummed as he looked beyond your frame to see the streets outside the window - seeing how they were illuminated in daylight. How animatedly people were talking about what their plans for the day were. A kid kept hopping on a chalk drawing of hopscotch he had drawn on the footpath, clutching onto a plushie that oddly seemed like a pumpkin. Someone walked around their stall, setting things up for the day. 

You pulled him away from your grip to look at him again - not wanting to forget any part of him in any way. "I still care for you as much as I did all those years ago, you know." You put your hands on his biceps, just as you used to do when you had to knock sense into your friend. "You better not hide anything from me now." 

"I have no intentions of," he grinned. "Thank you very much." 

You giggled, a feeling you hadn't felt in years fluttering around your stomach like butterflies. 

"About us," Taehyung began, holding your hands in his, "You know that I love you, right?" You felt yourself tense up, and probably Taehyung did too, as he squeezed your hands. "I'm not in any hurry. I want to take some time to understand myself and what I want to do before I think of anything with you. But when I'm settled, and I'm someone I can be proud of, I want to come back to you. Be with you forever." He let go of your hands to hold your cheeks, smiling as he saw your big eyes peer at him. "You'll let me, right?" 

Your eyes softened. "Of course, Taehyung."

"Tae." He corrected you, coming closer to press a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled when he moved back, glancing down at all of him and laughing. "For beginners, how about we get you clothes to change into?" 

He looked down at his clothes, laughing with you. "Let's go, then?" 

You nodded at him, pulling him out of the office, and locking it securely before turning to a widely grinning Taehyung. "I have a feeling I'm going to love the daytime. It's just so positive, and nice, don't you think? Really warm all over." 

"You're just saying that because you lived like a night owl," you laughed at him, watching his eyes sparkle in the sunshine. 

"Yeah, that wasn't the best way to live, was it?" He clicked his tongue and frowned. "Guess I better start living well now. To new beginnings, then, Officer!!" He grinned and poked your forehead. 

You watched Taehyung skip over the pebbles that were lined outside the office, walking freely on the streets, feeling the dread that you had let build up in your heart for so long slowly drain out of you. "Wait for me!" You screamed behind him, running to catch up to him. To new beginnings, you thought. 

a/n: hopefully, this piece of writing was worth your time 😊 thank you so much for reading graffiti and chalk!! I'd love to hear any feedback you have. Feel free to send it in as a comment, reblog, or as an ask! love, hazel 💞

taglist: @taejinnies (the torture is over bahaha), @xiaokoo, @thedarkwinterrose, @shatzkrinslinzki

masterlist

[windblooms]

zhongli scenario – psycho pass au

inspector!zhongli × gender-neutral reader; 3.3k words, angst & dark content (violence). a document of zhongli’s involvement in sibyl as he becomes an enforcer. swearing, violence, heresy, trauma development – it’s psycho pass, a seinen series. please proceed carefully.

a bright individual in academics and well-respected in his social circle, zhongli was practically guaranteed a fulfilling life by the sibyl system.

his peers often looked up to him as a senior: not only did he study diligently and looked forward to integrating himself into society, but he took it upon himself to be an emotional resource for others. 

others often described him as a warm balance between equitability and empathy.  the word “pragmatic” derived its definition from him, or so was the joke that his friends tossed around.

“ah, you want to sweeten me up, don’t you?”  his laugh can pacify even the most irate of hounds – a siren for the “frenzied”, but of course dulled down, just as all passionate emotions are suppressed in this society. 

but, oh, sibyl.  what will you do to this man?

while zhongli directly benefits from the system – good-natured, charming, and from an established family – it’s only by the system’s choice.  self-autonomy is an illusion when it’s dictated by a hand that only has five fingers and one palm.

they all lead to the same end.

zhongli deludes himself with a restless brain. night after night leading up to his sibyl exam, he busies himself with the news (or at least what’s left of it) and sibyl system statistics instead of studying.  japan is peaceful.  he likes it here, and there’s a life waiting for him.  people anticipate his choices.  he can’t let them down, yet he also can’t help but wonder . . .

division one welcomes him with open arms.  with a crime coefficient of 36.7 and a pretty hue painted like cream vanilla, he is, in nearly every single aspect, a prime candidate for an inspector.

“mister zhongli, are you still working at this hour?”

you speak as if you’re not doing the exact same thing, lurking around the office far from when the lights have been shut off.  but your sincerity is reassuring, and as you hand him a glass of water at his station, he can’t help but smile.

“just some extra work childe left.  i decided to take over for him so he could sleep early.”

“ah.”  hovering around his desk, you shift your weight from one foot to the other like a ship rocked by the waves.  out of the corners of his eyes, zhongli sees you lean your body against his cubicle.  “and you’re sure you’re not making things too easy for him?”

“probably not.”

a muted chuckle from your lips; your shoulders don’t hold the tension they do during the work day.  “hopefully he remembers that you’re giving him extra sleep.  let me know if there’s anything i can do for you.”

“much appreciated,” the inspector replies without a beat in between, irises flickering momentarily back to his screen.  childe had actually finished most of his work; all that was left was filing and labels.  simple stuff, really.  childe could easily complete it in less than 20 minutes in the morning, although zhongli can’t bring himself to admit to you that he’s actively concerned with the beastly enforcer.

“actually, would you allow me to walk with you back to your apartment?  if you’re heading out for the night.”

there’s something in your eyes he can’t quite place the moment his proposition reaches your ears.  you’re set alight by his words, a switch flipped on and a charge igniting your cheeks an enchanting shade of coral – but it doesn’t consume your eyes.  had his proposal been too sudden?  you’re not exactly the closest of coworkers – perhaps he had wrongly assumed that you would be open to spending more time with him, even if just for a walk – and his paperwork is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles to compose an apology for his frankness.

he probably just should’ve focused on finishing childe’s work instead of giving you mixed signals.

“ – i promise, i thought you were preoccupied.  i’d love to be in your company, but i’m not sure how long your filing will take.”

zhongli finds that he can make it 10 minutes instead of 20.

it’s snowing outside; the streets are dark, save for the explosion of lights above in apartment buildings, and the only sounds in the night are of cars revving in the distance.  the chill is hardly noticeable underneath the layers of coats you two wear, and he only recalls that it’s winter when he gazes at his boots crunching in the snow, or when he faces you and puffs of warm breath flow from your lips.

admittedly, he’s not even sure where you live – so he walks alongside you as your companion. 

“beidou got moved to another division, and miss ningguang didn’t disclose why.”  you bite your lip, although zhongli barely catches your ministrations  in the dark lighting.  only occasional overhead street lamps illuminate your path, but you steadily walk forwards as if you don’t need it in the first place.

“i know it’s not my place to question.  i just think that beidou was doing well – it’s odd not seeing her around.”

“i believe there was an announcement earlier last week discussing structural changes in the crime investigation department.  beidou will be fine in divison three.”  zhongli’s reassurances are quiet in the ambiance, a pacifying lull of flowing water to a clear river.  your feet guide you to a left turn.  “i can pass a word to one of my colleagues in division three if you don’t have the time to visit.”

“oh?  i wasn’t aware that you were one for many connections, mister zhongli,” your voice teases his senses, much like your words poke at his penchant for introversion – but of course, negotiation when necessary.  “but you don’t have to go out of your way for me.  i’ll shift around my schedule for her.  you have your own enforcer to take care of, right?”

“that i do.  if it’s acceptable for me to say,” zhongli starts, briefly wondering if his subordinate will pardon the mentions of his name in unofficial business, “childe reminds me of my niece sometimes.  always looking for a distraction, for something engaging . . . which often isn’t the best thing to do at the time.” 

his fingers drift to the pockets of his coat, smoothing down the fabric inside as you continue.  "why don’t you bring her in for work one day?  i’m sure you could arrange something with miss ningguang . . . especially since you’re on her good side.”  

you don’t mention his standing with her out of malice, or with any hint of resentment in your voice.  your observation is matter-of-fact: it’s true, it’s tangible in how ningguang maintains eye contact with zhongli out of everyone else in division briefings, even when disbanding them; how, even just among division officers, her eyes are solely on him.

and of course you’d know this: everyone in the crime investigation bureau has heard about it from the analysts that mow over the security cameras in their spare time.

he exhales into the chilled air, one of admission with a lilt of humility.  the corners of his lips are etched unusually high onto his cheeks.  “ningguang prefers her workspace neat.  i guarantee that if i brought along my niece, she’d tear the place apart.  she might even give childe a hard time.”

“i take it that you’ve seen it first-hand?”

“well, yes.  not that i’d ever mention her behavior to just anyone.”  it’s his turn to chuckle at the thought, although it’s tinged with a hint of . . . dismay.  “but she’s smart.  i doubt you’ll be hearing of her tirades as she learns more about the system.”

your understanding is communicated through silence, yet it’s not unpleasant.  it’s heeding and respectful to his insinuations.  he’s aware that no one discloses much of their personal life – since at the bureau, there’s hardly any time for sentiment – and even much less the inner workings of sibyl.  among some inspectors, it’s a mutual feeling; a slight nag, but it’s also the truth. 

some just prefer avoiding it entirely, and on occasion, it’s also reciprocated.

“mister zho – ”

his wrist-watch screeches in his ear before you can finish uttering his name.  sibyl’s voice is entirely unwelcome on a quiet night such as this, with her magnetic, crisp timbre, and by the parting of your lips, zhongli knows you’re receiving the exact same message he is.  snow no longer conceals the pavement, but instead, numbers and letters.  images, even, of murky colors with three-dimensional graphs and timelines.  

“area stress level abnormal,” sibyl reports in his mind.  “enforcement action requested.”

there is nothing in his hands – there is no dominator to work with, only maps and crime coefficients strung together in zhongli’s head.  but you’re already fumbling for your phone, voice rushing to contact the bureau in the midst of the impromptu warning.  “shepherds to hounds, any available?  asking for immediate assitan – ”

for the second time in a moment, the sounds emitting from your mouth are overtaken by something else: shouting.  zhongli pulls you between two stores as you furiously usher commands to headquarters in the dead of night.  surely an analyst would at least pick up your call, if not another working inspector.

“suspect is in his late twenties.  crime coefficient . . . of 152.7.  do we have any methods of subduction without dominators while we wait for a proper team?”

“no – unless you prefer hand-to-hand incapacitation, or the small stunner.”  he doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re grimacing, diligently combing over the information you’re given by sibyl.  “it’s just one man.  he’s been running around for the past ten minutes, and if someone can pick up, it’s a 15 minute drive from the bureau.  he’s only latent.  we can just negotiate with him.”

your gaze catches his out of the corner of his eyes.  it’s dangerous for inspectors to directly involve themselves without dominators, especially without the intervention of enforcers as a preventative measure to not cloud their own crime coefficients.  you’re both vetted in combat as per inspector training, but without dominators as a barrier between barbarism and lawful jurisdiction, not even inspectors are exempt from sibyl’s eyes.

“ – was marked by scanners three blocks down.  approach one at a time?”

zhongli nods without hesitation, opening his watch to change into his inspector attire as you do likewise.  

“meet you there.”

you’re off first, your figure disappearing into the falling snow as the bureau logo on the back of your jacket flutters back at him.  he resumes the call that you left on, ears straining to pick up any sounds at all – from both his communicator and his surroundings.  a minute passes before he himself is off into the streets, running further into the murky blue of the circumference painted before him in his irises. 

out of all the corners he turns, all are empty, save for the occasional scanner.  he matches the data on the drones to the information that’s presented on his watch – except that the radius the two of you split up to search in is smaller than before, more specific.  also, noticeably more inclined to the streets you ran into; the suspect must have been picked up by more overhead scanners.

zhongli practically shoves his watch next to his lips, voice hissing into the mic.  “y/n, are you there?”

a pause, and static silence. 

and you pick up.  “yeah, yeah, i’m here.  got the new info.  think i’m closing in – i hear someone panting.  i’ll send you my position, and then i’ll approach and try to talk.”

“all right.  eta in three minutes.  be careful.”

you don’t reply, only sending him off with an emote through the pop-up display.

he runs as swiftly as he possibly can in two inches of snow the drag from his coat is also inconvenient, so he zips it up before resuming his trek.  another notification message also pops up from the bureau, and he’s reassured professional enforcements.  all he needs to do now is meet up with you. 

vaguely, he begins to make out the sound of two voices to his right, one of them distinctly belonging to you: even in tone, yet strained with cracks.  a momentary thought crosses him: why are your voices raised?  the negotiation must have –

“’ts a sick system!”

“sir, please, i can’t help you unless you try and remain calm.”

“just one time.  one fucking time – ” the presumed suspect’s voice rises louder, harsher, overruling your own.  zhongli picks up his pace.  “you lot can just walk around with your perfect academy scores.  so many options.  but one bad break for us – the regular ones – and we can be disposed of.  there will be a movement, mark my words.  this system is fucked, and so are all of you – ”

something – and the worst part is, zhongli doesn’t know what – audibly snaps, and he hears you scream.

he blows in the scene in time to see you, crumpled at the knees and grappling with the suspect, raising a limp wrist to his neck in a vain attempt to get the stunner off.  but the suspect knows what you’re trying to do – cruelly enables you even, by jerking you by the elbow towards his jugular – as you wheeze, palm against his shoulder in order to push away.

“what’s the matter, huh?  academy didn’t teach you how to fight like in the pits, inspector.”

zhongli charges in before thinking.  he only sees you, hair mangled and clothes torn at the cuffs, and the deranged target before him before all three of you collide together.

the snow does nothing to soften your fall, and after he tumbles to the floor with the suspect, zhongli regrets that he had to resort to such brute measures to get you out of danger; the suspect is much larger than you, and even him with his lithe frame, so it takes all of his strength to keep him pinned down onto the concrete, the snow filtering into the hood of his jacket.  and much like you moments prior, zhongli is wrestling to get the stunner off.

it’s as if he knows – the target knows about their methods, and keeps the face of the watch away from his skin, inhumanly twisting zhongli’s wrist away.  there’s a damaged light in his brown eyes, and zhongli can hear the grating of the man’s teeth as they go back and forth on the ground.

“eta!?”  the inspector nearly bites his tongue as he barks out the question, knee working to hold down the target’s thigh.

“a minute and a half!”

your trembling, staggered steps come up to his side in crunches.  perspiration nearly drips into his eyes despite the frigid air.  it’s so hot, even burning, and he realizes that the sensation isn’t bound to his chest as the suspect continues ranting about sibyl. 

“you don’t even question it!  neither of you have brains of your own.  but we can live!  and without your dogshit ‘justice’!”

your wrist is lifeless, but your watch shines on it as if nothing’s wrong.  the pain on your face extends to your forearm, where he can see forming bruises through the tears in the fabric; with bitten, bloody lips, you lower your wrist to the target’s neck as zhongli subdues him as best he can –

– thrashing like a red herring in a net. 

“bitches to the system.”

the target launches zhongli up and over his body, nearly tossing him to the side as if he were a hefty log, before making another start to you.  senses dulled by the pain oozing through your form, zhongli witnesses as your body crashes to the ground once more.  

you kick and claw at the man on top of you with what you have left, but he doesn’t relent, crushing your form under his body weight as you once again struggle to stun him.

“you’re all going to kneel soon enough.”

zhongli’s knuckles collide with the target’s cheek, just before your neck is encased by grimy, frostbitten fingers.  for the second time, he crashes to the ground with the subject, but this time he doesn’t hesitate to conduct necessary action.

“mister zhongli!  that’s enough, mister zhongli . . . ”

what jolts him from his frenzy isn’t you, but rather the sirens that gradually envelop the alleyway in blue and red. 

beneath him, the target is unconscious.  welts simmer onto his flesh with indents of zhongli’s knuckles, gnarly and ugly, just like the disrupted snow in disarray on the pavement.  his nose is bloodied, and just like your wrist, jerked at an unnatural angle.  the breaths in zhongli’s chest are haggard, like a beast awoken from slumber, in contrast to the target’s muffled inhales.

and his fingers – they’re painted scarlet as well, just like the ink on the target’s face.

“wow.  i never thought you’d make it past 70.  but this thing . . . ”  you’re no where to be seen, probably dragged off by the medics; metal clacks against a hand behind him.  “sorry, but all i’m seeing is 119.”

you’re light-headed once you’re settled into the back of the van.  your inspector jacket (or what’s left of it) is suffocating enough that you request for it to be cut off completely, since you can’t shuffle it off with a broken wrist.  the small back-up team of childe and keqing are fussing around the scene, keqing in particular instructing the retrieval of your heretic of a target.  

zhongli, on the other hand . . .

both hands subdued behind his back, drones escort him off the premise.  he doesn’t have his inspector coat on, and instead, childe approaches you with it in hand.  the white symbol of the merged caduceus and judicial scales is untainted by the dirtied snow it was subject to.

the enforcer’s voice is light, pretty much normal, despite the dire circumstances as he sits adjacent to you, legs hanging off the back of the van.  “you look like you could use a hot shower.”

you don’t humor him – frankly, you don’t have the energy to.  you were practically powerless, inept at fulfilling one simple task.  you think that, if you had been more forceful, zhongli wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in.  keqing wouldn’t listen to you, and maybe you were imaging sympathy in her amethyst irises when you tried – god, you tried – to defend your coworker. 

it’s not fair.

childe tsks, although it’s not out of irritation but more so impatience.  always one for instant gratification, but you’re so desperate to find some ounce of emotion at the sight of his partner being treated so poorly that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

after a minute of silence is when he admits to your sniffling.  although he doesn’t extend comforts, but leaves you to your own devices.

“if he wants to, he can rejoin as an enforcer.  which isn’t the worst option out of the few he’s given.”  the ginger leaps off the back of the van, and makes way for zhongli – but not before giving you some final words as you meet the topaz eyes of the former inspector.

“don’t blame your pretty head about it; he knew what he was getting into.  and at least you can drop the honorifics and just call him zhongli now.  he’s always told me how he wishes it was just that simple with his friends.”

[shoichee]

Hello! Can I perhaps ask for no. 28. “Make me” from your prompt list for my beloved Imayoshi? It's so nice seeing him here on your theme and avatar and that pERFECT url, it feels like I finally found my people.

HELLO HELLO, and YES I WAS SO SURPRISED THAT NO ONE TOOK THIS URL... considering that it was just an alternative spelling of shoichi and its a rlly short handle too mwehe // im sort of a particular person when it comes to how something looks, whether itd be outfits, drawings, coloring, and the UI of a blog, u name it.... i may have spent hours trying to have the perfect colors for this theme PLEASEEEE, but without further ado here is our man, our little shit, Imayoshi

@knb-kreations howdy! another new work posted here!

Imayoshi x Reader

28. “Make me”

Word Count: 2331

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

Imayoshi doesn’t exactly know how he feels about you.

Scratch that, he does know. He’s quite amused at the shenanigans you pull on others around you, and a lot of times, you actually elicit a few dry laughs out of the guy. Other times though, he’d wish that you would just shut the fuck up, especially when all he hears amidst his studying was your loud “whispering” and “hushed” jokes. How you were always nearby no matter where he is was still a mystery that he casually ponders about from time to time. Perhaps your natural tendency to project your voice creates the illusion that you were near when you really weren’t?

No matter, such trivial thoughts can’t occupy his mind when college entrance exams loom closer. Then again, they weren’t particularly difficult; they were simply a hassle to secure near-perfect scores, especially when his chances of admittance rely critically on how well he does.

“That’s an awful drawing of a samurai,” Susa comments, snapping Imayoshi out of idle thought.

“Ho? Is it really terrible if you were able to tell what it is?” Imayoshi chuckles. “The point of a drawing is to convey the right idea or emotion. It seems that my drawing skills hit a bulls-eye with this sketch, no?” He playfully spins his pencil around, patiently waiting for his reply to goad him.

All Susa does in response is to roll his eyes before he turns his full attention back to his notes. He knows better than to try a comeback against Imayoshi, who can easily make it backfire against the person with a pleasant close-eyed smile. Imayoshi, seeing Susa’s nonverbal resign from engaging further banter, also looks down back to his book of scribbled notes and chicken-scratch drawings before he exhales an inaudible sigh.

School just doesn’t cut out to be mentally stimulating for him. It’s a little too repetitive and mundane for his taste.

“Argh!! Oh no!” your voice rang out, despite your poor attempt to be reasonably quiet. “I forgot applications for the Coca-Cola scholarship are due today!”

Coca-Cola… what?

Everyone looks up to warily eye you, and your few friends, who are currently rushing to pull you down and slap their hands over your mouth to mute you, were panicking at the new attention you managed to garner. Even still, your mind seems more fixated on whatever was on the laptop’s screen, rather than what they were doing to you.

Imayoshi can’t help but stifle his audible mirth from how you manage to change the mood of the entire library within seconds.

“How do you even forget something as important as a huge scholarship like that?” Susa says in dismay. “Makes me kind of wonder how (l/n) would handle life after graduation, to be honest.”

“Well,” Imayoshi begins. “I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s best not to underestimate (l/n)-san. Surely we’ve learned our lesson with Seirin?” He toys with the pencil grip before he sporadically draws some lines loosely resembling another sketch.

“Drawing again?” Susa raises a brow. “Have you even been studying?”

“Well,” he replies. “There’s still plenty of time before exams—months to be exact. Could you even study with the current distractions in here?” At his own words, he nudges his chin in your direction.

“It’s not just any exams though, it’s—”

“Whether they have more importance or not doesn’t really concern me. After all, standardized testing isn’t worth stressing out for when we’ve taken essentially the same thing all our lives.”

“What most are worried about is the content inside the exams, Imayoshi,” he said, carefully treading into dangerous waters with Imayoshi’s tendency to take all replies as mind-game challenges for his own amusement.

“‘If you have been paying attention consistently throughout the year, you wouldn’t be having much trouble…’ that’s what you once oh-so-wisely said to Wakamatsu yesterday, hmm?” His mimicking tone drips a hint of arrogance. “Unless you mean to tell me my ears do not work? But by all means, please feel free to correct me.”

“That’s different,” he sighed, his face clearly evident that he was done with Imayoshi’s shit. “That exam only tested content for the past year, not your entire academic repertoire over the courses of middle and high school.”

“I’d like to think that the logic still applies the same way.”

“Well,” Susa heaves with a languid stretch. “You generally score better on the exams than me, so you’re probably right. Still, don’t neglect your studying.”

“Right, right, Susa-senpai~”

“... Please don’t call me that again.”

“... If you say so,” he said, but his smile blatantly showed his real intentions of never stopping his irritable quips. Susa gets ready to pack up his book bag before he heads out the door with a friendly wave. Imayoshi half-heartedly returns the gesture with a casual wave of his own. He immediately notices you also packed up and about to leave with a worried frown, and of course, while audibly mumbling your concerns and makeshift schedules to accommodate time for last-minute essay writing. By now, all of your friends have left for home.

“Ah, biology lab due next week, kanji worksheets due tomorrow, hmm, um, how would I finish this on time… ah, calculus test is tomorrow too, ah shit… should I ask someone to tutor?—ah, but it’s super last minute, and there’s still that scholarship… argh, fuck!” Your voice peaked in volume at the end, and the librarian immediately shot daggers at you.

“Shhhhh!”

“A-Ah! S-Sorry, sorry!”

Imayoshi was watching you with his chin on his arm propped up on the desk, unable to control the smile that escaped his lips. You really were entertaining to watch, and you never cease to bore him.

He turns away to crack his neck and roll it around before methodically packing up his writing utensils and notebooks. Soft shuffling filled the air as he rearranged the items inside his bag. As he turns to pack the last thing on the table, which happened to be the notebook filled with his idle doodling, his face slightly softens at the drawing he did after the samurai. Yes, the one Susa chastised him for when he could’ve been studying. Yes, perhaps he was right when he was terrible at drawing after all; your panicked face and wild hand gestures didn’t really translate well into paper, and it looked a little too much like a horror comic and less than a sketch of you. Still, he’s oddly proud of it.

Imayoshi promptly pushes the chair in and leaves the library, but when he rounds the corner of the adjacent hallway, he bumps into you.

“Er—hi! I mean, please, uhhh… if it isn’t too much to ask—canyoupleasetutormeforthecalculustesttomorrowbecausemyfinalgradedependsonthat?”

Imayoshi winces at the sheer volume of your voice and plugs his ears in out of habit to block out some of the decibels. Wakamatsu was eerily similar to you in that regard. Only difference between the two of you was that you were deceptively intelligent. Extremely so.

“My, my, if it isn’t (l/n)-senpai!” He fakes a surprised look, earning him an eye roll on your end. “You need someone like me to teach you the works?”

“I—what? We’re literally in the same calc class, Imayoshi,” you retort. “Besides, drop the ‘senpai’ honorific. It feels so slimy when you say it so disingenuously… Aren’t we both 3rd years too?”

“I’m so hurt,” he mocks. “What if I was really genuine with you?”

“Look, right now, no remarks from you, Evil Glasses,” you say. “It’s really, really urgent and I don’t know how to grasp the material for the class lately, plus my essay, ugh…” You rub your fingers against your temples in an attempt to make the stressful headaches disappear while Imayoshi simply watches with his eyes slightly open.

“... You usually do well on all your exams, no? Unless my eyes and memory fail me.” It was true; even though you were as loud-mouthed as Wakamatsu, you would often shock a lot of people when your name always appeared in the higher percentiles of exam results. Apparently most students and teachers associate your rowdy personality with an expected subpar academic performance. He has you to thank for when your score reports always cause reactions of utter disbelief from the teachers. You really do liven up the school and make it a lot more unorthodox.

“I guess…” you mumble. “But I really wanna do especially well for this one because math is my weakest subject, and you always score the highest for these types of exams, so…”

“It may be my best subject,” he says, leaning slightly closer to your face. “But I’m not the one with the highest scores in any math subjects throughout these years, and we both know that quite well, don’t we, (l/n)? Why don’t you come clean about the real reason why you’re here?”

“Oh my literal fuck—Imayoshi, you’re one of the best students in calc right now regardless of exam results,” you petulantly huffed, not backing down from his intimidation. Imayoshi notes your cheeks reddening, and he figured it was either because of the close proximity between your faces or the fact you were frustrated… perhaps both. “And you’re the only one around here on campus who I could ask!”

“Really now,” he chimes, moving closer to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure?” With incoherent stammers, you backed away from him, slapping your hands against both of your ears to protect them.

“W-W-What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Looks like I won this one, (l/n)-san,” he purrs, relishing the fact that only he could render you this quiet. “Ho? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“I—Shut up!” you lamely shoot back. “You can just say no if you really don’t wanna do this—urgh, I’m leaving, I’m not gonna waste any more time—”

“How hurtful,” he dryly remarks, standing up straight again after leaning for a quite a while. “It’s almost as if you’re rejecting me~” He knew you would always take his bait and quip back (unlike Susa), regardless of whether or not you tell him that you weren’t going to engage further.

“As if,” you snorted, making another exaggerated eye roll. “You’re the last person who would ever be hurt from this.”

“Dear me!” he exclaims. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I don’t help out people for free? Did you think I would be a gracious, selfless person who would help you like a saint?”

“Okay, fine! Perhaps I didn’t think that far ahead, okay? You just were the first person that came to mind, and I thought asking you wouldn’t hurt.” His smirk widens almost maliciously at your words, lips already opening to deliver another irritating quip before you immediately spoke again to stop him. “Okay, Imayoshi, you little shit, just shut up—I don’t wanna hear anything from your mouth right now.”

“I don’t see any reason why I should listen to you at all,” he muses. “Why don’t you make me?” He has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, eagerly eyeing your next move, and as he expected, you let out a frustrated noise that prompted passerby students to shoot pointed looks towards the both of you.

What he didn’t expect was for you to take a huge step towards him, unceremoniously pull him down to your level, and press a reverberating smack on his lips. His eyes are immediately blown wide open to look at your embarrassed, but determined face. His fingers unconsciously move to touch his warmed lips.

“... That was quite romantic, wasn’t it, (l/n)?” he dryly says, recovering almost immediately from the shock. All the other students fled from the blatantly bold scene to save face. Not that Imayoshi really cared.

“Okay, you know what? Bye, I’m not gonna play anymore mind games with you,” you grumble. “Essays and studying aren’t gonna be done by themselves—wah!”

Imayoshi gently tugs you back to reciprocate back a kiss, meticulously slipping his hands behind your head and on your waist to accommodate you. Your eyes are completely open from the shock that the Imayoshi Shoichi was actually kissing you. You don’t close your eyes from the sensation, completely entranced when you make eye contact with his half-lidded eyes watching your every reaction closely. The kiss ended all too soon, and Imayoshi separates himself from you, secretly admiring your dazed look.

“That was quite a strong reaction to just a simple kiss.”

“I—that was not just a ‘simple kiss!’”

“Now would you like to tell me the true reason why you approached me?”

“You’re… insinuating that you know something.”

“Well we wouldn’t know unless you come clean,” Imayoshi purrs. “I can sometimes be wrong too.”

“Ugh, what the hell—fine, I am quite enamored by you, and uh, I�� find it infuriating to be with you, but it also gives me butterflies… so I thought I could be with you more… if I asked you—don’t get it twisted, though! I still need your help to study!...” He covers his mouth to suppress a laugh at your honesty.

“Was it really so hard to say that in the beginning, (l/n)-san?”

“Okay, that’s it! I’m really, really leaving! Fuck off, Imayoshi, I swear to—”

“Ho? Just a minute, darling~” he tuts, reaching to hold your hand. “Perhaps if you offer more kisses as an incentive, I’d be more inclined to offer my expertise.”

“How quaint,” you dryly reply. “It’s almost as if we’re in a relationship.”

Imayoshi can’t help but bark out a genuine laugh. You even managed to pick up some of his mannerisms so quickly.

“That’s an interesting proposal, (l/n),” he murmurs. “Should we try that?” You tut at him irritatedly as you tug your interlocked hands while speed-walking ahead.

“Hurry up, or I’ll consider breaking up with you right now.”

“Ah ha!~” he chuckles at your attitude. “How mean, (l/n)-san! Too bad that we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

[study-or-perish]

Things I wish I knew before freshman year of college

After being in college for a year, I’ve learned that some things that people told me were true and others were false. Now this is purely in my own experience so maybe I will prove to be wrong when you attend. Also, I am a commuter student so I don’t have any advice on dorms/apartments and how to deal with them. 

So seeing as half of my classes are in person this semester, I thought other people may be in the same situation as I am. 

emails will either be “Good Afternoon Professor Smith,” or “hey john” — whatever it is keep it short and to the point

the only profs that I actually call “Professor” are from gen eds/100 level courses. everyone else I address by their first name and none of them have a problem with it.

first day of class nerves are real here’s how to lessen it- scout out classes before hand, eat as you normally would on that day to avoid feeling sick, if it’s that bad just leave five minutes into class (chances are it’s not) you’re a college student you can leave, it’s not as bad as what you may think

KEEP THE SYLLABUS  it is your guide

8am classes will become hell as progress through the semester bc you won’t want to get up

your MWF classes may know about your TTH classes. Just so you know

don’t sit near the windows and look up to find the AC unit and don’t sit under it. You will be cold.

ice breakers are horrible and no one likes them, find a fact about yourself that you can expand on and use it for every class.

some classes will put you through your paces, go to office hours if needed

some profs are just unhelpful. Find another prof that would be willing to help

student tutors are not helpful at all

start studying for an exam at least a week early and get into that habit

raising your hand in class to ask a question is powerful because that means you’ve gotten far enough to actually understand what is going on

some profs won’t let you use a graphing calculator on an exam, bring a less complicated one with you as well.

some profs won’t let you use a calculator at all. sharpen up those basic math skills

if you have a genuinely bad prof, report them to the head prof of that department. If there is enough students who say the same thing they can take care of things :) (exception- tenured profs)

take public speaking your first semester and take it seriously. It really does help.

time between classes can be used for watching YouTube, studying, or taking a nap. Use it wisely.

always bring a water bottle and a granola bar with you anywhere you go

first semester may be exactly like high school but second semester won’t be as you will get harder classes

all nighters are not necessary if you study a little everyday

no one cares what you wear. HOWEVER if you want to be easily identified as a freshman on the first day, dress up really nicely. I just wore a school shirt and jeans, but I saw hoards of freshman girls with dresses and heels walking to class

speaking of clothes, I wouldn’t recommend wearing short sleeve shirts and shorts until you know the climate of the rooms you’ll be in. But that’s your preference

hand sanitizer. even after covid please continue to use it. There are sick people all the time on campus without covid

I believe an electronic writing device to be better than any paper or pens. You’ll have everything with you at all times without worrying about losing things

PDF scanner app

FIND A RELIABLE BACKPACK not a trendy one, a nice reliable comfy backpack with plenty of room

you don’t have to meet your best friends within the first day, week, month, or semester into college. They’ll come, it will be okay

you may make a friend that you later find out that they are horrible. End it quickly, ghost if you have to

if you feel lonely bc you have no friends bc you went to college on your own, please talk to someone about it. it does help even if it is a prof who asked you how your day is in private (not in front of the whole class)

everyone will think you know what you’re doing if you look confident. Doesn’t matter if you’re walking to class, doing work, or even asking questions. They’ll assume you’re higher in your education than you really are. I’ve had profs come up to me asking if I was a sophomore or a junior (I was a freshman in my first semester)

everyone and their mother will talk to you during the first week

no one will tell you about specific things (such as expenses, scheduling, etc.) seek it out if you find something you don’t understand

profs will tell you about due dates and exam dates, it may be brief but they’ll tell you

noise cancelling headphones are a must

group work is hell even if you know the members. my engineering prof says to make a contract that every one signs stating what they will do. present it to the prof if someone fails to do something.

stay away from populated areas that most people will go to such as libraries/tables/cafe. (covid related)

meal plans can be useless but sometimes you’re required to have one

Online classes:

a desk is best but sitting on the floor is a nice change of scenery

it is true that you should have a separate area for studying/classes but not everyone can do that. Try to angle where you sit either out of a window or face a wall opposite to where you sleep.

getting another monitor for my desk has been really helpful

tip from my computer science prof- look away from your screen periodically, humans are adapted to see far distances better and it relaxes the muscles. hang something up across your room to read every now and then to reduce eye strain. 

blue light blocking glasses can help reduce headaches 

you can do classes in bed if you want, I have and it hasn’t caused any problems

PDF scanner app

a planner is a must in this case to track when assignments are due

emails, emails, emails. All day.

my school has told me they can’t require us to turn on our cameras, so I don’t. even during exams. (It’s an invasion of privacy)

if you have to turn on your camera, don’t have a distracting background

turn in assignments one day early just incase something should happen where you have to email a prof saying that you’re unable to turn it in.

I’ll probably add to this as I think of things but for now… here is all I know

[auncyen]

chasing dumb ideas from work lol

-

Ren’s Palace takes the form of a video game world, bright and zany.  The Shadows have their silhouettes color-coded according to difficulty, the cognitions are NPCs repeating stock dialogue--Mona pops up surprisingly often, considering he and Ren haven’t really hung out since May--and some of the logic used to progress is worthy of a click-and-point game.  Which means it’s lucky they have Futaba with them, since she’s the only Phantom Thief who understands the logic of click-and-point games.  Still, it’s such a breeze that it takes only three hours to reach the center of the stage, and Oracle complains they never even left the hand-holding tutorial.

Ren’s shadow smiles at them when they arrive, and hands Ryuji a controller for the P4Storm his parents took away from him and sold after his arrest.  “Wait--is this the Treasure?” Ryuji blurts.  “We didn’t give you a calling card, though.”

“Hmm...we did talk with him about what he thought the distortion might be, though,” Futaba muses.  “He’s the NPC who knows the most about our methods, so that might have accidentally triggered the effect.  Good thing we moved fast.”

The shadow nods at Futaba’s explanation.  “I didn’t want to give you guys too much trouble.  You’re my friends, after all.”

“Dude, you gave us no trouble at all,” Ryuji says with a laugh.  “You’re way too nice for your own good!”  Still, in this case, he’s relieved it’s not coming to a fight.  Ren’s a friend, and he hasn’t seemed all there lately--they might have curbstomped his shadow if it’d come to that, and wouldn’t that feel awful.

Ren’s shadow smiles shyly, and waves them off before disappearing in bright light.  The PT make their usual escape.  The Palace crumbles.

So does the controller in Ryuji’s hands.

-

Despite the alarm the crumbling treasure causes for the entire group, Ren seems to take his change of heart just fine, doesn’t even throw himself a week-long slumber party like Futaba did.  He stays home from school one day, Futaba reporting that he seems a bit sleepy but nothing too serious, and then the next day, Ren gives Ryuji a fist-bump and smile outside Shujin.  Ryuji grins and tackles him into a headlock.  He’s so glad the change of heart didn’t hurt Ren.  Ren’s his best friend.  The Phantom Thieves might have given Ryuji a reason to stay at Shujin and not drop out, but Ren’s pretty much an honorary Thief anyway, and he’s been running with Ryuji, and helping him deal with the track team’s problems, and he’s just so good at knowing exactly what to say to make people feel better.  Ryuji’s thrilled he could help Ren for once.

And then, days later, he gets a text from Makoto during class, which he knows is urgent because Makoto texting during class: “Ren is still logged in the MetaNav on my phone for some reason.  The location and distortion have been erased, but his name is still there.  Is anyone else seeing this?”

Yusuke starts typing.  Futaba and Ann chime in well before him that yes, they see it too.  Ryuji opens the Metanav on his phone.  Ren’s name is glaring on the screen, a partially-complete entry that shouldn’t be there at all.

“Class was that bad?” Ren asks when Ryuji trudges out of his classroom, prompting the blond to immediately shove the phone in his pocket.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryuji mutters.  “Hey, Ren, can we talk about the--uh--you-know-what?”

“The completely unsuspicious you-know-what, yes, what about it?” Ren answers, because oh good the change of heart gave him his sarcasm back.  Actually--that would be good news.  It means the change of heart worked and the Metanav’s got some random glitch.  “Let’s get off school grounds first.” 

Ryuji manages to only jump a little when his phone buzzes.

When he checks, the Metanav has accepted “school” as the distortion’s location, even though the Palace was actually at the scramble in Shibuya and, more importantly, doesn’t exist any longer.

They go to Leblanc, where Shiho and Futaba are both waiting to talk to Ren as well, which helps Ryuji with the conversation ahead.  It’s...kind of hard to muddle through ‘hey, we were trying to help you with your heart, but something might have gone wrong and we don’t know what’.  It both helps and doesn’t that Ren stays calm the entire time, doesn’t get worried or pissed off that they might have screwed up.  Wouldn’t a distorted person get mad?  Wouldn’t a normal person at least be nervous?

Then again, Ren’s always had nerves of steel underneath the nerdy glasses.  It never made sense to Ryuji why he didn’t awaken to a Persona when Ryuji and Ann and Shiho all could, not until they found his Palace.  He’s got the guts for it.

Futaba openly prods Ren on how he views the school, and he shakes his head.  “This must be a glitch.  You guys have already helped me.  I feel better, and everyone else has only needed their heart changed once.  Why would I be different?”

Shiho purses her lips but then agrees.  Ryuji feels a little antsy, wants to push but also wants to trust Ren, and even if the change of heart didn’t work for some reason, his friend is pushing back now.  Ren’s not hurting anyone.  His heart is his call just like Futaba’s was hers, and even the hacker, for all her curiosity, respects that.  They gotta drop it.

But it stays on the back of Ryuji’s mind for weeks as the entry stays in place, 2/3s complete, and everyone else is worried too because they all like Ren and something does seem a little off about him--like he’s trying too hard to be normal, to convince them everything is fine--and then apparently one morning, right before class starts, Ren startles Ann by leaning over her shoulder and drily reciting: “Ren Amamiya, Shujin Academy, theater”.

The keywords work, Ren supplying them is taken as an implicit request, and there’s a good chance their calling card timer is already running just like the first time, since Ren knows how they work after tagging along for most of the first Palace and helping them with supplies for later ones.  So they go.

-

Ren’s second Palace is a theater.  It’s completely different from the video game world, with dark, muted, traditional colors, yet unmistakably Ren’s, and Makoto has to get their navigators back on task several times because Morgana and Futaba are going nuts theorizing (because who has a second Palace to begin with?).  Luckily Shiho doesn’t have much trouble leading the group through anyway.  Once again, Ren’s Palace is weirdly easy.  The Shadows aren’t color-coded any longer, but they also don’t seem to care about the Thieves as long as they don’t interrupt the show on stage.  It’s...an improv show, Ryuji thinks?  Yusuke says it might be an avant garde direction on a play.  (Ryuji has no idea what the difference would be.)  What happens is Ren’s shadow is always acting, and sometimes a cognitive audience member will leave their seat and join him.  All of the Thieves are there, even Morgana, which the cat seems touched by, plus Mishima, and Ms. Kawakami, and Ms. Chouno, and Ryuji is about to question why Ren has the hots for so many teachers when Ushimaru gets up and that thought becomes cursed, and the newspaper club girl, and that cute gardening club girl, and actually, Ryuji still thinks Ren has some kind of bias for hot girls going on here.  Even if the (former) stalker girl is pushing it.

That’s probably nothing to do with the Palace distortion though, since Ren’s interactions are always a simple back-and-forth with the cognition: they request something of him, even if it’s just to talk, and Ren obliges them admirably, or sometimes he acts as though he’s ignoring them at first, only to swoop in at the last second and give them something even better than they asked for.  It’s interesting maybe the first couple times?  Morgana stands out again because his cognition nags Ren to study and make infiltration tools, something Morgana says he’s never done, which makes sense because Ren is one of those aggravating people who never needs to study to ace exams and Shiho’s always made the infiltration tools just fine.   After Morgana, though, it just falls into a predictable pattern, and the only reason to keep watching is to see who else comes up to stage.  And once cognitive guest stars start repeating, the Thieves are out.  Every improv act has been slightly different, but the flow is so obvious that it’s become mind-numbingly repetitive anyway.

They sneak past security into the back halls and find a dressing room.  Futaba and Morgana both detect the Treasure inside.  There’s a white-and-black domino mask sitting on a vanity in a dark corner of the room that both navigators swear up and down has to be the Treasure.  It almost seems appropriate for a Thief mask.  Maybe because Ren’s seen most of the team’s?  It fits the theater setting, at least, but...

“Are we just...taking this?” Ann questions, with an uncertain look around the dressing room.  “Seriously?  His Shadow’s not even going to talk to us?”

“I would not complain about us being proper thieves and going undetected for once,” Yusuke points out.

“Okay, point, but it just...feels like I understand Ren less than I did before the video game place.”  Ann sighs.  “I thought he was just a quiet guy, but he saw part of Tokyo as a game?  Now he’s acting with everyone at school?  I wish I got what it actually meant...”

“We can ask him about it later,” Shiho reassures her.  “Right now we just have to take the Treasure.”

That suits Ryuji.  They take it.  The Palace collapses.

The mask crumbles in Shiho’s hands as soon as they reach the real world, and she makes a small noise of distress.  Morgana and Ryuji spit out the same curse in a rare moment of heartfelt unity.  Futaba, on the other hand, just whips out her phone.  “Hey-hey,” their navigator says, “Guess who doesn’t want to leave the Metanav?”

-

Ren is sympathetic with his thief friends not being able to steal a Treasure, which feels wildly inappropriate to Ryuji because it’s Ren’s heart in question here.  Ryuji thinks in his shoes, he’d be losing his mind.  Ryuji’s in his own shoes and he’s still losing his mind a little, because the only answer the group can come up with for what’s going on is that Ren’s somehow got three distortions.

No, sorry.  It’s that he has at least three.  Three may not be the magic number.  Ren doesn’t seem to think it is, anyway, because now he puts down his foot.  “I’m not hurting anyone.  I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you weren’t even down for a day like last time,” Futaba mutters, giving him such a suspicious look that Shiho nudges the girl.  Ren is their friend, and he’s been helping them be Phantom Thieves.  They’ve got no good reason to antagonize him.

Ren gives her a long, silent look before shaking his head.  “You guys should be figuring out your next target.”

They should be.

They do.

Ren helps them less with supplies this time.  Ryuji wonders if it’s because of the distortion, and then he catches himself and realizes he’s been wondering if everything with Ren is because of a distortion or not.  It’s probably not even Ren’s fault.  They’re just not talking to him about Thief business as much, since...yeah.  The only upshot might be that Morgana has been making some effort to get to know Ren better.  Because Morgana was a jerk when they first found him--he’s still a jerk sometimes, but even Ryuji would say he’s gotten a lot better--and he pretty much brushed Ren off in favor of people who were actually awakening to Personas, like everyone else.  They never really argued or anything, though, and apparently judging by Ren’s Palace...s, Ren’s fond of him, and Morgana seems to have finally realized that sometimes, making friends is its own reward, even if they can’t wield kickass Personas.  So that’s a thing, now, Shiho passing Morgana off to Ren so they can trot off and do whatever people do together when one of them is a cat (apparently watch movies, get food, fish, and just talk).

And that’s why when Morgana says “I think I know Ren’s keywords” at the start of a Phantom Thieves meeting, Ryuji blurts out “I thought you stopped being an asshole” with a disappointment so deep that it kind of surprises him, because, wow, he really had been expecting that Morgana was just trying to be nice and not obsessed about Palaces and Treasures for once, huh?

Morgana blinks at him across the table.  “I have never been an asshole,” he says, outright lying.  “Though there are a few things I could say about you--”

“Morgana,” Shiho says, heading off that argument.  She looks upset, too.  “We don’t have any reason to pursue Ren’s Treasure.  He’s not hurting anyone.  He...seems to be doing all right,” though the hesitation is audible in her voice, and quickly followed with, “and even if he isn’t, it’s his heart.  You’re not getting a unanimous vote here, and if this is why you’ve been friendlier to him lately, I... don’t know what to say, except that I thought you were better than that.”

There are two Phantom Thieves who can scold Morgana and actually make him feel ashamed: Ann and Shiho.  Sure enough, she lands a critical hit; Morgana’s ears pin back, and he nearly ducks down under the table to escape her stare before stopping himself.  “I’m not asking for a vote,” Morgana says.  “If we took his treasure it’d probably just crumble again.  But I want to check if I’m right about the keywords.  It could be critical information.”

There is a long moment of silence.   As much as Ryuji’s still pissed off at Morgana, he can’t deny being curious.  If they at least knew the keywords, even if they didn’t go in, they’d understand Ren better, right?  Though...after how the last two distortions went...

As it turns in, they go in anyway, because Makoto taps on her phone to open the Metanav, places it in front of Morgana, and when he utters “Tokyo, Metaverse,” the app responds “beginning navigation”, and--

“Fascinating,” Yusuke says.

“That’s not the f-word I’d use,” Ryuji says.

“Huh, Kaneshiro’s Palace is here,” Morgana notes, because that is indeed an effing bank flying through the sky, narrowly avoiding a blimp.  The cat continues getting down to business despite the absurdity of the situation he just launched everyone into.  “That means both that he’s seen it, and that his mental map of the Metaverse isn’t accurate.  It might be based on his most recent memory?  We never brought him in the bank, though.  What do you think, Or--”  He stops when he actually turns to Futaba and sees her face.  She’s paler than usual.  “...Oracle?  Are you okay?”

“My Palace is there,” she says, pointing in the direction where Yongen Jaya would lie.  The golden tip of a pyramid gleams over dozens of other riotously colorful, stylistically mishmashed buildings.  “How does he know what my Palace looked like?  How does he know about any of these?  There’s at least two hundred--maybe three!”

Three hundred palaces is a stupid number of Palaces for anyone to personally remember, but it’s especially stupid for a guy who doesn’t even have the Nav on his phone.

-

the idea: “if persona users simultaneously having a Palace can be justified with wildcards having multiple personas (for one to turn into a shadow while the others remain to use), what kind of shitshow would Ren create if all his Personas just--” and then ng+ shenanigans wandered in

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Hello, Sensei

Word Count: 2532

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

Warnings: Poor Flirting

Summary: Kakashi's in Konoha to have a chat with the Acadamy Sensei about a student exchange that he and the Hokage have disguised, but he's not expecting the man he's there to meet to be so... Handsome.

Konoha had never been a village Kakashi spent much time in. Even when he had visited to watch Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro in their chunin exam fight he hadn’t taken much time to appreciate the view. With too many things on his mind at the time, it was hard for him to look around at all of the things the village had to offer.

Now, as he made his way down the busy streets with the three of him by his side, he couldn’t help but look around and notice all of the ways in which Konoha was so different from Suna. Not just in terms of weather, which was a lot kinder on Kakashi’s skin than the harsh Suna sun, but the culture. How the shops were built, some of the things that were being sold, the variety of different foods that he had never tried before.

“You know,” Temari spoke up, smiling when he turned to look at her. “Maybe after this meeting, we can look around. Try some new foods or look at some of the shops.”

“I would like to see what kind of things they have to offer,” Kankuro agreed, a bright playful smile on his face when Kakashi glanced his way. “Maybe I can find something new to add to my puppets.”

“Or just something to decorate that dungeon you call a room,” Temari poked at him. “Maybe even something to wear yourself that’s a little less…”

“That’s enough,” stopping in his tracks, Kakashi watched as the three of them turned to look at him. “You two can explore if you want. You don’t need to sit in on this meeting.”

“You may be Kazekage, Nii-san, but you still need guards,” Temari huffed. “If we leave, someone might try to take off your hat and get a peek at what’s underneath, and we all know how you feel about that.”

Reaching up to touch the brim of the Kazekage’s hat, Kakashi smiled to himself. He wasn’t used to having his face out in the open. Growing up, he had always worn a mask or kept a hood over his head. It was a necessity according to the elders. One he hadn’t understood until the first time he saw Konoha’s Hokage, Hatake Sakumo.

“I’m sure Gaara can keep me safe on his own,” He looked at the shinobi in question, laughing when his eyes widened. “Isn’t that right?”

“I-of course,” Glancing towards his siblings, Gaara nodded. “I’ll keep him safe, don’t worry.”

“Good. Now, get out of here you two,” nodding towards the shops, he smiled when Temari and Kankuro gave each other a concerned look. “We’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Well, if you say so,” Waving a hand goodbye, Temari ran off with Kankuro hot on her heel. “Try not to get into too much trouble without us, Nii-san!”

Watching them go, Kakashi couldn’t help but smile to himself. It had been years since he had seen either of them with such a carefree attitude. Actually able to enjoy themselves, without feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders every second of the day. It was hard for him to admit, but there was no doubt about it.

They really were better off without Rasa-Sensei.

“Come on,” He turned back to Gaara. “I’m sure that this won’t take long.”

“Right,” falling into place by Kakashi’s side once more, Gaara continued to walk with him. For a second Kakashi was sure that they were going to fall back into a comfortable silence. Neither of them being much for talking, but as Konoha’s academy came into view down the street Gaara was apparently overcome with curiosity. “Why did you agree to this?” He asked, looking at Kakashi with big bright eyes. “Wouldn’t it have worked if you sent Temari or even Baki in your place?”

“It might have,” he agreed, and it had definitely been a thought that crossed his mind when he was talking to Sakumo about their little plan. “But I was told it would be best if the Kazekage made the appearance himself, and I happen to agree.”

Perhaps because the man he was agreeing with was so kind and understanding. Kakashi found it hard to say no to him when he showed so much trust in him. More than he deserved.

“You seem to trust him,’ Gaara continued. “The Hokage I mean.”

“I guess that would be surprising,” He hadn’t exactly been a fan of Sakumo’s growing up. After all, it hadn’t taken long for him to figure out why the elders hated looking at him. Why he was always made to wear a mask and told never to go near Konoha unless absolutely necessary, and even then he had to ensure his mask was in place and his hair was covered. One look at Sakumo told him more about his life than anyone in Suna ever dared to, including his own mother. “I have my reasons though, I can promise you that.”

“I see. I guess not everyone has a terrible relationship with their father,” Stopping in his tracks, Kakashi closed his eyes and prayed that there was no one around from Konoha that had overheard what Gaara just said. It wasn’t something he wanted to have to explain to strangers, and there was no doubt that Sakumo would have trouble dealing with the backlash if it was found out his child was a Suna shinobi. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Maybe just...don’t say that out loud?” he suggested. “It’s not common knowledge, and I’d rather not have it spread as gossip before we can figure out how to approach the issue.”

He’d already taken a huge step showing Sakumo his face. Exposing himself to the one person he had always thought he’d have to keep himself hidden from. Telling the rest of the world…

It just wasn’t something he was ready to do yet.

“We should get moving,” Gaara reminded him. “You’re meeting is in five minutes. You don’t want to make a bad first impression by being late.”

That was true enough.

Pushing his concerns back for the moment, Kakashi continued to walk. Headed straight for Konoha’s Acadamy, where he’d meet with the Hokage and the Acadamy Sensei he had chosen to take part in this little ‘student exchange’ that they had planned.

---------------------------------------------------------

What was Lord Fifth thinking?

Of all the people in Konoha to schedule a meeting with the Kazekage for, he had gone with Iruka. An Acadamy Sensei. The most he had to do with ‘diplomatic relations’ was when he worked at the mission desk and took reports from returning shinobi.

Scrubbing away today’s lesson from the blackboard, Iruka tried desperately to calm his nerves.

He dealt with Jonin level shinobi every day, yelling at them for handing in messy reports or scolding them for coming to him just to hand in their report when they were bloody and in need of a hospital visit above anything else. Surely it couldn’t be any harder to deal with the Kazekage.

At least, he hoped it was just as easy.

The soft tap of knuckles against his classroom door pulled him out of his thoughts. Placing the eraser down on the blackboard ledge, he turned towards the door and took a deep breath.

“Come in!”

This was it. Standing there watching as the door to his classroom slid open he knew that there was no escape. He was meeting the Kazekage. It was his job to explain the curriculum for Konoha’s Shinobi Acadamy and convince the Kazekage that it was worth allowing his future shinobi to experience for a week. He was not ready.

“Sorry I’m late,” The voice he’s greeted with is not at all what he’s expecting. It’s soft and cheerful, the complete opposite of how Naruto had described the Sand Shinobi he knew. “Had a little detour on the way.”

Pursing his lips, Iruka examined the person in front of him. Though, there wasn’t much to see. His face was covered by the large Kazekage hat sitting atop his head, and his body was nowhere to be seen under what could only be described as a blanket.

How did the Kage’s wear such garments? Didn’t it get hot? Especially in a desert.

“Uhh, Sensei?” Giving his head a shake, Iruka buried his hand in his hair and chuckled. This was not the time for him to be getting lost in such silly thoughts.

“It’s no problem,” he assured the Kazekage. “I was just cleaning up after a long day. Though I am glad you finally appeared. Lord Fifth asked me to make a detailed explanation of our curriculum to go through with you, and I’m afraid it may take some time. He explained that the two of you were thinking of doing an exchange program with the academy students. A week in the other village to see what their new allies learn in school and get a feel for their culture and ideas. Is that right?”

“It...yes,” there’s a hint of confusion in the Kazekage’s voice. “Uh, is it alright if we sit down?”

Looking around the room, Iruka cringed. He had forgotten to grab another chair for the Kazekage to sit in.

“Uh, ya. Just one sec,” bolting out of the room, he ran around the corner and into the next classroom, desperately ignoring the judgemental look he got from the kid standing just outside the classroom. The Kazekage’s guard, no doubt.

As soon as he was there, he pinpointed the teacher’s chair and headed straight for it.

Now that he had a seat for the Kazekage, he rushed back into his own classroom, stopping at the door when he saw the man already sitting on the edge of the front row bench where his students viewed his class from.

“S-sorry. I brought a comfier seat if you want,” Setting the chair down, he laughed awkwardly when the kazekage turned to look at it.

“I’m fine here,” Kicking himself for his mistake, Iruka made his way towards the seats. If the Kazekage was going to sit there, so could he. At least then he wouldn’t feel like he was talking to one of his students. Though, the man’s guard was no older than Naruto so it wouldn’t be that awkward. He could just pretend it was a parent-teacher conference.

“You said you had a curriculum written out to show me?”

Right. Heading back to his desk he snatched up the paper he had written down everything on and turned to face the Kazekage once more.

“I’ve got all of our lessons organized, along with a detailed explanation of what exactly I teach my students,” He began to explain. “There’s also time’s so that you know exactly what the kids will be learning at each part of the day, and how long we’ll be focusing o-”

His brain screeched to a halt when he finally looked up from the paper and back at the Kazekage just in time to see him starting to take his hat off. The kazekage, a man who no one in all of Konoha could describe because there was nothing to know.

His face was always covered, and his personality was just as guarded by simple sentences and short meetings, and here he was just taking off his hat in front of a complete stranger.

And if that wasn’t enough to make Iruka speechless, the Kazekage was handsome too.

With bright silver hair and sunken eyes, Iruka finds it impossible to tear his gaze away from the man. What’s worse is that he can’t even see the man’s full face, with his mouth and nose covered by a mask that left more questions than answers.

Why Lord Fifth had chosen him out of everyone for this task, Iruka still wasn’t quite sure, but it found it difficult to complain now that he knew that the Kazekage was one of the most handsome humans he had ever met.

Though, there’s something in the back of his mind that tells him the man looks familiar. Like he has looked into eyes just like that before or seen that exact type of spiky silver hair somewhere else, even though his mind refuses to pinpoint just where he recognizes them at the moment.

“Is everything alright?” His face feels like it’s on fire when he notices the Kazekage staring back at him, the smallest hint of a smile lighting up those gorgeous eyes.

“I-Yes,” desperate to get his mind off of the Kazekage’s handsome face, Iruka shut his eyes and held the paper with his curriculum out towards the man. “Everything’s on here. You can read through it and ask me any questions that may pop up or ask for more detail. It’s really just an outline at best and-”

The Kazekage held up a hand to silence him.

“I think I’ve got it,” his eyes closed. A familiar sign of a smile, even if Iruka still couldn’t quite place where he knew it from. “Though I would like to hear it from you. Otherwise, this meeting would be a waste of time.”

Right.

This was supposed to be his chance to prove that the Kazekage’s academy students would gain something from taking part in his classes. That’s why Lord fifth had scheduled this me-

“Lord Fifth!” Smacking his hands together, Iruka cringed when the Kazekage tilted his head. “I just...I mean…”

“You just realized that I look like Lord Fifth?” nodding his head, Iruka chuckled awkwardly. It was embarrassing to admit it had taken him this long to realize. After all, only Lord Fifth had such spiky silver hair and that closed-eye smile that put everyone at ease in an instant.

Though, that did bring up a whole lot of new questions.

“How about I explain it after you tell me about your curriculum,” the Kazekage offered, chuckling when Iruka stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “Perhaps over lunch?”

Lunch?

Was the Kazekage-

No, it couldn’t be. He was an Acadamy sensei. Surely the Kazekage of Suna didn’t want a date with him. He was just being nice. Trying to make friends.

“Is that an offer for a date, Lord Kazekage?” Closing his eyes, he kicked himself mentally. Of all the things he could have said, e had chosen that one. If the Kazekage had been asking him out on a date, he was certainly rethinking his proposition now that he knew just what a hopeless dork Iruka really was.

“Sensei,” being greeted with such a beautiful smile, Iruka can’t help but melt. Even if he can’t see the man’s mouth, he’s certain there’s no smile in the world that’s better than his. It’s impossible. “I’ve never had a chance to learn how to flirt, so perhaps I’m not getting it through correctly. I was asking you out on a date.”

Oh.

“Oh! I-Yes,” Never in his life had he had so much difficulty speaking, and he had just met the man. There was no way that this could get worse. He really hoped this didn’t get any worse. “I’d love that. If you’d like, I know a great place for Ramen.”

[brittledame]

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Cursing, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Hate Sex, Spanking, Slight degradation, Panty stealing, Table sex

Word Count: 7.6K

Summary: A school project brings together two academic rivals, where their dislike for one another reaches a whole new level. You and Shirabu constantly duke it out for the top grade, where it becomes an everyday occurrence to see the two scowling at and insulting one another. The tension between you two finally reaches a boiling point one afternoon when an argument breaks out.

Series: Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 & Part 3)

Shiratorizawa was a private school full to the brim of prestige and practically screams ‘money’. Inside of the sleek modern exterior, each extracurricular club ranging from calligraphy to kyūdō possessed state-of-the-art facilities. Basically, you name it and there was most likely already a club for it, with each one allocated a ridiculous amount of funding. It did help that a lot of old and new money sent their kids to the school, which unfortunately leads to uppity pricks with uptight attitudes flaunting their wealth at the drop of a hat festering the hallways.

One such uppity prick went by the name of Shirabu Kenjirou and he was the bane of your existence. He came from an affluent background, old money resulting from smart trades in property stock way back before the global telecommunications were even conceptualised. You could smell the money oozing from his pores in the form of some ridiculously over-priced Giorgio Armani cologne, topped off with his neatly pressed uniform and copper-toned hair perfectly sleek.

The part that pissed you off the most about the male, and has led to your open dislike for the asshole, was the fact that he got into Shiratorizawa solely by his phenomenal grades, never once relying on daddy’s money to get in, like most of your cohort. Meanwhile, you made every single second count when studying, not a moment wasted between school and sleep, just to hope to qualify for the academic scholarship. For a while your parents fretted that you were studying too much just to pass some school’s entrance exams, where their platitudes of ‘you’re already plenty intelligent enough, honey’ and ‘you could ace it this very moment’ weren’t enough to soothe your stressed mind.

Not even three months later, you sat the exam and low and behold, you did ace it, much to your amazement. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing your name on their admittance board not even a month later, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. The only thing that ruined your moment was the name that ranked just above yours, taking in first place: Shirabu Kenjirou. So, your well-known rivalry with the copper-tinged blonde asshole started one-sided and quickly evolved into something much greater than you could’ve ever imagined.

For both your first and second year, you shared the same class as Shirabu. It was to be expected since you were both in the same grade average bracket, but still a girl could dream, right? Much to your ever-growing annoyance you were placed in the same third year class as well. Evidently you were unable to escape his prickly attitude.

Every task, assignment and exam became a silent challenge between the two of you. Each and every time, you’d throw yourself into your studies just to wipe the smug look he gives you every time he pulls through with the top mark.

The worst part of all this was the fact that he consistently pulled high marks while balancing a sport on top of his studies. You’d have to give it to him, you honestly don’t know when he manages to fit in eating and sleeping in that hectic schedule of his.

Now to place two head-strong individuals together was just begging for trouble, especially when your little competition has reached infamy around the sprawling campus. Turn out trouble is exactly what your science teacher was looking for when she placed the two of you together for the physic unit’s partner research report about their topic of choice. You looked at her like she’d lost her goddamn mind, not sparing the equally shocked Shirabu a glance. You didn’t even bother to argue with her, knowing it would’ve ended up worse somehow if you did.

“Fuck.” You muttered, hoping four the next six weeks to pass quickly

As soon as the Ms. Nakamura dismissed the class, you marched over to his desk. Stopping directly in front of him, you perched your hands on your hips and gave him a disdainful look.

“Look, for the course of this project I am willing to be civil with you.” You place a genial hand over your chest to complete your saintly sacrifice. Looking up, Shirabu gives you a blank look, before returning to annotating his textbook with bright sticky notes.

‘What a fucking dick,’ You silently seethe.

“Whatever. Just pick a topic and I’ll start on it.” His monotone voice serves to piss you off more. You curl your hands into tight fists, resisting the glorious thought of punching his pretty face.

“Um, I think not. We’ll pick the topic out together and we’ll equally distribute the work. I don’t want to hear you bitching to your hot teammates that I’m slacking.”

Grabbing a vacant chair near his desk, you spin it around and sit on it backwards, ignoring his disgruntled look. Tapping on your phone, you open a new contact and start filling it out.

“What’s your number, dickhead?” Shirabu’s head shot up at the insult and you grin at him, shaking your phone in front of his face.

“None of your fucking business, bitch.” He bites out, forehead creasing as he glares at you, completing his signature expression.

“Well, asshole, if you somehow managed to forget already, let me remind you. We need to collaborate on this and to do that, we need a line of communication. Texting is the easiest option.” You reason. You weren’t fond of the idea of Shirabu having your number either, the ass will probably write it in the boy’s changeroom as retribution for some misdeed you’ve done.

Deliberating, Shirabu’s pen stops its furious scribbling. Heaving a great sigh, he concludes that unfortunately you were correct, but that didn’t mean he had to explicitly admit that.

Snatching your phone, he ignores your indignant shout as he taps out his phone number and tosses the phone back at you.

“Great, thanks for being a team player, sport.” You say, as you clean the screen off on the bottom of your uniform top.

As you get up and return the chair to its correct place, you trudge over to your desk whilst starting to conjuring up some topic ideas to suggest.

Peeking from under his uneven fringe, Shirabu watches your skirt sway as you walk. He loves it whenever you walk away from him, leaving him to both think in peace and admire the way your hypnotising hips move as you walk. The short purple plaid Shiratorizawa skirt left little to his imagination whenever you bent over, or a strong breeze came through. Shirabu briefly wondered how the hell you evaded the school’s disciplinary committee’s strict uniform coding monitors in the hallway because he’s sure that you’re breaking at least two of them on any given day.

The next day, you texted Shirabu the list of thesis concepts you wrote up. You were surprised when your phone vibrated in your hand, delivering his speedy reply.

Shithead: Sure.

What the fuck were you meant to do with that dry ass reply?

Now angry that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you texted him back to pick a god damn topic before you went over to his practice and caused a scene. And just like that he stopped being obstinate and picked the one you were secretly hoping he would choose; it was the one focusing on Einstein’s thought experiments how his process was adapted into modern-day quantum research.

After a few back and forth texts by that afternoon you had both scheduled a few meetups over the next few weeks for the more challenging components, such as devising a solid thesis and finding some credible academic papers to back-up your statements.

A week later found you waiting in the library, going through your homework as you wait for Shirabu’s team practice to end, hoping to make good use of some of your free time.

By the time Shirabu swept into the room, you had already gotten a good head start in the assignment. Dressed in his neatly pressed uniform and not a hair out of place, you almost suspected that he made up the excuse of volleyball practice to get out of spending anymore time than necessary with you. The asshole breezes past you, not even offering an apology or reason as to why he was late, but you could at least deduct that practice was at fault – that is if he even went.

“Well since you decided to keep me waiting for –“ You glance down at your phone, “forty-five minutes, I already started it. I’ve written both the study’s aim and objective and began devising the outline for what needs to be addressed in the introduction.” You say shortly, not waiting for him to seat himself and set up before you push your laptop across the desk and into his personal space.

Shirabu rolls his eyes at your accusing tone and started to read what you’ve written up in the shared word document. Kenjirou was mildly impressed at how much you accomplished in such a short amount of time, but he tried not to show that outwardly though, afraid your already inflated ego would grow. Grunting in agreement, Shirabu slid the laptop back over to you.

“That’s fine. I’ll start pulling some sources for the statements you outlined and start writing them up. Why don’t you start researching any recent projects detailing new discoveries and start collecting data to include?”

That last part was less of a question and more of a demand, but his usual flat tone made it hard to distinguish between the two. The lack of inflection in his voice could just about put anyone to sleep, and after sitting here for almost an hour in the calming atmosphere of the library, you were ready to start dozing off.

A sharp kick to your shin ripped you out of your thoughts, causing to to yelp and rub at the sore spot. A quick look at Shirabu’s smug face illuminated by his screen was enough to rid the last of your daze, begrudgingly returning to your work.

Two hours had passed, filled by the tap-tapping abuse of your keyboards and the occasional groan released by you at another paywall obstructing an article containing some nice data. Other than that, Shirabu was a quiet as a graveyard. You’d assume he had spontaneously passed away if not for the typing and blinking, the fucker didn’t even look like he was breathing.

What a completely boring guy with a nasty attitude. The most interesting thing about him was his unfortunate fringe, looking like he got mugged in an alleyway by a guy with no fine motor skills wielding a pair of scissors.

Plainly coloured hair, irises almost an identical shade of almost blonde but not quite there. He was of average stature, maybe a little below for the volleyball team. He was completely normal, nothing you would normally give a second glance while passing by, and yet…

You mentally shake away the unwanted thoughts conjured by the sight of his hands, or the slight flexing of his arm under the thin fabric of the uniform shirt.

Dirty little fantasies of Shirabu just snapping one day after one too many insults, throwing you over his lap and just going to town on your ass with the same hand that scored so many serving points for the elite team filled your head incessantly. The force would jostle you forward, tears in your eyes as you beg him – for what you don’t know, but you would beg and he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat, the threat of cutting off your blood flow to your brain was enough to stop your breathless begs.

Wrapped up in your raunchy thoughts, your typing ceases and your eyebrows furrow as you’re faced with the horrible realisation that you actually have feelings other than hate for the up-tight prick. The feelings were far from romantic, more likely resting somewhere between hate and dislike, but it was still the principle of the matter. Acknowledging those feelings alone felt like you ceded your part in a game that you two had unofficially started.

Fuck.

The next few weeks were going to be hell. You internally groaned at the thought.

You had no idea just how right you were, as the next few Friday sessions were almost unbearable for you since that day. After that dreadful meet up, one could slice the tension that brewed between the two of you with their bare hand, even though it was solely emanating from you.

As most horrific diseases start, it was all innocuous at the beginning. The session all started the same: witty quips and digging barbs swapped at the beginning of your sessions before silently coming to the unanimous agreement to not speak another word to one another unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, you could feel the migraine pulsating threateningly behind your eyes at how effortlessly hot he was. The headache was quite literally the physical manifestation of the vexation you felt towards the irritating copper-haired male.

It turned out that your exasperation was mutual, Kenjirou thought if he had to sit through another session with your loud breathing or deafening clacking of your keyboard, he was going to start ripping out hair. He was at his wit’s end and he had no reason as to why you set him off so easily. Not even the over-exuberant Goshiki could elicit such a nasty comment so quickly from him, even on his worst days.

The tension mounting between you two from previous sessions hung heavy in the air, but neither of you were willing to acknowledge the elephant stampeding through the small and rarely used study room.

The irritating sound of your long, trimmed nails typing, no more like smashing, on your keyboard cut through the tension. It was enough to put Kenjirou on edge faster than any other assignment meet up. He’s had a hell of a week and while he didn’t have grueling practice today, spending it alone with you was the cherry on top.

Usually the silent and calming ambiance of the library never failed to soothe him when he’s tense and anxious, but his irritation was hitting a whole new level he’s never experienced before.

“I swear if you keep smashing at your keyboard like that, I’ll rip them off and shove them up your ass.” He seethes, hands curling into fists where they rested on the table.

Looking up, you give him an incredulous look before opening your mouth. God what Shirabu wouldn’t give to get that stupid mouth of yours to not ever open again. He’d be saving the world from one less idiot spreading their stupidity.

“That’s kinky Shirabu. This is a library, keep it in your pants and save it for the bedroom.” You tease, fluttering your long eyelashes at him paired with a plastic grin.

At the murderous look his gives you, you throw back your head and laugh quietly. You weren’t willing to face the librarian’s wrath if you broke the rules, even if you were situated on the deserted top floor in a room furthest from her station at the entrance.

Conversation stalls from there on out, with only the clacking of your keyboard’s once again filling the air, although you do take greater care when typing now, not that the asshole thanked you for your consideration.

Kenjirou watches you from his periphery as you brush your glossy hair over you your shoulder, ponytail bouncing with added weight. That stupid ass hair style that made Kenjirou want to reach over and yank –

“I know you lost a couple of brain cells playing volleyball but come on, are you really that slow?” You raised your eyebrow at him, glancing at the unfinished excel charts Kenjirou had elected to do.

Giving you an unimpressed look, he chooses not to bite, thinking he’s already wasted enough time acknowledging your existence. Kenjirou hadn’t even noticed you talking to him, he was just that used to tuning you out and hearing your annoying voice as background noise.

“Can you add a trendline to the data, so that the upward trend we mention in the discussion is clearly evident in the chart?” You carefully enunciate each word to him.

Your demeaning tone and slow talking really pissed Shirabu off this time, he clenches his jaw and expels an exasperated breath through his nose.

“I’d appreciate it if you don't address me like that ever again. A trendline on the data we collected is pointless, just a pretty line. If we generated the data ourselves, then maybe, but the studies these numbers are sourced off of don’t even have trendlines.” His reasoning is rock-solid, but he was a prick about it, so you rolled your eyes and moved on to the next section of the paper that needed sorting.

“Fine, I acquiesce. A trendline here would be rather inappropriate.” He scoffs at your formal language. This was coming from the same girl that he heard on many occasions say obscenities so vulgar it’d make a seasoned soldier blush.

Tense silence fills the void between you both. You brushed of the strange sensation of being on edge. It is true that Shirabu seems even more pissy than usual, but you’ve been dealing with his shit for weeks now, you could put up with two more sessions with the unbearable prick. Hopefully.

Focusing back on the shared document open before you, you stare blankly as you try to decipher his nonsense tables. Concerned, you quickly scroll through the rest of the discussion he had begrudgingly volunteered to complete. To your absolute horror, you noticed that your format of your portion of the discussion was utterly incongruous with his formatting.

Well shit.

While grammar mistakes and sentence structure could be tweaked and fixed within a day’s work, it would take you both at least a good day's to make the report’s content flow freely and have a singular format. Thankfully, you guys have the time to fix up his – and maybe some of your – mistakes.

“Could you not?” You say shortly, tacking on a sharp glare aimed at the bane of your existence.

“Could I not what? Use your big girl words.” He bites back, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore.

“Could you please stop fucking up our assignment. I don’t know about you, daddy’s money, but I’d really like to get full marks for this.” You shoot back, angry that he had the gall to be annoyed at you when he was the one fucking up the format of the assignment.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m doing everything that we outlined in our past sessions.” Kenjirou fumed. He swears to fucking god, if he has to argue with you over the (lack of) importance of a trend line for this data set again he’s going to scream.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you miss the way his eyes quickly flit down. Kenjirou hates himself for the way his dick twitched at the sight of you inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Licking his lips, he allows you to stew over his words and watches as you reluctantly accept his logic.

It was true, you guys didn’t really decide on a true format in the initial planning phases, it seemed like a far-off issue to worry about at that moment. Well the future is now and that issue was just going to compound by the day if it didn’t get sorted out soon. It didn’t help that you hated editing papers with a passion.

At your silence, he rolled his eyes so hard you were scared they may get stuck – although he deserves at least that much for all the shit he’s given you over the past three years. He turned back to his work and went back to ignoring you.

Oh well, two can play at that game. You didn’t want, nor need, to talk to the prick anyway.

Shifting your restless legs under the table, you accidentally kick Shirabu in the shin, earning you a dirty look. Enjoying the ugly look of his face, you give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“Oops, my bad, Shirabu. I’ll sure to be more cautious next time!” Topping off your act with some obnoxious batting of your eyelashes.

“Do it again and I’ll wipe that look off your face real fast.” He sneered back at you.

Ignoring all common sense, you played with the idea of what exactly he meant by his threat. Most likely nothing sexual and most definitely involving a punch. But that doesn’t stop you from briefly entertaining a short sexual fantasy involving the two of you fucking in his chair.

Damn, these thoughts have been getting more frequent and out-of-hand recently. If they became anymore of an issue, you may just have to see the on-campus therapist about your obvious undiagnosed nymphomania.

True to your nature, you decide to grab the metaphorical bull by the horn to see how hard he bucks. Adjusting your posture again, you lean your elbows on the table as you uncross your legs and again hit his leg stretched out under the table.

You could practically hear Shirabu’s restraint snap, a dark expression taking over his face. He jerks up and out of his chair and proceeds stalks towards you, a dangerous glint in his ochre eyes.

‘Oh shit, I might have actually overdone it this time. He’s going to fucking kill me.’ You were frozen in place, not even breathing as he towers over your seated form. You mentally said your goodbye’s to family and friends. They wouldn’t be shocked to find out that you met your end due to pure pettiness.

You were expecting at least a slap, maybe even a gut punch, so when he grabbed your arms and hoisted you onto your feet, you assumed the absolute worst. Unexpectedly, he backed your body against the table, his hips pinning yours against the hard edge, making it dig harshly into your back.

You gasp as a calloused hand grabs the back of your exposed neck, the other moving to your waist. He pulls himself incredibly close to you. You're sure there isn’t an atom of space left between the two of you now, feeling every inch of his body pressed up against yours.

He bends down and breathes softly into your ear words that set off a blaze within you.

“I warned you not to try me today and yet you kept on pushing me.” His low tone sent shivers down your spine.

Hands flat on the table, you shove yourself up against his hard chest even more, meeting his dark expression head-on.

“I figured you were all bark and no bite, so what’s the harm?” Ignoring the sharp edge of his previous words, you kept making digs at him. You already made peace with the fact that you may die at the hands of the unfairly attractive man before you.

Snapping, Shirabu grabs you by your tie, pulling you upwards and meeting your lips in a fierce kiss. It honestly was more teeth than lips, but you’d take whatever he would give you. Lust quickly replaced shock as you reciprocated the kiss, giving back as much as he gave you.

Never one to be one-upped, you both furiously made out against the table. Eventually you reluctantly conceded to him, pulling away gasping for breath to fill your aching lungs. While he didn't look as effected as you, he still panted as he caught his breath.

Lips kiss-swollen from the hard kiss he gave you, he gulped at the mussed up look of your uniform from the short make-out session. The sight alone was enough to spur him back into action. You met his lips half-way, hands flying up to bury themselves into surprisingly soft hair.

The kiss was more than just that, it was a battle of wills. It was another challenge set before you both, another one added to the extensive list of trials. It tested who had the guts to resolve the unresolved sexual tension building between you both.

Fingers digging into your soft flesh, he easily hoisted you up onto the table, slotting himself between the space made between your open legs. The kiss picks up intensity as he throws in a few nips at your bottom lip, while you lightly bite at his tongue invading your mouth.

You gasp at a particularly harsh bite at your bottom lip, drawing back to give the self-satisified male a scowl.

“Oh? Is this the reason why you’ve always been so short with me. It’s cute that you don’t know how to act around your crush.” Your teasing words make the male between your legs tense up.

“I’d rather bite off my own tongue than date you, bitch.” He goes to kiss you again. It was the only thing that got you to shut up, which he very enjoyed.

“Who said anything about dating, dearest? My, my, so you have been thinking of me.” You laughed and gave him a belittling look.

“The only thoughts I’ve had about you involve either shutting you up or fucking you senseless, so make of that what you will.” He grits out between clenched teeth, not willing to give you that inch he threw out to you like a lifeline.

If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted you to know exactly what he wanted to get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

You consider him under hooded eyelids, gaze sweeping up and down his clothed torso. Well at least he wanted the same thing that’s been haunting your waking thoughts for the past month. You weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth that's for sure.

“Sure, I mean you could try, but I doubt that you could even a moan out of me.” You said languidly, setting up another challenge. Now all he had to do was pick up the gauntlet.

Words igniting a fire within him, his lips tipped into a lopsided smirk. You had no idea what you just started and he was more than happy to show you the consequences of your bold actions.

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.”

The room you occupied was situated on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor of empty study rooms exactly like this one. It was highly unlikely that the elderly librarian at the entrance would hear what was about to go down. It was also unlikely any snooping students would come across your study room on the neglected floor.

You fully expected him to pull you into another bruising kiss before fucking you but it seemed that the stupidly hot bastard was just full of surprises today. Instead, he pulled you off the table and turned you to face the chair he had previously occupied. With the hand placed at the nape of your neck, the other moving to your opposite side of your waist, he pushed you down to lie against the cold tabletop. Though definitely not for your benefit, he pushed aside any stray bits of paper out of your way to prevent them from creasing.

You gasp as the pressure he applies onto you forces the breath out of your lungs, pressing you hard against the unforgiving surface. Hands scrabbling for a purchase to help you establish a counter force to push up against him, he bends down and breathes softly into your ear.

“Look at you so pliant for me, I could get used to this.” His smug tone made your blood boil. That bastard was going to milk this situation for all it has and you have no ground to stand on to refute him when you were planning on doing the exact same.

“You know, your nasty attitude destroys that pretty boy stereotype you have going on.” You retort. You weren’t going to take his bullshit laying down – metaphorically speaking.

Fed up with you running your mouth, always talking but never saying anything of substance, he hastily loosens his tie. Without warning, he shoves a bundle of fabric into your mouth, quickly moving his fingers away from teeth that would gladly bite down onto his precious setting tools.

Trying to voice your anger, you squirm in his grasp with muffled nonsensical words leaving your mouth.

Kenjirou marvels at the sight of your stuffed mouth, words finally muted and wide eyes that were angry at his action. If he knew this is all he had to do to get you to shut up for more than two seconds then he’d gladly do it again.

Kenjirou couldn’t help but wonder if your cheeks would also look like that if he’s shoved his dick between your plush pink lips but he saves that thought for another day. After all, he had at least half a year left to put up with your bullshit.

Pressing his hips against your ass, he revels at the feeling of finally having you under him, squirming and all. Deciding not to draw this out anymore than he already has, he smoothly grinds his slowly growing erection into the cleft of your ass obscured by ugly purple plaid.

Unsatisfied with the lack of friction, he flips up your skirt to reveal lacy panties. He thought it was a bit risqué to wear them at school but who was he to complain about the lovely gift.

You gave a muffled shout when he snapped against the waist band against your hip. Tempted, you considered trying to kick him in the shin again somehow in your position. The thought dissolved into nothing as he lightly smacks your ass, causing you to jolt forward more in surprise than in pain.

With the absence of any complaints or irritating whinging, Kenjirou weighed the plump flesh in his hand, grinning to himself when he hears you moan at his curious squeezing. He wondered what other delicious noises you’ll make under him.

Well there was only way to find out.

Winding his hand back, his hand came down with a loud ringing smack, hard enough to leave his hand pleasantly tingling. The pink imprint of his hand on your ass was going to be burned into his mind for a long time, a wave a heat rolling through him and coalescing in his groin.

Again, you jolt forward at the impact, nails scratching at the acrylic lacquer of the tabletop, unable to find purchase. While you could feel the poor skin pulse dully with pain, pure arousal flashed hot and bright within you. If you had ever thought spanking would be something you were into, you’re pretty sure Shirabu was one of the worst people to discover along with, always the one to abuse any situation.

The next time his hand came down on your ass, you mistakenly tensed, causing the pain to shoot through you ten-fold. You wince at the sensation of him hitting the exact same spot over and over again. You were sure the spot would be rouge red by this point, but the pain didn’t take away from the pleasure you derived from his rough treatment.

Mixing things up, Kenjirou bites his lip as he aims a smack right at the apex of your thighs, close enough to your core that the vibrations of the hit ripped a lewd moan from your lips, much louder than the rest. Blood rushing down to his already engorged cock at your noises, he knows that he could easily get addicted to your bent form. You enjoying the spanking was just a fun bonus for him.

“I should’ve guessed you were into spanking. It fits the ‘good school girl’ façade you’ve got going on,” Shirabu hums, throwing the words back into your face. Leaning down, he breathes into your ear, “I could really get used to you like this beneath me. I have such big plans for you.”

Shivering at his low tone, your mind whirled chaotically with half-baked ideas of what exactly he had in plan for you. Honestly, as long as it ended up with his dick inside of you, you don’t care about the rest. You were always opposed to the saying ‘It’s not the destination, it’s all about the journey.’ And this situation was no different to you.

Kenjirou slides your panties over your ass and down your legs, half tempted to chuck them across the room just to see you panicking over locating them after this. On second thought… He shoves the offending piece of lace into his back pocket, as a present for himself putting up with you.

His hands bracket you bottoms of your ass and smooths his thumbs over the soft pink flesh. Kenjirou watching them slightly jiggle in the palms of his hand, admiring the rosy tinge he painted them. Kenjirou firmly decided that the flesh looked much prettier painted pink by the very hand that slammed balls over the side of the net with shocking force.

Fingers gliding over the cheeks and trailing downward, he makes contact with your wet lips. Mildly surprised, he runs a slender finer between them, gathering your juices.

“Look at how wet you are for me. I bet I won't even have to prep you, your greedy hole will probably just suck me in.” He states, rubbing his finger slowly -torturously - over the entrance of your hole.

You whine through your makeshift gag and buck your hips against his fingertips, hoping for them to dip in deeper. The pad of his crooked index finger dipped shallowly into you a few times from your efforts. Kenjirou was greatly amused at your efforts, deciding to hold his fingers in place for you to try and fail to fuck into yourself.

“Look at how desperate you are, it’s honestly pathetic. I expected so much more from you.” He tutted.

The flash of anger fizzled and died before it took root, much too distracted by him inserting his entire index finger in without warning. While you had explored yourself on more than a few occasions, mapping out sensitive flesh with your fingers, the feeling of his much longer and slightly thicker finger inside of you was incredible.

You whimper at the slick feeling of him moving his finger in and out of you, occasionally curling against the spongy tissue, seeking for the bundle of nerves that will make you scream. Slotting in another finger and him twisting them simultaneously had you panting and clenching your eyes at the full feeling from just the two.

Feeling your walls tighten and quiver around his finger as he crooked them a few times, he doubled down to find your erogenous zone before he fucks you. It only took another finger and few moments of scissoring them deep inside of you, indicated by your abrupt gasping jerk.

Licking his lips, he rubs his fingers harshly against the soft area, committing to memory the muffled breathy moans and whimpers that dropped from your panting mouth. Dick twitching, hard and painful within his tight slacks draws him out of his mind. He withdraws his saturated fingers from your sopping hole, briefly abandoning the sensitive spot for now.

Slumping, you simultaneously miss and despise his fingers fucking into you, hating that he found your G-spot quicker than you’d anticipated. The prick was too smart for his own good, the asshole probably knew more about female anatomy and orgasms than you did with biology being his best class.

The rustle of his pants being undone pulls you back to reality. Oh god this is really happening. Your breath picks up, anticipating the next move the bitter setter will make next.

The sensation of something long, hot and rigid, his dick you assumed, rests between your still stinging cheeks. His fingers dip back between your lips and gather more liquid arousal. Kenjirou ignores your groan at the odd feeling, preoccupied with smearing your slick over his dick, taking his sweet time.

One hand on his cock, guiding the tip to sit at your entrance, with the other placed for support on your hip. Tense, you waited for him to just slam on in, not anticipating him to draw out the moment. You hated the way that you squirmed at the thought of his dick being so close but so far away from where you wanted it most.

“You better hold onto the desk. Once I start, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.” He said, smug tone and all ringing loud and clear.

You huff indignantly at his statement, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever you say, asshole.’

Rolling his eyes, he tightens his grip as he starts to insert himself inside of you. Obviously taking pity on you, he graciously chooses to glide in at a decent pace. The breath was punched out of your lungs as he completely sheathed himself inside you, hot and throbbing. You try not to violently shiver around him because you couldn’t bare the thought of inflating his already unhealthily enlarged ego.

Dropping the niceties, as if there were any with Shirabu involved, he slid out not a moment later and slammed back on in, loving the sound of his skin smacking against yours. Sloppy sounds of your fucking fill the air and frankly you’d be pretty grossed right now if your brain didn’t reside in your pussy that very moment.

Fucking you from behind, Kenjirou grabs a fistful of shiny hair and harshly rips back your head, hot breath cascading over perspiring skin.

“You take me so well, like you were made for me. Maybe I should fuck this hole of yours again sometime.”

In retribution, you clench down as hard as feasibly possible, hoping to knock him off of that high horse of his. The grunt that rings in your ears pacifies your ire, but the unexpected resistance doesn't stop him from trying to fuck up into you even harder.

Pardoning his attitude, you loosen up for him, more so for your own pleasure than his. He doesn’t hesitate to pick up his unforgiving pace, pumping in and out of you like a sex-crazed mad-man. Eyes rolling into your head, you felt the tip of his thick dick kiss the entrance of your cervix, which paired fantastically with the friction his thick cock made against your quivering walls.

Moaning around the tie as he furiously fucks you from behind, you can feel the piece of fabric become saturated with your drool. He seemed to appreciate the sounds you made, hands tightening around your hips and starts to seek out the highly sensitive spot hidden somewhere inside of you.

Every time he slid out, he’d readjust his angle with only the tip still in before slamming back on into, waiting for the moment he found his target. The pain of the table cutting into your stomach is buried underneath the pleasure Kenjirou relentlessly delivered to you.

An idea flashed in Kenjirou’s mind, a cruel one, but not too cruel as revenge for all the shit you’ve put him through. Unknowing of the feral grin on his face, you continued to moan as his dick fills you so perfectly, suddenly jolting when you feel his warm lips against your throat. You let out a squeal and clenched down hard around his length when you feel his teeth bury into the soft skin. Manicured nails scratching small divots into the desk as he sucks the bruise deep into your skin.

You grit your teeth when you feel him release your skin, the spot already feeling sore at the rough treatment. You could tell from the position that it was too high for the uniform’s collar to hide and wearing a scarf in this summer weather was way too suspicious. That motherfucker probably planned that; you silently fume as he smirks against your perspiring flesh.

The worst part though was when all conspiring thoughts of retribution were wiped clean from you mind as your entire nervous system is struck by lightning. You cry out loudly at the sensation, to which Kenjirou huffed under his breath, muttering out a quiet ‘Thank fuck’ that went unacknowledged by you as you tried to recuperate from him hitting your G-spot with the force of a tank.

Kenjirou greedily ate up each cry leaving your lips as he continued to hit the sensitive nerves with deadly precision. The sight of you writhing underneath him was enough payment for the annoyance he’d suffered through at your hands the past month. But it was the feel of your walls clutching at him tightly and your delicious moans that was the true reward for all his patience.

The wet squelching noises of your furious fucking was enough to make you blush, which was hilarious thinking about it. Not even four weeks ago you were ready to jump the table and non-sexually choke him out with your tie – and now he was railing you with his tie as a makeshift gag.

Ah, fate truly was a bitch.

Thrusts becoming frantic, you knew that Kenjirou was nearing his end and you would swear bloody vengeance if he finished and left you high and dry. It turns that promise would be for naught. Shirabu reaches around you with his still slick covered fingers and rubs furiously at your clit, giving it a few good squeezes, rightfully assuming you loved the rough treatment. And that you did, you bucked wildly in his grasp, moans hitting a whole new pitch as you unravel quickly under his dual ministrations.

The arousal that had been sitting hot inside of you, seemed to snap and unleashed upon you an orgasm that had stars sear into your eyelids, eyes clenched tightly as the sensation threatened to drown you in it. What felt like pure electricity coursed through your veins, feeling as if Shirabu’s dick had just sent you to a new dimension, brain liquefying inside of your skull.

Behind you, Kenjirou seizes up as he feels you tighten up considerably around him, delivering him to his peak as well. His pace slows as his hips stutter, unleashing his load within you. Even completely incoherent, you shivered at the feeling of him feeling at you, not able to muster up and ounce of disgust at the feeling. That should’ve been the moment that you knew that you were truly fucked; you were completely wrapped around Shirabu’s long pretty fingers.

Limbs trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you laid there limply as he pulled out. You felt a bead of sweat drop down your brow as you weakly collect yourself together, drawing yourself up on shaky arms. The sensation of thick globules of Shirabu’s cum slipping out of you was enough of a distraction to brush of the intense stare Shirabu aimed at your leaking hole.

Leaning back, Kenjirou fights down the flush on his cheeks from watching his cum slowly dripping out of you, feeling hot under the collar from both the sight and  from the mind-blowing orgasm. Shuffling back, he cleans himself off with a clean tissue in his shirt pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and pulling up his pants.

Slumped against the table, you felt like a wreck, both inside and out. Dick rearranging your insides aside, you were happy that Shirabu deigned for you to orgasm instead of leaving you a begging mess, which was a very likely move for the bastard.

Your jaw felt sore from how full your mouth was with his tie crammed in. Pulling out the wet article, you tossed it onto the table in his general direction. Kenjirou looks at the crumpled fabric with disgust. Weirdly, he doesn't complain as he gathers some tissues from his bag to wrap the article in until he can get it cleaned.

Choosing not to question his sudden pacified attitude towards you, you pushed yourself up on weak arms. Kenjirou laughs at your struggle, not at all intimidated by your nasty glare.

“Asshole.” You mumble under your breath.

You make quick work of cleaning yourself up too, feeling weirdly exposed bent over and naked from the waist down whilst a fully clothed Shirabu almost looked bored, acting as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

Your skirt slides back into place as you stand upright, shortly followed by more of his load trickling out of you. Pinned underneath his burning stare, you refused to give him an inch and fought back the tremble that threatened to overtake your body at the odd sensation.

“Alright, now sit down. Let’s finish this project before I leave and you have to finish fixing up the format by yourself.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

It seems the bastard wouldn’t even let you properly clean up first before diving back into the assignment.

“Really. Now get your lazy ass up, you’re creasing our data sets.”

Not willing to reveal how flustered you were, you downplay your disgust at the feeling his cum drying on your thighs and stiffly walk over to your chair, trying to spy your panties somewhere on the ground, but ultimately found nothing. You could have sworn that Shirabu smirked at your searching looks, but a second glance showed you his normal bored expression.

Sticking your nose up in the air, you start discussing your plan on how to fix the minor issue of formatting. Shirabu gave lackluster nods at your prodding, clearly wanting nothing more than to leave. You did your best to push through the sensation of the sticky mess drying between your legs, internally fretting as to where your panties may lie. You're pretty sure that you'd perish on the spot if a staff member found them.

Thankfully, it took only half an hour before Shirabu beat a hasty retreat, quickly placing all his stuff neatly into his bag and intent on walking out of the room without another word. The fucker wasn’t even going to say goodbye to you.

Shifting in your seat, you start packing up. Eyes wildly darting around, you didn’t notice him pausing in the open doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, shooting you a dastardly smirk, Kenjirou savours your infuriated expression before turning away and walking off. Slightly confused, you squint as you try to make out an odd-looking lump in his back pocket. At the sight of familiar lace peeking out of his slacks, your eyes widen in shock and indignant rage.

“That bastard.”

Edit: I fixed an incongruity with a bit in the end scene, sorry to anyone that picked it up!!

Notes: We need more Shirabu content so here I am delivering some extremely self-indulgent content. I made Shirabu a dick but I made reader a bitch towards him and he strikes me as the type to hate stuck up people. Hope you all enjoyed!

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [05]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 4.7k a/n; can u believe this fic is already over halfway done??? i feel more loved and supported for angel’s trumpet w each chapter! i hope u enjoy a more fluffier chapter and some insight on the separate relationships. thank u for the support!

[04] [05] [06] -> masterpost

Bliss. It’s been so long since you’ve experienced this feeling. 

These past few weeks have been nothing short of wonderful, like the sweetest version of reality. Working as a language teacher at BigHit was wonderful because of the staff and the fact that in the long run, your job would be helping the rookies get to know their fans better all over the world. But your job was also incredibly strenuous, and you felt an immense amount of pressure from the higher ups to teach the rookies as much as you could in between their other lessons and training. You remember the early days you’d be crying in the bathroom, scared of their exam scores because you knew it wasn’t possible to learn a language in less than a year, but the higher ups wanted you to achieve the impossible. 

But now, teaching is like a breath of fresh air. You found it appropriate to reabsorb your classes, and you’re still getting used to the sudden heavy workload. Namjoon was over the moon when you returned to your regular office in the biology department, treating you to coffee and catching you up on what you missed. Chan almost cried when he saw you Monday morning sitting in your lecture hall, saying his grade will finally be salvaged. 

However, the cherry on top has to be your budding romance with Jungkook. 

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still swimming in the honeymoon phase, but everything just felt right. Of course, you can only hope your W2 self was already going to interact with Jungkook in one way or another, just like you had in your world. As of late you don’t feel like you're tearing this universe apart, worrying that you’re interfering in an alternate universe. 

A buzzing interrupts your thoughts, and you pat around your mattress for your cellphone. You don’t hesitate to answer. 

“Good morning, baby,” Jungkook’s rumbly morning voice flits through your speakers. 

You swoon, shuffling and kicking under your covers. A little part of you is disgusted how easy it is to turn to butter in Jungkook’s grasp, but it’s unsurprising. “Hey handsome,” you reply, trying to hide your giddiness. 

“How do you know I look handsome? My breath smells like leftover mac n’cheese and there’s dried drool on my chin.” 

“Mm, still handsome.”

“Ugh, you’re so gross,” but you can hear him smiling on the other line. “Do you have any plans for today?” 

“Dunno.” 

“Well there’s this new bubble tea cafe I know you’d like so maybe during my lunch we can--”

The rest of the words fade away as you notice an incessant banging on your front door. Whoever wants to come in is far too eager for this early. 

It’s then your calendar notification pings, and you see the big fat message atop your phone: 

Hobi Date 🍷🍷🍷

“Oh shit—” you smack your forehead, you completely forgot today’s the day you would find Sehlyung’s wine lady. “I’ll call you later Kook, okay?” 

You end your call, throwing your phone on the bed as you dash out to answer. Taehyung is yelling from the kitchenette, “I’m trying to eat some damn salad here!” By the time you slide out in your socks and down the hall, Hoseok is already inside your humble abode, holding coffee and donuts. 

“I brought libations,” Hoseok says with a bit of flair, setting them down next to Taehyung’s breakfast. 

“Thanks man,” and Taehyung makes grabby hands towards Hoseok’s coffee, and Hoseok looks horrified before snatching it away. “C’mon man, no coffee no entry!” 

“Taehyung, this is Hoseok,” you introduce, opening the box of donuts and offering Taehyung one in truce. You look pointedly towards Hoseok, sipping idly on his coffee, “Hobi, why don’t you wait in my room before we go, okay?” 

Hoseok tilts his head, eyes darting between Taehyung and you. It’s almost comical, the way Taehyung’s early-morning brain is having a hard time processing what was going on, and you wanting to keep a lid on the situation. “Sure, mom,” he slurps obnoxiously on his americano, waltzing down the hallway and into your room. He slams the door rather sharply, and that’s when Taehyung pounces. 

“Who’s the hippie?” 

“Hippie?” you balk, “Hoseok’s not a hippie.”

Taehyung shrugs, shoving a powdered donut in his mouth and completely forgetting about the limp lettuce on his plate. So much for a balanced breakfast. “I know all your friends, but I’ve never met this one.” 

“He’s new,” you take your pick of donuts as well, picking up a vanilla glazed one with rainbow sprinkles, “we’re gonna go shopping.” 

“Oo, can I come?” 

“No,” you say a little too quickly, causing Taehyung’s eyes to widen in confusion. You quickly backtrack, even going as far as to grab a napkin and dab the powdered sugar from Taehyung’s cheeks, “it’s old people shopping. We’re sending ginseng wine to our families. No brand names there.” 

Taehyung immediately buys it, scrunching his nose. “Not my favorite,” he says to himself. “Well, have fun doing old people things. Maybe Jimin will be willing to do something cool with me.” 

And with that, he abandons the limp lettuce with a flick of his wrist, letting them out your windowsill and into your little garden for compost. You two make your separate ways, you into your room and Taehyung into the bathroom.

When you open your door, you already see Hoseok making himself comfortable on your bed, flipping through your notebook. 

“You really shouldn’t be leaving this out on your desk,” Hoseok waves the yellow pages around, trying to look serious, “Taehyung could read this and you might end up in the cuckoo house.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you search for a sweater, “As if he wouldn’t join me.” 

You pull out a large black hoodie, courtesy of Jungkook. Trying not to look like a smitten high schooler, you subtly smell the collar before slipping it over your body. You melt in the fabric, and you almost hug yourself. Since your time at BigHit, you’ve missed wearing Jungkook’s things, and that’s a constant you can’t ignore. 

“If you end up in the cuckoo house, I’ll end up there too by affiliation,” he flops on your bed, waiting for you to get ready, “so, we gonna nab an old lady today for some wine?” 

“Ohmygod. What is wrong with you? You can’t say it like that, someone could report you!” you laugh, slapping him with a long sleeve. 

“So it’s more appropriate to say, ‘let’s go find the lady’s coked up wine that could’ve potentially sent you to an alternate universe’ right?” 

“Exactly,” you grin, pulling him up with an outstretched hand, “now let’s get going before we both end up in the cuckoo house.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook thought bliss ended once he got a good filming gig and a stable job, but no, it just had to get better. 

He doesn’t want to say he’s all consumed by your presence, but he can’t get enough of you. Sometimes he has to reel it in when you go out on dates, but he feels so lucky to call you his and hold you in his arms whenever he wants. 

You dropped into his life, quite literally. One day you just showed up and barged into his life. At first it scared him, immensely. But as he got to know you, wear you down and realize that the strong, blunt woman he met on the street is just as kind and sweet and soft–

The bottom line is, Jungkook wears his heart on his sleeve and loves loudly. He feels so much for you he can’t contain it. 

Except when Jimin wants to embarrass the hell out of you when they’re going over old pictures during work. 

“Can I tell you a story about how y/n almost peed in that fountain?” Jimin points to the small thumbnail Jungkook took earlier last week. You’re perched on a large limestone fountain, smiling at the little fish tickling the sides of the bowl. 

Taehyung gwaffs, choking on his sandwich. “God, that night was incredible! I got the Snapchat receipts too, Kook. If you want to second guess your standards.” 

A loud laugh bubbles from his throat, and Jungkook eagerly leans over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen. 

He likes your friends, too. To the point that he can safely consider them his friends. Of course he was intimidated the first time, especially when you were so pretty in your red skirt and surrounded by your equally attractive friends, but turns out Taehyung and Jimin are equally dopey and cringey as he. 

As silly as you look crouched over the water and pulling up your skirt, he melts at how carefree you look enjoying yourself on a free night. Jimin is hauling you off the ledge, grabbing you by the waist as you fruitlessly try to kick him away. 

“Careful,” Jimin tuts, sipping at his latte. “She’s gonna kill you if she finds out you showed it to Kook.” 

Taehyung scoffs, stuffing his phone away. “She looked like she was gonna kill me today when she brought that friend over. They were acting really weird,” Taehyung points his kimchi in Jungkook’s nose, “do you know Hoseok?” 

Jungkook blinks, opting to take a bite off Taehyung’s fork, “Kinda,” he shrugs, letting the tang of the kimchi spread across his tongue, “she has office hours when he’s working at the library daycare. They have lunch together.” 

Jimin leans in, hands fold over the white cafeteria table like he’s in the mafia, “What do you mean by weird, Tae?” 

“Like, she wanted him to wait in his room and they kinda just snuck out, y’know?” Taehyung divulges, “Like I love y/n, she the home girl, but who’s secretive about buying ginseng?” 

Jungkook’s chewing slows. He trusts you, however, he doesn’t know what to make of that little tidbit. But instead he swallows his kimchi, not caring that he didn’t chew enough or that it went down uncomfortably, and steels himself. “Probably just stressed about her thesis or something, I’m sure everything’s fine.” he says smoothly, trying to convince himself that he’s right, and he’s pretty sure he is. 

“Awh, Jungkookie’s so mature since he’s started dating!” Jimin paws all over the younger one like they’re long lost siblings. His hands travel to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair simultaneously, cooing like Jungkook’s a little bunny who’s merely existing. 

There’s a blush staining Jungkook’s cheeks, but he doesn’t mind Jimin’s bouts of attention. A small smile blooms to Jungkook’s face, and confirms to himself that he’s in a good spot in his life. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“So, what are you and Jungkook like?” 

You shrug, “We’re good. It’s only been a few weeks though.” 

“No, I meant your Jungkook.” 

By definition, your Jungkook isn’t necessarily yours. However, the term is the byproduct of your current setting, and an unfortunate reminder that the Jungkook you’re dating now can never be definitively yours. 

(Or…? Can it?) 

“We were,” since when did you refer to you in and him in a past tense, “kind of a slow-burn, actually. We’d pass each other in the hall and exchange conversation during lunch in groups but, he kind of just crept up on me.” 

The train is going at a break-neck speed, the fancy rail floating across the track as it beams you closer and closer to your destination. Gone are the concrete jungles and carefully architected trees. You’re finally starting to see some natural foliage and blue seas. Today’s journey is a bit of a shot in the dark, you don’t even know what the person you’re searching for looks like, but it’s the only clear lead you have. 

“So you didn’t always know you loved him?” Hoseok asks, fiddling with the wire of his buds. 

You shrug, “I had a feeling. He’s an easy guy to fall in love with,” you don’t want to mention that nearly half the world is smitten by the Golden Boy, but from the bittersweet expression on your face Hoseok has an inkling. “There’s just a lot of factors that come with relationships. Factors that aren’t worth it. It’s easy here.” 

“It would be easy,” Hoseok replies to the air, closing his eyes. 

And he’s right. It would be easy to continue on with life, forgetting about the possibility that one day you could wake up in W1. It would be easy to forget about your other life, Beomgyu’s forgotten quiz that’s still probably lit up in your MacBook back home, Sehlyung’s wish for you to approve Jin’s new outfit. 

You wonder how your life back home is going, whether they’re moving on just like you seem to be. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You really have no idea what Sehlyung’s wine dealer looks like. Work friends are work friends, where you’re close enough to share sexy secrets to each other but not as close as to divulge family life. 

You know that Sehlyung lives in a small town closer to the shore, as she’s mentioned one too many times that her feet are baby smooth from the constant sand exfoliation. You’re vaguely aware that this is the right area, at least you hope because W2 Sehlyung could be living in Guam for all you know.

Passing by the village square, you search idly for an old lady selling ginseng wine. You didn’t realize how much a shot in the dark this could possibly be. 

“Hey,” Hoseok whisper-hisses, and you try not to ignore the spit that brushes your ear, “you said to look for an old lady, right? All these ladies. They’re old.” 

He’s right.  

The village may be small, but there were over fifty booths with plenty of old ladies selling something. It would take hours, you didn’t even know if this lady would still be selling ginseng in this life. 

Your hands fall limp at your thighs, and you point to a small house at the end of the square. It’s cute, almost cottage-like, looking more high-end than the other shops on the street. “Maybe we should eat something before we do some searching. Otherwise someone’s gonna have to scrape us off the street.” 

“Good idea.” 

Surprisingly, the interior of the establishment is nothing like the front. There’s a very authentic quirkiness to it, down to the colorful blown glass vases and the eclectic amount of alcohol lining the bar. 

Not feeling like waiting for a table, the two of you wait by the bar, hopping on the two available stools in the corner. 

The two of you don’t waste any time, telling the waiter passing by that both of you would like a heaping bowl of glass noodles. 

“Care for a glass of something sweet?” 

Looking up from their dessert menu, you see an older lady leaning over you to pour you and Hoseok a cup of tea. She’s the definition of a chill grandma, from the easy way she smiles to the colorful hoop earrings she wears. You watch as she carefully pours you a cup for you, and you get a glimpse of the beautifully painted ceramic teapot, adorned with watercolor flowers. 

“If you have some angel wine,” you lick your lips, looking straight at her, “that would be lovely.”

There’s no hesitation in her work, and the lady continues to pour Hoseok’s cup with impeccable grace. She doesn’t bat a lash at your slight jab, even goes so far as to send you a crinkly smile. 

“Fresh out, m’fraid,” she replies easily, “sold my last batch to a lovely blonde over a month ago.” 

You swallow your surprise, the bile coming up your throat returning slow and achingly hard. Hoseok’s eyes dart between you and the old lady, and you clench your hands under the table. “Thought so,” you smile tersely, “then, do you have any recommendations?” 

Hoseok noisily slurps tea, as if he’s watching a melodrama. The old lady nods eagerly, placing her ceramic mug on a nearby potholder. “I’ll whip up something extra special.” 

It isn’t until the old lady whisks away from the bar and into the bathroom does Hoseok blurt, “Is the special thing drugs? Is she giving us drugs?” 

“Who knows,” you thank the waiter who sets down two metal bowls of glass noodles in front of you, “maybe the next drink will send us to the moon.” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hoseok grimaces, “my fuckin’ dream is to visit the moon.” 

As you two eat in silence, the restaurant slowly dwindles down as the lunch rush leaves and the start of dinner commences. Being a weekday, there aren't many coming down to eat out. You let yourself be immersed in the hubbub of the cottage, the clinking of clean tea cups and the laughter of staff sitting in the corner table. 

The lady finally returns when you’re nearly done with your meal. There’s a tall frozen glass in her hand, ice particles clinging to the barrier. There’s an umbrella and a pineapple adorning the rim, looking uncharacteristically bright and tropical. She places it next to Hoseok’s tea.

He narrows his eyes, “This doesn’t have LSD or anything, right?” 

She laughs, the hearty sound enveloping the restaurant. “Nope. Just passionfruit and mango.” 

Hoseok easily takes her word for it, sipping happily as it washes down his dinner. 

“For me?” you pop in. 

“Ah, some advice.” 

You shrink in your seat, “I want a fruit smoothie too.” 

But you relent when she opens her palms to you, gesturing for you to give her yours. They feel calloused and worn, as if she’s spent lifetimes dedicating her life to her craft. She rubs her thumbs against your palm, sending soothing circles to your skin.

“Enjoy your time as it lasts,” she says, quiet enough for only you two to hear, “things will fall into place very soon.” 

She senses you tense, and continues to hold you. You can’t tell whether this advice is foreboding or comforting.  

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“I know what you're thinking,” Hoseok says when you return to Seoul, walking in the direction of your apartment. 

“And what exactly am I thinking, o’ wise one?” you kick a stray pepple your way, getting in a groove as you walk lazily down the sidewalk. 

“Her words,” he mumbles, “I don’t think it’s an invitation for you to get too comfortable here. Eventually… you’re gonna have to go back.” 

“I know, Hoseok.” You don’t mean to sound so agitated. After all, the mission was mostly successful. You got your answers, albeit vague ones. The old lady in the cottage simultaneously sparked and eased your soul, unfortunately it didn’t give you any definitive direction as to go on with this life, other than to simply “enjoy it.” 

“I know we’ve been debating whether you’re hallucinating or whether you’re in a coma and you’re having a really long dream or some weird mix of the two—” Hoseok jogs up to stop in-front of you, stuffing his hands in his orange cargos. He’s standing directly behind a 7-Eleven, the gaudy green and red lights lighting behind him like a halo.“And trust me, I’ve spent hours in bed thinking whether I’m real or not and potentially reaching an existential midlife crisis,” he grabs your hand and presses it to your chest, his other hand flailing wildly to the sky, “but this is real. All of it, I’m convinced it’s real. I’ve lived a long, slow, twenty-something life so far.” 

He pulls you into his arms, and you suppress a shudder as his warm embrace envelopes you. Is this some sort of punishment? For the first time in a long time, you’ve felt content. Not to say that your life in your world wasn’t normal but you could honestly admit that the time you’ve spent here is nothing short of amazing. There’s an ease to this life, something so simple and easy to love that you want to keep it in your heart and cherish it forever. 

“But ‘m gonna miss you,” you sigh into his chest, “we aren’t very close back in my world, y’know. So I’m glad I got to spend the time that I could with you.” 

“S’okay,” he mumbles into your hair, and you can feel the smile in your skin, “if we’re really meant to be friends, it’ll happen again.” 

Hoseok leaves you with these words, allowing you to breathe easy as you make the steps back to your apartment. Your feet are heavy from the day’s trek, but your mind feels lighter as you near your floor. 

You spot a young man in a long jacket hanging a bag on your doorknob, taking great care that the contents inside wouldn’t spill. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, smile widening when his gaze perks up to meet yours. It’s almost comical how he reacts to your voice, perking up like a little rabbit at the sound. 

His smile grows the closer you get to him, “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs, closing the space between you to press a chaste kiss on your cheek, “great timing. I got you something.”

Your eyes dart to the cup of bubble tea hanging on your doorknob. The cup is adorable, pink-tinted and rounded at the bottom with little cat ears for the lid. 

“Oh, you went! How was it?” 

“It was great! We should go once you’re free. Taehyung ordered three cups! Nearly puked all over Jimin’s couch.” 

“So,” your fingers trail up the buttons of his shirt, and you look up through your lashes, “you’re implying that my roommate isn’t inside our apartment right now.” 

He leans in, nose nudging your neck as his voice rumbles against your sensitive skin, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

You’ve never punched in your key faster, clutching the bubble tea bag to place it along the counter as the two of you clamber in. Instead of making it to your bedroom or living room, Jungkook traps your body between the doorway, cradling your face in both his hands to press a sweet kiss on your lips. 

There’s nowhere to put your hands because both of Jungkook’s are up, so you close your eyes and let yourself savor the slow taste of his lips moving against yours. Finally you decide to settle your hands on his belt buckle, absentmindedly thumbing the loops as you get lost in the feeling. 

“Mm, Kook? Koo—” he presses quick pecks to your lips, barely giving you a chance to forge complete sentences, “can we move this somewhere more comfortable? ‘M legs are turning to jelly.” 

“Glad to have that effect on you,” he replies airily, thumbs pressing into your soft skin, “but I actually have to go, so no time to get comfy.” You whine against his lips, and he chuckles. “I have a cohort meeting at 8AM. We’re gonna organize our portfolios together.”

“Nerd,” you pout, pressing a kiss to his chin.

“And me and Mingyu are meeting online for some Overwatch in like, two hours.” 

“Gamer nerd,”

“Your nerd,” he beams, his thumb reaching out to swipe the sheen from your swollen lips, “lemme plan date night to make it up to you. Minghao will be out of town for the weekend so it’ll just be me at the apartment.” 

Date night. It all sounds so domestic to you, planning out designated days to spend time together. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the fact that Jungkook sounds so settled with you is nothing short of heartening. 

“I’ll make dinner,” his fingers twine between yours, “and we’re keeping the dress code super casual. I want to see you in nothing but sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.”

“But sweatpants aren’t sexy!” 

“They are on you,” he retorts with a wiggle of his brows, “and sweatpants are easy access.” 

“Alright, as long as you don’t upstage me.”

“Never,” he grins, pearly whites on display, “now, I really gotta go.” 

He unlatches your body from his, only to have you immediately jump on him like a koala. You feel his large hands caressing your hair, taking the time to run his fingers through the tangles. You could fall asleep standing in the middle of your doorway, melting under his touch. 

“Good night, baby.” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“Sweet dreams, nerd.” you reply reluctantly, letting him open the door so he can go. 

“Dream of me!” is the last thing he says before he forces you to shut the door, leaving you thoroughly needy and wanting for him. 

Tonight, you dream long. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Seven months ago, W1

You’re crying. There’s big, fat, ugly tears falling in rivulets along your face. You don’t even bother to wipe away the tears, just let them flow freely and dampen your pants as you watch the group take their final bow. 

From your seat, you take in the energy of the concert like it’s your last breath. The purple confetti dusting your hair, the slow remix blasting through the speakers. The sea of stars swimming across the stadium, all for them. 

You wait until everybody’s long gone before you get up from your seat. Until the only people that surround you are staff and clean-up crew, forcing you to leave. Your face still feels achy and your cheeks puffy. Sehlyung is urgently texting you (quadruple texting!) to hurry your ass up and get to the green room so you can all leave together. 

A hand on your shoulder stops you from replying, and you wave them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving already, sorry.” 

“Rude, I just got here.” 

Jungkook is glowing. He hoists his whole body to plop himself in the seat next to you, so heavy you fear he may break the plastic in two. His arms splay across the other seats, urging you to lean in closer. 

“Jungkook,” you smile, resting your hand on his thigh. “The show was great, I really felt the energy from all the way back here.” 

“I can see that,” he tugs at his long sleeves, reaching to brush a stray tear, “you okay?” 

“What, yeah.” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

“So you weren’t moved by my impeccable talent?” 

“Obviously,”

“Because, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you were crying,” he goes on playfully, using his hands to narrate his spiel as he talks out to the stage, “I mean I get it, knowing how much I slaved over that solo and finally getting to perform it, and how I got sick the night before is a pretty–oh shit.” 

You’re blubbering again, feverish now that everyone’s gone and it’s only you two in the stadium. The lights have already started to go out, the only light illuminating are the red exit signs and the last pair of doors leading to the main lobby. Your cries are echoing across the large room, and you feel nothing short of embarrassed but you can’t stop crying.

“Awh, my little crybaby,” he cooes, dripping with affection as he moves the armrest to pull you onto his lap. You dive your face in his neck, wracking with sobs. 

“I’m, I’m just so proud of you,” you seep out, nuzzling your nose between his freshly cleaned face, “and you—you make it so damn hard for me to not love you it’s just, it’s not fair!” 

“You don’t make it any easier on me either,” he whispers, soft enough to crumble under his grasp and melt under his skin. 

The confessions are so soft, so easy to say. Little did the both of you know how much it would strain for you to place this love on the backburner. 

[quicksilversquared]

Of Growing and Miraculous Pranks

Ladybug has always been shorter than Chat Noir, and even though Marinette has grown- well, the height gap between them just keeps getting bigger. She hadn't given it any thought- well, much thought, at least- until things started not quite lining up properly.

Or: Marinette grows. Ladybug doesn't.

links in the reblog

Marinette had been Ladybug for four years, three months, and fifteen days when she started realizing that- well, that something a bit strange was going on.

Everything started when she caught wind of the- apparently quite common- perception that Ladybug wasn't a teenager as a lot of people had originally thought, but actually an adult. For some reason, though, people still saw Chat Noir as a teenager instead of assuming the same thing about him.

"I don't know why people would think that, Tikki," Marinette told her kwami that afternoon, after she had made her excuses with Alya and headed home from their group outing a little early to get a bit of homework done. "I mean, when we started out- well, it was pretty obvious that we weren't experienced, and that we were learning a lot, and then there was that stupid textbook, too, plus I was really short then. So maybe I wasn't happy that people had figured out that I'm a teenager, but it at least that assumption made sense!"

Tikki giggled. "Maybe it's the Miraculous magic that's interfering?" she suggested, the impish look on her face suggesting that she knew exactly what was going on but she wasn't going to tell. "At any rate, that's a good thing, right? People aren't thinking about someone your age when they try to figure out Ladybug's identity!"

"Ugh, I don't know," Marinette muttered, making a mental note to maybe look into the subject more later on. She honestly didn't keep up with the news about her and her partner much anymore- she had better things to do with her time, both in her normal life (unfortunately, superheroes still had homework and babysitting and commission deadlines) and the superhero one. That was why the whole we think Ladybug is actually an adult! had taken her by such surprise. "I mean, I guess, but does it really matter that much what the public thinks if Hawkmoth knows that the timers are a sign of a Miraculous holder not being an adult yet? It might throw Alya off of my trail a bit more, but- well, I've already done that, when I used the Fox to create a Mirage of Ladybug rescuing Marinette!"

Tikki giggled some more. "More confusion around your identities is always a good thing! Even if it's just one of the city's superhero reporters that doesn't think that it's possible for you to be the same person."

"Yeah, I guess." Marinette thought about it for another minute, then shrugged and pushed the thought away. She was far too busy to waste time wondering about inaccurate speculation and gossip about her superhero self. It wasn't as though it was doing anyone any harm, anyway. "I'll figure it out later. Tikki, can you pass me my Literature notebook? I want to finish all of this week's readings today. Then maybe I'll have enough time later in the week to tailor a couple of my outfits so that they fit me better."

"Okay, Marinette!"

"Ugh, Chat Noir, can you stop growing?"

Up ahead of her, Chat Noir snickered, shoving his hair back out of his face as he flashed a devilish look back at her. "Jealous, Bug? It's not my fault that I've actually grown and you- have you shrunk, maybe?"

"Ugh," Ladybug grumbled again, pushing herself forward as they raced across town towards a reported akuma. That was totally unfair. She had grown, surpassing her mom and keeping up with all of her friends. Maybe she wasn't the tallest out of them, but it wasn't as though she was dwarfed by Adrien and Nino or anything. Adrien was the tallest of her friends, even, and she came up to just around his nose, but with Chat Noir?

With his latest growth spurt, Ladybug would be lucky if the top of her head even managed to reach his shoulders. Her partner delighted in his towering height, making a big deal about teasing her about being able to reach things without jumping, or swinging herself up.

Not that it was exactly a big deal if she had to do that, of course. It wasn't hard. Besides, being small had its advantages! There was less surface area to get grabbed or hit by akumas, it was easier to wedge herself into hiding spots, she could slip into small spaces far more easily than her gangly partner...

...but still. It was the principle of the thing. She didn't exactly want to look like a child next to her ridiculously towering partner. Maybe the city had decided that she was actually the adult out of the two for some strange reason, but it would be nice to actually look the part.

(Her one condolence was that there were short adults, ones even shorter than her. She would have been super grumpy if she had stopped growing at her mom's height, since- well, Ladybug was pretty certain that no one would have taken her very seriously if even some école élémentair students towered over her.)

"My Lady?" Chat Noir asked after several minutes of running had passed. He had slowed down, Ladybug noted in the back of her mind, and she had subconsciously matched him. "You're quieter than usual. I don't actually think that you've shrunk!"

Ladybug had to laugh at that. "I know, kitty-cat. And I have grown, I swear! Just- just not to ridiculous-person heights," she added with a sniff, turning up her nose. "It's completely unnecessary."

Chat Noir snickered at that, his ears perking back up as his worry clearly dissipated. "Unnecessary? Do you want to know how useful that unnecessary height is in my civilian life? Why, just the other day, my friend's mom asked me to grab something from a high shelf so that she didn't have to get out the stepstool, and she called me a very helpful young man when I did!"

"I've heard that tall people have a higher risk of blood clots and cancer," Ladybug parried, hoping that she was actually remembering her reading for health class correctly. "And heart issues. I'd rather have to pull out a stool than have heart issues."

Chat Noir practically fell over as he laughed even harder. "I think you're making stuff up and evading! Cancer, really?"

"Am not!" Ladybug insisted, even though she was totally evading Chat Noir's point. Adrien had done something similar for her mom earlier in the week (and had been rewarded with a cookie, which he had been far too happy about), and Marinette had been thankful for his height and extra reach then. He helped her and Alya all the time with reaching books in the library, too, when there was something that they couldn't quite reach. It didn't happen often, necessarily- neither of the two girls were really short, just normal sized thank-you-very-much- but sometimes a book was just barely out of reach and it wouldn't be a good idea to try to pull it down because it could slip out of her grasp and hit her head and then knock her out and then she would get a concussion and fail her exams and-

Well. Anyway. It was probably a better idea to either ask for help or grab a stool instead of risking injury to herself or damage to the book.

"I hope you know that I'm looking that up when I get home," Chat Noir informed her. Then he snuck another glance at her, slowing down a touch more. At this rate, civilians were going to start complaining about the superheroes taking forever to get there.

Ladybug quirked an eyebrow at him. "What, kitty-cat?"

"You know, if your height bugs you that much, my Lady, Plagg told me that our transformations- well, they can be whatever we want," Chat Noir told her, his voice going quiet so that no one would overhear him. "And, if we really wanted to, it can change, like, physical features. Like height."

Ladybug blinked at him, and then her partner's suggestion sunk in and she scowled. "I'm not going to cheat and magic myself taller, Chat Noir!"

"It was just a suggestion, in case the height stuff was really bothering you!" Chat Noir yelped, backpedaling quickly. "In case you didn't know about that bit but might be interested! I wasn't saying that you should or anything! Just that it was something you could consider. If you wanted to."

"I wouldn't consider it," Ladybug told him tartly. "What would be the point?"

(That was a lie. She totally considered it.)

(Just for a moment, though. Really.)

Marinette scowled as she shot out of yet another hiding spot that had been invaded by other students and made (another) dash for it, pushing herself to run as fast as she could. She could hear the akuma drawing closer, and she really had to transform before the akuma tore into the area and zapped her up alongside all of the other civilians in the street.

Ugh. Why couldn't people find their own hiding spots and leave hers alone? Everyone knew by now that the more people that were hidden in a spot, the more likely it was that the akuma of the day would find them.

"Marinette! Hold tight!"

"What-" Marinette started, startled, before she was scooped up my a pair of familiar arms. A second later, she and her rescuer were up on the rooftops and positively flying across the city, the streets a blur below.

Aha. It was Chat Noir.

It had been a few years since she had really interacted with her partner as a civilian, Marinette realized as she clung to Chat Noir's shoulders. There hadn't really been any akumas targeting her, not since Lila had been sent packing in disgrace, and the agility and strength that she had gotten from battles as a superhero helped her get out of the way before she could get in much danger- well, most of the time, at least. There hadn't been any more akumas wanting to go out on dates with her, either, or awkward encounters leading to more-awkward brunches with her parents. So it was honestly a little surprising that he remembered her name, all things considered, and even more surprising that he would go out of his way to rescue her specifically.

Not that it wasn't appreciated, of course, because it very much was. But it was still surprising.

"That akuma doesn't look like one to mess around with," Chat Noir puffed in her ear as he launched them across a street. "And I'm pretty certain that I saw Hawkmoth and Mayura out and about, too. So this battle is going to be super fun."

"Can you drop me off at my house?" Marinette asked right away They were headed in that direction anyway, she could tell, and if her partner was right- and he often was- about the supervillains being out, then she would need to grab a few Miraculous for backups before going out. "I can stay there, it should be far enough away from the akuma. You remember, at the bakery?"

"Got it, Princess!" Chat Noir's trajectory didn't change, which- well, which suggested that he had been headed for the bakery anyway. He adjusted his grip and sped up when a loud bang behind them signaled that some building had been pretty well destroyed. "Hold tight!"

It didn't take long at all for them to reach the bakery. Chat Noir landed lightly on her balcony, neatly avoiding all of the chairs and the table that she and the other girls had left out after their most recent tea party. "Here you go!"

"Thank you," Marinette told him, loosening her legs from around his waist and dropping lightly to the ground before reaching forward to give him a hug. "The save is greatly appre-"

She stopped. Paused. Because instead of her head just barely reaching his shoulders, like she was used to as Ladybug, her head came up to his nose. Somehow, the height difference had shrunk by a head.

What.

"Is something wrong, Marinette?" Chat Noir asked after a second had passed. He sounded confused.

Marinette shook her head hastily,. "No, it's, uh- I just thought you were taller! Because Ladybug is so much shorter in all of your pictures, you know?" she added hastily, trying to cover her slip. "So, uh..."

Chat Noir laughed at that. "Yeah, she's a tiny bug, isn't she?" he asked, his tone entirely fond. "But what she lacks in height, she more than makes up for in spirit and spitfire. And if people underestimate her because of her size- well, that just makes our job a bit easier, right? The akuma thinks it doesn't need to try its hardest to win, and we stroll up and hand them their ass on a platter."

"Right," Marinette managed, just barely keeping herself from frowning. She was Ladybug! Why was Chat Noir talking as though she was so much taller than her alter ego?

"I never tell her how endearing that is, because I worry that she might feel like I'm patronizing her, but it's really just like- well, she's one heck of a firecracker in a small package." Chat Noir grinned at her. "Small but packs far more of a punch than anyone would expect. And I should really get back so that she doesn't end up facing the akuma on her own," he added quickly, stepping back and giving her a wave. "Stay safe, Marinette!"

Marinette waved, waiting for Chat Noir to launch himself into the air before diving into her room and digging for the Miraculous box. She pulled out four Miraculous- three to definitely use, and a bonus just in case- and then called for Tikki.

She would have to mull over the strange height disparity later. Right now, duty called.

The weirdness only continued. Now that Ladybug was aware that there was something off, it seemed as though she just couldn't stop noticing other things that seemed didn't seem quite right. The most recent Odd Thing, as she had decided to dub it, was when Ladybug had escorted many of her classmates- including Nino, Alya, and Adrien- to safety, since there was an akuma rampaging through the building that they were visiting on their field trip, and of course she didn't want them hurt. It hadn't taken much to get people to evacuate, and now she was taking a quick breather before plunging back into the fight.

And in the seconds that made up that breather, Ladybug had noticed that her friends seemed a lot taller than normal. But how could they be taller?

Something really, really weird was going on, that was for sure. Adrien was as tall as Chat Noir it seemed, with her head only reaching his shoulders, and Nino and Alya seemed to have shot up as well. She had to wonder if maybe her perception of her friends' heights was just off somehow- she had been wearing (low) heels to school sometimes, maybe that was it- but there hadn't been much time to think about it then. The akuma was raging ever closer, and an evacuation to a safe zone did no good if the akuma was allowed to reach the safe zone again.

So once again, Ladybug didn't allow herself time to think about how plausible her explanation was. She flung herself into the fight, and by the time it ended, the only concern on Marinette's mind was thinking up an explanation for her being gone for the entire battle.

Then she saw Chat Noir as her civilian self again, followed by Ladybug making the time to do a one-on-one interview with Alya. Ladybug had to save Adrien from an overeager fan who had been akumatized. Every time, something just seemed off, but- well, she never really had the time to give it any thought.

The last straw finally came when Marinette was browsing the Ladyblog for the first time in- well, ages.

A reduced amount of homework had coincided with both a break in commissions and an unusually low number of akuma attacks, so she had decided to take advantage of the break to catch up on some much-needed rest and to catch up with what was being said about her on the Ladyblog.

And on the blog, there- well, there was a photo. A series of photos, really, in a very lovely article posted on the most recent Heroes Day and pinned to the top of the page. It was a reflection on the years of akumas and all that the superheroes had done for the city, with pictures from the most recent Heroes Day celebration along with photos from past celebrations. Ladybug and Chat Noir were in all of the photos, of course, with a rotating cast of secondary heroes behind them. Each year, it was obvious that Chat Noir was growing taller, catching up to the Mayor's height easily, a boy's silhouette turning into a man's. Next to him...

Marinette compared the pictures once, twice, three times. No, it wasn't just her imagination. Chat Noir grew taller and filled out with lean muscle, but next to him- well, Ladybug looked like she might as well have been copy-pasted from year to year. And in one of the last photos...

"My arms aren't that twiggy, are they?" Marinette demanded, shrugging off her hoodie to get a better look at herself. Just like she had thought- her arms were like a gymnast's, hardly bulky but clearly strong with lean, practiced muscles, just like the rest of her. Marinette had had to awkwardly wave off comments about her muscles before- after all, no one just got the physique of a professional gymnast without putting in some work- so she knew that her muscles were there and noticeable. And yet, in that photo...

Maybe it was just a bad angle?

No. No, she wasn't just going to accept that and move on. Marinette had been noticing things that were off between her normal self and her alter-ego for a while now, and she had always waved them off as coincidences or her misremembering things. But not anymore. She refused.

Today, Marinette was going to figure out what was going on.

Snatching up a book and a stray piece of chalk, Marinette stalked over to a blank section of wall. Facing the wall, she placed the book on her head, flat and level. Once she was satisfied with how flat it was, Marinette swiped a short line of chalk under the book, marking her Marinette height. Then she called on Tikki, who-

Well, who had apparently been napping before Marinette abruptly transformed. Whoops.

She's apologize later with a cookie. Tikki could never stay that upset for long.

With a small wince, Ladybug turned back to the wall, taking a step to the side so that she wouldn't be right on top of her previous mark before lining the book up again and making another mark. She stepped back, fully expecting the marks to be side-by-side and the whole looking like she didn't grow at all thing to be all in her head-

-but that wasn't the case.

"What the heck," Ladybug muttered, looking from one mark to the other. The Ladybug mark was significantly lower. She had probably been that height when she started being Ladybug over four years ago.

What was going on?

"No wonder I always look fourteen at most in the photos!" Ladybug exclaimed, glancing towards the mirror this time. From this angle, she could confirm that her superhero build looked just the same as it had at the start. "I'm stuck in my old form! Spots off!"

Tikki spiraled free and- oh, the little sprite was clearly muffling giggles. Marinette narrowed her eyes at her kwami. "Do you want to explain why my superhero self is an entire head shorter than my- well, my normal self?"

"It's not all my fault!" Tikki objected, clearly still swallowing her mirth. "You had a pretty specific picture of what Ladybug looked like after your first few transformation, so I- er, the magic- just assumed that you just wanted to keep your exact same transformation."

"Uh-huh." Marinette gave Tikki an unimpressed look. "And the magic just assumed that my 'very specific' image of Ladybug went all the way down to the exact measurements I had when I started? And that my 'image of Ladybug' wouldn't account for me growing?"

Tikki fell silent. Her eyes darted back and forth as she battled with keeping her smile hidden. Marinette waited, her arms crossed. And then Tikki cracked.

"Okay, fine, I might have fiddled with things a little bit," Tikki admitted, zipping backwards out of Marinette's reach. "I've done it before with other holders, to see how long it takes for them to notice, and it's always so funny when they do!"

"Ha ha," Marinette said dryly. She peered at Tikki. "So how fast did I notice, compared to your other holders?"

Tikki giggled. "You aren't going to like it."

Marinette groaned. "I did that badly, huh?"

"To be fair, you've been incredibly busy," Tikki assured her hastily. "You have school, and commissions, and babysitting, and putting together your portfolio, and doing long-distance studies with the Order of the Guardians, and akuma battles. You had more important things to worry about than if your superhero self had been growing at the same rate as your civilian self!"

Marinette remained less than convinced.

"Besides, it was helpful, wasn't it?" Tikki added hopefully. "It's easier to hide when you're smaller!"

The groan Marinette gave was Tikki's only answer.

A few minutes ticked by as Marinette contemplated what to do next. Her knee-jerk reaction was to ask Tikki to adjust the Ladybug transformation to grow with her right away, because she should have been growing alongside Chat Noir, and he had been teasing her about her height for ages. But a sudden jump in growth would no doubt attract attention from the press, along with unwanted speculation. If the public thought that she was an adult now- even if Hawkmoth wouldn't be fooled- then that could help keep her own identity secret from reporters and other curious people.

But on the other hand, Marinette wasn't very interested in keeping her superhero self short and spindly. Maybe it was just vanity, but she had worked hard during those akuma battles and earned those muscles. She had grown up, but the way she looked didn't reflect that at all. And she wanted it to.

(Well. Somewhat. She didn't get many comments on her figure- that she knew of, anyway- and she wasn't exactly interested in starting. Keeping a thirteen-year-old's body in that regard might be helpful.)

She didn't have to make a decision right away, Marinette decided after another minute's thought. There would be no harm in keeping her current transformation for a few more days while she figured out how much to change and how fast to change it.

After all, Ladybug had looked the exact same for years.

"What's new?" Chat Noir asked cheerfully as he landed next to Ladybug on a darkened rooftop. There were two separate contests going on in the city that evening, so the two of them had opted to call a patrol rather than just sit around waiting for an akuma to show up. "Anything interesting?"

"My kwami's been shrinking me."

Chat Noir blinked. Once. Twice. "Pardon?"

"I've been noticing some weird stuff going on," Ladybug explained, glancing across the city to make sure that there weren't any disturbances yet before turning back to her partner. "People I know in my civilian life who seem a lot taller when I'm transformed, mostly. And then I saw the photos on the Ladyblog with past Heroes Days- and I didn't look like I had grown at all, even though I have! So I marked my height on my wall, and I'm a whole head taller as my civilian self! Apparently Tikki was playing a prank on me."

Chat Noir blinked again, then sniggered. "That's hilarious!"

"It is not!" Ladybug protested. "I could have been growing all this time, so I wouldn't always look so short next to you! And how am I supposed to change to match what I should look like now without people thinking that I'm magicking myself to look different?" She spread her hands, gesturing at an invisible headline. "I can see the headlines now- 'Ladybug padding her suit?'. No thank you!"

Chat Noir choked, and it took Ladybug a moment to figure out where his brain had gone. Scowling, she tossed her yo-yo at him in gentle reprimand. "Not like that!"

"I- I'm sorry, what else was I supposed to think about?" Chat Noir managed, still sounding a bit choked. "There's not exactly a lot of things that people normally stuff!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter! I meant, like, muscle-wise." Ladybug tapped her biceps, still as bony-thin as they had been when she first started being a superhero. "I've gotten a fair bit of muscle from swinging all over Paris, but Tikki decided to hide that as part of her prank, too."

Chat Noir's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, okay. Gotcha."

"Though I do suppose that the tabloids would focus more on those other areas if I adjusted everything to match my build now," Ladybug mused, and was amused to see her partner promptly choke and turn red, clearly scandalized.

"Ladybug!"

Ladybug finally cracked and laughed, elbowing her partner "You should have seen your face! That was great!"

Chat Noir pouted, muttering something under his breath. Ladybug was pretty sure she heard the word meanie amongst the muttering, which only made her laugh harder. He stuck his lip out further in an even more dramatic pout, and she practically folded onto the rooftops, completely breathless.

She couldn't help it. His face.

Chat Noir made the best expressions.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Chat Noir grumbled, flopping down to sit next to her. "You are destroying my image of you, I hope you know that."

"I'm sure you'll survive." Finally getting her wheezing under control, Ladybug pushed herself back up to a sit. "I just couldn't resist."

They sat in silence for a minute, eyes scanning the city and listening intently for anything out of place. Finally Chat Noir spoke up again. "So what are you going to do about your transformation? Anything?"

Ladybug let out a long breath. "I keep asking myself that. Because, like, it's really good for hiding my identity, since I'm not at all the same height. But I worked hard for that muscle, darn it! Is it so wrong of me to actually want for it to show? Or to want to actually look like I've grown up at all?" She let out a long sigh. "I've been thinking about it and I for sure want to actually look like I have muscles, and I'll have to add that gradually. I just don't know about everything else."

Chat Noir hummed. "Well, maybe you can add some height but not all? Then it's still a bit of a disparity to throw off people who might be looking," he added. "And then once Hawkmoth is gone, go through a bit more of a growth spurt, since you won't have to transform during the day so often and people in your civilian life won't be wondering where you're vanishing off to all of the time."

"As if I really needed any more motivation to defeat Hawkmoth," Ladybug said with a laugh, but Chat Noir had a point. "That does sound reasonable, though. And if people notice me getting taller, then they might think that it's a clue, that they should be looking for girls who went through really late growth spurts."

Her partner grinned. "Exactly! I would be tempted to do the same, because that's a fantastic way to throw everyone off, but I think you might actually kill me if you started "growing" only for me to magic myself taller."

Ladybug's sharp nod made them both laugh.

"I've been thinking about doing a costume upgrade, too," Ladybug added once they had both calmed. She shrugged at Chat Noir's disbelieving look. "What? It's been years, and I have the world's most basic design, just because I panicked and blanked when I transformed the first time. And it would give the reporters something else to talk about other than 'did Ladybug suddenly get muscles?'"

"Well, if you decide you want to do that and want some help coming up with a new design, I have a friend in my civilian life who's a fantastic designer," Chat Noir told her, a fond grin spreading across his face. "I bet that she would be able to come up with some pretty great ideas."

"I think I can come up with my own ideas, thanks," Ladybug told him, and then scowled when a doubtful look flashed across his face. "Just I panicked once when I was thirteen and didn't think about what I wanted my transformation to look like doesn't mean that I can't think of good designs, Chat Noir!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you!" Chat Noir said with a laugh, holding his hands up in mock defense. Ladybug playfully pummeled them, and soon enough they were wrestling across the rooftops, Tikki's prank all but forgotten for the time being.

(Well. At least until the night's akuma showed up and laughed at Ladybug's diminutive height, that was.)

Ladybug's new outfit debuted a week later, black sections breaking up the red and black polka dots and a short open-front skirt- long enough to be decorative and look nice, short enough that it would be difficult for it to snag or have akumas grab on, so at least it wouldn't be impractical- a striking contrast to the simple onesie pattern that she had worn before. It made headlines, reporters and bloggers all too happy to talk about the changed design and how nice it looked and how well it suited Ladybug.

In fact, everyone was so caught up in the new design that it was three full months before the first person noticed and commented on the other new changes in Ladybug's appearance, both her apparent growth and the new muscles visible in her arms and along her legs. The internet promptly exploded with theories about it, wondering if the new costume was making illusions or if the changes were real. Doctors and fitness experts chimed in, adding their voices to the fray.

At home, Marinette just smiled as she turned away from the theories on the Ladyblog and back towards her latest commission work for Jagged Stone. None of the guesses were remotely close, of course, but when it came to things with her alter ego...

Well, that was just the way she liked it.

[jungshookz]

I would love a uni!yoongi & y/n drabble💓💜

🌿pairing; min yoongi x reader

🌿genre; uni!yoongi, university!au, fluffy fluffy fluff!!!!!!! uni!yoongi owns my heart and my whole ASS 

🌿wordcount; 2.8k 

🌿what to expect; “and another fun fact! the mistletoe plant actually contains toxic amines, and eating its berries can cause vomiting and stomach pain.”

🌿note; outraGEOUS that a mistletoe emoji has yet to exist!!!! unfortunately i wasn’t able to do a 12 drabbles of christmas this year due to finals but i hope this drabble makes up for it :-) if i’m a little rusty it’s only because this is the first drabble i’ve written in a while,..,,. hopefully i’ll have another drabble up before christmas!!! happy reading :^) 

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if yoongi had a dollar for every time he wanted to scream at you for being denser than a block of tofu he would most definitely be a billionaire

he’s had this thought time and time again but he really doesn’t understand how someone so smart can be so dumb at the same time

he could be holding up a flashing neon sign pointing to him that said ‘i 100% like you and am giving you the green light to ask me out so all you have to do is ask!’ and you would still be like .,.,.y’all hear sumn?

anyways he doesn’t have time to think about when you’re finally going to make a move because it’s that time of the semester ladies and gents

yep

it’s finals season

now, traditionally, the way yoongi handles finals season is that he kind of just goes with the flow

as in he goes to the library and studies for two hours and decides that that’s enough time and dedication he’s putting into a particular class so he pretty much deserves the rest of the day off

and this technique has worked ever since his first year in uni so he’s stuck with it ever since

as long as he doesn’t flunk out of anything he’s fine!!!

but since getting to know you yoongi has adopted new techniques into his studying routine that doesn’t just include skimming over poorly taken notes from class for 5 minutes and then scrolling through instagram for 45 minutes and then taking a 2 hour nap

no no

now he has highlighted notes

now he has insanely detailed google docs

now he has flash cards

and not just flash cards

colour coordinated flash cards

crazy, isn’t it???

this is probably your guys’ fifth study session together and yoongi doesn’t want to toot his own horn or anything but he thinks he’s going to absolutely nail this chemistry final

he can tell anyone about the main types of chemical reactions without blinking

that’s how confident he is about his knowledge

and he knoWs it’s all because of you which most certainly doesn’t help him suppress his attraction towards you

how can he noT be attracted to the person who’s bumping up his GPA??

but yes

yoongi is confident and he feels like he doesn’t need to go over what synthesis reactions are for the tenth time in a row

(also he forget a stack of flash cards at home that u reminded him three times to bring with him today to which he responded with ‘i’m NOT going to forget them just relax’ and he’s hoping u forgot about them because you don’t play around when it comes to flash cards)

he wants this study session to be a little more lax

a little more chill

a little less conversation and a little more ACTION (but not in,.,. not in a pervy way or anything)

yoongi decided to bring a little special something just to make things a little more interesting aND to celebrate the holidays!!

he’s being festive!!

he even taped strips of jingle bells to the edges of his skateboard :-)

“okay, hydrogen bonds.” you flip your notebook onto its front before whipping around and letting out a breath “hydrogen forms hydrogen bonds with three elements. hydrogen is fun. hydrogen is fOn. hydrogen forms hydrogen bonds with fluorine, oxygen, and nitrogen.”

…yeah that sounds right

you turn back around and flip over your notebook before quickly searching for your notes

aH

yes!!!! you got it!!!! hydrogen is FON!!!! hyDRoGEN iS FON!!!!!

“up top, y/l/n!” you grin widely before giving yourself a high five

niCE

“just when i thought you couldn’t get any weirder.” you jump three feet into the air when you hear yoongi speak up and you let out a breath before placing a hand on your chest

“yoongi!” you clear your throat and lean back against the table a little bit

you’re just going to play it off as if you didn’t just tell yourself to give yourself a high five

“what, uh, what took you so long?”

yoongi raises a brow before checking the time on his phone “i’m three minutes early.”

you turn back a little to look at the time on your laptop

huh

would you look at that

yoongi is early

and of course you’re here before scheduled because of who you are as a person

“…well, what are you doing just standing there? let’s get to work!!” you clap your hands together before looking at yoongi expectantly and gesturing for him to take a seat

“just so that you’re aware, i’m pretty sure i know more about the different types of chemical reactions than you.”

you raise a brow before crossing your arms

that is certainly a vEry bold statement because you could talk about the different types of chemical reaction for hours and hours on end

“oh, really?” you scoff playfully as you turn to wipe down the whiteboard

you’ve been tutoring yoongi for the past couple of weeks without expecting anything in return

honestly it’s just fun to ramble on and on about something that you’re confident about aNd it’s fun to see the panic in his eyes when you ask him a question about what you just talked about

and!!!! teaching someone else about the thing that you have to review yourself is actually a pretty effective studying strategy

you tried the practice test the other night and you got 98% so it’s safe to say you’re going to make this final exam your biTCH-

“yep.” yoongi sighs and leans back against his chair “in fact, i bet you that i’ll get every single one of your questions right this session.”

“what happens if you don’t?”

“if i get even one question wrong, i will… play one of your dumb studying games.”

your eyes widen in excitement

“charades for chemists??” (an exciting upgrade from the original version of charades)

((u have to try to act out a reaction))  

((it’s a lot more exciting than it sounds))

“but if i get every single one of your questions right, you’ll have to play one of my games.”

“…what kind of game?”

“you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” yoongi smiles sweetly “it’s nothing like your dumb charades game, i can tell you that.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously and yoongi shrugs

there’s no way he’d be able to get all of your questions right

obviously it’d be great if he got all of them right because that means these tutoring sessions are actually working but then again it’s yoongi

yoongi who uses pipettes to squeeze tiny spurts of air in your face just because ‘it’s fun!!’

yoongi who has the balls to juggle glass beakers in the middle of a lab in front of the professor

it’s yoongi

of course the idiotic things he does in class doesn’t exactly correlate to his intelligence

he actually did pretty well on the last lab report

“you have three seconds to decide if you wanna do this or not otherwise the offer’s off the table.” yoongi waves a hand in front of your face and you straighten up a little before sticking your hand out for him to shake

“alright, min yoongi. game on.”

the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a devilish smile

honey, you’ve got a big storm coming.

you flip your notebook open to the page where you have a bunch of practice questions written down and you skim the list

alright

you’ll throw yoongi a bone

“we’ll start off easy. what’s the difference between exothermic and endothermic reaction-“

“endothermic takes in energy - for example, ice melting - and exothermic gives off heat - for example, lighting a match.” yoongi answers without blinking

…

o

okay

that answer was word for word what you have written down in your notes

you should probably reconsider the whole throwing a bone thing

if anything u should probably take a couple bones away from yoongi

your competitive streak immediately kicks in once you realise the score board is 1-0 and you’re on the 0 end

“what does synthesis gas consist of?” you raise a brow

“before i answer that - you forgot to add a tally under my name.” yoongi points to the whiteboard and you kiss your teeth before whipping around and begrudgingly drawing a tally on the scoreboard “good girl.”

(you’ll never admit to him that hearing him call you that made your stomach do a little flip)

“answer the question.”

“synthesis gas is a fuel gas mixture consisting of hydrogen, carbon monoxide, and carbon dioxide. it intermediates in creating synthetic natural gas and for producing ammonia or methanol.”

.,,.,.and that’s 2-0 to yoongi

what in the hELL is going on

u know what

it’s fine!

it’s fine

maybe he’s just having a lucky day

all he has to do is screw up once

“-due to the conjugation double bond character in alkyl halide.” the fact that yoongi’s inspecting his nails as he answers your final question is oddly vERy irritating

you can’t believe it

yoongi got all 10 of your veRy tricky questions right

you should be proud because it’s because of you that he knows that he’s talking about but at the same time you didn’t think you were doing thAt great of a job at teaching him!!!!

but you’re looking at the scoreboard and it’s 10-0

there are 0 tallies under your name!!! ZERO!!! under youR NAME!!!

and now you have to play yOOngi’s dumb game instead of charades for chemists

if anything it’s his loss

“i told you you have to close your eyes to play my game.” yoongi reaches over to shut your notebook after he catches you glancing at it (to make sure he actually got the answers right and you didn’t misread anything) for the fifth time in two minutes

you have to accept defeat whether you like it or not

you let out a sigh before crossing your arms and shutting your eyes “what are the rules of this game? how does one win?”

“i’m going to show you something-“ you hear yoongi unzip his backpack “and you have to identify what it is and tell me what its purpose is within 30 seconds.”

huh

sounds easy enough

“so i win just by doing that?” your brows furrow and you resist the urge to open your eyes

“i guess you could say that.” you hear yoongi’s footsteps against the carpet and you freeze when you feel him standing right in front of you

“alright, open your eyes.” you immediately open them and-

“so, tell me, y/n-” yoongi lets out a sigh before glancing up at the mistletoe that he’s holding up in between the two of you “what do we have here?”

you swallow thickly and keep your eyes glued on the mistletoe

u know what that is

and u know what its purpose is

you could easily win this game right here and now so u don’t know what’s stopping you

you can feel yoongi staring at you and you know that if you make eye contact with him right now you will definitely combuST into flames

“that’s, um, well, i’m not a, uh, i’m not a botanist or anything, but that is a… that’s mistletoe.” you clear your throat “that is… mistletoe.”

“uh-huh. and, remind me again - isn’t mistletoe particularly special this time of the year?” yoongi hums and takes a step closer to you

you jump a little when you feel the bottom of the whiteboard dig into the small of your back

the little metal tray holding the whiteboard markers clatters a marker plops to the ground but you’ll deal with that later

because now it’s time to do what you do best

D E F L E C T

“mistletoe are actually hemiparasitic plants in which they kinda just suck water and nutrients from their host tress. did you know that?”

yoongi resists the urge to roll his eyes

he knows exactly what you’re doing (out of nervous habit) but for your sake he’ll play along

“oh yeah?”

“yep. and another fun fact! the mistletoe plant actually contains toxic amines, and eating its berries can cause vomiting and stomach pain.”

“…didn’t you say you weren’t a botanist-”  

“-but if we’re talking about its relevance to the christmas holidays, then… well, traditionally, people, um, people… kiss underneath them.” you finish quietly and your eyes instinctively flicker down to yoongi’s pouty lips

“i like you a lot, y/n.” yoongi breathes out and you feel your heart hiccup

your cheeks flush and you feel the heat rushing up to your ears

o god

a couple seconds of silence goes by and you wonder if yoongi can hear your heart pounding in your chest

“if you don’t feel the same way, i-“

“i like you too.” you murmur shyly and yoongi lets out what sounds like a breath of relief

before he gets the chance to roAST you for taking so long to finally admit it to him, you’re pushing your lips against his in a gentle kiss with your hand pressed against his cheek

it takes yoongi a second to register that you initiated a kiss with him but once his brain catches up to his body, he starts kissing you back

a smile tugs at his mouth when you take a step closer to him and he automatically loops an arm around your waist before carelessly tossing the mistletoe aside

yoongi tilts his head as he deepens the kiss and the quiet ‘fuck’ he lets out when you nip at his bottom lip almost immediately makes you lightheaded

it’s when you’re reminded that literally anyone passing by the room would be able to see you through the glass door that you drag yourself away (reluctantly) and yoongi unintentionally lets out a whine

“so did i win?” your cheeks are still rosy and your heart is still racing but you’re trying to play it off as if you’re totally cool about kissing yoongi and that you’re totally cool about the mutual attraction between the two of you but that fact that you’re kinda bouncing on the balls of your feet like an excited child is probably not helping your case

and yoongi’s smiling so widely his cheeks are starting to hurt but it’s totally worth it

:-) !!!!

“you won but i’m still marking you down for killing the mood by talking about vomiting and stomach pain.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble tag