#in which i spent a good six hours 'socializing'

[swan-of-sunrise]

...Is Love, Sweet Love (Part II)

Summary: Eight months later, (Y/N) and her daughter Molly have settled in well at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, with (Y/N) teaching a Classical Literature class and six-year-old Molly taking courses while learning more about her telepathic skills. Charles, having fallen head over heels for the school's new professor, debates whether or not to act upon his feelings.

Pairing: Charles Xavier X F!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Yes, I know, it's slightly unhinged to write a Part II to a one-shot that I published over 2 years ago, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and here's what I came up with! Again, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" by Jackie DeShannon partially inspired this fic, so you should totally give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :)

…Is Love, Sweet Love May 1980 Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester (Previous Chapter)

Despite living in his family’s mansion for the majority of his life and spending countless hours of his childhood eagerly exploring its sprawling grounds, Charles Xavier hadn’t truly grown to appreciate the tranquility that the estate provided until he’d re-started Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sight of young mutants happily playing on the playground and partaking in group sports without feeling the need to hide their differences away brought a smile to Charles’ face, and the cheerful laughter of his students paired with the beautiful spring sunshine inspired him to once again enjoy his lunch outside with a good book…although, it was difficult to deny that he spent far more time listening in on Professor (Y/L/N)’s nearby Classical Literature class than actually reading his novel.

“Can anyone tell me why the characters of King Lear worship the pagan gods and not any form of Christianity?” (Y/N), who was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her small class, arched a brow as she surveyed the silent group of teenagers before her. “C’mon, guys, you know this. We went over the background of the play during our last lecture, and I seem to remember some of you even taking notes…” After a moment, a timid hand went up from the red-headed girl in the front and (Y/N) smiled. “Yes, Jean?”

“The play is set in ancient Britain, long before the arrival of Christianity.”

“Very good, Jean!” Jean Grey’s shoulders relaxed and beside her, her friend Jubilee gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now, why would Shakespeare choose to set this play in this specific time period? Think about the time period in which Shakespeare lived, and what the social and political climate in England was like.” A dark-haired boy towards the back of their group raised his hand. “Go ahead, Remy.”

Remy LeBeau lowered his hand and began fiddling with his deck of playing cards as he spoke in his distinct French-Creole accent. “Well, Professor, that was when there was a lil’ trouble brewin’ ‘tween the Catholics and Protestants over there, right? He prob’ly didn’t wanna ruffle any feathers by puttin’ a popular religion in his plays, so he had his characters worship the gods from ol’ Roman mythology; anybody who’d be offended would’ve been long dead, so Willy did what any guy’d do to keep his head on his shoulders.”

Charles smiled to himself as the class laughed and (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a reluctant grin. “A little unorthodoxly put, Remy, but you’re absolutely correct. In the play, Lear states that-” She was cut off when the familiar sound of the school bell rang out and her students started to pack their things away. “Remember, on Monday we’ll begin performing your assigned scenes so be sure to work on memorizing your lines with your groups over the weekend. Have a good rest of your day!”

While they laughed and talked amongst themselves, the students headed back towards the mansion for their next class and with a fond smile on her face, (Y/N) looked away from them and finished packing her binders and books into her messenger bag. The novel in Charles’ hand was all but forgotten in favor of admiring his colleague and friend, who’s effortless beauty almost always succeeded in making him stutter over his words and caused him to blush in a way that he hadn’t since he was a schoolboy; she was dressed casually in a striped button-down blouse tucked into a faded pair of high-waisted jeans and well-worn Birkenstocks, with her (Y/H/C) hair pulled away from her face by a blue headband and her reading glasses dangling around her neck by a colorful beaded chain. Charles took in all of her striking figure, but it was her content smile and the happy gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes that made him release a lovelorn sigh and look down at his lap.

Charles was infatuated with Professor (Y/L/N). Well, it perhaps started out as a simple infatuation, back when she’d first arrived on his doorstep pleading for him to help her daughter; her kindness and caring nature in regards to Molly’s safety and well-being was touching, considering how many parents he’d met who were overly eager to pass their mutant children off to a complete stranger just to be rid of them. After hearing their story, he knew that she couldn’t bear to be separated from her five-year-old and so, he asked that she stay and teach at the school to ensure that they would remain together. That was eight months ago and since then, the infatuation had evolved into a full-blown romantic crush; Charles was captivated by (Y/N)’s capacity for compassion, enchanted by her quick wit and natural beauty, in awe of her progressive idealism in regards to mutant rights and more than appreciative of her boundless consideration in regards to his disability.

Yes, Charles was enamored by his school’s newest professor, but he was also plagued by insecurity. The last woman he was romantically involved with was Agent Moira MacTaggert of the CIA, all the way back in 1962 when he was a dashing young man who’d just earned his doctorate and possessed an egotistical streak wider than the English Channel; nowadays, his ego was tempered and his youthful good looks were beginning to give way to wrinkles and streaks of silver. While a ten-year age gap between two consenting adults was hardly an insurmountable obstacle to a happy relationship, a part of him couldn’t help but think that (Y/N) would be happier with someone younger than him. Both Alex and Hank thought that he was overthinking the situation, and perhaps they were right but whenever he started to consider asking her out, that little voice of doubt whispered on in the back of his mind.

“Hi Charles!”

Looking up, Charles’ face reflexively broke out into a grin when he saw (Y/N) approaching the bench he’d parked his wheelchair beside. “Hello, (Y/N)! Holding your classes outside today, I see?”

“It’s such a beautiful day, so you could hardly blame me for taking full advantage of it.” The professor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and tilted her head as a teasing smile played across her cherry-red lips. “Enjoying your lunch outside today, I see?”

“Touché, Professor,” Charles chuckled, slipping his bookmark into his novel to mark his place and tucking it into his wheelchair’s saddle pack. “Hank seems to believe that my vitamin D levels are too low, so I decided that eating outside was the quickest way to get our resident worrywart off of my back. Not only did I soak up plenty of sun, I had the added pleasure of listening in on your fantastic lesson on Shakespeare’s King Lear; no offense to the Bard, but it’s refreshing to see an Classical Literature professor teach her students about one of his historical plays instead of one of his romances.”

(Y/N) shrugged nonchalantly, but the way she began to fiddle with her pendant revealed the bashfulness she was attempting to mask. “Well, I remember what it was like being fourteen; you’re around the same age as Romeo and Juliet, yes, but you don’t know a damn thing about love and it’s not easy to understand why they do the things they do.”

“As a former fourteen-year-old, I heartily concur. At that age, I could scarcely understand myself let alone an emotion as complex as love, no matter how beautifully Shakespeare described it,” Charles replied, looking out across the manicured grounds as he recited, “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep-’”

“‘-The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’” (Y/N) finished and when their eyes met, Charles’ heart fluttered and he could feel his face beginning to warm; his brows rose in surprise when the professor hastily turned her head to try and hide her besotted smile, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight. “I, um, I-I should go and find Molly…”

“She’s at the playground with Alex’s second graders. Speaking of which, I need to speak with Alex about tomorrow’s scheduled book delivery…” Charles awkwardly cleared his throat before giving (Y/N) a tentative smile. “Would you allow me to escort you there?”

(Y/N)’s own smile widened at that. “Of course!”

While Charles wheeled himself along the stone pathway and (Y/N) kept in step with him, they eagerly discussed the school’s ongoing library expansion and all the new books they’d obtained for the students; any progress made at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters filled him with a sense of accomplishment, but expanding his ancestral home’s library was one of his greatest desires and he was thrilled that the children would soon have access to more knowledge than many of the country’s best private schools and universities. (Y/N) was just as excited about the expansion as he was, and he couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm written across her beautiful features while he listened to her talk about all the lesson plans she’d brainstormed involving their new books.

They reached the playground sooner than Charles would’ve preferred, but his disappointment was set aside by the sight and sound of his school’s youngest students happily entertaining themselves on the elaborate structure; so many of them came from broken homes and were sent away without any second thoughts by families that couldn’t care less about them and while Charles couldn’t change their heartbreaking pasts, he did all in his power to give each and every one of his students a loving home and bright, promising futures. For the first time, I find myself truly understanding the blinding rage that fills Erik in regards to mutant rights, he thought with an inward grimace before glancing over at (Y/N) and smiling as the human woman affectionately watched her mutant daughter play, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my faith in humanity’s innate goodness.

“Hi Mommy!” Molly exclaimed from the top of the structure, a toothy grin stretching across her face as she gave them both an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Professor ‘Zavier!”

“Hi Molly-Bear!” (Y/N) called back while a beaming Charles returned the little girl’s wave with one of his own. He’d always maintained that a good professor shouldn’t have favorites, but no one would blame him if he came out and admitted that Molly (Y/L/N) was – hands down – his favorite student; she was as exuberant and carefree as any human six year old, but her mutant abilities as a psychometric telepath meant that she was more insightful and tended to see the world around her with sage eyes. In truth, Molly reminded him so much of himself when he was a child and knowing first-hand how challenging having telepathic abilities at that age can be, he was grateful that he could help her by teaching her how to control and accept her gifts.

While Charles scanned the playground for Alex, he caught (Y/N) looking over at him and the tender expression on her face nearly took his breath away; she quickly looked away and pretended to adjust the fasteners of her messenger bag, but not before Charles noticed the glimmer of affection in her gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes. A familiar whistle cut through his racing thoughts and when he glanced over, he spotted Alex leaning against a light pole that bordered the playground; a knowing smirk curved across the younger man’s face, widening as he brought a hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers to signal for Charles to read his mind.

“I told you so.”

“Alex…”

“(Y/N)’s into you, Charles, and you’re clearly into her. So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

After taking a steadying breath and running an anxious hand through his hair, Charles cleared his suddenly dry throat and hesitantly spoke. “(Y/N)?” The professor looked over at him expectantly and his finger drifted upwards to loosen his shirt’s collar while he clumsily continued. “I, ah…well, I-I was wondering if I…(Y/N), would you and Molly care to join me for dinner sometime? There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant in Salem Center and a little movie theater just down the street from it that I think you’ll enjoy…”

(Y/N) blinked, looking dumbfounded but slightly hopeful as she took a moment to find her voice. “Charles, are you asking me out on a date?”

Charles nodded and offered her the barest of smiles. “Over the past few months, I’ve grown…immensely fond of you; I wake up every morning looking forward to our usual discussions over breakfast, I find myself spending far too much time styling my hair and picking out what to wear in the hopes that you’ll take note and every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat.” The professor shyly smiled at that and he couldn’t help but lightly chuckle, the weight in his chest already feeling lighter with each confession he uttered. “Yes, just like that.”

“And you…you wouldn’t mind Molly coming along?”

The anxiety that filled (Y/N)’s eyes as she awaited his answer nearly shattered Charles’ heart; based on what little she’d disclosed to him about her past, he knew that she’s struggled with dating as a single mother and he could only imagine how disillusioned with romance she’d become as a result. “Of course not, (Y/N),” He softly replied and in a bold move, he reached forward and took her hand in his. “You two are a team, after all; Molly is your entire world, and I want you to know that I respect that more than anything. It’s also…well, let’s just say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone on a date, and I’d…”

“Like to go slow?” (Y/N) gently offered and when Charles wordlessly nodded, she gave him the smallest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and calling out, “Molly? Sweetheart, can you come here for a second, please?” After coming down the slide, Molly skipped over to them and the professor knelt down so that they were eye-level, her hand still holding onto his. “Professor Xavier wanted to know if he could take us out for dinner and a movie. Does that sound all right to you, Molly-Bear?”

The little girl’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied Charles, and he was forced to mask his amused chuckle with a cough when she brought a mitten-clad hand up to her mother’s ear. “Like on a date?” Molly loudly whispered, and (Y/N) pursed her lips to keep from chuckling as she nodded; her daughter lowered her hand to reveal her excited smile and she gave her mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me!” Molly looked back at Charles with a conspiratorial giggle. “Mommy likes you, Professor ‘Zavier.”

Charles arched a playful brow as his eyes flicked between the embarrassed elder (Y/L/N) and the beaming younger (Y/L/N). “She does, does she?”

“Mm-hmm, she likes your eyes and your smile and your hair and your-”

“Okay, young lady, that’s enough out of you,” (Y/N) hastily interrupted, tickling her daughter’s neck with both hands and smiling when she shrieked with laughter and scurried back to the playground. Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she stood and glanced back at Charles, who was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Well, I guess that settles it. Does six o’clock this Friday work for you?”

He emphatically nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s perfect!” He felt himself begin to blush at his obvious enthusiasm, and it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle as he awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again. “…I-I mean, Friday at six o’clock works for me.”

“Good. I guess that Molly and I will see you then.” The professor turned to walk away but took Charles by surprise when she turned back around and bashfully smiled at him. “I’ve…I’ve grown immensely fond of you too, Charles.”

Before he could say or do anything, she’d bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek, an infatuated gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she flashed him one last smile and left to meet her daughter on the playground. A broad grin slowly spread across Charles’ face and while he watched her walk away, he leaned an elbow onto his wheelchair’s armrest and rested the side of his head against his palm, releasing a love-struck sigh and barely taking note of the familiar figure that moved to stand beside him.

“See what happens when you actually take my advice?”

Charles straightened his posture and glanced over at Alex, who was wearing the smuggest of smiles on his faces as he stared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an impertinent ass, Alex Summers?”

Alex’s smirk widened. “Heard it all my life. So, when’s the big date?”

“This Friday at six o’clock. And since you and Hank have taken such a keen interest in my love life, I’ll be requiring your assistance on Friday.” The younger man quickly sobered and with a grin of his own, Charles chuckled and patted his arm. “There’s a good chap. Now, about tomorrow’s book delivery…”

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

Although it was a far cry from the hazy evenings spent at Oxford’s many lively pubs and in the company of the college’s most flirtatious female students, Charles’ date with (Y/N) and Molly was undoubtedly the most enjoyable one he’d ever been on. He’d met the mother and daughter in the mansion’s foyer with two bouquets in his hands – daisies for Molly and vibrant pink roses for (Y/N) – and he happily watched them admire their flowers while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was studying (Y/N)’s figure; the professor was wearing a knee-length yellow dress with long billowing sleeves, a bright pink sash tied around her waist and matching high heels, and her carefully styled hair was pulled back by a pink headband. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be going out with the likes of him, but his fears of inadequacy were quickly alleviated when she looked over at him and smiled.

Hank and Alex drove the three of them to Salem Center in Charles’ maroon 1959 Jaguar Mark IX, the pair of them opting to stay in town and catch a showing of the newly-released The Empire Strikes Back while they dined at La Mensa. Sensing Molly’s apprehension with being around so many non-mutant strangers, Charles distracted her by playing ‘tic-tac-toe’ and ‘hangman’ with her on her paper place-mat and (Y/N) threw him a grateful look as she asked her daughter about her schoolwork; while they enjoyed their food, (Y/N) entertained them with stories of her students’ antics and after some goading by Molly, she even balanced a spoon on the end of her nose much to her daughter and Charles’ delight. After dinner, they made their way down the street to the small movie theater and while many of its patrons were queued up to watch the latest Star Wars film, the three of them decided on watching the re-release of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp; Molly adored the classic cartoon and while Charles was impartial to the film, he thoroughly enjoyed exchanging enamored glances with (Y/N) over the little girl’s head.

Molly fell asleep on the drive home, cuddling against her mother’s side as she lovingly brushed her fingers through her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair. In low whispers, (Y/N) assured Charles that Molly had a wonderful time and that she hadn’t seen the little girl so happy since before she’d come into her mutation; although aware that Hank and Alex were clearly eavesdropping from their front seats, Charles quietly asked her if she’d care for a quick nightcap in his study after putting Molly to bed, and he was thrilled when she readily accepted his invitation. When they arrived back at the mansion, (Y/N) carried the still-sleeping Molly inside, but not before giving Charles one last smile as he maneuvered into his outside wheelchair.

“So…” Hank arched a curious brow as he walked beside Charles’ wheelchair and steadied it when they reached the top of the ramp, where Alex was waiting with his motorized indoor wheelchair. “How was it?”

“Charming, but I could’ve done without the rather offensive Asian and Italian stereotypes-”

“Not the movie, Charles, the date,” Alex interrupted and when Charles chuckled in amusement at his friends, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you finally ask out the woman you’ve been head over heels for and you’re not gonna give your two best friends the four-one-one?”

Shaking his head in faux exasperation, Charles shifted himself into his motorized wheelchair and arranged his legs as he airily answered, “(Y/N), Molly and I ate a truly magnificent meal at La Mensa that we followed up by watching a classic Disney film at the movie theater. What more is there to say?”

Alex heaved a sigh but moved to allow Charles to wheel himself into the mansion. “A little help here, Hank?”

“Oh, he’s having far too much fun messing with us to stop.” The scientist tucked his hands into his jacket pockets while a mischievous smirk played on his lips. “But speaking as the school’s resident genius, I couldn’t help but notice the good professor clearly checking (Y/N) out before we left and blushing when she smiled at him just now.”

A reluctant blush warmed Charles’ cheeks at that. “Don’t you two perverts have morning classes to prepare for?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, lover boy,” Alex smugly countered, nudging Hank’s arm with his elbow as they walked beside Charles’ wheelchair down the vacant hall to his study. “Well, Beast, there’s no doubt about it: Charles here’s got it bad for our lovely Professor (Y/L/N).”

When they reached his study’s door, Charles nudged it open and wheeled himself inside, but not before giving both men a look of genuine sincerity. “Thank you, for your assistance tonight and for your encouragement; the pair of you can occasionally be a pain in the ass, but tonight couldn’t have happened without you.”

Hank’s smile softened. “You’re welcome, Charles. We’re just happy that we succeeded in making you do something selfish for once.”

“Yeah, you’ve helped us both out so much over the years and it was high-time we returned the favor,” Alex added as he clapped Charles on the shoulder, his earnest expression morphing into a knowing smirk while he continued. “Enjoy your nightcap with (Y/N), and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lover boy.”

“Oh, and don’t forget protection!”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Chuckling, Alex and Hank left the study and closed the door behind them; after pausing for a moment to take a calming breath, Charles wheeled himself over to the oak cabinet near his cluttered desk and unlocked it, pulling out a glass decanter of scotch and two glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. He bit his lip as his eyes surveyed the messy state of his study, cursing himself for not tidying up earlier, but a part of him knew that (Y/N) wasn’t the type to mind a little clutter; she liked to joke that the best professors had the messiest studies because they spent all their time teaching instead of worrying about how others perceive them. It was the good manners instilled in him from birth that saw him gathering stacks of loose papers, binders and leather-bound books and unceremoniously shoving them behind his desk before lifting himself out of his wheelchair to sit on the couch; with nothing else to distract himself from the anxious anticipation building up within him, Charles plucked the maple-colored queen off the chessboard and nimbly twirled it around his fingers as he waited for (Y/N).

Minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door of his study and after scrambling to straighten up his chessboard, Charles called out, “Come in!” The door opened and (Y/N) stepped into the room, her gentle smile widening when she spotted him seated on the couch. “How’s Molly?”

“Out like a light.” (Y/N) crossed the room and sat on the couch beside him, her fingers playing with the flowing yellow material of her dress’ skirt as Charles poured their drinks. “She wanted me to tell you that she had a really fun time tonight, and she wanted me to thank you.”

“She’s been working so hard these past few months to complete her schoolwork and training, so if anyone deserves to have a little fun it’s undoubtedly her,” Charles replied, a surge of fondness for his youngest student and her kindheartedness bringing a smile to her face as he turned to (Y/N) and offered her a glass of the amber-colored liquid. “As do you, Professor.”

Accepting the glass, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully before holding it up and angling it towards him. “In that case…to having fun.”

“To having fun,” Charles repeated, lightly clinking his glass of scotch against hers and taking a sip, his eyes appreciatively roaming along the professor’s figure while she took a sip of the strong liquor. “Do you like it? It’s top shelf scotch whiskey, all the way from Scotland.”

(Y/N) arched a playful brow as she crossed her leg over her knee and angled herself to face him. “Expensive, imported liquor? Are you trying to impress me, Professor?”

“Well, that all depends…” Following his instincts, Charles set his glass down and rested his elbow on the couch’s back cushion, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Is it working?”

Her (Y/E/C) eyes softened and after setting her own glass down, she rested one of her hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Charles, I was impressed by you before the top shelf scotch, before the fancy Italian restaurant, and before I ever laid eyes on this beautiful mansion.” His brow furrowed in confusion but she merely smiled and rubbed small circles along his knuckles with her thumb. “Eight months ago, the letter that I sent you asking for help with Molly was my Hail Mary; I had nowhere to go and no way to protect my daughter from the people who hated her for who she was, so I decided to write to the one person I knew could help her. And when you sent me a letter back – that incredibly kind and empathetic letter – you gave me hope, hope that I hadn’t felt in so long. So, you see? You managed to impress me before we’d even met, Charles Xavier.”

Charles, touched by her sincerity and feeling a little emotional, reached forward with his free hand and carefully cradled her warm cheek in his palm. “Oh, my darling (Y/N)…you’re not the only one who’s had their hope restored; I gave up any hope for romance not long after I lost my legs, choosing to focus my attention on the school and my fellow mutants. Over these past several months, however, you helped me to see that there was still hope.” His thumb traced along her cheekbone as he smiled and slowly began to lean in. “And now, I would very much like to kiss you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N)’s smile widened. “I’d like that very much as well, I just…” He could feel her cheek flush beneath his touch, and a look of embarrassment flashed across her face. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. Would it be silly to say that I’ve got butterflies in my stomach?”

“Not at all, darling. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous myself,” Charles murmured, his eyes flicking away from hers to stare at her enticing lips before glancing back up. “The last time I kissed a woman was in 1962, so you’ll have to forgive me if my technique has gotten slightly rusty over the past eighteen years.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we give it a go, will we?” (Y/N) breathed and her (Y/E/C) eyes burned with desire as they both inched closer. “Charles, dear…please kiss me.”

Wanting nothing more than to please the professor, Charles’ eyes fluttered closed as he tentatively brushed his lips against hers. (Y/N) wasted no time in returning the kiss, kissing him softly and sweetly as her hand left his to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair and eliciting a blissful groan from him; with one hand still cupping her cheek, he rested the other on her waist but soon found himself winding his arm around her in an effort to bring her closer. (Y/N)’s lips were soft and oh so addictive, slowly but firmly caressing against his as her fingers carded through his locks, and Charles surrendered himself over to the woman wrapped in his embrace.

Eventually, they were forced to separate for some much-needed air, the both of them out of breath and almost dizzy from their impromptu make-out session; Charles felt a surge of pride as he took in (Y/N)’s kiss-swollen lips, heaving chest and the dazed smile on her face, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers. When he pulled back, he huffed out a breathless chuckle at the incredulous look that she was giving him. “That’s a rusty technique?”

“Mm-hmm. Dreadful, wasn’t it?”

(Y/N) giggled at his joking question and pretended to consider it. “You know, I think I need another example before I can definitively say.” They both laughed but when Charles moved in for another kiss, a sharp twinge in his lower back caused him to recoil with a hiss of pain. “Charles, are you okay?!”

He mutely nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he straightened his posture and leaned his back against the plush couch cushions. “I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm.”

“Is it…?” (Y/N) trailed off and when Charles finally opened his eyes as the pain began to fade, he could see the worry written across her face. “Is it because of your spinal cord injury?”

“That, and I’m afraid that I’m getting on in years; I’m not as young and spritely as I was in 1962.” Instead of stammering out a string of apologies and getting up to leave as Charles feared she would, the corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a lopsided grin that left him slightly confused. “(Y/N)?”

The professor shifted closer to him. “Did you know that Molly’s father was fourteen years older than me?” Charles’ brow rose in surprise and he silently shook his head, watching as she reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You could say that I’ve always had a thing for older men…” Before he could think of something witty to say, (Y/N) swung her leg over his to straddle his lap and rested her hands on either side of his face; Charles couldn’t help but grin and, inspired by her delectable boldness, he placed his hands on her waist to hold her securely to him, his grin widening as her breath hitched. “Go ahead and read my mind if you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

Shaking his head, Charles rested his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at her, softly smiling as one of his hands traveled upwards to cradle her cheek. “I believe you, darling. Would it be too sappy to say that I don’t want this night to end?”

“Not at all, dear,” (Y/N) shook her head before closing the distance between them and captured his lips in another passionate kiss; when they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and returned his blissful smile with one of her own. “We can make this work, can’t we? Balance the two of us with running the school and raising Molly?”

“I believe that you and I can do just about anything, so long as we’re together,” Charles replied, his thumb and forefinger moving to guide her chin forward and pouring all his emotions into another kiss; there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than in the arms of the lovely Classical Literature professor who’d captured his heart and judging by the way she kissed him back, it was clear that she was thinking something along the same lines.

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A/N: I had so much fun dipping my toes back into the Fox X-Men Universe (I still have a massive thing for 80's Charles Xavier and his flowing brown hair lol) and I loved that I finally resolved Charles and (Y/N)'s mutual attraction with this cute Part II! I may or may not have a few ideas for a possible Part III, so let me know if you'd be interested in reading more! Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!

Story Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Tag List: @brooke0297​​​​ Permanent Tag List:​ @momc95​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @groovy-lady​

[1d1195]

Tulips Extra I

You can read Tulips here. I wouldn't read this if you're having a good day, lol. The original was therapeutic for myself so it's a little on the sad side for sure. It was good timing since I've not been feeling very positive lately.

Anyway, it's probably very angsty with a bit of fluff.

Thank you for reading my diary 😉

~4.7k words

Highly recommend listening to: Lung (Vines version) by Vines & Adrianne Munden-Dixon while reading.

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

If she looked in the mirror, she would see a lot of growth. It had been six months since Harry moved in and she was more open, more communicative, and delegated more. Harry was perfect. Probably too perfect. It was almost unfair and if she thought about it too long, she worried a little too much about the ramifications of her own inadequacy.

Harry never let her feel that way. When she made dinner, he nearly threw a parade. If she was at Target and saw something she thought Harry would like and bought it, he thanked her for hours. It was a little overwhelming sometimes to be praised so highly. In previous relationships, she thought about the fanfare she would get from doing those kinds of things but after years of never getting it, she assumed it wasn’t in the cards for her.

But she hadn’t met Harry. He never let her feel that way. Everything she did was thanked with the utmost gratitude. It was unnerving sometimes that he adored her exactly how she imagined love was supposed to be. There were days, weeks, years, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of the love she dreamed about. Harry came along as if all that time feeling sad never existed. He praised her for things that didn’t need it, but it made her smile.

“M'a lucky guy, kitten,” he kissed her on the forehead while they watched TV. She had brought over a cup of hot water. Harry always had a cup in the middle of the afternoon. It was good for his throat, which was prone to colds and good for his vocal cords when he spent so much of his job talking to other people.

*

There were still hard days for her. Days when her mind ran wild and told her that she wasn’t good enough for Harry. That if she didn’t do everything perfectly or if she forgot something at the grocery story, she didn’t deserve to have Harry in her life any longer. Those years of not being good enough, or rather not feeling good enough, were hard to stamp out of her mind. Harry did a wonderful job getting most of it to disappear. But a bad day was a bad day; and it was hard to predict that. Hard to know when her mind would play a trick on her.

Work was okay except everyone was on edge close to the holiday. The end of the year was always a tricky time. Things needed to be wrapped up financially and socially. Honestly, she was probably the calmest one at work, but she was kind. Helping others with their workload because hers didn’t entail the same types of problems that everyone else was facing. But it did require a lot of her mental load. The satisfaction she felt from helping others was really good for her emotional well-being, but it came at a pretty significant cost: she had a really hard time saying no—especially when she needed to say no.

This led her to carrying several grocery bags into her apartment with Harry. She didn’t want to take two trips. Except she was struggling. Two trips would have been better. Or calling Harry when she got to the parking lot would have helped. He wouldn’t have minded either. He probably didn’t know she was grocery shopping after work, or he would have offered to go with her.

But unfortunately, they had gotten into a bit of a... disagreement the night before. Which only added to her stress emotionally. It was a well-based disagreement. Harry worried she was doing too much for her coworkers and thought (in the kindest way possible) that she should set some boundaries where she felt comfortable helping but still able to get her own stuff done.

In her head she did something wrong. Harry was so kind. Extremely understanding of all the boundaries that she failed to set in her work life and with her family. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. But it was hard for him to watch the person he loved struggle to feel okay with anxiety and stress plaguing most of her thoughts over things she didn’t necessarily need to worry about.

She was almost at the door. Her arm was sore from holding the bags up for so long. The circulation in her hand was disappearing from the bags that had slid down. Why she didn’t just set the bags down at the end of the hall will always make her wonder. But instead, of course, the bag ripped open. The one stupid paper bag she had to get from the store to fit everything. Of course, it had eggs in it. While trying catch it, she dropped the gallon of milk she had in her other hand that naturally exploded onto the floor with the eggs. She gasped and looked at the mess she created in the hall. Fortunately, her neighbors weren’t affected. She was so close to her own door the only one impacted would be herself or Harry.

“—her location says she should be home—oh,” Harry stuck his head out from the door. He heard a loud thud from inside the apartment. Paired with his missing girlfriend, he worried she had hurt herself or something coming up the stairs. Harry watched her for a moment, a frown settling onto his lips at the sight. Her shoulders shaking, her lip wobbling while tears filled her eyes. “Love, m’gonna have her call y’back. She jus’ got home. Think she had a tough day,” he murmured. “S’okay. I’ll take care of it. She’ll call y’back,” he promised. “Okay, bye,” he slid his phone into his pocket. Her gaze didn’t move from the mess on the floor, but she could sense Harry approaching her. Like an injured animal in the wild.

“Was that my sister?” She whispered.

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. “S’nothing serious,” he promised.

“I think she needed help with her assignment or something. I was supposed to call her when I got home so I could read—”

“Love,” he stepped directly into the mixture of eggs and milk and put his hands on her shoulders. “S’not important right now,” his voice was so gentle. Almost too gentle. “Let’s go inside,” he tugged her gently toward the door. “M’gonna clean this up,” he offered easily.

She looked up at him, her eyes so blurred with tears that his expression was hard to make out. The only good thing her tears did was magnify her perception of Harry’s pretty eyes. They actually looked like emeralds and made her heart flutter despite how sad she was. “You don’t have to,” her voice cracked. “I dropped everything. I should clean it—” the tears fell from her eyes in slow motion. It was like she was watching one of those movies where the girl tries to keep working even though she just found out the love of her life died and she was basically ignoring it. She hated those scenes. They hurt so much. She swiped her hand across her face. “I just need to grab—”

“Kitten,” Harry stilled her movements as she tried to push away from him. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m okay,” she promised, the saddest smile falling across her lips. Harry looked at her with so much worry and he shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re not,” his voice was low and he cupped the side of her neck and held her in place. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” but the words were choked and only half-uttered by the mixture of tears and her throat closing around the sound trying to force its way out of her vocal cords. “I’m fine.” It was like her body was trying to repel the words because she almost folded in half, she crouched and covered her eyes as she let the sobs take over for a second. She would be fine; she just needed a second to get some of the emotion out.

“Angel,” Harry crouched right beside her. “C’mon, kitten. S’not nothing,” he murmured.

She shook her head. No, things with Harry were fine. She wasn’t going to burden him with needless worries and all the anxiety that was coursing through her head. It was all in her head. Truly. It wasn’t something that he needed to—

Harry pulled her toward their door where milk and eggs hadn’t spread to yet. The remaining pile of groceries was mixed in the mess. She crouched by the door again, unable to stop the emotion long enough to make it past the entry way. Gently, Harry pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. He knelt beside her, hand cupping the back of her neck and the other gently rubbing up and down her arm. A neighbor peered into the hallway raised his eyebrows at the mess before turning to see Harry and the girl in their doorway. Harry shook his head so minutely he doubted she noticed. Fortunately, their neighbor saluted ever so slightly and retreated inside.

“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped.

He shook his head feeling so awful she was this distraught. This upset. He wished he had checked her location before her sister called to ask if she was ignoring her. Wish he had gone down to see where she was when he realized she was supposed to be home. “Shh,” he hushed. “S’nothing t’apologize for, kitten,” he promised quietly.

She continued sobbing and Harry wondered how on earth someone so beautiful, so kind, so utterly adoring could be so sad. It pained him to no end. Watching her breakdown like this felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart. He wanted to do whatever he had to do to make it stop. He knew she kept a lot of her emotions to herself. Years of bottling them up so as not to inconvenience others for simply existing.

“Kitten,” he whispered when her sobs subsided to sniffles. “Y’gotta talk t’me,” his voice was gentle but filled with worry. “M’sorry people let y’down. M’not one of them, though.”

“It’s hard,” her voice was so crackly and broken. Harry almost let it go because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of how sad she was.

“I know, baby, I know it is, but I love you so much. I want nothing but t’help you,” he hoped she heard how sincere he was. “I hate seeing y’like this. It hurts me, kitten,” he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes so hopefully she would understand how much he adored her and how much it hurt him. It wasn’t to minimize what she was feeling. It was to hopefully help her reach the conclusion that he was on her side, always. He would do whatever it took to make her smile.

“M’scared,” she whispered. “You’re just going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous—because I am, Harry. I am being ridiculous. I have you. You’re so perfect. You love me so much and you don’t care that I’m a little crazy and you don’t—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “I would never tell y’that you’re being ridiculous. Please tell me y’don’t really believe that,” his heart felt even worse. How could she think that?

“Because,” she croaked. The seconds it took her to speak after felt like years. Harry waited so patiently, his heart pounding. “Because whenever I felt so overwhelmed,” she shook her head and looked down, despite Harry holding her face so she would have to look at him. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Tell me, angel.”

“I have never had someone,” she started again, squeezing her eyes tight. They felt red and swollen. She was certain she looked as terrible as she felt. “It was my own doing,” she whispered. “The reason I get so overwhelmed. When I complained even a little it was turned into something about how I did things wrong. I overwhelmed myself. It was just... in my head,” she whispered.

Harry wasn’t completely sure how he managed to stay upright. He swiped his thumbs below her red rimmed eyes. He thought she was beautiful even when she cried but it hurt him so much to see her like this. “S’not in your head, m’love,” it was hard to say the words without breaking out into cries himself. Seeing her hurt like this made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. “Love doesn't have t’be even, kitten. Being mad doesn't have t’be even. Being upset with something I do doesn't mean I have t’be upset with something you do. Y’can be annoyed with me, and I don't have t’bring up something m’annoyed by—which is nothing,” he assured her quickly because he could spot something he said creating a spiral easily. “But love, y’have t’tell me... talking has t’be done. I can't do this alone, kitten. I can't do this without you,” he explained as gently as he could.

“It’s not important,” she shook her head. Her voice cracked again.

Harry winced. “No, but it is, kitten. I can hear how important it is. I see it. I can feel it. Y’need t’tell me. I need you t’tell me everything y’feel. I can tell it hurts. All of it. I want t’fix it. I don’t want you t’hurt. M’not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But it’s… so bad to talk about... exes,” she whispered the last word like it was a curse—like she would be sent right to jail for it saying out loud.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, maybe if y’still in love with them. Do y’still love him?” It was rhetorical honestly. He knew she didn’t.

Her face paled immediately, her sad eyes filling with more tears. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t say it t’make y’mad, m’love,” His voice was gentle again. “I want you t’process this. I can’t have you all bottled up. I need t’know signs and feelings you’re having when y’don’t want t’share them. He messed with you so good,” he smiled without an ounce of humor behind it. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked… so... disappointed. “M’usually good at figuring out what m’supposed t’do as a boyfriend. But y’stump me sometimes,” he admitted shyly. “It hurts me t’see you flustered and hurt without telling me why. I want t’be there for you. Always. In ways he never was because you—”

“He was always late,” she sobbed again. Harry pulled her to him immediately letting the tears pour out of her and he rocked her so gently. The words spilled out of her as fast as the tears did. “I swear he did it to piss me off and then he would say I was too controlling or neurotic. I was too planned out. He never got me flowers and my mom knew how much that bothered me. She knew he didn’t, even though I lied and said he did. I lied about flowers,” she felt so pathetic saying it out loud. “I lied about so many things he didn’t do because I was disappointed in myself. He didn’t see the point in romantic gestures. He didn’t think about how it kind of made me look like an idiot. I know that’s not the point of a romantic gesture, but I kept doing them for him and I—” the sobs choked her voice for a moment but Harry stayed silent. “I ignored all those red flags. All of them. Every single one of them. Why did I do that?” She cried; her voice sounded so tired. She looked so tired. Harry was quiet for a long time while more tears than he thought were possible fell across her cheeks.

“Because love is also red,” Harry whispered eventually. “Rose colored glasses are red… tulips, my sweet love,” he paused to kiss the top of her head, “are red.” It felt like hours she sobbed against him. The milk spread on the floor probably getting warm and souring the smell in the air and Harry just held her rocking ever so softly. “Thank you,” he said after way longer than anyone would have waited to speak. “For telling me that. I know that was hard. I promise I won’t be late. Ever,” he vowed. “Everything else between us? Might have t’be some compromises and more talking and we might argue. I might get mad, but it doesn’t mean it’s going t’end us, kitten. You have t’know that. M’here for the long haul... But late? On purpose? It won’t be me,” he promised easily. “Whether m’mad because I had a bad day at work or because of traffic, you’ll know the moment I know. M’not going t’miss a single time y’tell me. I will be there early.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and kissed her temple, letting his lips drag along her skin for longer than he needed but it felt so soothing she nearly cried again. “S’nothing t’be sorry for,” he promised. “C’mon,” he stood, his knees aching from crouching for so long. He held his hand out to her and pulled her to stand beside him. He pushed her toward the sofa.

“What about—”

“Shh,” he promised. “S’fine,” he murmured pushing her to sit. Once seated, he pulled her shoes off, wrapped a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. He placed a book in her lap that she had started earlier in the week and hurried to the kitchen to bring her a bottle of water. “Stay here,” he kissed her forehead again, this time cupping her cheek at the same time and rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“But I—”

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

*

As low as she got, she felt so much better, much quicker than she usually did. Harry was grateful for the change and was extremely mindful of things that caused her stress. He tried to read her mind as much as possible and was successful more often, which made him feel a lot better.

Talking was so much better. She had never felt so free. Harry knew her every thought. He didn’t belittle her emotions or make her feel like an inconvenience. Right before they fell asleep, she was snuggled close, her eyes watching Harry breathe evenly. The only light coming from a streetlamp outside their window. It wasn’t too bright but illuminated the room enough for her to make out Harry’s shadow beside her. His hand skimmed up and down her arm making her drowsy. “I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too, angel,” he murmured.

When they were out with friends Harry was mindful of her well-being. If she wanted to leave, he could sense it before she wanted to go. In fact, he even said he wanted to leave before she mentioned it. Taking her out of the equation made her anxiety lessen profusely.

If there was a problem Harry had (and rarely did that happen because he truly believed she was an angel) he looked her dead in the eye every time and promised her that he wasn’t mad. “I am not mad,” he held her face in his hands like she was a fragile vase. He waited until she nodded, he could see the emotions scrolling through her eyes like an index searching for one to land on for a moment. Only when she nodded would he continue. “I don’t like when y’leave the remote in the couch. S’hard t’find,” he explained. “Can y’try t’leave it on the coffee table?” He asked. She nodded. “Are y’okay, kitten? M’not mad,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded again. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’okay,” he smiled encouragingly. “Do y’have anything y’want t’share with me that’s bothering you?” She shook her head. “You’re sure? Not even the whole pizza thing?” He eyed her suspiciously. Harry put the whole box of leftover pizza in the fridge, and he could see the distaste in her eyes when he did so.

“It just takes up a lot of room,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled excitedly that she was telling him the truth and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go fix it now; can y’find the remote?” He found giving her a manageable task was a good distraction when she voiced her worry. He could see her eyes fill with tears despite the fact he wasn’t upset, but he knew it was because she was more than likely overwhelmed with how easy that was. She swiped her hand across her cheek and dug between the cushions to find the controller. When he returned, she handed him the remote to put on a movie. He pulled her toward him, her body half resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, so much, angel,” he promised.

“I love you,” Harry could hear how much that really meant to her in every syllable.

*

She was carrying her work bag, her lunch bag, and her clunky water bottle when her mom called. Most of the time her mom texted her. So, she assumed it was bad. She settled her things onto the counter as she answered.

“Do you know Harry texted me?” She asked.

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat. Harry hadn’t ever texted her mother to his knowledge. She knew he periodically texted her siblings but never her mom.

“He shared a whole album with me. I had to have your sister help me open it because you know me with this contraption,” she laughed but she didn’t want to hear about her technological illiteracy. She wanted to know what the album was. “It’s just a bunch of bouquets of flowers. At least two dozen. Maybe closer to three. He said it’s every bouquet he’s ever bought you and the reason why. Birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Bad day at work. Being brave at the dentist,” she laughed again. She had a hand on her heart as she tried to quell all the emotions rapidly flowing through her in quick succession. “Sweetie,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “He said he was going to add to it every time he got a new bouquet, but he wanted me to know that he got you flowers. Wanted me to have proof. Do you know what it’s about?”

She felt tears thicken her throat. “Yeah. Yeah I know,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she promised.

“I know you lied to me,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing. It was exactly how a mom would react to such a statement. “You never lie about anything so it’s pretty obvious when you do. Especially about something so...little,” she felt horrible. But honestly, she didn’t feel like telling her mom that the flowers weren’t little. They were huge, in fact. It was a huge, glaring, obvious thing that she should have known was wrong. “I’m not too sure what’s going on with you and Harry lately, but I can see how much that man adores you and I know he would do anything to make you smile.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” she responded. “I know why you did it.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Okay, well... I’m glad you have that album,” she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a couple of chores to do, Mom.”

“I know, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you, sweetie,” she could hear her mom’s encouraging smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, she sniffled. Then just as quickly, Harry came through the door and found her wiping her eyes. “Oh, kitten,” he frowned. “S’matter?” She wanted to say ‘nothing.’ But he was holding another bouquet of flowers. Half the tulips were red, and the other half was white. So, she was unable to utter a word and began to cry again. “Angel,” he set the bouquet on the counter beside her stuff and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured into her hair and squeezed her.

“Can we get married?” She asked through her tears.

Harry didn’t even care how ridiculous she sounded. He continued as if this was a normal conversation that he had every day with her. As if she wasn’t sobbing on a Thursday night for no reason. Or if he asked her if she wanted fish for dinner. “Of course we can, baby, but I have t’propose—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t care. Right now. Please. I love you so much. So, so much. I can’t—” she hiccupped.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away and looked at her. “Kitten,” he smiled gently. It was a sad smile, but a cute one. Like he didn’t want to set her off completely. “I love you, too,” he assured her. “I want t’propose the right way and make sure you’re—”

“Then give me the ring now,” she looked at him squarely in the eye. The smile melted off his face and other than her soft sniffle, there wasn’t a sound in the apartment. “Please,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he sucked his cheek in a bit and looked at her nervously. Like this was a break in her tired mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle. “What happened? Please tell me, you’re worrying me.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You told my mom you got me flowers.”

His entire body deflated, and it was like he just knew. “Stay here,” he said simply.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched as Harry walked through their apartment. She wondered if he was walking so slowly on purpose. By now, she was used to Harry’s footsteps, and she listened to the sound of them: light and quiet on their hardwood floors. From the kitchen she could hear his dresser drawers sliding open and closed. It was as if he took ten times as long to come back to the kitchen as he did to leave it.

“How did y’know?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

He smirked and pulled the little box out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the flowers, her bags and her water. “I was going to wait until Christmas, y’gonna have nothing t’open.”

“I don’t need anything,” she promised.

He chuckled. “Kitten,” he sighed. “What am I going t’do with you?”

“I don’t know. But you have a lifetime to figure it out,” she vowed.

He smiled, shook his head. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“Can you let me do it the right way—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Kitten,” he chided with a chuckle.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she wiped her cheeks again and shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. “Angel, will you—”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Please just kiss me,” she begged.

He laughed, shook his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He held her so firmly in his embrace, dipping her backwards in the middle of the kitchen like this was the most romantic place in the world. When he stood her upright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was silent. She no longer looked anxious as she had when he entered the apartment. He grabbed the ring box, pulled the ring out of the safety of its little cushion and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It wouldn’t need to be resized or anything. “Will you marry me?” He managed to ask without her interrupting.

Her response was immediate, though, barely finished the word ‘me’. “Yes."

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

[jeremy-queere]

Screw it, I'm posting SQUIP lore anyway

I just spent an hour writing the word "squip" over and over with varying capitalization nuances, so I am posting the exposition whether it is needed or not.

Okay. OKAY. ok. SO. In the pre-musical days where the Be More Chill novel was published and the internet was young and exciting, there was a tie-in website.

I lied. There were TONS of tie-in websites. They all existed in-universe and were ridiculously interconnected, and thank god for the wayback machine. Be More Chill was advertised - or as Jeremy says, "I wrote that above. I wrote Be More Chill too, with the help of my squip, under the name Ned Vizzini, which I figured was so dumb no one would think was real." The websites were linked as product testimonials or website ads (cheekily disclaimered as "Ads by Squipple").

I don't know if I can even collect all the website urls quickly without missing some but here's a spattering (with the link going to the wayback machine). Most of these websites aren't just a single page but an entire site:

Humiliationsheet.com for a list of Jeremy's daily mortification events

Squipette, a SQUIP - but pink!

Bemorechill.com, Jeremy's book website

InterSquip.com for people worried about cybersecurity - with or without a squip, take this pill and see who has one installed!

GenerationSquip.com - Sort of an unreality disclaimer that also serves as fan hype. (How do we know it's old? It suggests we "google 'squip'" and helpfully provides us with a hyperlink to the google home page.) It calls this "the squipiverse" a "100% participatory reality"

Squipped.com - a gossip rag collecting user testimonials about bad experiences with squips. It, like many of these sites, collected fan-submitted content - "Tell us about what happened to you when you came in touch with a squip! (If you don't have a story, use your imagination--we need ruthless tactics to fight the industry.)"

Squipnews.com - collecting SQUiP tips from the community in the fields of Business, Technology, SQUiP & Society, Health, and Entertainment

Iwanttobecool.org - Promoting the use of squips despite those naysayers Squipsters Against Squips. As the site poll asks: "How should we deal with anti-squip cyber-terrorists? - jail time - fines - physical dismemberment"

SQUIPusa.com - SQUIP-specific insurance which regrettably does not cover squipotomy or squipiatry, but does cover some SQUIP viruses: "SQUIPusa squipsters are now entitled to one free virtual session with an Intersquip squipnician for each week they have lost their "coolness" due to a National Squip Board-recognized virus. Valid up to six weeks"

Squipsoft.com, the parent company of squip technology. Its homepage addresses important questions like: how can you get good grades that aren't so perfect as to tip off the authorities? Use "Squipsoft School" which promises "guaranteed averages of 96.82 in every subject" except for Business Ethics or Compubiology. Or install SquipServer, which is an honest-to-god VPN ad: "Using a virtual private network (VPN) framework, this revolutionary technology turns your squip into a server capable of temporarily extending your coolness to up to three acquaintances."

CelebritySquip.com - "What percentage of American Idol finalists have squips?"

SquipWorks.com - Offering add-on tech for your squip like the MakeOut Optimizer 4.0 or the Nanolyzer (which picks up on social clues to one billionth of a meter).

SquipWorld - A more chatty experience of Squips spotted in the wild and other squip news.

Squipzophrenia.com - (I'm not endorsing the term...) - Information about the phenomenon in the novel where, if a SQUIP is turned on while the user drinks alcohol, it starts ordering them to kill people. This site has academic research on the subject and related Squip disorders. "However, [avoiding alcohol] is not a foolproof plan. Marijuana and mescaline can also cause squipzophrenia, although with the mescaline we're not sure and just think it might be the mescaline, you know?" Other squip disorders include "Loss of recognition of squip insertion i.e. 'I didn't take a pill, I'm just cool naturally!'" which can be cured via the Konami code; Squip flashbacks after a Squip is removed (which the site describes as likely false claims for the sake of "perpetuating insurance fraud"); the dangers of buying used Squips on ebay; or feeling that you can't live without your squip: "acute squipdependence. The solution is to surround yourself with calming bright plastic objects and remember that everything is fine."

Squipsters Against Squips - The notorious anti-Squip lobbying group advocating for a National Squip Registry.

Squipster - A squip-based social media platform that sadly doesn't seem to have made it to the public yet.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #20] - Park Jimin... Again

warnings: ohh this one hurts my heart! drinking, drunk hook-up, fingering, oral (m receiving), both parties are fully consenting but the OC is having a bit of a hard time mentally (head vs heart kind thing!), it makes me really sad for her reading it back :( anyways, one of the biggest B birds is tackled!!!! kinda!!! the smut isn't he he smutty smut!! more so mechanical! controversial opinion but one of my fave starluvrs chapters!!

soundtrack: seesaw - bts

wc: 6.8k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Hey," Jeongguk says quietly as he comes to stand beside you. You're standing behind the front desk at your work, watching on with subtle pride as Tae's event kicks into gear. Chatter pollutes the air, Tae's chosen choice of jazz music softly humming beneath the conversation.

Jeongguk's dressed well. More formal than you've ever seen him. A dark, silky shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to give you vivid flashbacks of your hand around his throat, nails scratching ever so gently at his skin. His usual silver chain sits prettily in place, but a second necklace hangs a little lower. As always, his hair is tousled in such a way it screams 'i woke up like this' - but you've seen him in the mornings. Know that he will have spent a solid half an hour perfecting the look.

On his feet are his trusty Chuck Taylors. Makes you laugh when you look down and see them next to your sparkly heels. You nudge against his shoes with your own. He does it back. 

If you were to glance in the mirror in the far corner of the room, you'd notice how good you look together. Your dress is tight - a well-structured bodice with a low back and a straight skirt that finishes midway down your thighs - but chiffon billows around your arms. A subtle shimmer runs through the threads of the otherwise black fabric, and Jeongguk thinks it's fitting. Doesn't mention it, though.

Instead, he gently strokes the top of your back where your shoulder blades are far too tense. You're more poised than usual. It's stress, he thinks.

He'd be right in thinking that - but you smile regardless. Won't let anything dampen how well Tae's show is going.

Lights dim, the focus is all on the art pieces. Free champagne (which is really just prosecco but you're hoping no one will notice) is flowing, and appetisers are being eaten. The deli cafe a few floors below had agreed to do the catering, and you're thankful that they agreed to do it for a discount rate. You're barely breaking even with the launch event, but you hope that it will prove to be fruitful for Tae and the other artists in the future.

"Hey," you whisper right back, knocking your shoulder against him tenderly. "You good?"

He nods and hums a pretty little purr of confirmation. "You?"

You do the same back. It's not for a lack of wanting to engage in conversation, it's just that you know your social battery is gonna be worn down to the metal casing by the end of the evening, and so you're preserving your resources. 

Jeongguk is aware of this. He always clocks it whenever you reached social capacity in the club - you'll sway instead of dance, and drunkenly walk away from people, favouring the bar instead of the dancefloor. He knows you've maybe got a solid six hours in you, but anything after that? He's not so sure.

"The place looks great," he tells you - and it really does.

For the launch night, you've optimised space and minimised the number of easels that are out. Furniture has been rearranged to create a natural flow for attendees to walk through, in order for each artist to have their work fully admired. 

Tae's collection is the focal point, of course, but it's done in such a subtle way that most won't notice. The design of it all is smart - helped by Jimin's expertise in interior staging, brought to life by the brawn of Jeongguk and how he's able to move even the heaviest furniture with ease, and finished off with Tae's carefully crafted artwork.

They make for a great team. 

Yoongi's custom-built frames and display units are perfect for the space, and Namjoon is by the entrance greeting critics he knows from other papers. Tae couldn't have surrounded himself with better people.

You think it's deserved. His work is gorgeous. If you had a spare penny, you'd invest in some. Know that he's destined for greatness, and that this is just the start of his professional career. If anything, you feel lucky to be a part of it all, no matter how small. 

But see that's the thing - Taehyung always had these resources around him. Had it not been for you pulling them all together and actually using them, he never would have done. Not to the best of his ability, at least. You're just as important to this as the rest of them are. 

Jeongguk couldn't be prouder - of you, of Tae, of what you've achieved. It's early and the night is young, but things are heading in the right direction. People are filtering in gradually. Half a dozen people have come off the street just to see what's going on.

"I think it's incredible, Byeol," Jeongguk says softly. "All of this... I just. Wow. Amazing."

"Stop," you laugh quietly. "Was a team effort."

He shakes his head. Thinks you're by far the most important piece of the puzzle.

"Yeah, well," he shrugs. "What's a team without a leader?"

You glance over at him, a little bemused by his appreciation. 

He looks down at you and smiles, lip ring flipping ever so slightly in that way you adore so much. In the dull light behind the desk, a small speck of glitter twinkles on his shoulder.

"Here," you say as you reach over to pick it away, before dusting it off your fingers. "I fear I've cursed you with glitter."

Jeongguk shakes his head. Tells you he doesn't mind. He kind of likes the sparkles. Is still finding tiny reminders of you in his sheets. Makes him smile every time. 

When he was sleeping with Hayun, it would be her lipstick that would stain his skin. His mugs, his sheets, his shirts, too. 

Part of him wonders what permanence Jiyeong will hold. 

Part of him kind of doesn't wanna find out.

But speak of the Devil and he doth appear - or think of Jiyeong, and sure enough, there she is by the entrance, speaking with Hoseok, who is handling entry. 

She's dressed well - a navy blue dress hugs her enviable figure, which you know she's worked damn hard to achieve. Her hair is down, and her make-up is minimal; a natural beauty. Not a speck of glitter in sight.

"Ah, it does appear your princess has arrived, Prince Charming," you tease him with a little more pomp and poise than is needed, just to echo your point. 

"Fuck off," he laughs  - but heads on his way regardless.

You watch on as Jeongguk greets her, a hand in his pocket while the other scratches at the back of his head. He laughs, looks to the floor, then back up at her. When he smiles, his lip ring does the thing . 

You look away. Find Tae in the crowd. Head for him instead.

Your palms feel a little clammy, and your head doesn't feel like it's screwed on properly, but there's no feasible reason to feel such a way. Belated nerves, maybe? It's a big night. Tae has a lot riding on it. Yeah. That must be it.

As you approach, with an extra champagne flute in hand to top him up, he beams at you. 

Smile wide, Taehyung is every bit the schmoozer. He's been talking the ears off a local critic for the past ten minutes, and they've laughed at every joke. 

It probably helps that he's dressed like the boy of everyone's fantasies; ivory shirt and dark slacks, lockets around his neck and dark hair pushed back to frame his portrait-worthy face. In a room full of priceless art, Kim Taehyung could be considered a masterpiece himself.

The thought glitters in your mind, illuminating the fact that you think this could apply to Jeongguk, too. You twist ever so slightly to look at him, but stop yourself. Your nosey tendencies can wait. 

For now, Tae is babbling on about your contribution to the show, and you're far better off focusing on him. He's without an agent, so you're playing the role for now.

You don't really know what it all entails, but you've read a wikihow page and watched a couple of youtube videos. Know enough to get by. It's just to stop investors from thinking they can take advantage of Tae. You're protection, in a way, which is laughable. 

"You've an eye for curation," a critic tells you, after Tae finishes bragging about your dedication to the show - but you shake your head.

"It's all Taehyung's genius," you smile. "He's an artist through and through, and it's his concepts we've brought to life. I'm merely a facilitator of his vision."

It's all so pompous. You hate the bullshit chatter, but know it's needed. So does Tae. You've never seen him so composed. He doesn't even falter when Danbi shows up half an hour later. 

Though he does get a little giggly when she approaches him to gush about how beautiful his work is. He grins - and grins, and grins, and grins - and tells her that it's nothing. She tells him he's remarkable, and her words replay in his head for the rest of the night.

Kind of like how Jeongguk's hand on your back, the intrusive scent of his aftershave, and the thought of his lip ring doing the thing whenever he nibbles down on it, plagues yours. It's bizarre. 

Realistically, you know it's because you're nervous, and have always sought comfort in him. If he were by your side, maybe you'd worry less about Tae impressing the critics. Maybe he'd joke with you about that one rogue piece of art neither of you really like. 

Instead, he stands with Jiyeong, engaged in conversation with the Mins. If you were to be looking in his direction, you'd notice Seoyeon trying to catch your eye. 'Are you okay?' her nuanced gaze would ask, and you'd smile. Nod your head. Assure her that you're grand.

You refuse to let yourself linger. It's not healthy. Jeongguk is your friend. Dependency isn't cute on anyone. 

But Jiyeong looks cute on his arm, and Jeongguk looks cute when he explains different art facts he's learnt from you to her. The recycled knowledge is wasted on a mind like Jiyeong's. Her interests lie elsewhere. It's not her kind of thing - but Jeongguk is her kind of man, so she nods along and is ever so pleasant. 

When Nabi arrives, you're pleased to see her act just as frosty towards Jiyeong as she had towards you.

"Don't mind her," Jimin grins beside you as you watch the interaction with great curiosity. "Nabi is... Well, she's Nabi."

You smile. Jimin looks dashing as ever. Is wearing a thin knitted sweater with a pair of tight jeans hugging his toned legs. Chelsea boots accent his look, and you find yourself smiling at the predictability of him. His style differs from that of his friends, but you find that you quite like it.

His hair is perfectly permed to fall back off his face, showing off his dark eyes and cute little cheeks. He's paradoxical. Sweet and spicy all in one bite.

"She always like this?" You ask, not really caring if Jimin knows you don't feel so fondly towards her.

"Uh-huh," he nods. "She comes across as rude, but honestly I think she's just shy."

"Shy?" You sneer - but catch the unpleasant look on your face and try to soften it. The stress has made you a little snappy, and you don't like it. 

"Shy," he nods again with a laugh. Finds your uncharacteristically sour face rather funny. "She's hot though, so everyone thinks she's being a dick. She'll warm up. She always does - you really think Seoyeon would be friends with her if she didn't?"

He's got a good point. Seoyeon is potentially the sweetest person you've ever met. You can't imagine her being friends with assholes - but then again, even assholes need friends. Seoyeon would always try and see the good in people, if she could. 

"She scares me," you tell him. He hands you his champagne flute. It's half empty, but he thinks you need a drink. He's right.

"You scare her, probably. You're some random girl showing up all buddy-buddy with her oldest friends without warning," he says, trying to put it into perspective. "She gets back from visiting family abroad and BOOM . There's some girl riding shotgun in Jeongguk's car and helping with Tae's career in a way she never could. It's intimidating. She doesn't know her place anymore."

When he says it like that, you cringe. Feel guilty for being such a harsh judge towards her. Sure, Nabi had been rude, but you can't go through life expecting everyone to act in the same way you would. It's differences that make us interesting, after all.

"How long had been gone?" You ask quietly, knowing it's really none of your business.

"Six months," Jimin says. "Her grandparents live in Scotland. It's where she's been. You should ask her, yourself. Might be a good chance to get to know her."

You nod. Fold your arms across your chest. Decide you know far too much about this poor girl's personal life already. Anything else you learn, you would like it to be directly from her.

"Would she like to come out with us?" You offer. "After the show?"

Jimin smiles. "Probably. I'll ask."

When she glances over to you a little while later, Jimin clearly mentioning the invite, you smile. You think she smiles back, but it's hard to tell - though you can clearly see her nod. 

You sigh a shallow breath of relief and are so focused on the interaction that you almost don't notice Jeongguk coming to stand beside you. 

"Clock's not struck midnight yet, Charming," you hum when you smell his aftershave. "Where's your girl?"

He nudges his shoulder against yours and takes your champagne flute from your hand - your fifth of the night and counting - before knocking it all back in one swig. 

"Couldn't stay. She's meeting friends, so we'll probably see her out tonight - if that's okay?"

"Yeah, sure," you say without hesitation. "Of course that's fine. It was really nice of her to come along."

Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. I think she enjoyed it."

You nod, too. It's a little awkward. Neither of you know how to navigate conversations about other people. You're coy; don't wanna ask too much. 

"That's good," you smile. "Fancy another drink?"

"Please."

One drink turns into three, which turns into six. By the time the show has dwindled down to just the usual suspects, and Tae is popping a champagne bottle in celebration of an exhibition gone well, you're ready to hit the clubs. 

Everyone is in good spirits. 

There's not a single face without a smile as you head downtown, not to Dionysus, but to a bar just across the road. The boys are regulars here just as much, but it's a quieter vibe - small rooms that allow for a more private setting. 

They instantly head towards one of the back coves. The room is tiny. Cramped. Dark. Stinks of beer and cigarette smoke. There are black sofas lining the walls, and you dread to think of what horrors they've seen as you sink down into one beside Jeongguk. 

Not much thought is given to your seating arrangement. His legs are stretched out, knees wide apart, one hand over his crotch, the other tucked behind you. Legs pulled up to your chest, your feet are on the sofa, shoes on the floor. One of your arms wraps around your knees, hugging them into you. Your other hand mindlessly rests on his thigh. 

It's dangerously close to his hand. So close that he reaches out with his fingers. They delicately toy with yours. You think very little of it. Just finds comfort in it. So does he. 

No one notices.

You're wedged between Jeongguk and Danbi, who also has an incredibly giddy Taehyung next to her.

Or at least she does, until he hops up to grab beer pong cups from the bar. He returns with everything he needs for the game, but leaves again, only to return with a tray of shots, too.

It's just sourz. Has nothing on purple starfuckers - but it serves a purpose. Is exactly what you need as you stand at one end of the beer pong table. 

Nabi is on the other end, Jimin by her side.

Tae got distracted by Danbi, well, existing. Put the cups down and haven't thought about them since. The game is yours now. 

It's nice seeing Nabi actually smile. Has you supposing that Jimin was right, after all. She cheers when anyone gets shots in, even if it means she has to drink. A good sport. Just wants everyone to have fun. Knows that she sometimes can rub people up the wrong way, so appreciates the fact you made sure she was invited.

She always would have been invited. Taehyung had already mentioned it to her - but the fact that you made Jimin check? She appreciates it. Probably won't tell you so directly, but hopes that you'll see she's trying.

And you do. You're trying, too. It's always weird when someone new enters a dynamic. It's why you're trying to be mindful of Jiyeong, and excuse away Jeongguk for not being totally focused on the evening. 

He's torn between his friends and making sure he replies to her drunk messages quickly enough. It doesn't help that he's also drunk and really can't be fucked with being on his phone in a dark room. It's embarrassing. He's here with friends. Doesn't wanna be glued to a screen.

His phone is facedown by the sofa when he comes to stand behind you, while you gear up for your next shot. You're currently a point up, and only have to get three more cups out.

"Easy does it," Jeongguk husks just loud enough for you to hear. If his voice wasn't enough to distract you, his hand on your hip might just be. It's disguised by the shadows of the dark room, but the sensation burns so brightly you're surprised no one else notices. 

"I am easy," you tell him, not realising how bad that sounds until it's out of your mouth. The glitter on your cheeks catches in the dim fairy lights as you giggle at yourself. 

Jeongguk just smirks. Shakes his head.

"No, you're not."

"Well, what am I then?" you flirt a little. " Hard ?"

Oh God, he's smirking again. 

There's a mirror on the far wall behind Nabi and Jimin. You hate it. 

Hate how you never used to notice mirrors before Jeongguk came into your life, and hate how you noticed every single one of them now. 

Hate how good Jeongguk looks, dark hair waving divinely around his features. His broad shoulders are hidden by his shirt, but he's loosened his buttons to frame his collar bones in silk. Sleeves rolled up, forearms on show, he's a menace. 

The kind of guy your mother warned you about, cosplaying as the boy next door. Trouble. Sin. Temptation. 

And yet he's just so pretty - doe-eyed and dewy-nosed - that he's impossible to resist.

"Maybe," he sings, taking a swig of his drink before holding it to your lips. You let him tilt it. Drink it down. Tastes like shit, but you don't care. Are too enthralled by the flirt. 

"Nah," you laugh softly as you lick the liquor from your lips. "I'm not hard."

Jeongguk's had too much to drink. He knows better than to reply in the way he wants to. Knows he shouldn't grip your waist and pull you back so that your ass is rested against his crotch. 

He knows, he knows, he knows. 

"Funny," he husks. "You might not be, but me? Well..."

And yet his grip does tighten. He closes the gap. Makes your breath hitch.

"Haven't got all day Disco Ball!" Jimin calls over, blissfully unaware of what's going on in the dark.

Jeongguk loosens his grip. Takes a step back. Walks around to the side of the table and slumps down into the sofa beside Namjoon. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see them whispering to each other, but decide to ignore it.

Instead, you line up your shot. Focus. Narrow your eyes and ignore the heckles Jimin is throwing in your direction. Anything to put you off your game. Nabi slaps at his shoulder and tells him to cut it out. 

And so you smile at her. Mouth the words 'thank you' in her direction. 

Jimin just leans on the table. Tells you that he gets a free shot if you take any longer.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Jeongguk calls over, just to let you all know he's still invested.

Of course he is. He wants you to win. 

Just didn't wanna take things too far.

"You've got this, B!"

And you do .

The shot is smooth. Sharp. The tiny white ball knocks against the lip of the most distant cup and falls directly into the small pool of beer it's holding. 

Jimin stares at it in disbelief.

"What?" You grin, as Jeongguk cheers you on and Namjoon laughs at Jimin's poor defeated face. "Drink up, Park. Haven't got all day."

The rest of the game continues much like that. Jeongguk sits on the sidelines and lets you take the reins. Doesn't interfere. Just watches on, with a curious sense of pride and something he can't quite place. Just notices that his jaw gets a little tense whenever your start joking around with Jimin.

It's nothing a fresh shot doesn't solve. The liquor eases his jaw. Makes him forget the uncomfortable feeling that comes with watching your glitter sparkle in someone else's eyes.

He brushes the feeling to the side. Ignores it. 

But when you've been gone for ten minutes, and he realises he doesn't know where Jimin is either, he pauses. Doesn't want another shot cause he feels a little sick. 

Decides the bathroom is the best place for him. It's a bog standard toilet - no gender separation of the stalls. Just a door into a room with a sink in it, and another door that leads to the actual toilet. 

"Shit, sorry," Jeongguk mumbles as he opens the door, realising someone's stood by the sink.

"Hey," you chime pleasantly. "It's cool. Come in. No one's in there."

You've just been touching up your makeup. Have no idea where Jimin is. You've not seen him. Assume he's flirting with some random by the bar. Seems like him.

And yet Jeongguk's drunk tongue decides that he'd quite like to just make sure you haven't seen Jimin. It's stupid. He's got no reason to care. Doesn't care. Is just a little too tipsy for his own good.

"If I didn't know any better," Jeongguk says quietly, coming to stand behind you. "I'd say you've been flirting with Jimin."

The bathroom is cramped, graffiti covering the walls. There's no soap and the hand dryer is broken. It's seen better days. Seen a lot of sin. You glance up at him as you wash your hands the best you can. The position is all too familiar. 

Mirrors and Jeongguk? 

Yeah. A view you know well. 

You smirk. Raise your brows. "So what if I have been?"

He shrugs. Looks at your hair, and starts to toy with it. Scoops it together to push it all over a single shoulder. 

He leaves your neck exposed, and bites down on his lips to stop himself from doing things he knows he shouldn't. A tiny waft of your perfume intrudes on his senses. God . He really does fucking like your perfume. 

"Just curious," he says. "That's all."

You think that will be the end of his interrogation. 

Think that Jeongguk is just throwing questions into the void, but that your lack of a clear answer will deter him. 

It does. Only for a moment, though. He's still stroking at your hair. Doesn't look at you. Just your damn hair. 

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asks, "Are you gonna fuck him again?"

You say nothing, just continue washing your hands as you think about what the fuck to say back. You've not been planning on it, but the question sounds a bit like an accusation. Sounds like Jeongguk is probing you. Sounds unlike him. Sounds like he wants a fight.

Shutting the tap off, you rest your palms on the edge of the basin and look at his reflection. You're annoyed to find him still watching his own hands as they stroke through your hair.

"Why?" You question. He's never been one to cast judgement over your choices. Never. You're pissed that it seems like he's doing it now. "Should I fuck him again?"

Jeongguk's the one who falters now. 

Only for a split second, but long enough for you to know he's running hurdles in his brain. 

He doesn't know why he started the conversation, and doesn't know where the fuck he hopes it ends - he just knows he can't seem to stop it.

The dingy light flickers ever so gently, like morse code. Dash, dot... Dash, dash, dash. 

Indifference is feigned well as he shrugs. "If you want."

And you're not sure why, but you ask, "Do you want me to?"

When he looks up and catches your gaze in the aged, desilvered mirror ahead of you both, he's hard to read. 

His stare is hard, but his features are soft. Cheeks a little pink. Lips pretty and pouty like they are always are. 

"Wasn't that the whole point of the birds?" He asks. "We fuck about, get you comfortable with intimacy... you have better sex?"

You scoff. Shake your head as you look down to where your hands grip the porcelain basin. There are water droplets still on your skin. Sort of look like tears, you think.

"Mhmm," you finally say as your eyes dart up again, with a nod and a smile so fake that even the alcohol can't convince Jeongguk it's genuine. "I'm sure Jimin will be thrilled to have your leftovers."

"What?" he asks, a little confused. 

Running your hands through your hair, you disrupt the preening he's been doing and let your hair messily fall into a more natural state. His hands drop from their position by your shoulders. Distance is created. 

"Surely it's easier to start off with someone you already know?" He continues. "And the fuck are you on about? Leftovers? You know I hate it when you say shit like that, Byeol. It's not like that."

In Jeongguk's mind, it's really not that dissimilar to your setting him up with Jiyeong. You had started him off easy. Someone he knows won't reject him. 

Interesting how he's already convinced there'll be a next; that Jiyeong is a start, not an end. 

Longevity isn't something that he sees in her. 

A certain guilt lies within him whenever they're together because of this, but he thinks perhaps he's writing it off too soon. Maybe it's his brain self-sabotaging like it always does.

"So what's different?" you say quietly, and turn to face him. 

In the mirror, the open back of your dress has your spine on full display, and Jeongguk's reminded of how he traced down it in his kitchen; you bent over his counter, threats of fucking Jimin again acting as foreplay. 

He's only got himself to blame. 

"How will fucking Jimin now be any different to the last time?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Starts toying with your hair again. You wish he would stop. 

And yet you don't make him. He's gentle as he tucks the hair over your ear, mindful of your piercings. 

"You know the house layout, now," he smirks, trying to lighten the mood. He really doesn't want to argue with you. "You won't trip up on your way out."

"Shut the fuck up," you smile, not wanting to find humour in his words. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to stay the night, now."

He nods. Purses his lips. Looks in your eyes as he whispers, "I'll be so proud of you if you do."

You think he means it. 

So does he.

It's not something he's tried with you. Not a bird that's been completed - but one of the ones that means the most, he thinks.

It's sitting on his desk at home. 

Had fallen after you'd agreed to stop doing the birds for the time being. 

"You would?" You whisper back, and ignore the way his thumb is stroking your hip. Pretend like he isn't so close you can practically taste his drink of choice. 

"I would," he says back so quietly it's barely even a breath. The way he nods his head forces his nose to nudge ever so gently against yours. It's nothing new. Nothing that hasn't been done before. "You've done so well, Byeol. Faced so many fears." 

Haven't kissed you, though, you think - and it takes everything in you not to close the gap.

"It's still scary," you say, a hand on his chest, the other resting on the crook of his neck. 

If anyone were to walk in right now, there'd be a million questions asked  - and yet neither of you questions the familiarity of your embrace. 

Intimacy has been fostered between the pair of you. Exactly what the birds were trying to prevent. You were supposed to face your fears; untie the acts from any romantic feelings.

It's why you tell yourself this is normal. 

It's why you're utterly convinced that this is just a byproduct of the birds, and that it's not actually real. 

"I used to be scared of the dark," he tells you with a shy smile, looking down as he laughs ever so gently. You laugh, too. It's cute. 

He withdraws a little. Lets you go. Rests his back against the far wall and drinks in the sight of you. 

Your lips are blushed. Pouty. Kiss deprived. Glitter shimmers by your eyes and he's so glad of how predictable you always are. Sees stars even on the cloudiest of nights with you. 

Jeongguk just runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. 

"Still don't like it much," he continues. "Spook myself out sometimes. There's a corner of my room that's a little darker than the rest of the place and... yeah. It freaks me out. But you know what?"

"What?" you enthuse, the smile on your lips definitely the result of a few too many drinks. It matches his.

He reaches over to the light switch. Turns it off. Stumbles a little from his lost balance, and regains it by reaching out for you. You steady him - and you're right back where you started, far too close. 

"I'm not scared of it anymore," he whispers. "I don't like it much, and I prefer having a little light to guide me - but I'm not scared ."

"And this is relevant... how?" You giggle, as your hands hold onto the front of his shirt.

It's at this point Jeongguk knows he fucked, for Jeongguk's utterly convinced if he doesn't kiss you, he'll die.

He wants to press his lips down on yours as you giggle. Wants to taste the alcohol on your tongue. Wants to feel your teeth bite down on his bottom lip. Oh, god , he wants it . Wants you . Just once. Just so he knows what it's like.

He knows you kiss. Saw Jimin kiss you that very first night. Sure, you deflected it - but that initial contact? The way your lips looked as they pressed down into someone else's? 

God, he just wants to know. Has to know.

Never been into voyeurism, but the more he thinks about you with someone else, the more he knows he'd gladly watch. 

Perhaps 'gladly' is the wrong word. He'd fuckin' hate it - but he'd take it just to be blessed with a visual of you doing his favourite thing in the world.

But then he feels guilty, again. 

He knows he's not strictly off the market, and that he is still single, but he's always been a one-girl kinda guy. Never fucked around with more than one at any one given time. 

Would feel fucking awful if things with Jiyeong progressed, knowing that he'd gotten far too close for comfort with you in the early days.

He wants you in his life. 

If he fucks around with you now, then it writes off any chance of that when he and Jiyeong become official. 

So he pulls away from you again, and reaches for the light. Can't find it. Gives up. Cracks the door ajar a little. The light that pours in is dusty. Smoke filled. The particles dance in the air; filth in the purity of the one thing that keeps you breathing. His foot holds the door open. He bathes in the dingy lighting of the bar, his features masked by shadows. 

"It's okay that you still don't like intimacy, B," he tells you. "What matters is that you still try. Even without me. Even if it scares you. You just gotta try. Just gotta keep trying."

You reach for the door and pull it further open. Let the light pour in. 

"Gotta keep trying," you nod.  "I should probably-"

"Yeah, yeah, no, of course," Jeongguk nods as you gesture to the door. "Go. Sorry for walking in on you like that."

"It's no bother," you tell him with a small smile. 

And you really do mean it. Jeongguk never bothers you. You're always pleased to have his company around.

You're less pleased to realise how fucking wet you are as you walk back to the group. Been in his proximity for all of five minutes and you're a state . Maybe he's got a point. Maybe you do need to get laid.

When Jeongguk rejoins the group, he doesn't look at you. Picks up his jacket, and mumbles something to Jimin. A laugh is shared, before Jeongguk pats his back and heads towards the door without even glancing in your direction. 

No explanation. 

He's just gone.

"Hey Jimin?" You call over, too drunk to care for playing it cool. "Where'd Gguk go?"

"Jiyeong," he simply says not thinking much of it - and why would he? 

From the corner of the group, Yoongi pays attention to the way your shoulders drop a little bit. He's not stupid. 

Knows which direction the bathroom is in. 

Knows there must have been some overlap. 

Knows you've been off talking with Jeongguk. 

Doesn't think it would be anything more than a conversation, but think it doesn't matter. As always, Yoongi is right.

Jeongguk had sought you out. Had wanted to speak with you privately. You'd returned with a pleasant smile on your face - once of which faded almost instantly once Jiyeong's name was mentioned. 

Yoongi says nothing. It's not his place to interfere - though he does text Seoyeon almost instantly to let her know that there's trouble in paradise. 

She's by the bar with Nabi getting another round. Glances over immediately. Frowns when she notices Jeongguk's absence. Sighs when she sees the look on your face.

"Kids," Yoongi mutters under his breath, shaking his head, before knocking down the rest of his whisky. He actually thinks having his own kids would be less stressful than keeping an eye on you all.

You know you shouldn't, but as you finish off your drink, you start feeling petty. Vindictive . 

Jeongguk's out with Jiyeong doing fuck knows what. Is fuck knows where. You shouldn't be angry, but you're a little too drunk for your own good. Can't help it.

Maybe you will fuck Jimin. 

Maybe you'll fuck him, and realise that sex really is just sex - even the intimate parts of it. Maybe you'll let Jimin make you cum. Maybe you'll let him kiss you. Maybe you'll stay the night, and maybe Jeongguk will have to watch the next morning as you emerge from Jimin's room instead of his.

Maybe he'll have to watch Jimin reap the fruits of his labour, just like you know Jiyeong is reaping the fruits of yours.

But this was always the deal. Always the case. 

It isn't Jeongguk's fault. Isn't Jiyeong's. Isn't yours, either. 

"Hey," Jimin grins, holding out his drink for you to take a sip. You gladly oblige. "Too pretty to be this mopey. Let's dance."

"Jimin," you pout and whine, really not feeling it. It's one thing to consider fucking Jimin, but a whole different thing to actually act on it.

"Don't gimmie that face," he teases. There's a glint in his eye; mischief . You recognise it. Have seen it before. Have leant into it. Have pushed it away. 

You're not sure what you'll do with it tonight. 

When you take Jeongguk out of the equation, you probably wouldn't give it a second thought. You know Jimin. Have fooled around with him before. Know you'll be safe. Know it will satisfy a hunger.

And so you take his hand, and let him drag you to the dancefloor. 

Just like you let his hands wander. Let his teeth become reacquainted with your neck. His lips are soft. Warm. His hands, too. And his voice, when he says "should we just cut to the chase?"

You laugh. Nod. There's no point in playing coy; not when he knows what he wants, and assumes you want it, too. He doesn't get rejected too often. In fact, the last girl who did? Was you.

He doesn't even try to kiss you. Remembers how little you seemed to be into it the last time, completely unaware of the fact you love it. 

At least you won't have to deal with Jeongguk, and how whiney he is about always wanting to ki-

Nope . 

Once you realise you're thinking about him, you stop. 

This? Now?

This is the first test of the birds. Jeongguk helped you. For this very purpose. He shouldn't hinder you. Not now.

Just like you're sure he's not thinking about you while he's with Jiyeong, you tell yourself you can't think about him, either. 

Funny, really. 

Jeongguk's across town embroiled in an argument. Can't stop thinking about you, 'cause Jiyeong's insisting on hashing it out with him as to why she gets such weird vibes from the pair of you both. 

Jimin also gets those vibes, but is a boy, and is stupid. Pays no attention to it.

And why would he? 

Not even half an hour later, you're in his bedroom. 

He's the one reclining onto his elbows, legs spread, knees hooked over the end of his bed as you shake your dress off. 

You think of the birds. Know that nakedness is one of them. The last time you fucked Jimin, you'd been fully clothed. 

This time, you won't be. 

It makes you nervous. He can't tell. Not with the way you hold yourself as you slip out of the fabric and let it crumple on his floor. 

"You hard?" you ask quietly. The lighting is dim, and it's hard to tell beneath his dark jeans. He palms at himself and smirks.

"Getting there. Wanna see?"

You nod. Watch with bated breath as Jimin undoes his trousers. Pushes them down a little. Lets his white briefs show you exactly how hard he is. 

He's definitely firm, but not quite there yet. Needs more than just a half-naked girl. Seen so many of them in his lifetime that he needs something a little more interesting to really get him excited. 

"Play with yourself," you tell him. The positioning - you standing in front of him, in control - has him eager. 

He remembers how difficult you can be all in the name of a good fuck. Knows he's in for a treat - and so does as he's told. Pulls his cock free. Strokes it. Lets his head fall back for a few pumps, then meets your eyes again as he jerks himself off.

You smirk, now. "Cute."

"Cute?" He laughs a little in disbelief, so you just nod. 

There's an air about you. An arrogance. It's the attitude he usually gives women. Quite likes it when it's given back to him. 

"Cute," you nod with a sickly sweet smile, as you get to your knees. Hands on his thighs, you stroke tenderly. His grip on his cock tightens as his hips push up into his hand. 

"Look at you," you continue teasing. "All needy and playing with yourself because you just can't wait to fuck me. It's really cute."

He slows down, as if he wants to defy you, but you just smirk. 

"Did I say stop?"

He laughs. Shakes his head. Continues.

"You just wanna watch?" He asks, a little bemused.

"Mhmm," you hum pleasantly. There's a power trip that comes with watching a man wank over you. It's safe. His problem, not yours.

The proximity of his cock to your face does make it hard to resist. You haven't given head in so long. One of your favourite acts, you've never had issues with it, which is why it was never included in bird-related endeavours - and blessed, fortunate Jimin is gonna be the one to receive your pent-up need for a cock in your mouth.

Not yet, though. You'll let him suffer a little longer, first.

You're quite enjoying it, regardless. Jimin's hands are pretty in a way that Jeongguk's aren't; dainty and petite. Well proportioned, and perfectly kept. What he may lack in length, you know he'll make up for in skill.

Gets you thinking about your birds. Gets you thinking that you need to put them into practice. 

You get to your feet and Jimin just watches. Says nothing. You're not entirely steady on your feet thanks to the alcohol, but it doesn't matter. You're not standing for long. 

Straddling his lap, Jimin nods. Doesn't make a fucking noise. Not even a hum. He's too busy making sure he doesn't wank himself off too well. Would be embarrassing if he came early.

You reach for his hand. Stop him. Guide him to your underwear, instead.

He needs no instruction. Just says, "take your bra off."

And so you do. Another fear set free by Jeongguk. You're doing it. You're really fucking doing it. 

The birds? They fucking work . 

You find the annoyance you had with Jeongguk, and this whole new reality you're both now living in, melting away.

Perhaps it was jealousy, but not of Jiyeong; jealousy of Jeongguk, and the fact that he was actually making developments in his life thanks to the birds. 

Now, you are, too. 

You laugh a little. Jimin thinks you're just giggling because he's pushing your underwear to the side. Must be ticklish or something. 

He's sat up straight, a hand on his cock, the other stroking over your pussy. Wetter than he expects, he knows you're game to fuck, and is pleased. Had no doubt you would be, but it's always a nice ego boost. Alcohol can fuck with things, making it a little more challenging.

Sure, Jeongguk might have gotten you wet earlier, but it's Jimin who's gotten you this far. 

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. 

Jimin , who sinks a finger into you. Jimin , who reads your body as you gasp and adjust to his touch. Jimin , who latches his plump lips around your nipple as he begins to fuck his finger into you.

"Shit," you husk a little breathlessly, which earns a hum of satisfaction from Jimin. His lips are still wrapped around your nipple, sucking tenderly. 

He stops only briefly to tease you. "See how much nicer it is when you just do what I tell you to do?"

You laugh, but quickly find yourself moaning again when he pushes a second finger into you. One of your hands is on his shoulder, but the other drops to his wrist and stops him from playing with himself. 

"You wanna try?" He flirts. "Wanna see how hard I am for you, huh?"

You nod. "Please."

He guides your hand to his cock. Tilts his head back as you wrap your fingers around his shaft. 

"Shit."

His throat looks gorgeous in this light; thick and tense as he swallows. The sensation of your hand is nothing compared to your pussy, but fuck. He likes it. Likes it so much. 

"Faster."

You oblige. Wank him off so well he falters for a second or so, torso tense, finger buried in your pussy. He snaps out of it, and adjusts himself. Grips your waist. Fucks his fingers into you so fast there's absolutely zero chance of you staying quiet.

Your breathing gets deeper. So do his fingers. The sound, the feel, it's fucking euphoric - but it scares you. Scares you so much.

Just gotta keep trying.

Jeongguk's words echo in your mind. The only way to get over a fear is to confront it. You know this. You've proven it to yourself before. There's no need to be scared.

Your breathing gets heavier. Jimin mistakes it for pleasure. Doesn't realise you're panicking.

"Wait, wait," you say a little breathlessly.

"You alright?" He asks, stopping as soon as you say so, but not really thinking much of it. Assumes you were too close. Figures you wanna make it last - which would be fine by him. 

You nod. Swallow back a harsh breath. 

"Yeah, yeah," you say as you pull away from him, and get to the floor between his legs. Again, there's no opposition from Jimin. You're both probably a little too drunk to be making sensible choices, and in the morning, it'll be a miracle if you even remember. 

For the time being, all you can focus on is making sure he doesn't know you were on the edge of a freakout. The last thing you want is to have to explain yourself - and how can you do that with a cock in your mouth?

You stroke him gently in your palm, admiring his cock. It's just as pretty as he is. Slightly curved, and a little more flushed in colour than you thought it would be. Half a dozen small, dark veins run up the underside of his shaft. 

Makes you think of Jeongguk, and the single, thick vein that runs up his. Curious how different they are. Jimin is smaller than Jeongguk, granted, but you don't really mind. Will be far easier to take in your mouth.

And as you pepper kisses up his cock, you know that it's exactly what you want to do. He grunts when your tongue licks against it. Pushes his hips up. Edges his trousers off. 

You follow the instructions of his body language and get them around his ankles, before adjusting your position. 

Tongue flat against him, you lick a stripe up his cock, and swirl around his dark head. He curses. Lets his back fall to his mattress. Lifts his hips. Wants more. 

You kitten lick around his tip, just to him get a little moany, then press wet kisses against him. Ignoring his pleas for more, you take it at your own pace. Wank him off as your tongue gets acquainted with his balls. 

Jimin makes sure to let you know just how much likes that. Is so moany.

His hands tangle in your hair. He's gentle but a little rough when he needs to be. Pulls you a little further up. 

"Suck it."

Teasing a little more, you smirk. Spit. The way he moans is unholy. 

"Shit."

You're void of thoughts as you wrap your lips around his shaft, taking his length inside your mouth. Your tongue is wet, mouth hot, just how he likes it. He sounds like heaven, and yet you refuse to listen. Don't want anything intruding. Don't wanna hear him say your name, and get a complex over the fact Jeongguk never calls you by name.

Don't wanna think about the fact you can't say 'chess'. Don't wanna think about how soft Jeongguk is with you. Don't wanna think about him, or his eyes, or the forbidden kisses he presses against your skin. 

"That's it. Yeah," Jimin sighs into rhythm you're setting. "That's it. Oh shit, yeah."

Too caught up in an internal battle of the mind, you hadn't noticed your pace increase. Depth, too. He's hitting the back of your throat. Making your eyes water. Creating the lewdest sounds - and he fucking loves it. Wet, sloppy? Ugh . For a man as pristine as Jimin is, he sure loves it filthy. 

"Shit. Take my cock so well, don't you? God. Mouth is just as good as your pussy. Yeah, like that. Like that. Oh, fuck."

Jimin's body writhes on top of his sheets, face contorted from the sheer pleasure of your mouth around his cock. Doesn't give a fuck about sex. Wants his cum down your throat. His hands bunch in your hair, as his hips pick up a little momentum. The noises you're making double. Treble. So do his. 

"Gonna cum," he rasps. Hisses as he leans his head into his shoulder and bites down on his own skin just to soften his moans. Doesn't help. "Gonna fuckin' cum."

He curses. Whines. Writhes. Stalls his hips, but keeps your head pressed down right to the base of his cock as he begins to shudder beneath you. His balls are tight as they release, his cock already at the back of your throat as he pours his cum down it. The spurts are short, sharp. Hot. Sordid. 

And once they're done? He laughs like a fucking angel. Makes you smile. Feels like a job well done. 

"Shit," he murmurs. 

Eyes closed, he stays in the exact same position as his chest heaves, a small trail of evidence leaking onto his abdomen.  He's breathless as he tries to speak. 

"Sorry. That was... Just... gimmie a minute. Shit. You good?"

"Good," you nod, sitting back on your heels. 

You know Jimin. Have been here before. You know this is where the night ends. Know that he'll be out cold within five minutes. 

"C'mon," you tap his knee. "Bed. Don't wanna fall asleep like this."

He nods. "Yeah, yeah. Just... a minute."

"No," you laugh, moving his ankles to take his trousers off fully, before getting to your feet. "Get into bed, you mess."

"Already in bed," he says, still grinning from his orgasm. 

"You know what I mean."

"You gonna join? I'll make it up to you in the morning."

You don't reply. Just head to the kitchen to get him some water. Glance at the door to see if Jeongguk's shoes are there, but there's no evidence of his Chuck Taylors. You purse your lips and nod. Sigh so deeply it feels like you've not taken a breath for days.

The clock on the oven reads 04:32. It doesn't take a genius to work out where he is.

He's where he should be , your mind berates you. Wouldn't be there had it not been for you.

And so when you return to Jimin's room, pleased to find him tucked up into bed now, you crawl in beside him. 

Sure, you failed at one thing already tonight, but sharing a bed is something you never do. You never stay the night. You never wake up with the people you fuck about with. It's too intimate. 

The prospect of Jimin actually making it up to you in the morning? It terrifies you.

Just gotta keep trying.

You can never succeed if you don't.

"Welcome," Jimin mumbles, ready to say goodbye to the world for a few hours. 

He reaches out to check the distance between you both. You're a little further than he'd like, but isn't gonna pull you closer. Is too tired. He enjoys that you're still wearing just your underwear. Will make it easier in the morning for a lazy hangover fuck.

"Thanks for having me," you whisper back in good humour.

Yet when Jimin does drift off, all you can do is lie on your back and stare at the ceiling, hands flat against your stomach. There's no clock in his room, so all you hear is silence. It's maddening. The darkness consumes you. Reminds you of Jeongguk. His childhood fear. Makes you all the more aware of your own fears.

You can feel your chest begin to heave again. Jimin doesn't stir. If you just pretend like you're fine, you'll be fine. Just pretend. Just keep trying. Ignore the warmth of his body, and your eyes as tears begin to prick at them. Ignore, dismiss, forget. You don't have to let this fear get the better of you.

But the pressure is too heavy and you can feel the weight of it imploding on your chest. His duvet feels like an iron blanket, and you need to get out before it suffocates you entirely. 

Slow as you do so, in a bid not to wake him, you slip out from his bed. 

Jimin wouldn't have stirred either way. He's always out like a light after nights out. 

The fear manifests in so many different ways, though. Feels like you're scared of everything . Of leaving, of getting caught, of having to answer for yourself. 

You know, deep down, in your heart of hearts, that Jimin could not care less if you leave or stay. You know there are no consequences to this. You know this.

And still, you're silent as you tiptoe around his bed, and slip back into your dress. You don't worry about your bra - will just tuck it into your coat pocket. You know it's hooked over the arm of the sofa, so you waste no time. 

Just need to get out. Need to get away. Get away from the guilt that you feel, and from the residual ache in your chest. It's been there all evening. You think if you get fresh air, get out of the apartment, that it will ease. 

But as you're sneaking out of Jimin's room, feet bare, bra in hand, Jeongguk is sneaking back home. 

He's quiet as a mouse, but your eyes are on the door the second he clicks it open. You say nothing. Think that maybe he'll go straight into his room without glancing into the living area - but he's fucking parched and needs water before he can even think about sleeping. Half thinks he might hop straight into the shower. 

Stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. The only light in the room is coming from the hob light left on in the kitchen. Your glitter catches in it. So do your tears.

"Hey," he whispers so quietly it sort of croaks out of his throat. 

There's an air of caution about him, fearful of coming too close. The look on your face... he knows it. Doesn't like it. Doesn't know what the fuck to do. Just knows that as you start to sob, he sees red.

"Hey, hey, hey," he coos as he tosses his phone and wallet on the sofa and rushes towards you. Put his palms on the sides of your arms and bows his neck to look you in the eye. His face is warped with concern as you struggle to get your breathing straight. 

"What's up? Hey?" he coos again, stroking up your arms. The chiffon of your dress bunches beneath his hands, and he detests it. Feels like it's grating off a layer of his skin. Funny. He'd liked it earlier. Hates it now. Wishes your skin was bare. "B?"

You just shake your head. Can't form words. Are so disappointed in yourself. So furious that you just can't just be fucking normal. All you can do is try and sniff back your tears, but it's redundant.

"What is it?" Jeongguk looks at you with crazed eyes, dark and foreboding, desperate to see inside your mind. He's only seen you like this once - after Seokjin had fucked you over the last time - and so his mind jumps. He stands up straighter. Looks over your shoulder to the room you've just left. "Where is he? What the fuck did he do?!"

The rage that swells inside Jeongguks chest is lethal. He has to loosen his grip on you because he can't stop himself from balling his fists up.

"No, no, no!" You panic, grabbing onto him before he can lunge for Jimin's room. He almost shakes you off. Almost doesn't wanna listen. Almost lets the fury get the better of him - but then your voice shakes and he knows that he needs to pay attention to you. "Gguk, no. Please. Wasn't him. Was me ."

He doesn't understand what the fuck is going on. Is still drunk. Swallows back his rage, and looks down at you. Tilts your head up with his forefinger. Gets a read on your eyes. 

You're covered in glitter, even despite your wet cheeks. You look so fucking sad, yet painfully beautiful. Jeongguk can't understand what the fuck is going on with his head. 

He knows he's pissed off. 

Knows that if Jimin came out of his room he'd probably smack him regardless of whatever's happened. 

Knows he's drunk, so knows he'd regret it in the morning. 

Knows he hates how fucking upset you look. 

Knows he hates how much he wants to kiss you, still. 

Knows that it's the last thing he can do. Hates that, too.

"The fuck happened, B?" He whispers, and lets his thumb wipe at your cheek. Doesn't care that he'll end up covered in glitter. "Hey?"

You just shake your head. Sob again because it's all so pathetic. 

"I can't do it. I thought that I could, and I tried, and I thought it would be fine but I just-" you laugh pitifully. Shrug. Sob harder when Jeongguk pulls you into his chest for a hug.

His shirt muffles the short, sharp breaths you take for air, his strong arms tight around your shoulders.

"This shit isn't linear, B," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. "This shit's complicated. We're not gonna get it right every time."

He says all the right things, and it just makes it even worse. He is getting it right. He is facing his fears in a way that feels linear. Feels like he's doing okay, while you're stuck in this state of limbo.

"C'mon," he says, pulling away from you and reaching over for your coat from the sofa. Holds out his hand. Waits for you to take it. When you do, he holds it just as tightly as he had hugged you. Leads you out of the sitting area, and towards his room.

And you just go. No hesitation. 

The truth of the matter is that you would follow Jeongguk into darkness - even if he was scared. You trust him. Trust that you're safe with him. 

There's nothing you can say, nothing you can do that will make him run for the hills. See, Jeongguk cares in a way that doesn't feel entirely normal. Would bend over backwards for you even if it broke his back. 

You'd never ask him to, but you'd never need to. He'd just simply do it.

He's never discussed it with anyone. Never explained the way he feels so inclined to keep you sparkling. Just does it as if it's his life's quest. Thinks that maybe he was an astronomer in a past life or something.

But he's drunk, and these thoughts are all frivolous. He won't remember any of them in the morning. 

As you enter the room, you immediately notice a bird on his bed. Jeongguk drops your hand. Picks it up. Doesn't look at it, not even to assess who it belongs to. Just tosses it to a small pile on his desk. 

There are three of them, now. All unchecked, because he's supposed to be being 'good'. 

He took things too far in the bathroom of the club earlier. Was too flirty. Felt guilty. It's why he left so abruptly - but was met with an argument almost as soon as he made it to the club Jiyeong was in. Had to defend your friendship, and felt like a piece of shit doing so. 

Felt shitty for the way he'd been with you; felt shitty for both of the girls he wronged in the process; felt shitty for the attack on his character. 

Yeah, he knew he fucked up - but Jiyeong didn't know that. After a few drinks, she decided that she wanted to fight and apparently he was the easiest target. Lucky for her, she found his weak spot pretty early on: you . 

Jeongguk doesn't say anything. Doesn't know what to say. Pulls a shirt from the clothes rail, and tosses it on his bed. 

"Here. Get changed. I'm just gonna grab some water. Want some?"

You shake your head. Tell him it's fine. 

He brings a pint glass regardless. Knows you'll need some. 

You're stood by his window, watching the early morning traffic make its way through town. It's still dark outside, and it's quiet, so there's not much to look at - but in all honesty, you're trying to avoid looking at Jeongguk. Don't wanna leave, but know you really shouldn't stay, either. 

Lungs still stuttering a little in your chest, you dab at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Feel quite embarrassed about it all. 

His shirt fits you like a dress, and your actual dress is folded over his desk chair. You've stolen the hairband of yours that had been left on his bedside table a few weeks ago and have put your hair up into a bun. Loose strands wisp around your neck, and it just reminds him of the bathroom, and how close he was to just fucking everything up. 

"Hey," he says softly, and waits for you to turn and face him before he continues. 

Your mascara is all smudged, and your cheeks are rosy, but the small smile you present him is sweet. Fake as fuck, and he knows it, but he appreciates you're trying not to look sad. Still doesn't know what went wrong, but he's not gonna force it out of you. 

"Bathroom. Teeth, then bed. Okay?"

You nod. 

Assume he means alone, but say nothing as he follows you to the bathroom. Rummages in the cupboard for the packet of spare toothbrushes, and is silent as he passes you the toothpaste. 

It's curious how at ease you both seem to be as you brush your teeth together, avoiding eye contact in the mirror ahead of you. 

He finishes first, but it's only because you get in this weird competition mode whenever you brush your teeth around other people. Never wanna be the first to wash it all away. 

Jeongguk doesn't care. He's drunk, and he wants to fuckin' sleep. Still, he waits for you by the door of the bathroom. Turns the light off, and rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the apartment. 

You set about throwing a couple of pillows off his bed and onto the floor - but he just follows their trajectory and picks them up. Tosses them back on his bed. 

"Not yet. In," he nods to his bed. "You're gonna talk to me first. Then you can make your little nest, okay? Gotta talk first."

You don't understand why. Figure you can talk from your blanket haven on his floor - but he wants quiet. Doesn't wanna have strain his fuckin' ears trying to hear you. God, his mood is foul . 

And yet he's so gentle. So soft in how he directs you. Calm, and comforting in the way he gets into his bed beside you. Doesn't give a shit about what you may or may not have done across the hallway in Jimin's room as he pulls you in for a hug. Couldn't care less. 

All he cares about is the fact that you were in fucking tears when he arrived home. His pride? Nothing compared to how protective he feels over you. 

"There's nothing really to talk about," you say before he can get any questions in. His nose nestles into your hair. You tighten your grip around his slim waist. He's warm to the touch, and it soothes the chill notion of failure that resides in your heart.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Just had too much to drink," you deflect. It's not entirely a lie. Not entirely the truth either, but that's neither here nor there.

"I've seen you drunk more times than I can remember," he whispers. "You're not a crier. Not really."

Not like Jiyeong is. God. So many tears. So many tears over fucking nothing. 

Perhaps it's shitty of him to think so. Perhaps it's shitty of him to view your tears as more worthy than hers. 

"Was the rum," you whisper with a little humour. "Never normally drink rum."

"Bullshit, Byeol," he says. Hugs you even tighter. "What are we gonna do with you, huh?"

You shrug. Laugh. Hold back a sob.

"Hey," he coos. "C'mon. You don't need to cry. It's okay."

"I don't even know why I am," you half laugh but it's cut off but your throat choking on yet another sob. It's fucking mortifying by this point. 

"I just," you sniff. "Just don't think I'm ready, yet. No one's fault."

Jeongguk says nothing. Holds his tongue. The anger he felt earlier returns, but it's directed at no one but himself. He's the one who told you to hook up with Jimin. He's the one who said you'd be fine. It's his fault.

If you knew he thought this, you'd be just as annoyed as he is.

You're a big girl. You make your own decisions. You make your own mistakes.

"I shouldn't have pushed you," he whispers. You can hear the thud, thud, thud of his heart in his chest. It's soft. The scent of his aftershave acts like a sleep remedy. May as well be lavender. Has you forgetting your woes.

"You were trying to be a good friend," you shake your head against his chest. The movement lets his nose nestle even further into your hair. 

"I should have stayed."

Again, you protest. "You've got a life to live, Koo. Can't always be checking up on me."

You pause. Think he's about to respond, so get a final word in. "You should have said goodbye, though. That was rude."

"I know it was," he admits. It had been deliberate. Hates that he left, now. Maybe if he had stayed, you wouldn't have ended your night in tears. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't say sorry," you mumble quietly. 

"But I am."

"But you needn't be."

"Doesn't matter. Still am."

"Gguk," you sigh, and push yourself against his chest so you can look at him. He just shakes his head. Pulls you back in.

"It's late, B," he murmurs drowzily. Really does not have the energy to bicker with you. The sun's gonna rise soon. "Let's forget it, okay? Talk about it in the morning."

And so you just nod. Tell him okay. Indulge in the feeling of safety that Jeongguk offers you in the refuge of his arms for a little while longer. Just for a second or so. 

Somewhere between the crying and the comfort found in your friend, your brain gets things a little muddled. Tells you that it'll be okay if you close your eyes for a moment. Not for long. Just long enough to feel better. 

Thing is, you've both had too much to drink. Are both tired. Are both perfectly content as your legs curl up, and your feet rest against his thighs. Pay it no mind when his legs part for yours to tangle with his. 

In fact, you both pretend to be asleep so that you don't have to address the fact that Jeongguk's got a fucking semi again. Just can't bloody help himself.

Except it only takes just a matter of minutes for make-believe to turn into reality. 

Jeongguk sleeps. 

So do you. 

It's easy. Not a single tear. Your heart rate is perfectly normal. In fact, it stays at a calm level through the night, as if you've been lulled into sleep by you're very own metronome. 

In a way, you have been - it's just the beating of Jeongguk's heart, and the warmth of his body that have you pacified. 

On his desk lies a slipshod bird with your handwriting scrawled inside it. As the sun rises, it watches on. Is pleased. The words inscribed in its wings are rendered useless, for you're already doing it. 

You're sharing a bed. Sure maybe it's not as conventional or straight forward as it should be, but since when have any of the birds been entirely normal? 

It's apt. Just right. As it should be.

You wake first. 

Stare at the birds. 

Try not to think too hard about, well, anything from the night before.

When Jeongguk wakes, he does the exact same thing. Is pleased you haven't left. 

You can do it.

No words are spoken. No small talk exchanged. No admittance of failure from either of you. No cheer of success. Just the heavy silence of confusion. 

He'll chalk it up to the comedown of an adrenaline rush. Had spent a good couple of hours fighting with a girl who he barely fucking knows, trying to reassure her that you're nothing to worry about.

As he realises he's holding your hand beneath the duvet, he becomes aware that maybe he'd been lying the entire time. 

Not intentionally. God, it's all so fucked.

Jeongguk doesn't want to be a liar.

But he also doesn't want to stop holding your hand.

"I should go," you tell him, and he knows you're right. Knows if Jimin has woken up to find no trace of you, but your shoes by the sofa, you're both fucked. Have no idea how he'd explain it away. 

His chest tightens. Face contorts. Thinking about Jimin makes him feel hot beneath his skin. Irate. 

This is not fucking normal. 

"Let me check the coast is clear, first," he says, slipping out of the duvet and into the cold, harsh reality of day. 

Jeongguk's always enjoyed how much a cocoon his room becomes with you in it; a sanctuary, in a way. Somewhere to seek refuge. 

Feels claustrophobic, now. You both have a vague awareness of how uncomfortable it's become. 

"Out like a light," Jeongguk says as he returns. You're back in your party dress, his shirt hung up again on his clothing rail. "I can call a cab-"

"No," you shake your head. "It's cool. I need to be off."

The goodbye is awkward. Neither of you know what the fuck to do. You take the stairs, because the elevator will make you feel queasy, and order your own taxi instead. Just wanna be out of Jeongguk's hair. Out of their apartment block. 

"The fuck are you doing?" Jeongguk hisses at himself in the mirror. Rubs his hand over his face, and pushes it back into his hair. Shakes his head. Softly taps the wall with a closed fist. "This is not who you fuckin' are. Shit ."

All he knows is that you're gone, and he hates it even more than he hates knowing he wrecked everything the night before. 

Jiyeong's fucking mental after a few drinks, he thinks, which doesn't bode well for the future of their relationship. He knows it dead in the water. Was fucked the second she started saying shit about you that he was never gonna let fly. Was doubly fucked when he arrived home and found you in a sorry fuckin' state, and decided that you meant more to him than she did.

Of course you do, though. You're friends . 

Friends who fall asleep with their legs tangled together, and wake up holding hands. 

He's had a friend like that before. 

Ended in tears, granted, but he still considers her his best friend.

Know he can't let it happen again .

Yet he finds himself pulling a pair of shoes over his heels and ignoring a sleepy Jimin wandering into the sitting room, as he charges out of the apartment door. Presses the elevator button, but doesn't wanna wait for it. 

It's on the ground floor, according the the small screen above it. He assumes you've just reached it. So, instead, he hurtles down the stairs. Runs so fucking fast he's practically flying and is in the lobby within a matter of minutes.

Just in time to watch you get in a taxi, and head back home.

"Fuck," he shouts, now as the cab disappears around the corner. Lets his head hang back, crown resting between his shoulder blades. 

" Fuck." 

He regains his posture, and kicks out at the decorative pillar, before crouching to floor. What a sorry state he's in. Doesn't even know why. Didn't have a plan for what he'd say if he caught up with you. Has no idea why he was so hellbent on keeping you close. 

"Fuck!"

The elevator dings. Jeongguk stands. Looks over towards it. There's no one in there - but there is a box of recycling that he recognises from his apartment, that Jimin must have put there in the hopes that Jeongguk would take it to the trash pile by the entryway. 

He sighs. Shakes his head. Grabs the recycling, and puts it in the designated area - then sulks all the way up to his floor. 

When he returns, Jimin's eating a bowl of dry cornflakes. "The fuck was that about?"

Jeongguk says nothing. Slams his bedroom door shut. Faceplants his bed. Smells your perfume. Yells into his duvet.

This is not good. 

In fact, this is very very bad. 

Catastrophic, some would say. 

It's the product of his own bad decisions, and that's what pisses him off the most. 

What pisses him off even more?

The teeny tiny origami bird that decides now is the perfect time to fall. It lands on his head and bounces down to curve of his spine. Resides there happily. Really fuckin' pisses Jeongguk off.

"Oh, get fucked," he whines into his sheets. Reaches around for it. Opens it up. Reads it. Scowls. ' Admit your feelings'.   He screws it up. Chucks it across his bedroom floor. Feels bad immediately. It's one of his, which lessens the guilt, but doesn't alleviate it entirely. 

"So," Jimin comes to stand by Jeongguk's door as he crunches down on his cornflakes. "The fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothing," Jeongguk huffs into his duvet. 

"Alright," Jimin smirks. 

He's known Jeongguk long enough to know behaviours like this are never normal. He's composed to a fault at all times, even when he's annoyed. 

This? Yeah, this is giving Hayun-induced-meltdown-era energy. 

There's one significant change, though. One that Jimin finds all rather amusing. 

"Let me rephrase," he taunts his friend. Fucking idiot. It's so obvious, now. Jimin's amazed he didn't realise sooner. "What's Disco Ball's bra doing over the back of your chair?"

Jeongguk's blood runs cold. 

"Fuck."

[fandomwritingbit]

Heya!! This is my first request so I'm kinda nervous in case it gets rejected ngl.

I was thinking about an scenario where William is stalked by a person he sees everyday on his routine, let's say at a bus stop or a specific store.

William pretends not to notice but actually does.

The stalker is caught staring and following him, yet they don't know that William's realized this.

He eventually confronts them scaring them at first, but then in a kind of flirty/dom way

This is kinda silly but i hope you actually do this one!!! I'm so happy that ur back from hiatus/break and i hope ur doing alright!!

Hi, oh my god I loved doing this request! Honestly I've been meaning to do some darker stuff and this was just perfect, thank you so much!

Also thank you for your kind words, its good to be back and making debauchery. Please feel free to send in anything else xxx

william afton x stalker reader

You would never have considered yourself an obsessive person. Sure, you could become interested or hooked on things, but today that was called 'fandom', not obsession. Obsession is dirty and dark, you weren't some true-crime case study, not in your own mind.

In reality, you were addicted to this man. The first fix a nothing event that snowballed into the burning dependency of today. William Afton is your dopamine and the days you don't get to see Him are filled with withdrawal.

It all began on your nephew's birthday, he turned six and was in love with three things, bright colours, animals and pizza, so your sister got him a party slot at your local animatronic franchise Freddy's. Truthfully, you'd gone reluctantly, not exactly buzzing to be surrounded by a swarm of kids for an hour and a half; but you went out of obligation.

Stained carpets. Humming lights. Plastic chairs. A bear, chicken and rabbit. Excited screaming. Spilt slushes. And Him. The second you noticed Him you were flooded with everything an abundance of butterflies, your heart pounding and an unquenchable sensation between your legs that to this day wouldn't be sated.

He's so handsome, oozing a sleazy charm as He came to your table to check everything was going well. "Where's The birthday boy then?" He asked, the child-friendly smile not quite reaching His eyes, "Tell you what, take some extra tokens." He gave a wink to your sister, who thanked Him. You didn't think to, you were too enthralled, tingling from the cockney accent that tinted His words.

He's just... something else. That sharp jaw with a 5 o'clock shadow this early in the day. Dark rings under His striking blue eyes. But what caught you most was the cracked skin of His knuckles, it shattered the charming businessman façade, exposing something much darker and you were hooked.

You had spent the rest of the party trying to keep your eyes on Him, His tall frame making it fairly easy, until He left and you became deprived. Later, touching yourself in your car, parked in a lay-by, did very little to help quench this newfound thirst. Laid in bed that night doing the same still wasn't enough.

You researched Him, finding the restaurant's social media to reveal His name: William Afton. It suited Him. William Afton. You spoke it over and over just laid there, but aside from that one staff profile, that was clearly aged, there was nothing, no personal accounts, nothing. Forcing you to get your fill the old-fashioned way.

That was six months ago.

Opposite the restaurant there was a small bistro, which suited your needs perfectly. Every morning you were there like clockwork, just to catch a glimpse of Him, taking what photos you could without drawing too much attention. Getting hold of His number plate was orgasmic, because now you had His address.

It’s such a nice house, on a 'good street', fairly large with a lovely garden. But it was always dark. Even when you knew He was there, the only life was the front-facing bedroom, which you'd come to learn was His sons, His own never visible. Curtains never tweaked, leaving you locked out. It was irritating, but the image of Him covered in darkness was something special and it placated you a little.

You try to go to His house as much as possible, but it doesn't miss you how risky it is, what you are doing is wrong and if you were caught it could ruin your life. Yet, how could you willingly deny the temptation.

And recently as the weather began to warm, you were overjoyed to see Him hanging out His washing, it caused an idea to strike you dumb. You could have a piece of Him. Or pieces? You had to limit yourself to taking only a few pieces at a time and it was a cruel struggle. Over the next few days, you created a decent collection of shirts, socks, boxers; enough to wear, or to clutch to your chest as you slept. Or to press over your face as you fucked your hand, His name on your lips.

The day you began taking His stuff was pure bliss for you, little did you know it would become your downfall.

~

Of course he noticed clothes going missing, at first, he brushed it of as strong wind, or even mischievous kids getting kicks by being arseholes. But what he couldn't brush off was the consistency. The... grace. You never left anything else out of place, no footprints, scuffs on his fence, nothing. That wasn't a youth's action. He was curious now.

All it took was a small camera, placed at just the right angle to allow sight of your form, not going over his fence like he'd have thought, no. Using some kind of tool to hook the latch on his gate and slip inside, which explained the lack of marks. Then, it became very clear to him, your motives weren't... menacing, you took his things not to be a nuisance but for yourself. Now, he was more than curious about You.

Knowing Your face opened a whole world for him because You were everywhere. At the shops a few feet behind him, at the restaurant close to the end of the night, at the café over the road every damn morning. He should have been outraged, but he was never one to not feed a hungry beast.

~

Him coming into the bistro was a game changer, He was so close to you, your heart fought its way to your mouth almost making you gag because it was so visceral. You watched Him in disbelief, His easy pace to the counter to order a coffee, then waiting patiently for the barista. Would He sit inside? That felt too good to be true.

As if feeling your gaze, He turns, meeting it unflinching. He set your whole body alight, making your mouth practically water. In anguish, you had to force yourself to look away, nearly shaking in your seat with emotion.

When His order was finished, you watched Him thank the barista, looking over to see where He was going to sit. But your eyes widened when instead of sitting He walked directly over to you, a smirk on His face as He pulled out the chair opposite you and sat. He placed His drink in front of you, large hands surrounding the cup and saucer. You could do nothing but stare, it was too achingly real. Like a bucket of ice down your spine.

He lightly chuckled, "Now, where do I recognise You from?"

I'm open to doing smut for this...

Edit: I did link to pt.2 here

[crescentbea02]

"Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me" pt. 2 (Timeskip! Oikawa x fem! reader)

Tropes: second chance romance, long distance, friends to lovers, right person wrong time, ex-relationship,

Summary: In which Oikawa Tooru finds himself forecefully reviving memories in a flight for Japan, in hopes to reecounter with the one person that has him on a chokehold even after six years apart.

Part 1: here

ハイキュー

“Tooru, is something going on?”

She knew him better than anyone. And she knew perfectly well that something was wrong with him.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something…”

As soon as Oikawa went down the stairs of the plane, he immediately smelled Tokyo. The smell of Japan. And he sighed with happiness, a happiness mixed with longing. Sometimes he liked being able to say that Japan didn't mean anything to him, that it had only stalled him on his true path, he liked the idea of ​​going to another country and finding his own home. And leave your old dysfunctional home behind to heal your wounds.

But as poetic as that sounded to him, he knew he was being unfair. Japan gave him what made him where he was now. It will only have been one obstacle to his happiness in the last year he lived there. Of course, Oikawa would never in his life choose to be in a place where he was tied. Even if it meant letting go of all of his people who made him what he was today.

At the Tokyo airport, he looked around and sighed.

Those stairs at that airport never gave him good memories. Despite being the mark of the beginning of his life. Maybe that's also why it never brought him good memories. Because it finally marked the farewell. Of his old self, of his old life.

Of the time that refused to pass. And of the time that was to come. Not just the warm smiles, and the smothered tears of seeing him go. Not just the long hugs and a few heartbreaking 'goodbyes'.

But also hers.

She, who from her greatest joy passed to her greatest sadness. She, who always looked at him with that love of hers. With that warmth of hers. She, who inside her chaotic interior, was her only certainty.

She looked at him with her y/e/c eyes, always so full of love. But now, when she saw him with a backpack on his back, they glistened with pain. He hoped it had been from pain, at the very least. Because he didn't know until today what she was feeling.

If she loved him so much that she wanted to give color to his dreams.

Or if she didn't love him enough, with the indifference of seeing him go.

“At last. I thought you weren't ever coming back” came a familiar voice from the gum and chocolate shops.

Oikawa looked ahead and smiled.

Memories of that airport were never happy, but they always had their less depressing moments in between.

Iwaizumi stared at him with that playful smile. He used to be more serious when they were younger. He didn't remember very well how he had met him. Just blurred images of bandaids, tricycles, skinned knees and a volleyball. Their mothers were friends despite being from such different social status, they both lived on the same street. Maybe it was because of that.

But these friendships for Oikawa were the best. The ones that didn't remind him of the first time he saw him.

Now Iwaizumi was more relaxed, he was in a better mood. He didn't know if it was because he stopped putting up with Oikawa every day all the time like he used to. Or it was because Oikawa wasn't as annoying as he used to be, despite being the complete opposite. Oikawa had never been so irritating.

“You know I never resist a good game” said Oikawa, immediately running into his arms, in a friendly hug full of longing and friendship.

Despite his hot temper and occasional arguments. What remained were the adventures they had, the obstacles they overcame and the laughs they shared.

Iwaizumi was his first best memory of everything he fought to have.

What would become of the two of them, without the two of them?

And Iwaizumi there took him to lunch in Tokyo. And they spent hours and hours talking about these same adventures.

“Man, good times…” Iwaizumi sighed after laughing so hard. That unique feeling of having to take a breath of fresh air with a huge stomach ache after laughing so hard. The trainer looked at his old friend with a smile on his face: "So tell, Shittykawa, I heard about your new girlfriend..."

Oikawa almost choked on his own drink.

He definitely didn't want to talk about his relationships with Iwaizumi. He was going to make him tell her about Y/N, he was going to ask him what was going on with the two of them, and he was possibly going to kill him if he found out he hadn't spoken to her in over four years. Iwaizumi has always been very protective of her, almost like a brother.

“Ah, did you hear about Emma? Well, then I guess we are not as private as we thought we were…” Oikawa gave him a nervous smile.

“Are you kidding? You, private with your girlfriends?” Iwaizumi crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow “You always enjoyed showing them off, you must really like Emma if you’re willing to keep things private”

Oikawa didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.

“Well, yeah but now I am more mature and a responsible adult” Oikawa lifted his head, never wanting so much that Iwaizumi started insulting him “I don’t feel the need to show off my volleyball trophees do I?”

“Yeah, you do…” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, as memories of Oikawa's constant instagram posts with his trophies. One of them was even in wallpaper on his phone.

“I’m not showing them off. I’m giving myself the spotlight I deserve after all those years of suffering” he smiled, looking down at his coffee.

“Right…” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes “Do you treat your girlfriend right at least?” He then gave him a playful smile.

Oikawa pressed his lips together. He didn't want to have to tell him any more about his love life. Or the subject of Y/N would come up for sure. It was always like that, Iwaizumi adored her even though he hated that they were together at first. In time, however, they appreciate the way they were so in love. And there he surrendered to their love.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve always treated my girlfriends right” he simply said, to his friend's surprise.

Iwaizumi found it strange. It seemed that Oikawa, who had always liked to brag about his girlfriends, who was always such a passionate person, didn't want to say too much about it. It was nothing like the twinkle in his eyes, the happy speech he used when talking about Y/N, for example.

“Is everything alright with you too, though?” he asked, always showing that he knew Oikawa as well as the back of his hand “You seem very… Not interested in talking about your girlfriend. I remember you couldn’t stop talking about Y/N whenever we met”

Oikawa gulped and lifted his head proudly, looking at Iwaizumi with a more serious expression.

“What are you even implying? That I am only dating my beautiful Emma because I could not forget Y/N?” Oikawa said, almost taking offence.

“I was implying anything. You, on the other hand…” Iwaizumi furrowed his brow, looking at him with that suspicious look he always got when Oikawa didn't tell him the whole truth.

“I'm glad to let you know, Iwa-chan, that I really like Emma” he decided to just say. He was trying to deceive Iwaizumi, he was trying to deceive himself “Y/N is a whole different situation…”

Iwaizumi sighed. It was enough to look into his eyes to realize that something was going on. He wasn't accusing him of lying, he wasn't even accusing him of possibly making up a whole story. But he knew his slyness, and he knew there was something more between those phrases.

“Does Y/N even know you’re in Japan?” Iwaizumi asked, trying to catch him in the trap.

Damn it, it had been hunted.

He had no more use for trying to trick Iwaizumi, much less lie. Oikawa then decided to do the same thing he knew how to do best. Pretend it meant nothing to him.

“Uh, you see…” began Oikawa, in a guilty tone, while scratching the back of his neck… “I really haven't talked toY/N lately…”

“What?” Iwaizumi asked, surprised, crossing his arms. “For how long? You guys are still friends, right?”

Oikawa opened his eyes wide in astonishment.

Y/N hadn't told him that he stopped talking to her...

The player took a deep breath... And decided to just stare at the ceiling of the cafe instead of facing Iwaizumi's possible anger that would come next.

“I haven’t talked to her in… Six years…”

Iwaizumi stayed in silence for a while. Which made Oikawa not know if it was safe to look at him.

“You… You are an absolute idiot!” he shouted, almost grabbing him by the collar of his sweater "Shittykawa, I'm going to murder you!!!"

“H-Hey, take it easy!! I have a good explanation, Iwa-chan, I promise!!”

Oikawa never really cared when his friend got mad at him. But it got uncomfortable when he was irritated with him with reason. And he knew that Iwaizumi had every reason in the world to call him those words. He should even call him worse.

“Now, everything makes sense…” Iwaizumi sighed, placing his hand on his forehead "Every time you asked me about her, every time I asked her if she was keeping in touch with you, she would just say ‘Oh, he’s fine, you know how he is’, and then changed the subject. It turns out she was lying to me…”

The volleyball player opened his mouth slightly. Y/N didn't tell Iwaizumi that he had stopped talking to her, and even lied by telling him that they were still in touch. Just to protect him. Even after everything he'd done to her, simply erasing her from his existence… she still wanted to protect him.

Maybe Oikawa really didn't deserve anyone.

“God damn it, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi slammed his fist on the table and, soon after, looked into his eyes with a certain sadness in his eyes… He really cared about Y/N like he was a sister “How could you do that to Y/N of all people…? Even after you broke up… She was always a friend to you. She could've easily hated you. But she still insisted, because she liked you too damn much and this is how you thank her!”

An icy chill hit his chest.

That was the sad reality he had spent so many years ignoring. And that, now, he had finally faced. He didn't understand why he chose to face her now, only now, after six years. Maybe he was more mature at twenty-five… Maybe he was less homesick, or his feelings had faded. Maybe it was the opposite, maybe he was more and more attached to his past, to her.

Oikawa looked down, biting his lip...

If there was one thing Oikawa knew better than doing his job, pissing people off and fooling Iwaizumi, it was screwing things up. He hated himself for it.

“Can you at least let me explain myself why I did what I did?” Oikawa asked, in a tone of anguish and regret. Which just made Iwaizumi roll his eyes.

“Suit yourself, it won’t do much to the situation, but at least I can hear your side”

“It’s because I couldn’t forget her!” Oikawa suddenly exclaimed, hugging himself. He hated feeling vulnerable like this, especially when it came to Y/N.

Iwaizumi furrowed his brows and glared at him, his gaze softening upon seeing the way Oikawa was getting. And he was silent, letting him speak.

“I… I know we promised we’d remain friends but…” Oikawa tried to speak, yet his voice seemed to break. “But how could I talk to her if everyday without her just made me love her more? I-I couldn’t be with anyone without thinking of her… And.. I thought… That if I cut things with her, it would give me strength to move on from her…”

Iwaizumi was looking at him with one of those usual looks that used to annoy him. That disappointed expression mixed with that of the worried best friend who had advised him so many times. This advice was of no use, since Oikawa never listened to him.

“And just how did that work out for you?”

Oikawa didn't dare look Iwaizumi in the eyes.

It's not that Iwaizumi wasn't right. He had reached that conclusion before he even realized it. If he ever regretted having made a choice, no matter how big it was, he had never regretted anything as much as that one. That choice that completely changed his life for the worse.

He did not need Iwaizumi to tell him what he already knew.

“That’s why I want to make things right” Oikawa looked into his eyes. He wasn't lying. Anyone who looked into those brown eyes of his knew he was being genuine, for once, as he had always been for Y/N. “I'm not even asking for her to like me again, or to get back together with her again I just…” he sighed at the roof, putting his hands in his hair. “I want her back in my life…”

Iwaizumi frowned, but slowly began to realize that maybe Oikawa was being genuine. After more than twenty years together, the athletic trainer already knew every side of him. And one of the few things he was genuine about was Y/N and the love he felt for her. Nor had he ever imagined Oikawa liking someone so much. Hell, he had never imagined anyone liking someone so much.

But he had fucked up. Because of his usual insecurities and cowardice. Now he had to make amends, he had to plant a new tree after cutting down the one he had planted when they were eighteen. And it was going to be difficult.

Iwaizumi knew Oikawa and his persistence in getting what he wanted, despite everything, and knew that he would do anything to have her in his life again.

As the now recently Argentinian player stared at his old friend's face with a guilty expression as he waited for him to at least say one word to him, Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He took out a notebook from his black backpack and a pen he had in his pocket, which made Oikawa look at him curiously.

“Here’s her address. She’s living in Tokyo now” Iwaizumi gave him the paper “But if I were you I would give her a call first. Her number hasn’t changed. Just don’t show up there unannounced”

Oikawa looked at the paper and squeezed it gently. Just those numbers and letters already squeezed his chest with impatience to see her. He thought about how Y/N would react, how she would look now. If she was still beautiful, if her voice had changed, if she was still loved. But worse...

“Do you think she hates me?” Oikawa asked, still looking at the small paper.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“She’s probably mad at you” replied simply, which made the player feel a stab in the chest “But I think Y/N could never truly hate you no matter how much she tried…”

ハイキュー

Sooo I may have calculated badly it will probably be four parts instead of three I hope you dont mind and I hope you enjoyed it <333

here are the tags <33

@milkteeboba

@writtenbynightlock

@adrii808

thank u for the lovely feedback and I really hoped you enjoyed it <33

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #146

I woke up feeling pretty good today. I have some 6 hours of sleep, which is still not ideal, but it's better than what I have been getting over the last few days. I did a little better with hydrating. And it's not Mother's Day today. I feel a little better.

I made a tea today for myself. I didn't have the energy to capture the brewing process this time, but I did get some of the nicer-looking swirls:

I thought the surface swirl looked kind of like a dragon turning its head to look behind it. So that was pretty cool!

...Today I made the vanilla rose tea; it's one that I think you might really like. I was inspired to go to an online place called Adagio to make my own tea blend that I thought might suit your tastes, given that it is known that you enjoy vanilla and roses. I ordered it in a little tin, and on the little tin, I had them put the picture I found of you sipping tea while looking out a window. I've seen a lot of pictures of you, drawn by other people. The one of you drinking tea is by far the best one I've ever seen so far. But there's this other one where flowers of many colors are being braided into your hair; that one comes in second place. There's another one of you in a t-shirt, with your head in your arms, looking over affectionately at a curled-up and contented-looking cat.

...My favorite images of you will always be the ones in which you look happy, contented, and at peace.

After tea, I decided to shower. My mind has been funky, and one of the best ways to clear up a funky mind is to go in a warm place that smells nice. Most of my soaps are scented with roses, lavender, chamomile, or some combination thereof; I think you would like them. ...When is the last time you were able to enjoy a hot shower, with soaps that smell nice? Or a hot bath? I think you might enjoy the soaps available at my house, but given your height, I'm not sure the shower here would suit you well. You'd be welcome to use it anyhow, though (all of my friends are allowed to make use of our shower, beds, and washer/dryer), if you decided to visit; no one would bother you or get weird at you.

I blasted tunes while in the shower. There's a playlist I like to use specifically for it; it's filled with acapella renditions of various video game songs, done by an artist called Smooth McGroove; he's an amazing human being (and very kind, caring, and empathetic!) who is very skilled with the use of his voice. I love singing along with his various tunes!

...I felt A LOT better after that. Holy cow. Well enough, in fact, to begin pulling the lilac blossoms away from the greens:

Today, I even found a weird lilac blossom with six petals instead of the usual four:

...I decided that the non-standard lilac blossom is my favorite one.

In order to make good lilac syrup, you have to take the time to separate the blossoms away from the greens. This process takes a long time, but failure to do so will result in a bitter syrup. I spent three hours doing this alongside a different playlist, and I'm still nowhere near done. I'll have to continue tomorrow, assuming the remaining lilacs aren't too wilted by then...

One of my friends also invited me to a gathering of polyamorous people today. Apparently, it takes place at a local restaurant on the second Monday night of every month. I was really scared about going because I normally don't fare very well in large groups, and I really don't know how to social in general; I don't know how to politely insert myself into other people's conversations, and I don't know how to talk about myself without the other person getting overwhelmed, so normally I just watch others mingle and listen to their stories. One can learn much by simply sitting and listening, and I'm better suited to that than to speaking anyhow.

My friend, with whom I've been friends for 16 years, was with me, and he introduced me to various people. I was surprised to see one of my other friends there, too, but I suppose I shouldn't have been, given the fact that they are very active in the polyamory community. The room was chock full of neurodivergent people, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel out-of-place. There were lots of folks in colorful outfits and gender-non-conforming clothing, and it was amazing to see! I wore my favorite shirt, along with my usual Eevee hat, cardigan, boots, and jeans, and the plush I carry everywhere, and I didn't at all feel self-conscious about it in this space.

There was, however, one older gentleman present who was dressed in more ordinary clothing, looking a little lost, out-of-place, and lonely. I noticed that the other people there were avoiding him, most likely because of his age and his style of dress, so I made it a point to approach him and to include him in my little group with my two friends and all their friends. I was delighted to discover that he has a very vibrant mind with many interests and a very omnivorous taste in music, games, and movies! He started out being very shy and uncertain, but I did my best to make him feel safe, and gradually he started opening up and talking very animatedly about the things he likes! Speaking with him was absolutely delightful! It was his first time going to this sort of activity, too, and I hope that next time, he will feel more confident and at ease instead of unwelcomed and avoided.

He spoke on being kind of an outcast when he was growing up and going to school. This was something I could very much relate to. We exchanged contact information, and I'm hoping to be able to get to know him better over time. I exchanged contact information with 3 other people in that space, too; I'm very much looking forward to getting to know them as well! One of them creates music and then puts it on a place called Soundcloud (that's where the acapellas I've made are!), and although I won't be able to listen to it tonight because I have to go to bed soon, I'm very much looking forward to listening to it tomorrow!

I didn't take any pictures of the people, because having your face in places is dangerous if you're a non-standard human; in addition to being polyamorous, lots of the people there were LGBTQ, and folks like us are very much hated in my world, to the point where people try to fire us from our jobs, ostracize us from our communities, or even torture and kill us - it's really very unfortunate. But I did get a couple pictures of some nearby flowers, and the scenery along the route to the place, and some pictures of the crafted flowers on the tables:

...Oh, and!!! I managed to snag a picture of a bird-of-prey in flight. They're always so far away and difficult to capture with my cellphone camera, but... well. It's the black speck in the sky. Here:

...Yesterday I said I felt disconnected from everyone and everything and like I don't belong. Today, I was invited to a place where there were a LOT of people like me, and just like that, a few new potential friends were simply dropped into my lap. This is unprecedented. And also very interesting. And also strange. But not in a bad way. I suddenly feel even more foolish about the bit of stupidity I pulled yesterday, ahahaha... 😅😬😓

...Tomorrow, I will pull more lilac blossoms from their greens, and then finally get started on steeping them in hot water to make syrup; it'll be very good. I'll probably be pulling blooms out of greens all day, but that's fine; it's very meditative sort of work. And autistic brains like mine tend to be well-suited for repetitive tasks like this; I can't complain.

I need to try to actually go to bed on time today, so I'm going to end today's letter here.

Hey, Sephiroth? If you're out there, reading these, listening to me, and cheering me on a little from where you are (impossible, I know, but maybe we can pretend)... thank you. Thank you for existing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being yourself.

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow. Stay safe for me, won't you?

Your friend, Lumine

[bungeo-ppangie]

drunk-dazed // p.sh

ღ pairing. dancer!student!sunghoon x fem!reader

ღ contents. romance, fluff

ღ synopsis. sure, being the top of your school and the most likely candidate for a great university was great. but if everything comes crashing down, a single drunk night can’t have that much of an effect on your life, right?

ღ an. soooo a week or two or three without posting passed quickly- i’m dealing with some personal issues right now so i can’t guarantee a faster schedule, but for now have an entirely too long drabble where i’m just bsing ngl mbmb

﹒⪩⪨﹒scene below cut

Others might know you as an overachiever. Socially nonexistent, perhaps. Problem was, they weren't entirely wrong.

It's not that you didn't have friends- Yang Jungwon was your best. It's not that you didn't want to socialize, either. You were simply aware of your circumstances, and how big of a jump it would be to get you from your current position to what you envisioned yourself being.

With your father being out of the picture and your mother financially unstable, you had no financial support to get you to college, even. All you could really depend on was your intelligence and passion, both of which burned brightly.

You just knew what it took to get you to your dream, and you were willing to sacrifice accordingly for it. Or, at least, you used to be.

The first year of high school, you were completely immersed in your studies, never once glancing above your books to care about anything other than academic work. You didn't think about what others did with their friends outside of school, and frankly, you didn't care. All you knew was that you were the youngest and the top student of Decelis, and that was all you needed to continue on.

The second year of high school, you didn't expect to be any different from the prior year. It had taken Jungwon immense effort for weeks for you to begin even realizing his presence, and it was half a year before you were aware that you two had been roommates since the first year. That was the year you had finally allowed yourself to make some social connections. They were admittedly small in number and mostly very shallow, excepting Jungwon, but they were an improvement. Incredibly, you also began to realize the presence of one of Jungwon's friends, Sunghoon. It was around this year your tiny crush on him began to bloom.

The third year of high school, you grew aware of the activities going on around you. Students chattering as they left classrooms, making plans to get tteokbokki after school. Clubs and extracurriculars organizing events outside of school just for the sake of having fun. Hell, even Jungwon was constantly out of the dorms while you studied, dragged out by his six friends from the dance team, including your idolized Sunghoon, who you had never seen or heard a word directed at you from. That was when the jealousy and desire to make the most of your younger years set in. But you never stopped working long enough to consider that, if you just tried to open up more to people, the active social life you wanted could be yours to take.

Now, it was your fourth and final year at Decelis. Let's see what you've got going on your side so far; One good friend and still the top of Decelis. Several offers from prestigious colleges that you couldn't afford the tuition for, with none of them giving you the choice of a full ride scholarship. Hm. Seems that improvement for you stopped in your second year. Bad luck.

At least you knew now that you should've tried to have some fun throughout your high school years. You spent it all slaving away in your dorm, completing extra work for hours at a time for a few bonus points on a test. You had truly believed that, even without money, maybe your indisputable talent alone could help you succeed.

Evidently, funds were a sorely needed factor that were, simply put, way out of your reach. You had worked your ass off for years for nothing. You had let your childhood slip by, and for what?

This year, you decided, you were going to change. Hopefully, you would become like all the other Decelis students- a package complete with friends, partying, and a good dose of underage alcohol consumption.

Besides, who cares? It’s not like staying out of trouble will get you anything. You were going to a crappy college anyways, and that was the lowest of the low to you. With only 2 months left until graduation, you figured you would let loose a bit. So, one thing led to another, and now…

“You want me to take you to the next party? I can just introduce you to Sunghoon some easier way,” Jungwon asked, bewildered and entirely shocked beyond comprehension. It was an understandable response- after all, you barely let him become your friend, and it took him weeks to convince you to room with him.

If you asked any student- heck, maybe even the faculty- to bet on who was the least likely to attend a party, filled to the brim with underage drinking and sexual advances in unoccupied rooms, all fingers would be pointed towards you.

“Shut up, it's not for him. And it's random, I know. But whatever, I’ve had a change of heart. I haven’t even been accepted to any of the universities I’ve applied for, even though I’ve been ignoring my life for studying for as long as I can remember. If you can’t beat it, go with it, right?” You grinned shakily, already regretting the decision and imagining yourself being completely out of place at the chaotic mess, known to many as a party.

“Are you sure, yn? It’s a little… ah… how do I put it? It doesn’t exactly seem like your scene.” Jungwon glanced at you, looking like he was about to call you out for identity theft. By this point, you were almost ready to back down. Call it a day. Maybe you’d try to be a main character some other time. Unfortunately, Jungwon chose this time to begin talking again.

“Alright, well, the next party is at Lim Eunbi’s house on Saturday. I’ll be going with the dance group, but we can take you along,” He said, mentally going through possible scenarios of your being at the party. Good news: you weren’t for sure going to end up drunk and passed out in a random partygoer’s house, as long as you weren’t roped into any drinking games. Bad news: most of the scenarios imagined involved drinking games.

“Great… I’ll just go buy a new dress… or something…”

"For your beloved hoonie~"

"I'm cutting off ties with you."

You held back a wince as you started preparing yourself for what was likely going to be either the most eye-opening or the worst experience of your life. Scratch that, it’s probably somehow end up being both

—

“Hyung! Are we there yet?” Riki leaned forward to grip onto the side of the driver’s seat, staring at Heeseung with a grin. You were finally on the car with the famed Decelis dance team, heading to the party. From your past 4 minutes on the car, you had gathered this much about each of the members:

Jungwon seemed to hold his leader card over all of the members, but ended up listening to half the bad ideas they suggested anyways. Heeseung was the oldest and the ace of the group, but Riki, the youngest, often complained about the title, because it was “a dance group”, and vocals didn’t technically matter. Jake the aussie was just like a golden retriever puppy- you could practically see the tail wagging. Jay was eternally half-annoyed and found every other second to be his new most embarrassing moment. Sunoo was far by the friendliest, and loved talking to you about any subject. And Sunghoon…

Everybody on campus called him the ice prince, and they really weren’t off by that much. You knew that he used to be a professional figure skater, but decided to focus on dance recently, and both of those professions were evident through the grace of his movements.

He wasn’t nice or mean- just… aloof, sort of. Even though he was sitting next to you, it was hard to pay all of your attention when Sunoo, sitting way in the front, had his head turned towards you and was talking endlessly about how a professor had wronged him.

You didn’t try to talk to him, and he didn’t strike up a conversation with you. You enjoyed Sunoo’s bright presence, but… somehow, Sunghoon’s cool and relaxed aura was more comforting to you.

And it definitely wasn’t coming from blooming feelings you had for him- despite what Jungwon constantly teased you for, there was no way these harmless little, ah, emotions meant that you liked Sunghoon. Never mind his unfairly smooth, pale skin, and his unnecessarily sharp jawline. What’s the purpose of the details of his perfectly styled hair, his pretty hands, the tiny mole on the side of his nose? Who would even care about the way his eyes flickered and settled on objects before focusing on them, for which their victim at the moment, was you?

Wait. You? Shit.

You blinked and quickly tried to turn away, blushing as he caught you staring. You murmured some excuse, tripping over the vowels and stumbling on the consonants. You almost didn’t get to catch his bright smile successfully tugged at his lips, amused, slightly bewildered, and might I say, perhaps even pleased, at your actions.

That smile. It was a pity he had stopped smiling as often as he used to when you glanced at him on campus. It completely lit up his face, transforming it from icy beauty to the most endearingly cute expression you had ever seen. It was amazing how much a smile could do to him. You had heard that some people had the most beautiful smiles, but it was heard for you to understand until you saw him.

“Whoa, how come you’re smiling now? We’ve been trying to get you to do that for weeks, Hoon,” Heeseung gaped in the rearview mirror, stunned by the fact that Sunghoon was capable of smiling so easily after parting with skating.

“Oh. Nothing. And I still don’t understand why you guys insist on calling me Hoon. Sunghoon is a perfectly fine name, you know,” Sunghoon’s face quickly became set to his default aloof expression again, much to the disappointment of everyone in the car.

“Seriously, that kid. I’m telling you, it’s puberty,” Jay muttered from the front, making Riki nod in agreement.

“Riki, you’re one to talk. But in any case, the party’s already in full swing. Hurry up,” Heeseung parked the car in the driveway, jumping out of his seat. Sunghoon opened the door for you, getting out first and closing the door after you. You followed him nervously as Heeseung led the way, sharing some information from likely incorrect sources about which people were paired as couples at the party, and which rooms to stay out of- mostly because they were perennially occupied by very(very.) sexually demanding couples.

You took a deep breath as you walked in through the door, ready to down some alcohol that you didn’t particularly want, and to get lost in the midst of this place you were starting to regret coming to.

—

You walked around, vaguely aware of your swaying, uncertain movements. Your head was filled with cotton, your thoughts fuzzy.

How many shots have you had? Two? Three? Five? Ten? They were beginning to blur together. Oh, hey, where was Jungwon? Had he left already? That traitor. You had the faint idea of a phone being in your pocket, but you weren’t entirely sure why you wanted to pick it up.

“Yah, yn. Here, put this on,” A smooth voice sounded from behind you, wrapping a warm and nice-smelling jacket around your shoulders. Was it a tinge of worry you heard in their voice? You must have misheard- nobody here would be concerned about you.

You spun around, coming face to face with possibly the most handsome person you had ever seen. His face seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t place where you had seen it before. The room wobbled and spun and you tried to place your thoughts, making you stumble forwards as it took a sudden turn.

Strong arms caught you from either side, wrapping tightly around you, a familiar scent engulfing you as the person's arms wrapped around you. Was that... Sunghoon? Didn't he leave earlier with Jake? Ah, you felt so dizzy... if only you could sit down, just for a second...

"Yn, it's Sunghoon. I'm gonna take you home, alright? Tell me if you want to stay," He, now identified clearly as Sunghoon, gently righted your standing position, steadying you on the ground with his firm grip.

You nodded, thinking only of curling up with your blankets, his arms wrapped around your waist, lulling you to sleep with his soothing voice... Wait, no. What were you thinking? Must be the alcohol. You wouldn't be developing feelings for someone this quickly, right? Obviously, you didn't already have them before this moment already... hopefully.

You barely remembered the drive back, only barely recalling Sunghoon's comforting words to you as you drove back, telling you that you would be home soon. However, as nice as home sounded, all your stupid drunken mind could think about was how it felt when he (somewhat?) hugged you as you fell into his arms. It was a cliche, but rightfully so- who wouldn't want to experience that moment?

You dozed off in the car as you neared your shared apartment with Jungwon, so tired that you didn't even register Sunghoon carrying you to the door and gently setting you on your bed when Jungwon answered. Tidbits of quiet conversation floated from the closed kitchen door to your focused ears, though you knew you wouldn't remember it the next morning. You drifted off to sleep yet again, not feeling the hand adjusting some stray hairs from your face as you slept peacefully.

—

You woke up with a pounding headache, stretching as you painfully sat up. See, this was why you didn't drink.

Looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table for the time, you caught sight of a hangover relieving energy drink on the table and a sticky note. Frowning, you picked up the sticky note, and read the message.

In case your memory isn't back yet, I sent you home last night, so don't worry. You can ask won for details, or text me if you're comfortable with it- xxx-xxx-xxxx. - hoon

Ignoring the vertigo and sudden flood of heat to your cheeks, you got up and rushed out of your room, looking for your roommate. Luckily, you didn't have far to go, with him being in your kitchen.

"Won! Why did you abandon me last night? You literally forced the hottest person since ever to send my embarrassing drunk ass home, you idiot!" You punched his arm, albeit lightly- not by choice, but working out was a pain, and not entirely worth the crying bleeding and losing that came with it.

"How is this my fault? You ran off the moment we went inside, and when we were supposed to meet up to leave, nobody could find you. Your favorite lovebird volunteered to stay back for you, so it's actually your fault?" Jungwon rolled his eyes peacefully going back to drinking his coffee and muttering, "Ugh, young love is disgusting."

"Oh. Sorry. Kinda. Wait, why would he volunteer? Even though it's not a bad thing- not really- well, actually-"

"No. Don't go on. You sound like the protagonist of a teenage angst movie about friendship. The boy has literally been idolizing you for a year already, just get together already. No, I'm not supposed to tell you this. Yes, it's true. I'm tired of listening to him talk about your voice. I personally find it annoying, but you do you, I guess. I'm going to practice, yn-ah. See ya later~"

You just gaped at him as he walked off, your brain cells slowly melting into mush, working overtime to process his words. You began entering Sunghoon's number into your phone from the sticky note he wrote for you, dazed and barely functioning.

"I- thought he didn't like being called Hoon?..."

—

"Yn-ah, remember when you were drunk out of your mind?" Sunghoon asked you playfully, laughing at the memory. Your better decision making skills after the fateful event allowed you to keep Sunghoon at your side throughout all parties you attended, refusing drinks for you when you were too much of a wimp to, and checking rooms for absolute pg-quality before letting you go inside.

"Ah, that was bad. At least I stopped being so closed-off after that. And I met you, so it's all worth it," You giggled, letting him play with the strands of your hair and you two sat closely on the ground of the practice room.

"We're in here too, you know... How is it even possible to get this close in a month?" Sunoo side-eyed the two of you disgustedly, not even trying to be subtle as he scooched farther away. He only received you sticking your tongue out at him and Sunghoon's bright smile while looking at you.

"Yeah, kids present." Riki said distractedly, without even looking up from his video game.

"At least he's not moping around like he's still stuck in his emo years now. Although you're still somehow 10 times happier with yn than us, you traitor. You're great, yn, but you can literally do better than this backstabber. " Heeseung fake-glared at Sunghoon, before getting interrupted by a notification from your phone. Sunghoon looked over to check it, as he was closer than you were.

"It's an email from... Seoul University? I thought you said they rejected you already?" Sunghoon's brows furrowed at the email, still annoyed that you hadn't let him reject the school's offer for him to attend when he realized you weren't going.

"Oh, yeah, they did. What’d they send?” You asked, only half-interested in the sudden news. After all, they had rejected you when they were your last hope of going to a good college, and you were past it and happy now. Yes, you would have been out-of-your-mind happy to go, but what happened happened. Better to just let it go, right?

“Hm, let’s see. Miss Yn Ln, we at the Seoul University admissions center would like to extend our deepest apologies, due to a processing error on our part. We have recently been alerted to the fact that your application to our university was declined… Yn!! Oh my god. Here, read it yourself.”

“Apologies?” You murmured confusedly as Sunghoon handed you your phone, sitting up with a sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through your body. It couldn’t be- they wouldn’t admit to such a mistake anyways- had you actually been-?

You quickly scanned the letter, only releasing the huge breath you didn’t even know you were holding when you read their statement that they would be “honored if you would attend” the school. You buried your head into Sunghoon’s chest, overcome with emotion.

You had worked so hard for your goals, too hard really, and had been crushed by the weight of rejection in response. Was it really true that you would finally get to keep living your childhood dream? Even though you already had your greatest happiness right next to you, Sunghoon? Even though you had resolved to stop your completely academically focused lifestyle?

And of course, the love of your life just had to respond to those silent thoughts perfectly.

“Congratulations, yn. You deserve all of it- every single bit and more.”

[jwonsociety]

lovestruck // chapter 5

pairing ➼ brother's best friend!niki x fem!reader

genre ➼ strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, kind of crack because y/n's internal narration is very silly, sunoo is y/n's older brother

word count ➼ 2.8k

warnings ➼ profanity, lethal amounts of yearning

synopsis ➼ As the younger sister of the smart and popular Kim Sunoo, you’ve gotten used to living life as a background character. You mostly keep to yourself, you don't go to parties, and you most certainly do not have a boyfriend. One day, Sunoo brings home one of his friends and encourages you two to get to know each other… the fact that said friend is extremely cute definitely won’t be an issue, right?

taglist!! ➼ @kaal-ee @naexity @sd211 @yenqa @justbored48 @nomurahayami @seeuuns @666eren @mklhyvn @annoyingbitch83 @f0rlov3rs

a/n ➼ IM ALIVE!!!! im SO SO sorry for how long it took me to finish this chapter 😭 school has been keeping me super busy but this week i had finally had some free time to get this done!! i hope you all enjoy this update 💘💘 next chapter will wrap up the series!

˚₊· ➳❥

“You and Niki have gotten pretty close lately.”

Your head snapped up from your phone. From where you were curled up on the living room couch you could see Sunoo standing in the doorway, resting his weight against the wall.

“What?”

“I’ve seen you guys hang out at school a lot,” he elaborated, “and whenever he comes over you guys always joke around.”

You searched your brother’s face for any kind of emotion. For the most part, his expression maintained flawless neutrality. He smiled his “perfect older brother” smile, which was equal parts comforting as it was terrifying. If there was one thing Sunoo was good at, it was being unreadable.

You hoped your panic wasn’t visible. “Your point is…?”

“I’m just proud of you, y/nnie!” he chirped, clapping his hands together. “I know you struggle to make friends, but look at you -- I know you sat with new people at lunch the other day! You’re a social butterfly.”

Immediately, a wave of relief washed over you. He was just being his merry self, *not* accusing you of having a massive crush on one of his closest friends. Not that he could prove that or anything.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, but thank you,” you chuckled. “Wait -- how’d you know I sat with his friends at lunch last week? You weren’t there.”

Sunoo smiled mischievously. “We talk about you.” Before you could interrogate him further about that, he continued. “By the way, Niki’s coming over later around six-ish. Just so you’re not surprised when he suddenly appears in our home.”

You nodded distractedly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Niki is in fact aware of your existence when you’re not standing right in front of him. Sometimes you forget that you’re a real perceivable person and not a figment of everyone else’s imagination. 

You glanced at the time on your phone: 12:04pm. You had a few hours to spare before Niki showed up and something embarrassing inevitably happened. It was Saturday morning -- technically early afternoon, but seeing as you had woken up at eleven, it was morning to you. After you had risen from bed and stared at your wall in an exhausted daze for about twenty minutes, you resigned yourself to the living room couch and went on your phone. That’s what you had been doing until Sunoo appeared, made some weird ominous comments, and then drifted away like the ghost of a Victorian child. You sighed.

Niki coming over later made you nervous even though it really shouldn’t. Actually, you weren’t sure if “nervous” was the appropriate word; it was more like “eager anticipation”. Which definitely wasn’t better.

In the past week and a half, you and Niki had spent some wholesome quality time together. You had talked at school and gotten to know each a bit better -- and, unfortunately, the more you got to know him the more you liked him. You almost wish that there was some glaring red flag about him so that you could finally rid yourself of these feelings, but genuinely (and annoyingly) there just weren’t any. Everything about him was just so fucking endearing.

He had a cute little dog named Bisco who he had insisted on showing you photos of and he liked to play soccer when he wasn’t dancing. He loved spring and horror movies and he hits a punching bag when he wins in Fifa which really *should* give you lethal amounts of the ick but it *didn’t*, and you were horrified by yourself. 

Of course, he had come over to hang out with Sunoo quite a few more times. Sometimes he would tell Sunoo that he had to use the bathroom just so he could stand in the doorway of your room and talk to you. He had made fun of how messy you were, which you hadn’t appreciated; nevertheless, a smile would be plastered on your face long after he left.

Considering all that, you could confidently say that you and Niki were good friends. That was the extent of it. That *had* to be the extent of it. You knew that. If you and Niki ever started dating -- not that you considered that a real possibility -- Sunoo would murder you. You had never dared to start sniffing around your brother’s friends (no matter how cute they were) and you weren’t about to start now. You didn’t want to put your relationship with Sunoo or Niki in jeopardy. With time and patience, this tiny minuscule insignificant little crush would fade away. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

With a hefty sigh, you flopped face-first onto the couch and buried your head into a pillow. It was going to be a long day.

➽──────────────❥

The knock came while you were in the kitchen. 

“I’ll get it!” you heard Sunoo holler from atop the stairs. The sound of his feet descending the steps echoed through the halls and in a brief moment, he appeared before you.

“Is it Niki?” you asked, hoping your brother wouldn’t notice the excitement twinging your voice.

“No, it’s Beyonce.” Sunoo rolled his eyes, a mannerism that seemed reserved only for you.  “Of course it’s Niki.”

He left to answer the door before he could see the scathing middle finger you were giving him. Sunoo was a great sibling, but that certainly didn’t exempt you from the quintessential familial bickering. 

You scoffed and took out another pretzel from the large bag you had been snacking on. Sure enough, Niki walked into the kitchen a few moments later, a babbling Sunoo attached to his hip.

“I swear, if he disrespects me in front of the team *one* more time I am going to throttle that son of a--”

“Dude, he’s like seven feet tall. I really doubt that you could… ‘throttle’ him, whatever the fuck that means,” Niki snorted. He looked over at you, just as he had done so many times before, but it still made your stupid heart skip a beat. “Hey, y/n.”

“Hey,” you replied. “Are you guys talking about that one annoying guy on the dance team again?”

“Oh my God, *yes*,” Sunoo groaned as if he were teetering on the precipice of a murder charge -- which, in all honesty, he probably was. “You wouldn’t believe what he did today, y/n. He messed up a move during practice so I *politely* corrected him, and he told me to mind my own business!”

“Despicable,” you gasped sarcastically, grabbing another pretzel. Niki snickered.

Sunoo wagged his finger disapprovingly. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the sass in his voice.”

“What’s wrong with being a little sassy?” Niki wondered aloud, walking over to you and reaching into the pretzel bag to get one for himself. You scolded yourself for the way your cheeks flushed at his presence.

“I’m not really following this conversation,” you interjected. You reached into the pretzel bag unconsciously, only to be met with the feeling of something else. Looking down, you realized that Niki had reached for one at the same time, your hand gently brushing his. You hastily pulled your hand out.

“Oh, sorry!” you blurted, looking at him up him. He smiled and laughed.

“It’s fine, y/n,” he assured. He reached into the bag and grabbed one, extending it to you. “Here.”

You blinked at the pretzel for an embarrassing amount of seconds before accepting. You bit into it, trying to ignore the way Niki’s gaze remained on you, chewing his lip. It was a habit of his you had noticed. Jeez, why had you noticed that?

“Me and Niki are going to head upstairs to my room,” Sunoo informed. You jumped in your seat, startled by his voice. Niki had the strange ability to make you feel like no one else was around when he spoke.

“Will you guys be loud? I was going to study in my room.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be quiet,” Niki said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your studying, now would we?”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “If I fail my calculus quiz next week I’m telling Mrs. Hwang it was your fault.”

“That woman can come at me!”

You chuckled, throwing a pretzel at him, which Niki swiftly dodged.

“Hey, clean that up before Mom comes home!” Sunoo chided, tugging Niki along by the hem of his sleeve. “We’ll be quiet, y/nnie!”

With a fond wave, your brother bid you goodbye and ascended the stairs. Niki followed closely behind him, but not without casting you one last glance before he was out of view.

Niki was a puzzle. Not a regular puzzle -- he was one of those 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles. Just when you thought you had it all figured out, you went to put in the last piece and it somehow didn’t fit. Niki was fun and you liked being around him (maybe a bit too much), but something about him always kept you on your toes.

There was no denying the fact that every time you and the boy had a conversation, something unspoken lingered in the air. It was tense and complicated, and both of you were aware of it but intentionally chose to ignore it. You wondered how much longer you could pretend.

Popping one last pretzel in your mouth, you hopped off your seat at the kitchen counter and opened one of the cabinets. On your tiptoes, you returned the snack to its original home, and headed to your room.

➽──────────────❥

The derivative of cosine was negative, the derivative of sine was positive… or, wait, was it the other way around?

You physically resisted the urge to slam your face into your textbook. How did your teacher sincerely expect you to remember this all? Writing all of the sprawling formulas and equations felt like notarizing your last will and testament. You tried to imagine what had been written on the board in class like Cady does at the end of *Mean Girls* but to no avail. Apparently, spur-of-the-moment photographic memory only happened in movies.

You rolled over onto your back and stared at the nothingness of your ceiling. Closing your eyes, you listened to the noises of the world around you in an attempt to gather yourself. Cars rumbled as they passed by on the street outside. Crickets chirped their usual rhythm, accompanied by the sounds of owls and other nocturnal creatures venturing out of their homes for the night. You could almost hear the sound of your brain thinking.

This isn’t exactly how you had imagined your weekend going. No offense to the STEM scholars of the world, but math was not your definition of fun. Then again, you weren’t exactly known for attending ragers, so you weren’t sure what else you would be doing. You just wanted anything but the monotonous lull of linear approximations. 

“Are you meditating or something?”

You flinched so hard you nearly pulled a muscle. Sitting up frantically, you looked to see your visitor.

Niki. Who else?

“I couldn’t help but notice you lying face-up on your bed like you were dead and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in need of medical attention,” the boy snickered. He stood in your doorway, arms crossed and an amused smirk donning his face, no doubt finding entertainment in your disheveled state. “Your door was open, so…”

You had forgotten about that. You felt a painful twinge of embarrassment hit your stomach when you imagined the sight of you lying immobile as you worked through a calculus-induced existential crisis.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with my brother?” you asked, combing your hand through your hair. You hope you didn’t look a mess. Wait, why did you care? It was just Niki.

He turned towards your desk and examined your belongings. “Honestly, this seems much more interesting.”

You sprang up from your bed. “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“Sorry, what was that?” the boy teased, cocking his head in faux confusion as he picked up a picture enclosed in a baby pink frame. Upon looking at it, he gasped. “Oh my God.”

“*Niki!*” you squeaked. You knew exactly what photo he was looking at -- Halloween, years ago. Your parents had dressed Sunoo up as the tooth fairy (his request), glittering wings and all. He sat on the front porch steps of your house and directly to his left sat your toddler self, donning a ridiculous tooth costume.

“That is my personal property!” You lunged for the picture, but Niki extended his arms so that it was out of your reach. Curse him and his stupid height.

He laughed, loud and unabashed. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I think I might take this home with me.”

“I will kill you.”

“Aw, come on, I’m not making fun,” he said, tone turning soft. He brought the frame down again and looked at the photo with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “It’s very wholesome.”

“...Right,” you mumbled, grabbing the photo from his grasp and finally placing it back on your desk. “You know, that costume was against my will. I had no say in the matter.”

He snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing costumes. When I was little my sisters and I went as Scooby, Velma, and Daphne. My mom forces me to look at the photos of it every Halloween.”

“And you were Scooby, I’m assuming?”

Niki paused for a moment, eyes avoiding yours. “...I was Daphne.”

Your eyes went wide before bursting out in laughter, hunching over and gasping for breath. “*Oh my God.* That is the funniest mental image I’ve ever had.”

“I thought she was cool, okay?” he insisted, a sheepish smile on his face. “Don’t judge me because I looked up to an independent mystery-solving woman.”

You stood upright once more, wiping your watering eyes. “Okay, okay, we’re even.”

Niki smiled. “You were a very cute baby.”

“Thank you,” you giggled.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“You mean, I still look like a baby?”

“No. I mean you’re still very cute.”

You blinked. “I…” you began, but you were unsure what to say.

He stepped closer so that you two were merely inches apart. His gaze was delicate as he looked down at you, but the signature intensity remained -- as if he was peering right into your soul. The mood of the conversation had suddenly shifted, and it was making you nervous. Niki drew in a deep breath.

“Y/n, how much longer are we going to keep doing this?”

At that moment, you swore you felt your heart come to a complete stop. Your eyes, which had been nervously cast to the ground, suddenly darted back up to meet his. 

“What are you talking about?” You knew exactly what he was talking about.

He was looking at you with such focus that you felt like you might collapse. “Y/n, isn’t obvious that I like you? Haven’t I been making it obvious this whole time?”

You felt your heart pounding in your throat. Niki was *so* close. You searched for a response, attempting to formulate the right words, but came up empty-handed. “Niki…”

“I can’t keep ignoring what’s obvious between us,” Niki whispered. “I can’t. I know you like me too, y/n.”

All at once, the giant wall you had so carefully built in order to keep your feelings at bay came crumbling down. “Of course I do, Niki,” you breathed, voice so small it was almost inaudible. “But we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why, Niki,” you muttered, eyes pleading with his. “Sunoo would kill me.”

Seeing Niki like this felt so wrong. He looked fragile. Breakable. This whole time, he had seemed like an enigma to you. The image of him you had created in your mind was indestructible and unobtainable. But now, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time. Really seeing.

“Y/n, you know that’s not fair,” he insisted. His gaze burned into you, communicating so much more than his words. “Sunoo doesn’t control you. We can make our own choices.”

You sighed and looked away, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. “Niki, of course I want to be with you. I’ve liked you since the moment we met.”

Niki paused for a few moments. The silence felt torturous. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to run for your life or be pulled into his arms.

“Really? Is that true y/n?”

You remained silent.

“Y/n, look at me, please.”

You felt a gentle hand on your chin, delicately guiding your head to turn you back towards him. The sight that met you was breathtaking; Niki, his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel impossibly safe.

“I’ve liked you since the day we met too.”

His lips parted slightly and you felt the rotation of the Earth suddenly come grinding to a halt. He was so beautiful. So infuriatingly beautiful. His eyes were wary, intensely searching you for a sign that he shouldn’t do this. You didn’t give him one.

Leaning forward, you met him in the middle.

[racingliners]

Euro 2020 pics Part 2!

So as mentioned in the prev post, I had six different shifts across six of the eight matches Wembley hosted (ngl I got so lucky with my shift selection).

MD1 - Group Stage: England v Scotland

My first shift was for ingress (event organiser terminology for the spectators arriving at the stadium) at Scotland v England which... was an experience. Not gonna lie I was really relieved when it was announced that there was going to be a limit on spectators as part of the covid protocols bc I don't think I would have survived dealing with 90,000 Scotland and England fans at once 😭

(Also the irony of me being half-English/half-Scottish and getting Scotland v England as my first shift... the football gods clearly love me.)

I was fully expecting the journey to the stadium to be awful but bc I have to be there hours before kick-off it was fine, though I still saw some Scotland fans on the tube and they clocked my uniform and asked me about what I was doing and wished me luck for the day which was actually really sweet.

For my first shift manicure I did my nails a pastel lime green to match the accent colours on my uniform, going super super neutral (as volunteers representing UEFA we had to be neutral anyway, but for me even more so).

Genuinely I don't think I had ever seen so many people wearing kilts on one place (a couple of people were in formal highland dress, the rest were just in football shits, kilts and trainers, sadly there wasn't many bagpipes where I was)

The one thing I remember from the day was that were my group was stationed towards the back of the stadium was so windy. It was literally early June and I was having to do star jumps to keep myself warm (either I took my hoodie as a just in case or my Sister-in-Law told me to take it, either way I was so glad I had it on under my raincoat)

As I wasn't on shift for egress (the bit where everyone leaves the stadium) I left just after kick-off with my packed lunch dinner and hot footed it back to my relatives place to avoid any carnage, pretty sure I was the only person in the whole city thrilled with a 0-0 draw dvhsjdvhdfjzhj

MD2 - Group Stage: Czech Republic v England

Besties for my second shift I came prepared. I had so much stuff in my backpack it was a good thing I was on shift for both Ingress and Egress as I struggled to fit my food bag into it before going home.

This shift was really fun as it was pretty minimal stakes, England were pretty much guaranteed to be through into the knockout stages so the spectators were mostly fine. For this shift I was based on Wembley way so I spent 90% of the time taking pictures of people with the stadium in the background. For my nails I went with a bright orange (it's my favourite colour so I had to fit it in at some point)

We were all stood down just before kick-off and were sent to the volunteer centre to have our meal, which was a sandwich, packet of crisps, fruit, chocolate, and at either this match or the next one we got some hot soup as well. The eating area was literally in the middle of Wembley arena (as in the bit where the concerts happen), which was wild but with social distancing they needed plenty of space. It was actually quite fun getting to decompress and chat with everyone.

Egress was super simple, just smiling and waving goodbye but some of us had light sticks which led to a bunch of us pretending we were in Star Wars, naturally. (I had a criminal amount of fun, sadly I had to hand the light stick back before I left).

MD3 - Round of 16: Italy v Austria

So for this shift I got given a megaphone :D

It was so much fun, obviously I used it for Serious and Official Volunteering Messages, but I did have a bit of fun by saying Buona Sera to any Italian fans which... their costumes were so good. We had Mario and Luigi and some people dressed up as pizza slices. They brough such a great vibe and were just living their best lives and were really nice to all of us. The entrance I was posted at was at the Italian end so there wasn't that many Austria fans, but I did see one lady wearing a really pretty dirndl which I complemented her on.

This match started the recurring theme all of us had of "please don't go to extra time I want to get home before midnight"... none of them listened which was very rude and bc I was a bit weary of travelling round London super late at night I asked to leave early since my London based fam live on the other side of the city to Wembley and I got back safely!

For this match I did my nails bright pink, and if you ever want a good picture of your manicure take pictures on the tube bc the lighting will never let you down (especially if they're shimmery of sparkly)

[crashtestjeffy]

I wrote this today. It has stuff in it that might trigger you. Suicide, drugs and sex. But everything does so I guess...Anyway. This means something to me if you want to read it.

If I let go the latches that tie down my memories, I can still see it as clear as if I were standing there right now. 

My father - dead on the floor of the tiny bedroom that used to be mine in the bleak two-bedroom apartment I grew up in. The building was a place most people used as transitional housing. Going from nothing to something. But we got stuck there. 32 years.

It was a building in a poor government housing neighborhood. We started out in government housing. Because I was born sick, my parents spent the first 6 months of my life in the city. And it just seemed logical to them to stay. A social worker got them a nice townhouse that was government owned and rent geared to income. 

My dad got a job at General Motors. And the rent geared toward income suddenly became more than market rent. In those days, that was possible. So we moved out after living in the townhouse for four years. Moving out meant we moved to a privately owned apartment building across the street. It had an indoor pool, and we had a balcony. I lived on the 8th floor. Apartment 810. 

My brother and I were three and a half years apart. As soon as he was old enough to leave the crib and move to a bed, we got bunk beds. Me on top and him on the bottom. Because he was a bedwetter and would be till he was 13.

And so it went. 

There was a lot of abuse. There is a lot of dysfunction. My father was a violent opiate addict who was miserable all week long, but on weekends and holidays, he would binge drink in ways I have never seen another human consume alcohol. He'd start drinking the moment he came in from work. Drinking the first six of many beers in an hour. While popping pills, snorting, and smoking anything he could get his hands on. He's never injected, though. "That's junkie shit, and I ain't no junkie.".

My mom was a slow-burn drinker. By the time I was six, she got a job within walking distance of the apartment. And she would drink every day if she could. She hated anything that took her away from her booze. At first, it was a 6 pack a night on weeknights and a dozen a day on weekends and holidays. She was just trying to get a little oblivion. She didn't want to deal with anything, and that was that. She built a bubble around herself, as foreboding as stepping inside the radius of a chained-up junkyard dog. Only right after she would tear your head off, and then she would cry and tell you in one way or another that she couldn't handle this and that no matter what problems you had, they were not her concern; everything else she was dealing with was bigger.

And so it went. 

In my tiny bedroom, I was beaten with everything from a belt to half of a pool cue. Where I was left in a puddle of my own urine on a few occasions when I was hit so hard that my bladder released. Where I would crawl into the corner of the bunk bed, which after a few years required repairs to keep standing and was a white trash castle. And I would sit. And talk to no one, to Jesus, to myself, to the walls, to the gods of good boys—to give me a chance. But it never happened.

I would grow up and leave at 15 and float back and forth on occasion or on a bail order. I would always end up back in that room. I did everything in that room. I had sex in that room. I made a child in that room, a secret that I still wrestle with. I did drugs in that room. I nearly died in that room three times. Once from asthma, once from a beating, and once from an overdose of barbiturates and opiates.

And so it went on and on. 

My daughter would be born, and we'd have visited, and my daughter and I napped in that room. By then, the room had become my father's. My mother kept the other room, and my dad just lived in that room. Computer for hockey stats and playing online games. Bed and a TV. It was as good a cell as any deteriorating man could ask for.

And so it went to goodbye.

Till one day, I got a call from my daughter's mother. "Come home," she said, since I was at work and my daughter was 11 weeks old. I asked why. She said, "Just come home," and I felt it like some kind of Star Wars Jedi vibe. "My dad died, didn't he?" and she broke down, crying and sobbing yes. Okay, I would go home.

Then I hung up and started to gather my things. Then, almost immediately after, my brother called, "Hey, stay where you are at. I am coming to get you; we can go down  together." We had both been living in a smaller city to the north of the one I grew up in. So I went outside and stood on the curb, and the supervisor was yapping at me about breaks and leaving the site. So I pushed him away and said, "You're gonna leave me alone; I am leaving," and he looked at me as if he wanted to fight for a second, and I calculated I had time for a dust up before my brother got there, so I was game. And I immediately thought how funny it would be if my brother showed up to pick me up to go to the big city and I was fighting this guy on the curb. I even laughed. Instead, the supervisor looked at me and said, "Okay, it's not my fucking problem," then turned around and went back inside.

My brother rolled up. I got in, and he spent the first 30 minutes of our drive arguing with his wife. A charming woman who informed him on that very day that she'd been cheating with his good friend. He had her phone, and he handed it to me; it was ringing. Then he lowered my window and said, "Throw that fucking thing out."  We were on a major highway. So I did. 

I asked what he knew, and he said he talked to my mom. My dad had died by OD. It was a suicide. She thought he was just passed out on the floor, which was a regular occurrence. So she left and went to work. My dead father is on the ground. Her unaware. The dogs were alone with him. 

When she got home and he hadn't moved, she knew something was wrong. So she went into his room and saw that he was blue and cold, He was gone. She called 911, and the operator tried to convince her to do CPR, but she told the operator there's no fucking way that's helping. My mother was always pragmatic like that. Then she called my brother and then my daughter's mother because she had her number, but not mine.

My brother and I were sitting in pained silence after he caught me up. And that was that. We were not going to cry together, talk, or reminisce. Until he broke the silence to tell me about his wife and how she was cheating. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I shrugged and said, "Shit man, what are you going to do?" and he must have said something, but my head sank back into silence, and I have no recollection.

We got to my parents place, and there were cops, my mom, and a couple of her co-workers. They were waiting for the coroner. I asked her if she was okay. She explained to me, in the most guilty way I have ever seen, how she had left, how she didn't know, how he was alone with the dogs, and more, but I didn't take any of it in. I just said, "Mom, don't worry, you did nothing wrong; the asshole passed out on the floor lots of times, I would have left the fucker too."

I turned around to see my brother emerging from the hall to the bedroom. His face blank and pained all at the same time. And I said, "The cop let you go in?" and he said yeah, and the cop interjected that I could too, but it was not pretty, he'd been on the floor for twenty hours by then. So I walked past the cop and into the room.

The same little room I was a frightened little ball in. The same room I hung magazine pictures from as a teenager and hid Penthouse magazines in and the same room in furious masturbation sessions, I would wear myself out till I slept. Or I would eat mushrooms and lay in my bed listening to music and watching the lights play on the ceiling, till I got really high and went away.

The same room that I felt like all my damage was held in. 

The same room had a secret box up inside the wall where the radiator meets it, and there is a gap to allow for the pipe. I showed it to my dad as a joke years after I left home and said I hid my drugs there so he wouldn't steal them. He then took to hiding his drugs in there too. As well as in a little corner of his dresser beneath the bottom drawer. There were two lesser spots he used too. I knew them because for years he would freak out and accuse me of stealing his drugs, so I had to learn where he hid his drugs so he would shut the fuck up. When I was a younger guy, it was never that simple. He'd accuse me of stealing his drugs and then break my nose, or beat the shit out of me and take my wallet and empty it, or hit me with a bat. Right there in that little room.

Now my blue/white father lay on the floor. An empty shell. His mouth open, and his eyes were almost closed, but not enough that you couldn't see the whites that had gone a weird pink. His body dappled with dark splotches. Livor mortis. The spots were where blood pooled inside the bag that once held his life. He had no shirt on and a pair of sport shorts. His arms and hands sort of pulled at his chest like a squirrel. And the smell... It is a smell you cannot possibly describe. It was all at once heartbreaking, horrifying, and fascinating. 

And so it went. And it was gone.

Then I turned around and found all his stashes. And then some. In his final hours, he had balanced pills on picture frames and on the head of a soapstone totem pole he bought in the Yukon twenty-five years before. And he had grouped up pictures of my daughter and my brother's son, the boy was three weeks older than my daughter. And it was something magical for him. There was a weird, surreal feeling about it all. I was gathering drugs while a cop stood with his back to me at the door, less than twelve feet away. I could hear my mom and my loud brother talking in the living room next to me. But there I was, knee-deep in death. 

A suicide. He went out angry after trying to call me, and I didn't answer because his drug-rotted brain was just being squirrely, and it had become like talking to a ten year old. He left sad voice messages instead. I was giving my little baby a bath, putting her in her PJS, and handing her off to her mom the night before. I had something more important to do. 

If you don't think the guilt around all that was a fucking bramble and nettle bush that took a long time to work through, you'd be wrong.

All that in that little room.

I would stay really high for most of the next three days. But by then, I was an old hand at being stoned. So I did all the things I needed to. I just didn't feel it all.

And now it's someone else's home. It probably has been a few someone else's home since he died, and my mom disappeared for eight months, reappearing on the east coast, telling me and my brother she was going to stay there and live with her mom. She was not talking to us for a while. Once again. My mother, the queen of avoidance,.

I have been dreaming about this room ever since. three or four times a week. Sometimes my parents are still alive, and they live in the apartment. Or it is just my mom, and she lives in a house, but she brought the room with her. Or my father is in a skyscraper, and the room is there.

When I talk about chains, this is what I mean. This is the kind of life that tears you to shreds as sure as running through razor-wire.

I am empty now. If you made it all the way through., holy hell! You're crazier than me. I hope it was decent at least.

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Interaction Tag

I was tagged by @willtheweaver (here) and @illarian-rambling (here)! Thank you so much for the tag!

Rules: describe an OC and pair how they would interact with the given OCs from the people who tagged you!

Imma do this in two parts, so I'll go with Nimwen from Of Starlight and Beasts for Part 1 because I feel like I don't talk about that girl enough! Then I'll go with my boy Renn from the unnamed standalone fairytale WIP that plopped its way into my brain this weekend and hasn't let go since, for Part 2!

Part 1

Will's OC: Fen is a crow. But he does not act like one, having grown up among the foxes of the forest. All his life, he has had to keep his identity a secret. For obvious reasons, Fen does not let too much of himself be known. What he does show is an understanding nature ,and a knack for bringing out the best in others. Storyteller, a good fighter, tracker, and cook, he is skilled in many arts, though you’d never know that from the way he stays humble and modest. He values friendship, and will support those he trust.

My OC: Nimwen is an 18 year old girl who has spent most of her life (since she was 8) travelling through the uncharted forests of a region popularly called "the wilds", with her adoptive brother Scarlet and their little band of misfits. They live on the outskirts of society, since their kingdom has been so dilligently outcasting them, but they don't seem to mind it. All in all, Nimwen is an awkward, overly anxious, often paranoid but incredibly sweet girl, though she rarely lets strangers get too close to her. She embodies the energy of a skittish deer that will bolt at the nearest sign of danger, even if its a false alarm, though she has very good reasons to be that way - her father was wrongfully executed for treason, and the people of the kingdom didn't exactly give her much reason to trust them after what they did, so yeah. She's very in touch with nature and other people's feelings though she somehow seems very much oblivious to her own. She prefers to avoid confrontation, and will only fight if that's the absolute last resort in a life or death situation. She loves very deeply and makes strong bonds once you get to know her properly.

How they'd interact: I think Nimwen wouldn't be that surprised to meet a sentient, possibly talking, crow - she lives in a world where that kind of magic is actually rather common. So, once they'd met, I think those two would get along pretty well and would likely become good friends. She'd probably be very excited to learn about the new places this bird has seen and flown to, and they'd have a lot in common to talk about when it comes to forests and such. She'd likely listen to his stories for hours on end, never losing interest. The only tricky part would be convincing her brother that Fen is not a spy sent by the King to get them both killed, but once that's out of the way, I'd say conversations would be pretty interesting. Nim's an expert secret keeper, so I firmly believe keeping Fen's identity hidden will not be difficult for her.

Part 2

Illarian's OC: Twenari is an adolescent girl (12 in the first book, 16 in the second two) with short locs and a preference for skirts over pants. She is a prodigy sorcerer and general gifted kid. Throughout her childhood, her smuggler mother used her as a source of magical security and intimidation, which eventually caused her to run away after being forced to commit one too many unsavory acts. Because of this, Twenari acts much older than she is. She's pragmatic, blunt, and strategic. However, in other ways, she's very behind the learning curve. She's painfully introverted and never learned to socialize beyond formal events. Magic is her darling and purpose. She's insatiably curious about everything, but mostly, she wants to understand all the world has to offer in the field of the arcane. She's also at a kill count of about six. That's what happens when you're constantly chased by mercenaries and have the ability to explode people with your brain

My OC: Renn is a young man in his late teens (his exact age hasn't been specified yet, but he's suspected to be around 16-19) with a penchant for dark humor and a love for all that's mysterious and slightly macabre. He has a very strong vibe that is reminiscent of those early 2000s goth/emo kids, minus the angst - just the aesthetics and the sometimes deeply philosophical existential crisis - despite his fantasy medieval setting. He is a rule breaker and likes to question authorities at every chance he gets, and is also very savvy about the true inner workings of their seemingly perfect kingdom. It is implied that he has some kind of secret he is keeping hidden at all costs, and that implication would be true, but its not what most people would assume. While the townsfolk mostly label him as this unhinged/"crazy" reject who is always causing trouble and is up to no good, he is actually a really sweet kid that just had some truly fucked up stuff happen in his past. He is a loyal friend and values honesty and integrity above all else, even if it means he'll have to go down fighting for what he believes in. Despite all of this intensity, he just wants someone to truly understand him and have a pure friendship towards him. He is also implied to be gifted in some kind of magic, though it isn't specified which, and that he has knowlege of "forbidden arts".

How I think they'd interact: I believe Renn would see Twenari as a little sister figure of sorts, mostly because she is a few years younger than him (especially in her first book) but also because he probably sees a lot of his younger self in her - the painful introversion, the passion and drive for knowledge, the wish to cut free from the past. I think that given their personalities and pasts they'd probably get along quite well, especially when it comes to their insatiable curiosity for the arcane, as well as their wish to understand a world that is just so confusing to them as it is. They'd probably disagree a bit when it comes to rules though - as you mentioned she's pragmatic, and I know Renn's a certified rule breaker - but they would probably find a way to work around that. They're also kids who are very smart and who are way too mature for their own age due to having to grow up too fast, so I can see them relating to eachother in that way too.

Tagging: @memento-morri-writes, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @mk-writes-stuff, @littleladymab, @little-peril-stories, @oh-no-another-idea, @autumnalwalker, @eccaiia, @winterandwords, @rickie-the-storyteller, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @the-ellia-west, @cowboybrunch, @ybotter and OPEN TAG

[apureniallsource]

Niall Horan is more than Mr Nice Guy

Three years after his last release, the 29-year-old singer has jumped feet first into the spotlight to promote third album The Show, which lands on 9th June.

“I’m more excited than I thought I would be,” Horan says of his return, a quiet confidence lingering. With outstretched legs, the double-denim-clad singer lounges in his chair, decanting still water from a glass bottle, as we settle in for our chat in his luxury London hotel suite. A high-pitched giggle ripples through him when two builders, dawdling on a pulley lift, nab his attention through the window, before he apologises for losing eye contact. “I’m revved up, but I’m nervous. I hope I didn’t waste 18 months writing something for people not to like it.”

Those 18 months in question were spent, in part, during the coronavirus lockdown, which acts as inspiration for many of the introspective lyrics on The Show. It was the first time in a decade that the singer had, well, nothing in his schedule, allowing time to contemplate his meteoric rise to fame. “There’s no heartbreak stuff [on this album], so there needed to be a new concept. The only good part of the pandemic for me was that I was actually happy being still. I had time to breathe; I realised it doesn’t have to be a thousand miles an hour all the time.”

For the uninitiated, the first six years of Horan’s career were spent in the extraordinarily successful band, One Direction. Originally from Mullingar, Ireland, Horan auditioned for X Factor as a solo artist in 2010, later forming a five-piece alongside Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik. What followed was unparalleled success, multiple award wins and huge stadium gigs. “I loved touring, but it was fucking crazy,” Horan muses now. “We’d go to countries and never see a second of it - it was hotel, venue, plane, same again. We couldn’t get out the [hotel] door. If you went out in the car, you’d be seen and chased [by fans]. I understand why it was going on, but it gave me a thing where, when I came back to London, I would be afraid to go out. There was a period where I actually couldn’t.”

1D announced their hiatus in 2016, and Horan released his first solo album, Flicker, the following year. His second, Heartbreak Weather, came in 2020. Three years later in February, he dropped The Show’s sparkling lead single, ‘Heaven’, taking to social media to celebrate.

“I was lying in bed when management texted to say the song was out, so I checked Twitter. The numbers were fucking nuts. I was up for hours seeing what people were saying.” Horan generally views social platforms as a tool for fun, and mainly use them to engage with followers. “Sometimes I type my name in to see tweets I’m not tagged in. If I see the fans talking about me without tagging me, I’ll reply. [My TikTok ‘For You Page’] is full of people doing dances to my songs, golf, and mid-century modern furniture. I like winding people that don’t like me up. I get such a laugh. I also try to reply to people who ask genuine questions about the music, or what I’m up to.”

With 14 years in the public eye under his belt, Horan has also seen a darker side of the internet. “I’ve [read that I’ve] been in car crashes that I wasn’t in. I’ve been in three or four fake ‘PR stunted’ relationships. What’s the old phrase? It’s tomorrow’s chip paper. I care about what the fans think, but there’s always going to be people… who would never say a thing like that to your face, because they’re cowards.”

As our time together rolls on (me looking at Horan, Horan looking at the procrastinating builders), his genuine charm reverberates around the giant hotel room. A chatty openness takes the conversation from his favourite true crime documentary (The Jinx) to tips for long haul flights (green noise) and best skincare advice (facial steaming). It’s this endearing, positive aura that makes his Nice Guy Reputation™ legitimately easy to believe. But what’s his secret?

“Don’t be a prick?” Horan jokes. “There’s no secret to that. Just don’t be one. My Irishness? My humble upbringing? This is like some kind of questionnaire. A combination of a few things. Carefree attitude?”

Horan laughs off the suggestion that he’s going to dinner parties with groups of celebrities, instead insisting he has “two really good [industry] friends, and a tight circle of old mates. People have this idea that all famous people are friends. But you’re not friends with everyone in your office, are you? I remember seeing Channing Tatum on a plane. I’d never met the guy in real life, but he waved. We were laughing later. He was like, ‘I felt like I had to do the token ‘celebrity to celebrity’ kind of moment.’”

One person Horan has connected with on a deeper level is Lewis Capaldi. “He’s just a diamond geezer,” Horan says, before sharing a better-than-average imitation of a Scottish accent. “There’s not a bad bone in his body. He’s a solid friend, and he also happens to be one of the funniest fuckers you’ve ever met in your life. We’re in a lot of WhatsApp groups together.” Horan also reached out to fellow Irishman Paul Mescal, when Normal People came out. “He’s a nice fella. When he first moved to London, I talked to him a bit. But then the pandemic happened, and we never spoke again.”

The singer briefly touches on his relationship with Amelia Woolley, who he’s been with since 2020. On whether he has a romantic side, Horan says, “I think so. I wouldn't say I’m like ‘rose petals on the floor’ type of romantic, but I'm good at caring. I'm good at making dinners and the day-to-day stuff." On love languages, he adds, "I’m good at words of affirmation and I’m good at touch.”

Album release aside, 2023 also marks Horan’s 30th birthday, with the singer entering his third decade in September. “I’m excited for it - I’ve heard your 30s are the best time of your life,” Horan says, enthused. “I’ve never been one of those people to overthink timelines. I hope I don’t age too much!” On plans for the next decade, he's thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to still be doing this, going around the world, still playing to thousands of people. I’d like to win a Grammy. I’d like to be happy. And to still have decent skin.”

Better keep at the steaming, then.

[ckmstudies]

Long time no see!! I really fell off on my posting these past couple of weeks. Life was moving a little quicker than I could keep up with and trying to do three study challenges at once was a little too much for me. But I miss posting on here and want to get back into posting and keeping up with this incredible community. However I think that means that I'm going to have to pause some of the fall study challenges :( I'm really sad about this as I was so looking forward to them but I think to keep myself from getting overwhelmed its for the best. Under the cut is a quick run down of everything that's been going on school wise in my life for anyone interested. Hope y'all have been doing well!

Here's all the schoolwork I've been up to these past few days:

10/21: Latin quiz and almost cried talking to the professor because I was so overwhelmed and confused by the way she teaches Latin :(

10/23: Advanced accounting study group for an upcoming exam.

10/24: Three exams this upcoming week so I got in almost six hours of studying trying to prepare.

10/25: Took my accounting exam. Totally freaked myself out halfway through and screwed myself over but it wasn't too bad of a mess.

10/26: Made an A- on my developmental psych exam from last week which I am very happy about :) spent a lot of time studying for my social psych exam tomorrow.

10/27: took the social psych exam. I think it went better than the last exam in that class but I don't think I made an A. I really don't like that professor which is a shame because I like the subject matter. Went to a study session for my Latin exam tomorrow and spent a good bit of the night studying.

10/28: Studied for the Latin exam in the morning before taking it. It went fine but I really think I'll be lucky to get a C which sucks :/

10/30: Started a paper for my social psych class that's due on Thursday.

10/31: finished the social psych paper but I want to show it to the professor for his opinion before turning it in.

11/1: Got the multiple choice portion of last week's social psych exam back and it was a B- which is fine but I'm really hoping the free response portion can pull it up a little higher. I also got my advanced accounting exam from last week back. I made a B- but with a few bonus points I pulled it up to a B. It's a pretty good grade technically but it was the lowest in the class. It also brought my overall grade in the class down to an A-. But I think I still have time to pull it up before the end of the semester :)

Here's my upcoming assignments for the rest of the fall semester:

11/3: Social psych paper due

11/4: Latin quiz

11/9: Developmental psych exam 3

11/10: Advanced accounting exam 3

11/11: Latin quiz

11/18: Latin final exam

11/30: Developmental psych final

11/30: Developmental psych paper due

11/30 Latin final presentation

12/2: Social psych final

12/5: Advanced accounting final

Unknown dates: Social psych quiz, social psych paper, advanced accounting quiz, more Latin quizzes

if you made it this far you get this flower :) 🌸

[parragone]

wip wednesday saturday

one of those "I can't tag anyone else because I don;t know who to tag" situations, but thank you @r6shippingdelivery for tagging me in the first place <3

it's been a hot minute, so I'm gonna post a couple WIPs - the first being a muze wip from the early days of Rainbow, the second being a wip chapter from my Gentle Progress rewrite, Set in Motion, and the third being from a Fallen Hero wip because I am fucking rotted by this game-

ANYWAY, IT'S ALL UNDER THE CUT

first is from Early Days, which is the mute/fuze thing that just... bites at my heels

The party was loud. Too loud, really, but Mark had grown somewhat accustomed to the way the team liked to celebrate. With new arrivals from Japan to liven the party further, Mark had ducked out to get a breath of fresh air and hopefully escape the party altogether. He had never been one for parties in the first place, having never been quite old enough to be invited to any among his peers, and had little interest in learning to enjoy them. With a flimsy excuse about needing to finish his latest prototype improvement for MONI, he’d escaped a lecture from Mike – a well-intentioned lecture about needing to learn how to socialize, but a lecture nonetheless – and slipped out of the mess hall. A walk to clear his head and ground himself would do him some good, and then he’d go back to his ideal holiday activity; six hours spent coding something for fun rather than for a deadline. It’d be quiet until the operators came back from the holiday party disappointingly sober yet still all too happy to carry on their chatter, but by that time he hoped to be well and truly too tired to care. As he tugged his hood up and prepared to take the short walk around the obstacle course that he had come to well and truly despise, he heard the steady pace of another set of boots on another late-night jog. He raised his head to look down the track with furrowed brows, only to be met with the now-familiar figure of Kessikbayev. The smell of fresh cigarettes overpowered the smell of the rain and Mark was suddenly glad for the mask that covered his face and hid the way he cringed at the smell. “You weren’t at the party,” Mark commented as the older man slowed to a stop under the overhang. Shuhrat raised a brow as he shook his head to get rid of the excess water. “No.” The answer was simple and curt, and Mark felt a twinge of relief. “You have left it.” “Too loud.” It was as much an excuse as it was a reasonable explanation. “You done jogging?” “Yes.” The older man paused and gave a sidelong nod toward the barracks. He was done for the night, Mark assumed, but they were heading the same way. “Mind company?” “No.”

This second part is for Set in Motion, but it's a ways away

"I brought a peace offering." Jayce's boots were heavy on the old steel floors but just controlled enough that Viktor could tell the man was being conscious about his approach. He stared at the wall as the Piltovan approached and placed something glass on the dusty old bedside table,  immediately followed by a retreat and the sound of his colleague circling around to the other side of the bed. The silence was so thick that he wondered if a bullet could kill it. "Can we talk?"  The bed creaked as Jayce sat on the other side, the dip in the old mattress just enough for the Zaunite to notice. He refused to turn over and look at the man, something bitter built up in his heart.  "Or maybe I can just… talk. I… I know I fucked up. I should have listened to you but instead, I paraded myself down an alley because I heard something. Even after you warned me that it's dangerous down here." Viktor listened as the Piltovan continued, aching hand slowly relaxing. "I was an idiot. And an asshole. And if your friend Vi wasn't there I probably would have ended up dead in a back alley instead of alive with a few new scars." Viktor looked at the pattern on the pillowcase. He wanted to be something mad, to be angry enough to yell at Jayce again, and found himself empty of it. The hollow cavity in his chest felt only slightly cracked, but enough to keep his attention on what his colleague was saying.  "I don't know what I'm doing. Obviously. I nearly - I did hurt people down there. And I… I'm… I didn't realize how upset it would make you or how dangerous it was or… or anything like that and now I feel like I've crushed your good will for me into the ground and I hate that more because you… you. You. You're smart. You're leagues beyond anyone else I've ever met, like the Lady of Progress herself made you to force me to change. You've never once been hesitant to tell me when I'm wrong or a jackass or just not being the best I could be." The Zaunite shifted his bad leg to stretch it slightly. "Such as your misconception about Shuriman naming conventions. You insisted upon yourself so loudly." "Yeah, exactly," Jayce replied, his voice tinged with an emotion Viktor couldn't place. "You damn near threw the history book at me. My point is, I don't want to lose you because you're one of my only friends. I just… I don't know how to be a good friend. I've never had many. Most people think I'm an asshole on purpose but half the time I can't even tell if they're mad at me or happy with me and the other half I can't tell their facial expressions apart."  The bed shifted again, the dip shifting into a full, familiar, comfortable weight behind him that made him ashamed and relieved at the same time. He wanted to turn around and look at his roommate, his friend, to encourage him and reward him with the end goal. Viktor knew better.  "I don't know how to be a good friend. I'm barely a good person. I know this because most of why I haven't built a city-leveling bomb is the morals of those around me. But I want… I want to be good for you. And I don't know where to start because I feel like every time I start to do something I'm inevitably gonna fuck up. Maybe not as bad as this excursion, but I still think about how angry you were when you left the play. I never want to do that to you again and here I am,  somehow doing something even worse. I think I'm asking for forgiveness, maybe? Or guidance. Just… I want to know how to..." "Fix it?" "You know me. There's nothing I can't fix, right?"

and the last bit is fallen hero, also very rusty, but also vaguely??? nsfw?? it's meant to be intimate but not necessarily sexual idk

The dreams had a strange mercy for once in that he could see nothing, but in exchange, his mind had conjured something far worse; a fantasy he could touch, smell, and hear. He didn’t need to see to feel Chen knelt in front of him, broad form settled between his thighs as a solid anchor among uncertainty. He needed a reason – and his mind provided, familiar hands pulling a blindfold tight over his eyes and the tickle of an all too familiar beard along the edge of one shoulder. Chen knew his strength. He kept one rough, weathered hand flat against Cole's lower spine to keep him still as he pressed quiet kisses against the warm, soft skin. Teeth grazed the edge of the ink that lined the smaller man's collarbone in fractal patterns too tightly interwoven to discern with the naked human eye; bruises bloomed over his neck and chest like flowers carefully embroidered into cloth too fragile to hold them. Held still as if he’d fall apart if Chen dared let go. Ortega had learned to be careful. His hands were softer than the Marshal’s, but just as grounding as they rested on his waist. Warm lips pressed to the nape of his neck, the scrape of a well-trimmed beard along the dip of his shoulder just as ticklish as it was when they kissed. He held the telepath as if he could save Cole from falling again, as if he could hold him close and somehow save him without knowing what he was saving him from. Like a hero should, if they could. It was too much to bear, not enough to fill the aching hole in his chest. Like filling an ocean one rainstorm at a time, bringing life from extinction. Washing away the barren empty with nothing more than a rag and their tears, they had no intention of letting him slip from their hands a second time. Monsters and all. Don’t touch me, his mind whispered in an instinctive flinch, I don’t know how not to bite.

[missingmywing]

Much shorter today, but both soft and angsty.

Ryomina Day 2: Stargazing/First Kiss (Ao3 Link)

These are all going to be continuations of Day 1 because I wanna explore this au more.

The amount of flipflopping I did trying to figure out if it’s even possible to see the stars in Kyoto - even at the stargazing spots - was… a lot, and I still didn’t get a definitive answer. All the pictures I looked at said no, but I also acknowledge that cameras aren’t always great, and they are called stargazing lookouts on various tourist sites. And the game and movie both show stars at night so we’re going to set aside the potential realities of light pollution and say that you can. And the first day of the trip is a new moon too, so it’d be a waste not to take advantage of that.

The hiking trail Ryoji drags Minato up against his will:https://www.insidekyoto.com/shogunzuka-seiryuden-hike-chion-temple

Also as usual, the song I listened to while writing this:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ox7Wt6fsm_A

Ryomina to Kimi no Na wa is somehow even more devastating.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

Minato had never really gotten attached to things before this year - aside from the mp3 player and Death/Thanatos - so he didn’t really miss anything from his childhood. But the one good thing that he could admit to missing, if he thought about it, was wandering the streets of Inagawa at night and looking up at the stars.

The green distortion of the dark hour tended to obscure the light of the stars, but even when it didn’t the light pollution of Tokyo not far away - plus Tatsumi Port Island itself - largely blocked them out.

Which meant that when they went to Kyoto for the school trip, Ryoji apparently decided on his own that that meant they should sneak out and go to the nearby Shogunzuka Seiryuden Temple to see if they could see any. Apparently it was the best lookout in the city, and a good place to stargaze.

Minato had his doubts given how bright the city was, but Ryoji seemed excited so he didn’t argue and just let the Shadow-turned-Persona-turned-boy sneak them out of the inn on the first night there to drag him on the long walk to the foot of the temple, then the half hour hike up to the temple itself.

If it had been anyone else Minato would have been annoyed and turned around. Ryoji was very lucky Minato liked him so much.

… especially after those six days where he’d been convinced that he’d lost him after Thanatos just vanished from his soul before Ryoji just showed up to school (which he still hadn’t explained and probably wouldn’t).

But Ryoji hadn’t let go of his hand the whole time they’d been walking, fingers intertwined and arms swinging as he chattered about the various things he’d been doing and exploring around Iwatodai and Tatsumi Port Island in the ten or so days he’d been consciously physical. It was almost surprising to hear how much he’d been doing without Minato - it had felt almost like they’d been glued together since the moment Ryoji walked into class with a grin and flirty line.

(It had taken an enormous amount of restraint for Minato not to throw himself out of desk and storm up to the front demanding to know where he’d been - the sudden flood of emotions he’d been struggling with since Thanatos vanished and suddenly whatever emotional suppression effect he’d had on Minato had vanished along with him had been difficult - but he’d managed to limit his reaction to a narrowed-eyed glare. They’d all thought Aigis was going to break cover and shoot him on the spot before she’d managed to get her own instinctual reaction under control.)

But they still spent a decent amount of time apart, given how busy Minato was helping various Social Links and Ryoji flirting his way through getting to know the entire school - how he was doing that without getting murdered by half the school population Minato neither knew nor cared - so it shouldn’t have been the surprise it was to realize that Ryoji somehow knew an entire year’s worth of drama that he hadn’t been around for.

Minato really didn’t care about the breakups and revenge plots and planned confessions of various couples around the school but Ryoji looked like he was having fun so he let him talk and only partially tuned him out.

When he’d come on the Kyoto trip he really hadn’t expected to be dragged on a multi-kilometer hike, but… well it wasn’t awful. The air was chilly enough that he wasn’t hot, and the months they’d spent sprinting up floor after floor of Tartarus meant he could easily handle the hike.

It just would have been nice to have some forewarning - or even just taken a taxi up.

But Ryoji was determined to have as many experiences as possible in the three months they had before The Fall, and Minato couldn’t fault him for it.

No one could escape time, not even the two of them, so they might as well make the most of it.

The downward turn of his thoughts must have been apparent to Ryoji - of course they were, he’d spent ten years sharing Minato’s soul - because the boy squeezed his hand with a sad smile and then yanked him forward.

Minato yelped and scrambled to catch his balance, and then they were running. Sprinting up the stairs, chilly autumn air whipping at their cheeks and red leaves and stone path blurring around them as Ryoji laughed and led the way and Minato couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed as he rushed to keep up.

It was exhausting and exhilarating, the world blurring and fading away until all he could feel were the pounding of his heart and the slap of his shoes against the stone pathway and Ryoji’s hand in his, all he could see was Ryoji’s beaming smile and eerie two-toned blue eyes glowing in the dark.

When they finally reached the top Minato had to stop and double over to clutch at his side as he gasped for breath. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how not human Ryoji was.

There was a reason only Aigis could keep up with him.

“Sorry,” the Shadow-turned-boy offered sheepishly. “You alright?”

“F-Fine,” Minato panted. “Just… just give me… a minute…” Too many nights running from the Reaper had given him stamina at least, and the sudden thought made him snort.

Ryoji tilted his head questioningly.

Minato finally managed to straighten and begin to even out his breaths. “Usually I’m running away from the Reaper, not trying to catch up to him.”

That drew a startled laugh from Ryoji as he set his hands on his hips. “I’m not the Reaper! I mean I’m kind of similar I guess, but we’re still different! The Reaper doesn’t come from Nyx, I don’t think.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not that I know of,” Ryoji shrugged. “I think it just comes from… elsewhere, like most Shadows,” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, “-and is drawn to places where Shadows gather.”

“Huh… well, you’re still kind of a reaper, even if you aren’t the Reaper.”

Ryoji stuck his tongue out at him. “Fair enough I guess. Now come on, we’re almost there!” He grabbed Minato’s hand and returned to pulling him forward towards the path opening up into the viewpoint area.

It was a small observational area overlooking the southern sector of Kyoto, and in the far distance he could even make out the glittering lights of Osaka in the clear, moonless night.

The important thing, though, was the endless expanse of stars above them that he hadn’t expected to see.

Minato stared wide-eyed, slowly walking forward towards the railing with Ryoji trailing behind him.

They weren’t quite as clear as they’d been in Inagawa, but they were there and sparkling like thousands of tiny fireflies in the far distance.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being able to see them, and was even more startled by the sudden choking well of emotion rising from his chest to his throat and spilling out from his eyes. Was he really crying over the stars?

The sudden unpracticed ability to feel a full range of emotion again was becoming inconvenient.

He reached up to scrub at his eyes and tried not to jump when he felt arms wrap unexpected around his waist as Ryoji rested his chin on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, you know,” he murmured in his ear.

“They’re just stars,” Minato shot back, leaning into his hug. “They’re pretty, but it’s not worth crying over.”

“Isn’t it?” Ryoji countered. “You’ve missed them haven’t you. What wrong with that?”

… what indeed.

“It’s not like they’ve gone anywhere. I just couldn’t see them.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to miss them.”

Minato had a feeling they weren’t just talking about the stars anymore.

Sighing, Minato reached down to intertwine their fingers. “It’s still annoying that I can’t control my emotions anymore.”

Ryoji snorted and pressed his face to Minato’s shoulder. “You mean that you have emotions again. You’ll get used to it - they aren’t bad.”

“Easy for you to say.” But Minato didn’t argue with him, just tipped his head back to stare up at the stars and try to remember the patterns of constellations. He could remember a few, tracing their paths with his eyes, and it was comfortable in the silence between them as he looked up at the twinkling lights in the sky and Ryoji looked down at the glittering lights of the city.

“It’s ironic,” Ryoji murmured finally. “I bet none of the scientists ever thought that the personification of Death could learn to value life, could learn to want to live and want humanity to live. I love you and I love them, and ten years ago I couldn’t have even imagined that I would be able to.”

Minato tightened his grip reflexively, trying to ignore the sudden burning behind his eyes and throat at the reminder. “I bet they’d be mortified,” he murmured. “Strega and Ikutsuki sure were.”

A wet laugh tumbled from the boy behind him. “Yeah, yeah they were. But I do. I do want to live. I want to live, and keep learning about people, seeing how they live and what they think. And I want to keep waking up every day with you and going down to the lobby to eat breakfast that Shinji made everyone while Yukari and Junpei argue and Akihiko and Mitsuru ignore them, and Fuuka tries to keep the peace while Ken sneaks Koromaru food from his plate, and Aigis tries to figure out why they’re arguing this time.” He was shaking, burying his face in Minato’s shoulder to hide his tears. “I want to stay with you forever, just like this.”

The tears had won the battle against Minato and they streaked down his face and turned the stars above them into a blur. He swallowed the knot in his throat and whispered, “Me too. I don’t want you to leave me too. I want to keep you here.” Wanted to drag Thanatos back into his soul, entwine them so strongly once more that he couldn’t leave him behind again. But they both knew he couldn’t - Ryoji’s very existence was proof that Death was whole once more, and a single human soul couldn’t contain Death without destroying itself.

But that didn’t mean he was willing to let go either.

Minato turned suddenly, startling Ryoji into loosening his grip, until they were facing each other. And it was a whim, a thoughtless, desperate motion to connect them once more that made Minato reach up to wrap his arms around Ryoji’s neck and pull him down to press their lips together for the first time. Ryoji froze for a moment before clinging more tightly to Minato’s waist and pulling him as close as he could.

And the kiss was awkward, wet with their shared tears and neither knowing what exactly they were supposed to do, but that wasn’t the point of it. Minato just wanted to be as close to him as he could in that moment, even if he couldn’t rejoin their souls. So it was awkward and desperate and not really good but it made him feel a little better to know it wasn’t just him.

That they were still the same even broken apart as they were.

When they pulled apart Minato tucked his head against Ryoji’s neck and just breathed. Ryoji clung to him just as tightly as he matched their breaths and they stood there. Together.

It wasn’t fair, none of it was fair, but they both knew that. There was nothing they could do about it - time came for them all in the end and they couldn’t close their eyes and cover their ears to hide from it. All they could do was live as much as they could until the end.

Minato found himself being dragged down as Ryoji suddenly fell backwards, until they were both sprawled on the concrete staring up at the stars once more. Minato’s arm was used as Ryoji’s cushion and his head was tucked against his shoulder and it wasn’t the most comfortable position but he didn’t want to move.

They just laid there, Ryoji occasionally pointing up to draw his attention to a constellation he either remembered or made up, and it was the calmest Minato had felt in weeks.

Time ticked ever onward though, and eventually Ryoji sighed and turned to press his lips to Minato’s head and murmured, “It’s almost midnight. Once the Dark Hour hits, I can fly us back.” His lips pulled up into a small smirk. “Save you the exhaustion of walking anywhere.”

Minato had complained about long walks to places before, even in his head, and while he didn’t hate exercise he wasn’t particularly thrilled with it either. Any other time he’d have been relieved at the offer.

But right here and now, in this extended fragile moment between them, with time ticking ever forward against them, he wanted to draw this out a little longer. Pretend for as long as possible that it was just the two of them and they had infinite time ahead of them.

So he just shrugged and said, “I can walk.”

Ryoji’s raised brow almost immediately morphed into understanding - of course it did - and his expression softened into something warm and pained. “If you’re sure. If we get back during the Dark Hour maybe Mitsuru won’t lecture us too badly about sneaking out.”

“And who’s fault was that?”

“I’ll take responsibility!”

“Somehow I don’t think that will save us,” Minato sighed, reluctantly sitting up. “We should go then. It’s around an hour to walk back so we’ll be cutting it close even if we leave now.”

“Good point. If we get too close I’ll just fly us the rest of the way, though.” Ryoji stretched his arms over his head and hopped to his feet, offering a hand to Minato. He accepted it and was pulled easily to his feet - but stilled as Ryoji suddenly too the opportunity to lean down and press another soft kiss to his lips. It was short, only a lingering moment, but something about it made his throat tight again and he pressed their foreheads together.

They lingered for another minute before reluctantly parting and turning to walk back.

The Dark Hour hit somewhere along the way, but alone on the trails with no coffins or Shadows around it felt distant and unobtrusive. The minutes stretched long and comfortable between them just as Minato had hoped they would, until they finally reached the city and its many coffins again.

They did not manage to sneak back to their room without Mitsuru noticing, but for once she didn’t lecture them. Just gave them a knowing look and told them not to sneak off under the teachers’ supervision. She looked… tired.

But then, most of SEES did after the harrowing few weeks and many revelations and near-fatalities they’d had.

They both reminded each other to rest at the same moment, and Mitsuru laughed softly as her expression lightened. It made something ease in his own chest.

They made it back to their room without further incident - other than Junpei made an excessive show of scanning them up and down as though looking for signs of indecency which made Ryoji wink and laugh and Minato throw a pillow at him - before finally collapsing on a futon and passing out.

He distantly heard Junpei trying to tease them for sharing a futon, but Minato was already falling asleep and Ryoji was more than capable of keeping up with Junpei.

He didn’t see the big deal - they’d technically been sharing a futon or bed for years whenever Death manifested, and Ryoji had basically moved into his room in the dorms by this point. But those two seemed to have fun with it so… whatever.

Minato was just satisfied to have Ryoji’s warmth against him as he fell into sleep.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

Much shorter, and more bittersweet than outright angsty than the last one. And very obvious Ryomina rather than implied.

It is still pretty sad though, I know, but that’s unfortunately what happens when you take an angst writer and ask them to try and write fluff.

So it may be obvious by now, but the idea is that this is an everyone lives/no one (on our side) dies route. Ikutsuki, Takaya, and Jin still die, but Shinji (if you want to reference my other fic Numb that’s basically what happens in this route, except add in some flashbacks towards his cousin too), Chidori, and Mitsuru’s father survive because as soon as Minato wakes up with SEES on crosses and Aigis under control he and Thanatos flip out and Ikutsuki ends up with the controller destroyed and himself very very dead.

Evokers might help with Persona evocation, but they aren’t necessary when someone gets in an unstable enough mental state and also has an excessively powerful and autonomous Shadow-turned-Persona in their head. SEES gets a little scared but Thanatos has gone rogue before and never attacked them so…

It’s a whole ordeal but Ikutsuki is the only one that ends up dead, so win?

(The “no one dies” thing does apply to Minato and Ryoji too though so there’s a lot of existential angst here for something that’s not going to happen. Minato and Ryoji are going to pull a Yu and Marie, and Ryoji’s going to absorb Nyx while Minato connects to the Universe and helps him fundamentally change how the draw towards humanity’s death works. Ryoji’s an eventual inevitable heat death situation for humanity somewhere along the line, but that’s so far into the future it’s not even foreseeable so it’s fine.)