#it was perfect for lying down and contemplating life before taking a stab at being productive. there were even outlets on it

[nyaacatboy]

i have to say that my one pet peeve about my university is that several times i've found a Comfy Spot To Chill only for it to be replaced by like tables and desks a few months later...let me Lounge for goodness sake

[persevereforahappyending]

This isn't Your Fault (Revenge)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Murder, Torture (I guess?)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

“Enough!” Tara snapped. “We’re kind of on a time limit.” She glared at her sister, Chad, and Mindy. “Come. Don’t come,” she directed at the twins. “I don’t care, but we’re leaving. Now,” she turned to Sam and then began walking towards the door.

She heard footsteps stumbling to catch up to her. She didn’t need to turn around to know all three of them were following her. “We need to meet Gale,” Tara said, still not bothering to glance back at the others.

“Where are we meeting her?” Mindy asked. Sam pulled up her phone showing the location. Mindy’s eyes widened. “Why would we want to meet there?”

“Because it’s the perfect spot to set a trap,” Sam started to explain.

“Who cares!” Tara snapped again. “Let’s take the subway, it’ll be quicker.”

She finally glanced back at the others to see all 3 of them sharing a concerned look. She narrowed her eyes at them, making all three of them, even Sam, drop their gaze to the ground. Her girlfriend was lying injured in the hospital after almost being brutally murdered, they would have to forgive her for being a little impatient, and they needed to hurry the fuck up or Ghostface wasn’t going to be the only one suffering this night.

They made their way to the subway, all of them barely shoving themselves on. Once the doors closed all four of them tensed up when they got a good look at their surroundings. Tara had almost forgot it was Halloween. Nearly everyone was dressed in costume, a majority of them wearing a Ghostface costume specifically.

“How many stops?” Tara asked, glancing around at the Ghostface’s that surrounded them.

“Ten,” Sam answered, shifting closer to Tara as she watched the movements of every Ghostface.

Chad shifted, putting his body in front of Mindy and partially in front of Tara and Sam. Tara could see the fear in his eyes and the way his jaw was locked in place. His hand held onto the pole so tight his knuckles were turning white, but he stared down any Ghostface that so much as glanced their way. Sam moved behind Tara, resting her hand on the pole so her arm was resting around Tara’s shoulder. Mindy and Tara stood there, eyes darting all around the subway, squished between Chad and Sam.

With each stop a Ghostface moved, inching closer and closer to the group. All four of them watched and waited, ready to make a move. Attacking someone on a crowded subway would be a bold move, even for Ghostface, but Tara wouldn’t put it past him. Knowing Ghostface, and their luck, Ghostface would stab at least two of them and be off at the next stop before anyone were to realize what had happened.

Luckily their stop finally came, and they all piled out, lucky to escape without an incident. The four of them quickly made their way down the street to the location they were to meet Gale. They slowed their pace as they approached the alley, it wasn’t dark yet, but the sun had just begun to set.

“Good, you made it,” Gale said, popping out from the alleyway.

All four of them jumped, Chad even pushing Mindy in front of himself. Mindy turned around, slapping her brother hard on the shoulder. Tara glared at Gale, she didn’t have time to almost have a heart attack, she needed to find Ghostface, kill him, and then go back to you and spend the rest of the night apologizing. Tara would spend the rest of her life groveling for your forgiveness as long as she got to tell you Ghostface was dead.

“Are you ready for this?” Gale asked, looking at Sam before settling her gaze on Tara.

Tara nodded. “Let’s make this bastard pay,” She growled out.

Gale nodded, leading them down the alley and through the first set of doors. “Okay, I got everything all setup.” They followed her to the cage where she swiped the keycard, unlocking the metal door, they all piled into the room, waiting for Gale to flip the switch.

When the lights came on Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Gale had found the theater with a shrine to Ghostface and all the killings a couple months prior. She contacted them and they all came to see it. She had discovered it after two boys from Tara’s class had killed their teacher, only to end up murdered themselves. Sam was freaking out that it was Ghostface related but after Tara’s relentless begging and giving the police time to investigate nothing ever happened. No phone calls were made, no other killings happened, there was just silence. Sam was still one edge but without Ghostface coming after them it was hard to believe it was a real Ghostface attacked, it was chalked up to a copycat.

Tara had only been to the theater once and once was enough. She walked the display cases, seeing every gruesome detail of all the past killings. She even saw photos of her own attack, the shirt she had been wearing proudly on display with her blood still staining it. Tara hated the theater and wanted everything in it to burn, but if Ghost had a headquarters this was the most logical spot. It was also the spot they could most likely surprise him, setting up their own trap and catching him off guard.

“What’s the plan?” Chad asked, running his fingers across the glass display cases.

“We lure Ghostface here and then we kill him,” Tara said bluntly.

“We created a kill box,” Sam explained, looking at Tara with concern. “Once he steps foot in here, the doors close, and no one can come in or go out.”

“So, we’re bait?” Mindy said slowly.

“You didn’t have to come,” Tara snapped. She knew her friends didn’t deserve her attitude, but she couldn’t help it. She just needed Ghostface to arrive trying to kill them so they could turn the tables and kill him instead.

“So, what do we do now?” Chad asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“We wait,” Gale said.

Everyone nodded, moving to separate corners of the theater. They all had visual of each other, but they didn’t want to be next to each other, they knew it wasn’t time to talk. Sam made her way up the stage where the case with Billy Loomis’s cloak hung. Tara watched her for a moment before her eyes drifted down to the display case in front of her. It was her attack, crime scene photos of her kitchen and hallway decorated with blood. Tara tapped the glass, flashing back to that night.

Tara ran a hand down her face even though she hadn’t begun to cry. She shook her head, getting back into the right mindset, she couldn’t focus on the past, the only thing that mattered in the moment was avenging you. She glanced back up at Sam when a ring broke out making everyone jump as it echoed through the room. Everyone followed the sound, their eyes all landing on Mindy.

She slowly pulled out her phone, looking at the screen. “It’s Anika,” she sighed in relief. Tara held her breath though, waiting for Mindy to answer. When she had been attacked, she thought she had been talking to Amber, but it was Ghostface, who turned out to be Amber but that was beside the point. Until Mindy heard Anika’s voice there was no telling who was on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Mindy asked. “Hello?” she scrunched her eyebrows. “Babe, I can’t hear you.” She took the phone away from her ear looking at the others. “I don’t have signal, let me take this outside.”

“Wait,” Sam said, taking a step forward.

“It could be important,” Mindy argued.

“I’ll go with her,” Chad said.

That ended the discussion. The twins wandered back out of the room, hoping to get a better signal. Tara looked to Sam who stood in the middle of the stage. Something didn’t feel right but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife. Tara’s hand shook as she gripped the handle before tucking it into her pants, it was the same knife Amber had used to stab her and it was going to be the same knife she used to kill Ghostface.

The second Tara closed the lid of the display case the lights went out. “Tara?” Sam called. Tara stumbled making her way in the direction she knew the stage to be. The lights flipped back on and her and Sam ran to each other, gripping on to each other’s arm as they stood in the middle of the stage. They spun around in a circle looking for who had turned the lights off.

Gale started to make her way up the steps towards them when a Ghostface appeared behind her. “Watch out!” Sam screamed, pushing Tara behind her. It was too late, Gale barely had time to turn before the blade was imbedded into her shoulder. Gale stumbled back down the steps, putting a hand to her wound to stop the bleeding. She turned, facing Ghostface but they quickly kneed her in the stomach, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the side of the stage.

Tara gripped Sam’s arm, and Sam gripped her hand back just as tight. They backed up, neither of their eyes leaving Ghostface who stood at the bottom of the steps, his head tilted, staring at them. The lights went out again and the only thing Tara could hear was her and Sam’s breathing. Then there was loud banging from the outside door and what sounded like Chad screaming. That’s when Tara realized it, they didn’t set up a trap for Ghostface, he set up a trap for them. Tara and Sam were locked in the theater with Ghostface while Gale was unconscious and bleeding out, and Chad and Mindy were locked out on the other side of the door.

Tara’s eyes darted all around the room, it was pitch black, any light that had been on was now out. She couldn’t make out anything, she couldn’t even hear the shuffling of feet. When the lights came back on Ghostface was standing right in front of her, head tilted, staring into her with those empty black eyes.

Tara jumped, letting out a gasp, as she gripped Sam’s arm, pulling her back. Sam spun around to see Ghostface in front of Tara, she let go of Tara’s hand, giving Ghostface a hard shove. They stumbled back, dropping their knife in the process. Sam quickly scooped it up, holding out towards Ghostface as he was left kneeling on the ground.

“Girls!” came a voice.

Tara and Sam turned, searching for the voice, Sam making sure to keep the knife pointed at Ghostface. They saw Quinn’s dad, detective Bailey entering through the gated door. He had his gun drawn and his head was looking from side to side as if he was checking the place out.

“How did you know where we were?” Sam asked. Tara moved closer to her sister, eyeing Bailey suspiciously.

“Kirby called,” he said, still moving his gun as he eyed his surrounding, slowly making his way to the girls.

“Kirby?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara glanced at Sam, having the same look, they never told Kirby where they were going.

Before they could question him further another Ghostface appeared, knife raised and running up behind Bailey. “Look out!” Sam shouted. It was just the distraction the Ghostface kneeling before them needed, he reached up, ripping the knife back out of Sam’s hand.

Sam moved, elbowing Ghostface in the mask, causing him to drop the knife again. They both dove for the knife, their fingers nearly grazing it when Bailey fired, his bullet flying into the floorboard next to the knife. Sam jumped, looking back up at Baily. Ghostface grabbed the knife, turning around to point it at her, just as she had been doing to him. The Ghostface backed up slowly, joining Bailey at his side, as the one that had been running towards Bailey stood on his other side.

“You?” Sam asked, the shock evident in her voice.

“Yeah, me,” Bailey said, shrugging with a grin. “You’ve probably put together the rest,” he slapped the shoulder of the Ghostface on his left.

The Ghostface reached up, lifting off his mask to reveal Ethan. Both girls’ eyes widened. Tara shouldn’t be surprised. You had been attacked, she knew it wasn’t her sister, Mindy, Chad, or Gale. The options of who Ghostface could be were pretty limited and if Anika was still at the hospital with you that only left… Tara’s gaze shifted to the still masked Ghostface on Bailey’s right.

“Hey, roomies,” Quinn said with a smile as she revealed herself as the final Ghostface.

“What the fuck!” Sam said, looking between the three of them.

“You think you can mess with our family and just get away with it!” Quinn snapped, waving her knife around.

“Family?”

“They’re still not getting it,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “My name isn’t Ethan Landry! Isn’t that right dad?” he looked towards Bailey. The three of them breaking out into a laugh.

“Dad?” Tara questioned, out of everything, that surprised her the most.

“It was easy to dupe the roommate lottery and get Chad.”

“It was just as easy finding your roommate ad,” Quinn added. “I mean who wouldn’t trust a girl whose daddy is a police detective.”

“Look, whatever you think I did, I didn’t!” Sam shouted, as if she was trying to reason with them. Tara was sure Sam was just processing all this new information though. “I don’t know what you read about me online but I’m not a murderer!”

“Yes! Yes, you are!” Quinn shouted, her movements quick as she stood before Tara and Sam, angling her knife down at them. “You killed our brother.”

“Your brother?” Tara questioned.

“You stupid girl,” Ethan groaned, glaring at her as if the fact that Tara couldn’t figure out their motive was the most irritating thing in the world.

“You’re Richie’s family,” Sam said, her eyes widening with the realization.

Bailey nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Yeah, and you took him from me.”

“He was psychotic,” Tara spat out, barely dodging the knife Quinn swung at her.

“He was incredibly passionate about the things he loved,” Bailey said. “And maybe I indulged him a little too much. But I helped him build all this,” he raised his hands at their surroundings.

“This was all his?” Sam asked.

“His legacy,” Bailey sighed, admiring the memorabilia that reminded him of his son, even though all the items belonged to serial killers or their victims. “Which is why you have to die here, surrounded by what he loved the most.”

“What even is your grand plan?” Sam held up her arms, confusion written all over her face.

“It’s not enough to just kill someone anymore,” Ethan said. “You have to assassinate their character.”

“It’s as simple as posting a few conspiracies on reddit,” Quinn smirked. “Re-writing the story.”

“That was you?” Sam couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

“It was too easy,” Quinn giggled. “The rest just fell right into place.”

“Those two film nerds even helped out,” Bailey said. “We had to kill you before them, so we kill them, make it look like Ghostface is back but don’t do anything after to get you to let your guard down.”

“Which you did,” Ethan said, pointing his knife at the girls.

“Then we go after what you care about most,” Bailey snarled.

Tara’s eyes widened, instantly filling with tears again. “Y/N,” she whispered.

Ethan broke out into a devilish grin. “I have to say, I’ve never had so much fun,” he said, giving a little jump of excitement.

“It was you?” Tara looked at Ethan, though her eyes were filled with tears a darkness lingered underneath, all her anger slowly bubbling back to the surface.

Ethan shrugged with a smirk. “I volunteered.” He fiddled with the knife, spinning it around with his fingers. “Nearly begged for it actually.”

“Why? What did she ever do to you? How did you even find out about us?”

“Because you’re not as smart as you think you are!” he shouted, shaking his head to regain some of his composure. “It was an accident at first, I was at the library late and caught the two of you leaving all cuddled up,” he wrinkled his nose at the memory. “You don’t get to be happy,” he shook his head. “You don’t get the girl when my brother is dead!” he gritted his teeth, staring at her with a wild look in his eye.

Tara clenched her jaw, glaring at Ethan. Tara and Sam ended up standing back-to-back as Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan began to circle them. Sam kept her eyes locked with Bailey’s while Tara’s sole focus was on Ethan. Quinn stood in the middle, smiling from ear to ear, she’d occasionally swiped her knife, barely missing Tara, and Sam.

“You know, I was meant to give her the whole experience,” Ethan taunted. “The phone call, all of it,” he wiggled his knife. “You were on the phone with her. I was disappointed, thinking it would be too easy. She put a up a fight though.” He pointed his knife, as if he approved in your survival skills. “She still screamed like a little bitch when I beat her though,” he said with a maniacal laugh.

“Fuck you!” Tara screamed, making her move, she rushed forward, shoving him into one of the display cases, shattering the glass and sending the memorabilia to the floor.

Sam went for Bailey, grabbing his wrist as he fired three more shots. They struggled, pushing each other back and forth into display cases and mannequins.

Quinn gripped her knife, swinging wildly, getting a lucky shot and slicing Sam across the arm. Quinn went to stab Sam, aiming for her heart when Tara grabbed a brick randomly lying on the ground, swinging it right against Quinn’s jaw. Tara could swear she heard a crack, she didn’t stop to look at Quinn though, she grabbed her sister’s hand and took off, ducking through a door as Bailey began firing at them again.

“What’s the plan?” Sam asked, breathing heavy.

“We kill this fucking family once and for all,” Tara said, shooting a glare at Sam so her sister knew she meant it.

“Split them up,” Sam said, nodding along. “We’ll pick them off one by one.”

“Ethan’s mine,” Tara practically growled out.

“Find them!” they heard Bailey shout.

Tara and Sam quickly jumped behind the counter of the old snack bar, getting into position. The second the door they had come through swung open they pushed the popcorn machine over, sending it crashing into Ethan. Sam jumped over the side of the counter, grabbing the old glass gumball machine. As Ethan shook out the stale popcorn from his hair, slowly pulling himself to his feet, Sam used both hands to swing the gumball machine down onto his head, shattering the glass as it came into contact with his skull. Ethan crumbled to the floor knocked out cold.

Sam or Tara didn’t have time to finish him off before Bailey and Quinn were rushing through the door after hearing the commotion. Tara gave Sam one final nod before taking off down the hallway behind her while Sam ran down the other hallway in the opposite direction. Tara slammed her body into the walls as she took the turns to sharp, she glanced back to see Quinn following her. There was no sign of Bailey, meaning he most likely went after Sam.

Tara got to a staircase, taking the steps two at a time she made her way up to the second floor. She pushed through a set of double doors, stumbling out onto the balcony seating. Tara turned facing the door she had just come through, she watched the doors, ready for Quinn to come through them. She heard a slight creak to her side though, turning just in time to see a flash of silver, she dropped to the floor, rolling away.

Quinn had come up using the other stairs, on the opposite side of the balcony. Tara moved with caution, keeping her eyes on Quinn and the knife in her hand as she slowly backed away, stepping up the short set of stairs that led to the seats. Tara could see the blood dripping from Quinn’s mouth from when she smacked her with a brick, Tara couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Quinn gave her a toothy smile, showing that Tara had knocked out a couple teeth.

“You know I wanted to kill Y/N,” Quinn said with a bloody smile. “But dad thought Ethan could use the confidence boost.” She rolled her eyes “I might have had a bit more fun with her before her demise though,” Quinn wiggled her eyebrows.

Tara stood before Quinn, gritting her teeth, and snarling like a caged animal. Quinn swiped her knife back and forth, aiming for Tara’s stomach but Tara moved, dodging each swipe with ease. When Quinn swung her knife, bringing it back the other direction Tara reach down, gripping her wrist and then rushed forward. She pushed Quinn back until they both tumbled over the railing, crashing down onto another display case.

Quinn scrambled around, searching for the knife she dropped. When Quinn got ahold of her knife, she brought it up, ready to stab Tara. Tara grabbed a broken shard of glass, ignoring the way it ripped into her palm as she impaled it deep into the side of Quinn’s neck. Tara’s eyes held no emotion as she stared into Quinn’s wide eyes, her face falling slack. Quinn dropped her knife, bringing both hands to her neck. She tried to stand but quickly crumbled back to her knees, then collapsed the rest of the way onto her side, eyes lifeless and a shard of glass sticking out of her neck.

“No!” Bailey screamed, firing his gun at Tara but the clip was empty. Sam came out from the shadows, tackling Bailey back, crashing through the movie screen.

A door creaked and Tara crawled away from Quinn’s body, making sure not to be seen. She made her way over to the electric panel, being just out of sight but having a clear view of Ethan stumbling back into the theater, a large gash on his head from where Sam had hit him with the gumball machine. Ethan had his knife up, ready for a fight, but slowly brought his arm down as he saw his sisters body lying in a bloody mess.

“Tara!” Ethan screamed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he spun around, looking everywhere. A phone rang cutting through the silence, making Ethan jump. He pulled out his phone, rolling his eyes when he saw the screen before he brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Ethan,” Tara said, using the Ghostface voice changer she had swiped from the broken display case.

“Cute trick,” Ethan said, kicking at some of the broken glass on the ground. “Too scared to fight me yourself?”

“Aww, don’t whine,” Tara taunted. “I thought you liked playing games. I just want to play a game with you.”

“You know the whole point of the Ghostface call is to scare the person, let them know there’s someone watching them, but not letting them know who it is or where they are.” Ethan spun around the middle of the room, waving his knife around. “I know who you are Tara,” he raised his hands in the air.

“But do you know where I am?” she asked then killed the lights, all except the, what would be emergency lights, around the perimeter of the room.

“Come on!” Ethan shouted, spinning around in circles.

Pulling out the knife she tucked in her jeans, Tara tightened her grip around the handle, quickly darting towards Ethan, shoving the knife into his side, underneath where the bullet proof vest she knew he was wearing ended. Ethan howled in pain, slashing his knife blindly but Tara had already disappeared, ducking, and weaving her way around the few display cases and mannequins that remained.

“You’re such a coward, hiding in the shadows,” Ethan said, putting pressure on his side with the hand that held the knife, while the other hand kept the phone near his ear. “What will your girlfriend think?”

“A coward?” Tara repeated. “Like dressing up in a costume, making scary phone calls, hiding every part of yourself from your victim?”

“Come out and face me you bitch!”

“With pleasure,” Tara said, the Ghostface voice not coming from the phone anymore but right beside Ethan. He turned to stab her, but she ducked, driving the knife into the opposite side she had before.

Ethan hissed in pain, gritting his teeth, his grip slowly loosening on the knife until it clattered to the floor. Tara walked around to finally stand face to face with him. Ethan held both arms to his sides, trying to put pressure on both wounds. “Aww, not enjoying the game?” she asked, holding the voice changer up to her mouth. Ethan stumbled forward, reaching out for her with a bloody hand but she easily side stepped him. She dropped the voice changer as she walked closer, digging her thumb into his wound, making him open his mouth wide as he screamed in pain.

“Who’s the one choking on their blood now?” Tara said as she brought the knife down into Ethan’s mouth, giving it a final twist before ripping it out.

He coughed up blood, spraying it across her face, she didn’t care about that though. As Ethan stepped back, stumbling to the floor, Tara followed. She tilted her head, watching him like the prey he was. She got down on her knees, straddling him, so she had a better position as she lifted him up by his cloak. She watched as tears filled with the realization as to what was about to happen. Tara tilted her head to the other side, watching as he struggled, gasping for breath, only for his throat to be filled with blood.

She spun the knife in her hand before getting a firm grip again. A darkness took over her eyes as she stared down at Ethan, before shoving the knife through one cheek and out the other. His body jolted against hers, she had to put her free hand on his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the floor, as the tears finally started falling from his eyes. She just as quickly ripped the knife back out, smirking down at him as he gurgled on the blood, just like he had said you were going to do. She watched as he cried, dying in the same way his brother had, the brother he had been so adamant about getting revenge for.

She looked to the side when she heard some commotion. Detective Bailey had stumbled back into the room, he gripped his shoulder, as he spun around with his gun in his injured arm, waving it around all directions. A few seconds later Sam pushed through the curtain, approaching him slowly, with an unreadable expression. Bailey aimed his gun, pulling the trigger multiple times, but the clip was still empty. Sam walked up to him, swinging her knife and slashing Bailey’s hand, causing him to drop the gun.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Bailey shouted.

Sam tilted her head, she glanced towards Tara. If Sam was surprised by the position Tara was in, she certainly didn’t show it. She glanced down at Ethan underneath Tara, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I think we already have,” Sam said. Bailey turned, seeing Ethan bleeding out on the floor with Tara on top of him. Two of his children were dead, one was dying, and he was about to die himself.

Bailey stepped forward, as if he was going to come for Ethan, as if he thought he could actually help his son. Sam stalked up behind Bailey, wrapping her arm around the front of him and lightly dragging the knife across his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him instantly. He reached for his throat with his bleeding hand Sam hand sliced. Blood slowly started to gush through his fingers, running down his arm. He turned, looking back to Sam in shock. He stumbled past her, and she looked on, flipping the knife around in her hand, as if she was a cat playing with a toy. Sam gave Tara one last look before she followed after Bailey, impaling the knife in the side of his back, watching him crumble to the floor.

Tara let out a small sigh before turning her attention back to Ethan. “First your brother,” she said with a light smirk. “Then your sister and now your dad.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Don’t worry,” she said with sweet smile, “you’ll be reunited with them soon.”

Tara used the tip of the knife to tap Ethan’s chin, making him tilt his head back. She ran the knife down his neck, making sure to only graze him and not break the skin, yet. She dragged the knife down until she got to the cloak. Then she dragged the knife over the cloak and down his chest. She could feel the bullet proof vest underneath his cloak. She tapped the knife against his chest, right underneath where the vest stopped.

Ethan coughed, spitting up more blood. Tara grabbed Ethan by the hair, yanking his head up hard. She inched the knife up higher, so it was now above the bullet proof vest, she pushed it down, knowing it was piercing his skin when he gritted his teeth. Tears fell from his eyes, he tried to look at her with hatred as he gritted his teeth, pretending to be strong. He couldn’t mask the pain though, as the knife dug deeper into his chest he winced, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

“How’s it feel,” she whispered, leaning closer so she was staring into his eyes, “being so helpless?” her eyes raked over his body in disgust. “Knowing no one is coming to save you?”

She let go of Ethan’s hair with an aggressive fling, letting it drop back to the ground with a hard thud. Ethan coughed, his whole body shaking with the struggle. His head flopped to the side, looking in the direction Bailey and Sam had been. Tara didn’t look, she knew Sam had it handled and based on the sob that racked through Ethan’s body she could make an educated guess as to how their fight turned out.

She tilted her head with an almost bored expression. After giving an Ethan a second to see his dead father she rolled her eyes, removing the knife she had been pressing into his chest. A hiss broke out through another sob. He turned back to Tara, looking up at her with his broken expression. She tilted her head to the other side. She wondered if this is how you looked up at him as he chased you around your house, as he tried to kill you, as he took a baseball bat to your ribs. Tara clenched her jaw, tilting her head down as she gripped the knife tighter despite the blood coating the handle making it slippery.

Tara gently ran the knife from Ethan’s chest back up to his neck before stopping. She gave the knife a few light taps on his neck before slowly sinking it in. Ethan’s eyes widened, his head jerked forward as he gasped for breath, only managing to gurgle up more blood. Tara tightened her grip on Ethan’s cloak, pushing down harder on his shoulder as he struggled against her. His arms flailed, one of them weakly coming up to grab at her arm but she just shrugs him off. When the knife was fully in Ethan’s neck he opened and closed his mouth a few times, the blood pooling in the back of his mouth before the struggle finally ended. His arm loosely fell back to the ground, his mouth left open, blood still trickling out of it, and his eyes wide open as Tara watched the light finally leave them.

Tara ripped the knife back out of Ethan’s neck, pushing her hand off his lifeless body to stand back up on her own two feet. She stood over him, looking down at her work, she didn’t necessarily feel happy, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t satisfied at having got her vengeance for you. Ethan had hurt you; he had attacked you; he had almost killed you. Tara had no mercy for him or the rest of his family. They deserved everything that had happened. Ethan deserved it. He would never hurt you again, Tara made sure of that.

Tara stepped over Ethan’s body, looking over to her sister who was in a similar position, standing over Bailey’s body. Tara looked down, the knife and her hand both coated in blood. She dropped the knife, letting it fall to the floor with a small clang and made her way to her sister. She stood behind Sam, looking past her to see Bailey dead, a knife sticking out of his eye. Sam turned to face Tara, they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before giving each other an approving nod.

“You, okay?” Sam asked softly, her tone not matching what the both of them had just gone through.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Tara said tiredly with a humorless chuckle.

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

As soon as they got back to the hospital Tara made her way to your room. After the fight, Chad and Mindy broke down the door, pouring in with a team of cops. Tara and Sam had been taken out of the theater, immediately being given medical treatment, both ended up needing stitches, Tara for her hand and Sam for her arm. They watched as the medics carried Gale out on a backboard, she had a pulse, but they were rushing her to surgery. While Tara was going to see you, Sam was going to be at Gale’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up.

Tara made her way through the hospital; she had run into Anika at a vending machine while she was getting a bag of chips for you. Tara sent Anika back down to the lobby to be with Mindy, telling her she’d bring you the chips. Anika had handed her the chips, mumbling a, good luck, before making her way to the elevator. Tara sighed once she was outside your room, rubbing her hands on her pants. She had made sure to clean up before coming back to the hospital, but she could still feel Ethan’s blood soaking into her hands.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before pushing down on the handle, opening the door to your hospital room. Tara’s eyes flicked up, her mouth open, an apology at the ready when she froze. You were out of bed. You were standing right beside the hospital bed with one hand lightly grazing the edge for balance. But you were out of bed. You were standing. Tara couldn’t be happy at seeing you standing on your own feet again because her eyes were too busy raking over your body.

You were in the process of putting on a shirt, you had your arm with a cast and your head in but were clearly struggling with the other arm. Tara’s eyes stopped, focusing on your stomach and your ribs. For once she wasn’t checking you out, she couldn’t take her eyes off the bruising. Both sides of your ribs and your stomach were painted black and blue. Tara brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, she had seen the baseball bat on the floor, she knew you had broken ribs, but she never imagined what lay under the hospital gown.

She must have let out a gasp or a sob, she wasn’t sure, but she did something that drew your attention. Your head quickly snapped to her. You clenched and unclenched your jaw, your eyes flicking from her face to the floor, you were mad at her. Tara knew you would be mad at her when she left, she knew you’d worry, she deserved your anger, but she didn’t regret her choice because it meant avenging you, it meant you were safe, and more importantly it meant making sure the person who did that to you would never do it again.

“Would you mind?” You asked softly, clenching your jaw, and looking at the floor as if you hated having to ask for her help.

Tara nodded quickly walking over to your side, tossing the bag of chips onto the table next to the bed. When she stood next to you, she got a better look at the injuries, some of the bruising was more purple and a dark red, wrapping around ribs towards your back. The front part of your body was a darker purple, dark shades of blue, looking almost black. Where the bruising ended, she could see the faintest impression of the bat. Her hand reached up, subconsciously wanting to touch the injury, wanting to hold and bring you comfort. She didn’t though, she kept her hand moving until it reached up, grabbing your shirt. She lifted your shirt, allowing you to maneuver, not without wincing, and get your other arm through the sleeve. Tara helped pull your shirt down, making sure not to touch the bruising that was now covered.

You gripped the sheet of the bed tighter, your eyes pinched shut as you let out slow breaths, wincing with each one. Tara held her hands up, ready to catch you if you started to fall but making sure not to touch you. She couldn’t take her eyes off your abdomen, now knowing what lied underneath your shirt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw you loosen your grip on the blanket, your body stretching as you stood taller. You slowly let go of the bed all together, making sure not to move to far from it, as you turned to fully face Tara. You didn’t say anything, Tara could feel your gaze burning into her until she slowly lifted her eyes to meet yours.

“I’m mad at you,” you whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Do you have any idea,” your voice cracked, your eyes filling with tears. “Any idea how worried I was?”

Tara nodded, a few of her own tears starting to fall. “I’m sorry,” it was her turn for her voice to crack. “I needed to make sure they’d never come after you again.”

“You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten killed,” your voice went higher, making you quickly wince in pain.

“I know.” Tara looked into your eyes, seeing all the worry and love you held for her. She watched as your eyes scanned up and down her body, darting all around her face for any potential injuries. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

Y/N reached down, taking Tara’s bandaged hand into her own. “You did get hurt,” you whispered.

“Technically I did this one to myself,” Tara said with small smile, trying to lighten the mood, it didn’t work.

You continued to hold her hand, gently running her fingers over the bandage. Considering how her last Ghostface encounter went Tara would argue she came out above everyone this time. Sam got a slash on her arm from Quinn that she needed stiches for but that was it. Tara on the other hand only got a gash on her hand because she grabbed onto a piece of broken glass to kill Quinn with. If Tara had just used the knife she had, she wouldn’t have had any injuries, but in the moment, she was feeling quite theatrical, and the shard of glass just felt more dramatic.

You reached up, gently turning her head to the side to brush some hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?” you asked. She nodded, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?” You stared her down, until she nodded. “Not without me,” you whispered.

Tara let out a shaky breath, nodding again. “You weren’t exactly in a position to come with me,” she tried to joke, letting out a chuckle that turned into more of a sob.

She heard you let out a small laugh then a louder groan. “I told you, no laughing.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again through more laughter.

“Did you get them?” you asked, your voice getting quieter, almost hesitant.

“Yes,” she said seriously, making sure there was no questioning, that she knew for sure they were dead. “We got them all.”

“Who?” you whispered, if Tara wasn’t standing right next to you, she would have missed it.

“Detective Bailey, Quinn-”

“Shit,” you breathed out, cutting her off.

“And Ethan.”

Your eyes widened at that, first in shock, then scrunching up in confusion. “Ethan? Why?”

Tara ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long breath. “Apparently Ethan is Bailey’s son and Quinn’s brother.”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s not all.” Your eyes widened at that. “They were Richie’s family.” Tara dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed that you really were attacked for knowing her. Tara and Sam killed Richie and Amber and then Richie’s family came after them as revenge. It was all Tara’s fault, if it wasn’t for her, you never would have been attacked.

“Hey,” you said softly, tilting her chin back up to make her look in your eyes again. “Come here.”

Tara wanted nothing more than to come closer to you, to hug you and never let you go but she didn’t. She stayed where she was, she didn’t want to hurt you. She didn’t want to cause you any more pain than she already had.

“Please come here,” you said again. “You can hug me, I want you to hug me, you just need to be gentle.” You looked at her with those puppy dog eyes that always made her cave. “Please, I could really use a hug.”

Tara slowly inched forward. She knew you really wanted to hug her, to comfort her. She knew that you were only saying you needed the hug because you knew she could never turn you down if you asked, saying you needed it, even if she knew it was a lie. That’s why Tara caved, making her way closer to you until she was standing close enough for you to wrap an arm around her. She stood still, letting her arms rest at her side as you wrapped your injured arm around her neck as well.

“A hug is meant to be a two-way thing,” you mumbled.

She slowly lifted her arms, bringing them around you, trying to make sure they were positioned high enough, so she didn’t hit any of your injuries. She felt you tense up and suck in a breath, it made her freeze. She was about to pull away, clearly giving you a hug was a bad idea, your ribs were all kind of messed up, you could barely put on a t-shirt, the last thing you needed was someone hugging you. Before she could pull away though you relaxed into her, your shoulders sagging with relief. The hug was a little awkward since Tara couldn’t press herself against you, she made sure her body wasn’t actually touching yours, keeping a couple inches between the two of you in case someone shifted slightly, she didn’t want any accidental touching, she didn’t want you in any more pain. Despite the awkwardness, Tara had to admit it felt nice. It was exactly what she needed.

You didn’t seem content with the distance though because you pulled her closer, burying her head in your shoulder. You let out a hiss as her body brushed against yours, but you quickly melted into her embrace again. Tara finally gave in, burrowing her head further into you as she clung to your shirt, afraid that if she stepped away, you’d disappear.

Tara wasn’t sure where it came from, but she let out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into your shoulder, staining your freshly clean shirt with tears. You shushed her, starting to run your fingers through her hair. “I thought I lost you,” she rasped out.

“I’m here,” you whispered into her hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“I love you.” Tara gripped you tighter, inching her feet so they were touching yours. She was pushing herself as close to you as she could get without putting more pressure on your wounds. You made a mistake in asking for a hug from her because now she was never going to let you go.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin

[maddiwrites]

Secret Lives (Part 2)

Paring: JJ Maybank x reader 

Summary: You and JJ never got along so your friends trap the two of you on a boat in the middle of the marsh to work it out. Only it doesn’t go as planned. (Part 2)

Note: I couldn’t be happier with the feedback I am getting from Part 1!! Thank you guys so much for helping me out and hanging on there with me as I figure all of this out! I’m so grateful for all the comments and messages and I am ready every single one! Now I saw a couple people asking to be a part of a tag list...so if someone could tell me how to set one of them up I would be more than happy to lol. I will tag the two people I’ve seen who asked to be tagged! But yeah, am I supposed to set something up for a tag list or do people just message me if they want to be tagged in my stuff? Someone let me know!! 

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Language, angst, small parts of child abuse. 

Part 1

It’s been about two weeks since you’ve seen or talked to the Pogues. Everyday felt ten hours longer and the air felt thinner. You missed your friends. You missed surfing with John B, you missed debating about the accuracy of medical TV shows with Pope, you missed sleepovers with Kie, and yes, you even missed JJ. 

As much as you hated yourself for it, you knew you did the right thing. Staying with the Pogues would have caused more harm than good. It was clear as day that you and JJ would never get along because he didn’t like you and you weren’t going to stand around and be insulted by a guy you still can’t help but think about every single day. 

Every night, you pictured the hatred behind JJ’s blue eyes when he spoke about you being nothing but a spoiled brat who didn’t deserve his trust or your friendship with the other Pogues. Each word felt like an individual stab to the heart. You were use to people not liking you. The girls at your school hated you for not giving them the time of day, the boys threw hurtful remarks at you all the time after you rejected them. But they never hurt as much JJ’s. Because they didn’t come from the guy you loved. 

It didn’t matter how much JJ hated you. You couldn’t help but fall for his sparkling blue eyes, tan skin, and fluffy blonde hair. You swooned every time JJ laughed and smiled because you loved seeing him happy. You were turned on every time JJ stood up for one of your friends, threatening to fight whoever it was that was bothering them, even if it was an uptight Kook. You were silently heartbroken every time JJ told you and his friends about his sexcapade from the previous night.  You were concerned and personally infuriated when JJ would come to the Chateau with new sets of bruises without telling you where they came from because that little voice inside your head told you exactly where they were from. 

You loved him, and you hated that you loved him. 

But this was for the best. At least thats what you told yourself.

Kie didn’t agree though. She found you in your room the next day, ready to apologize for stranding you on a boat with JJ, but it just ended in another screaming match when you told her what happened. 

“So just like that? You’re gonna leave?” She yelled. 

“I can’t do it anymore, Kie! He doesn’t want me there, and I am so sick and tired of trying to get him to like me.”

“What about John B and Pope? What about me? You’re our friend too!”

“We can still hangout -”

“Without JJ? That’s so unfair!”

“He hates me, Kie! How would you like it if I forced you to hang out with Sarah Cameron, huh?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Its the exact fucking same, and you know it!”

Kie ended up storming out of your room, neither one of you feeling any sort of peace or satisfaction with your decision. You haven’t talked to her since, and you contemplated calling her every day. 

But you never do.

The alarm you set on your phone blared in your ear from the pillow next to your head - a reminder that you needed to leave to pick up your father. You slapped the touch screen of your phone until the stupid alarm turned off. The last place you wanted to be was anywhere outside of your room. The thought of being with you father, the man you continued to blame for all your problems, filled you with self-hatred. You hated how easily he was able to manipulate you to help him, making you and your mother out to be the bad guys. He used Andrew’s wealth as a guilt trip for you, saying that since you didn’t do anything to deserve his money, the least you could do was help him out because you and your mother left him with absolutely nothing. And you fall for it. You fall for it every single time because he says you use to be daddy’s little girl - that he had big plans for the two of you when you were old enough to learn life’s pleasures. Little did you know his biggest life pleasures had always been drugs, alcohol, and gambling.

You tied your hair up in a messy bun and bounced down the stairs. Swiftly, grabbing the car keys to your new Mercedes Andrew bought you for your sixteenth birthday, you sped walked past your little sister who tried showing you a new trick that she taught your maltese puppy.

“Look, Y/N/N!”

“Not now, Gracie,” You huffed. 

As you drove through the Cut, you couldn’t help but keep a lookout for your Pogues.  You tried not to slam on the brakes every time you caught a glimpse of blonde hair or swerve when you saw a guy John B’s height carrying a surfboard. 

You honked your horn twice when you pulled up to your dad’s shitty apartment. After no longer being able to pay his mortgage after your mom left him, he had no choice but to move into the cheapest apartment in OBX. He always tried telling you that was your fault too. 

A few minutes later, he walked out, looking like he hasn’t showered in days or knows how to change his socks.

He slid into the passenger seat with a grunt, barely passing you a second glance. “You’re late.” He said. 

You stayed quiet, knowing that anything you said would only piss him off even more since you weren’t in the mood to put up with his antics.

You drove him to his drug dealer’s house, parking outside of the one story home that looked like it was rotting from the inside out. Your dad made you take him here a couple times. Every time you stayed in the car. But today, your father had something different planned.

“Come on,” He said.

“What?” You looked at him with your brows pinched together in confusion. 

“I need you inside.”

“No, no, no, no. That wasn’t the deal.”

“Well it is now, so let’s go.” His voice was stern through his clenched teeth, his eyes unblinking. You stared at him for a long second, debating whether fighting with him was worth it. 

Without another word, you reluctantly opened your door and followed your dad into the house. It smelled like B.O and marijuanna, just like how you pictured a frat house would. Pots, pans, and plates were filled to the brim of the sink. A moldy meal that looked a couple days old sat at the round table tucked in the corner. 

Your dad lead you into the living room where three other men were sitting. Well two men and one boy you recognized immediately. You swallowed your nerves as they all turned to look at your dad, then you.

“What’d you bring me, today, Jerry?” The guy with the long black hair tied in a low bun looked at you like you were fresh meat. 

You took a small step closer to your dad, ironically looking at him for some kind of protection. You didn’t trust any of these men in this room. You didn’t care if they were your father’s friends. They were men who made poor life choices and you didn’t know how far they could take it.

You looked over at Rafe Cameron, who compared to these guys, looked like a lost kid in a carnival. He was sporting a black eye and jaw. He looked both shocked and scared to see you here, probably worried that you would torment his reputation by letting everyone know how he really spends his weekdays when he’s not partying on his daddy’s boat. Little did he know, he had just enough blackmail to use against you too. 

“This is my daughter, Y/N,” Your dad introduced you. “Y/N, this is Barry.”

Barry looked you up and down and smirked. “You look like you a part of Country Club’s world.” By the way he was pointing his thumb back at the Kook, you figured that was his nickname for Rafe.

“She is,” Your father answered for you. “Remember when you said you didn’t trust me to come up with enough money to pay you back for my blow? This is proof that I got it. That I’ll always have it.”

Bile rose up your throat and your heart twisted in your chest. Is this how your dad thought of you? An open wallet? 

Of course it is, you thought. 

Barry nodded, impressed that someone like you came from a man like your father. “Well, take a seat. Can I offer you anything? Beer? Soda? Maybe a whiff?” He pointed to the white line on his clear coffee table.

“No. Thank you.” You said slowly before looking up at your father. “I didn’t bring any cash...”

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I paid out this time - used the check you sent me for my water bill. But now Barry knows he can trust me with his shit - that I wasn’t lying about you.”

“Maybe you can help Country Club pass my shit around. You’ll get a nice discount if you do...and maybe something else,” Barry looked at you suggestively. 

“Don’t scare her off, dude, she just got here.” The other man said. He extended his arm out for you to shake his hand. “I’m Luke Maybank.”

In that moment, it felt like the whole world stopped turning. You stared at the man in front of you, drinking in all his features and matching them to JJ’s. Same blue eyes, sharp jaw line, and a perfect nose. You looked down at his hand as you hesitantly shook it. Dirty, dry, scuffed. You remembered the days and nights that JJ would limp into the Chateau. He would blame it on the Kooks but the details in his story never stuck, like he couldn’t remember them with each person he told.

“Maybank?” You repeated.

“Yeah,” He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“I was friends with your son.” Just like that, you went from being nervous to being angry. You hated this man more than you’re own father. JJ didn’t deserve the beatings and the abuse from the man in front of you. He was nothing but a deadbeat dad who didn’t know how good his son really was to him. 

“I would have remembered a pretty face like yours.”

“He never brought me around your house,” You looked at Luke Maybank from his shoes to his face. He was wearing jeans with dirt stains on them, a fitted white tank underneath a grey and blue flannel that was ripped by the cuffs around his wrists. The bags under his eyes were as dark as the bruise on Rafe’s face and his chin was in need of a shave. “Wonder why.” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm that dripped from your tongue.

You wished you could say more, or spit in his face, or kick him where it hurts. You weren’t afraid of what would happen to you, but how he would take it out on JJ if you did.

You looked up at your dad. “I’ll wait in the car.”

You quickly walked out of the house, immediately taking in a deep breath of fresh air. Before you could hide away in the front seat of your car, Rafe called out for you to stop.

You turned, only because you didn’t know what he wanted.

“What?” You said.

“Tell your boys this isn’t over. They’re not going to get away with -”

“I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”

“The Pogues. They sunk Topper’s 2020 Malibu, 24-MXC.”

At least now you have an idea as to where his bruises came from. “Is that suppose to mean something to me?”

Rafe smirked. “I forgot. You’re not a natural born Kook.”

“And yet you and I are standing in the same douchebag’s yard. What a coincidence.”

Rafe sneered at you. If this were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears. “Just tell them.”

When Rafe turned to walk back into Barry’s home, you called out to him. “How do you know it was them?” Rafe turned around. “What’s your proof?” He didn’t answer immediately, and you watched him wrack his brain for some bullshit lie, which gave you all the answers you needed. “I’m guessing there isn’t any but you think it was them because you gave them a good reason to sink Topper’s 2020 Mailbu, 24-MXC. A boat I know is the finest wake setter and number one in luxury, quality, and performance.” The only reason you knew that was because JJ would say it every time Topper and Sarah would cruise by you on the HMS Pogue, and the look on Rafe’s face made it worth every second having to listen to JJ repeat that almost every week.

If Rafe wanted to respond, he couldn’t, because your dad was now walking towards you with a mean mug on his face.

Before you could say anything, the back of your dad’s hand whipped you across the face. His wedding ring, the one he refused to take off for eighteen years, caught on the corner of your mouth, splitting your bottom lip.

Rafe jumped back, startled, and you bit back a scream. Your thumb skimmed over your lip, blood coating your finger. 

“Don’t embarrass me like that again. Got it?” You dad glared down at you.

“Sir...” Rafe’s voice shook with unease. If you weren’t silently shaking with shame, you would have been surprised that Rafe even said anything at all. 

“Trust me, kid. You don’t wanna get in between a quarrel between a dad and their kid,” Luke Maybank smirked as he made his way to his own truck that was parked in front of yours. 

You glared at the back window of the car, now shaking with both shame and anger. You knew there was nothing else you could do to change the way Luke treated his son. You knew you couldn’t stop him from hurting JJ. 

But it shouldn’t matter. Because JJ wasn’t your problem anymore.

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

The next morning your mom made you run her errands for her. A trip to the Cleaners to pick up Andrew’s suits, the pet store for dog food and treats, and lastly to Heyward's because, according to Gracie, he sells the best hot dogs she’s ever had. 

You were trembling with nerves as you stalked through the aisles. You kept your head down, focusing on finding everything on your mother’s list as quickly as possible so you could get the hell out of there. When you went to check out, Mr. Heyward studied you but didn’t say anything. Lord knows what Pope told him. You wouldn’t be surprised if he charged you extra just to make a point. 

“Thank you,” You said as he handed you the brown paper bag. 

He nodded silently. 

As you walked out of the store, you’re faced with three out of your four friends that you dreaded seeing. They were huddled together, whispering and bickering about something. When they heard the bell above the door chime, they all looked up at you. The four of you stood there like you had all just gone brain dead. Your mouth dried up and you forgot how to speak. 

Pope looked surprised to see you, like a ghost he wasn’t expecting to see. Kie looked glum, and you remembered your last conversation. You didn’t know what you were now. You couldn’t read JJ’s expression. His eyes are casted down on your face. He was staring at your lips. Your beautiful soft pink lips he’s dreamt about kissing for years. Now they were tainted and he was dying to know how, so he could wrap his hands around that bastard’s neck and set him straight. 

“Hi...” You said softly. You didn’t know what else to say. 

No one else had a chance to speak because the piercing noise of a police siren cut through the awkward tension. Officer Shoupe got out of his car and started approaching Pope of all people. 

"Morning Officer,” Pope said nervously.

Shoupe acted like he didn’t hear him. “I have an arrest warrant for felony of destruction of property.”

You instantly thought back to what Rafe said to you yesterday. Topper’s boat. How they’re not going to get away with it. 

You watched Shoupe with wide eyes as he told Pope to put his hands up. “Hands where I can see them.” Kie tried blocking Shoupe from getting any closer to Pope. “Young lady, out of my way.”

Heyward walked out of his shop when he heard the commotion. “You arresting my boy?”

Shoupe didn’t answer and forcefully pulled Pope’s hands behind his back. 

“Be careful!” Kie screamed at him. 

Everyone started screaming at Shoupe, trying to get him away from the boy who didn’t deserve this. Pope had a future ahead of him. One that didn’t involve relying on his parents money to get. He was a hard worker, stayed out of trouble, and even had a scholarship interview in a couple weeks that will be his one way ticket off this island. He couldn’t go to jail. It would ruin him. 

Your head started ringing as the people in front of you moved in slow motion. Rafe’s words repeated in your head - more importantly the words he didn’t say. He hesitated when you asked how they knew it was your friends. Because he didn’t know for sure. 

“Stop!” You screamed louder than anyone else, causing everyone to pause in their movements. Your friends looked at you with wide eyes and Shoupe narrowed his in suspicion. “Pope didn’t do it.” You couldn’t stop yourself from doing what you were about to do, but you knew it was better than Pope getting pushed down to the station. “I did it.”

“Y/N...” JJ started to say softly, but you cut him off. 

“You’re here for the Thornton’s sunken boat, right?” You continued, knowing that if you proved with some details that you were there, Shoupe would have no choice but to take you instead of Pope. “Pope didn’t do it. He wasn’t even with me when I did it.”

Shoupe shook his head. “Y/N, you don’t want to cover for -”

“I’m not covering. I was sick and tired of Topper and his friends always taking advantage of my friends, who do nothing but work their asses off to make sure families like mine can prop their perfectly painted toes up on some beach chairs and do nothing but lay in the sun all day. So I hit Topper where it hurt with something so replaceable as a boat because I know money is all that matters to that family.”

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” JJ said through clenched teeth. 

You shrugged. “What? I’m just telling the truth.” You took a deep breath and glanced at JJ one last time before focusing back on Shoupe. “You know my dad, Shoupe. And you know I’m not talking about Andrew. I mean, my real dad.” 

You tried to act like you didn’t just spill your biggest secret to really sell your story. You pretended like the eyes of all your friends weren’t burning holes in your head. 

Shoupe used to be the officer that would frequently visit your home when you lived with your dad. Neighbors would call the cops on your family a lot because the screaming got to be too much. Without your mom pressing charges, there was nothing he could do. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know your dad,” Shoupe said softly, like he felt sorry for you that he knew exactly what you were talking about. 

“I guess I inherited his temper.”

“What?” Kie’s voice broke and tears started cascading down her cheeks. You forced yourself not to look at her. 

“I know you don’t have any proof that Pope did it. There’s no cameras posted around the Thornton’s dock.” You knew that because Sarah made you hang out with their friends a couple of times on that boat. “And there were no witnesses.” You were banking on Rafe’s reaction for this one. “So I’m guessing the Thornton’s, most likely the Mrs., paid you or something to make the arrest. But I don’t think the Sheriff would appreciate you taking someone who you have no evidence against in instead of someone confessing to the crime right to your face.”

You didn’t blink when you stared Officer Shoupe down, challenging him to go against you and fight his way to Pope. But both of you knew he couldn’t take Pope after this. 

“Is this true?” Shoupe looked at Pope.

“Yes -”

“Not you! I’m asking Pope,” Shoupe snapped, glaring at you. You knew you just ruined his entire day. 

Pope looked at you for some kind of answer. You tried subtly nodding your head, telling him it’s okay to agree. You wanted him to say it was true. 

You didn’t know what was coming next for you, but you knew you could handle it. You didn’t know if Pope could.

“Yes, sir,” Pope said.

JJ felt like he was punched in the gut. He didn’t want Pope to go to jail, but he sure as hell didn’t want you going there either. He wanted to tell you he was sorry, that he was an idiot, that he tried not to love you but failed. He knew he treated you like shit and he pushed you away. Yet here you were, still taking bullets for each of them. 

Shoupe nodded and began reading your Miranda Rights. You handed Heyward your groceries and said, “I’ll have someone pick these up.”

“Wait!” JJ tried calling out to you as Shoupe helped you into the back seat of his car. “Wait! No!”

You kept your head down as Shoupe drove away, only looking up when you knew you were at least a mile away from your friends. 

As Shoupe closed the door to a room where you were to wait to be interrogated, you smiled to yourself. Your mom was going to be pissed, you were about to get in a shit load of trouble, and the Pogues still may never talk to you again, but you knew you just saved Pope’s entire future - the one he deserved more than anything. 

And you were proud of yourself for that.

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

Of course Mrs. Thornton didn’t want you to go to jail. She wanted about $30,000 of restitution money to make up for it. You rolled your eyes when you heard that. All that family cares about is money. You knew she probably didn’t even care about the boat in the first place. 

Your mom screamed at you the entire ride back to your house. She took your phone and TV away and threatened to homeschool you for the next school year. Your mom was strict but her punishments never lasted long. She usually caved somewhere in the first week. You think its because she thinks your childhood was punishment enough and that behavior like this was to be expected because of it. You tried not to get that mentality stuck in your head, but sometimes you could get yourself into some trouble here and there. 

Another part of your punishment was to do the yard work around the house. Andrew had already written you a list by the time your mom forced you to wake up at 6 a.m.

You couldn’t even be mad at the punishment. Mulching the yard was the least you could do. Andrew even planned on paying the Thornton’s back if you worked for him for free the rest of the summer. 

It was about mid morning when a car pulled up your driveway. You felt like the wind was just knocked out of you when you noticed the junky Volkswagen van park. 

JJ hopped out of the Twinkie and walked in your direction. You didn’t know what to do. Were you supposed to say hi and pretend like nothing ever happened between you two? Would you go back to bickering? You looked down at your body and was mortified at what you were wearing. Although it was only some black leggings and a white tank top, you were covered in dirt and sweat, and reeked of cow manure, which you knew was what mulch was made out of. 

You tried pushing away the butterflies that swarmed your stomach when JJ stood next to you. You turned to look at him, unsure of what to say. You hated that he had this effect on you. Usually you were quick witted and were able force any kind of small talk. I mean, you were a Kook now after all. But this felt different. You didn’t want to have small talk with JJ. You wanted to really know him. His past, his now, his future. You didn’t want to be tongue tied. 

“Hey,” He said softly.

“Hi,” You wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your gloved hand. You glanced back at the van, waiting for one of your other friends to appear. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren't answering your phone and I got worried,” JJ sheepishly tucked his hand in his pockets and had a hard time of meeting your eyes. 

Ever since you mentioned a dad with a bad temper, JJ couldn’t stop thinking the worst for you. When you weren’t answering your phone, he wondered if he had done something to hurt you. The thought made him so sick with anxiety, he drove to your house to make sure you were all right.

“Yeah, my mom took my phone away. Turns out she doesn’t like it when her daughter gets arrested.” You tried to joke. “Why were you worried?”

JJ finally looked at you again. “What happened to your lip?”

You coughed from the unexpected question. You reactively bit your bottom lip and looked away. “I uh, fell on Sarah’s boat the other day.”

“Y/N...” JJ said softly and touched your elbow to make you look at him. 

“What, JJ?” You snapped, turning to look at him with a glare. He probably put two and two together the second you mentioned your dad yesterday in front of him. Just like you did when you met Luke Maybank. You hated that you had this in common with the blonde Pogue, but you also knew he could be someone you could confide in, which is something you never had. “Why do you care? Just because you know about my dad now doesn’t make us friends.”

“I was wrong, okay? I was wrong about you, Y/N.”

You scoffed, “I have an asshole for a dad, JJ. Nothing else has changed.”

“I was the biggest dick to you. You tried every day to be my friend and I pushed you away. And I’m sorry. The truth is, I don’t like change and I don’t trust people because my dad -” JJ paused and looked away towards the road, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Because your dad’s just like my dad,” You said, making his head snap back to you. “I met your dad the other. It turns out they have the same drug dealer.”

“You met my dad?” JJ’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah.”

“Did you...”

“I didn’t say anything other than how we use to be friends. But trust me, there was a hell of a lot more I wanted to say.”

JJ nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, you were right. I didn’t take the chance to get to know you because I was afraid that I would like you a lot more than I wanted to, and then you would realize you were too good for us...for me. So I pushed you away. I tried hating you so you would hate me too. But truth is, I never hated you. I could never hate you. You’re smart, funny, kind, beautiful...” Your eyes flickered up to meet his and you noticed a pink hue running up his neck, which probably matched the one on your cheeks. “I’ve always thought that. And I don’t care about where you came from. You could have been born and raised a Kook or you could have been homeless your entire life. Nothing could ever change my opinion of you. I like you, Y/N. And I miss you. The Pogues miss you and they hate me and I hate me too because I drove you away. And I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t tell if this was a dream or not, but you weren’t going to mess this up, even if it was a dream. Because JJ was standing in front of you, telling you he missed you and that he wanted you back with him and his friends, and you’d be a fool not to take him up on that because you missed them too and you were miserable without them.

“I miss you too, JJ.”

JJ smile grew wide at your words and for a second, you thought he was going to jump up and down and cheer. “Really? You don’t hate me?”

You shook your head. “I never hated you, JJ. I never could.”

“You should.”

“No. I shouldn’t. I get why you didn’t want me around. I’m a Kook now and I was being shady when I tried hiding my dad from the rest of you. You were just protecting your friends.”

“Turned out they weren’t the ones who needed protecting,” JJ said softly.

You shook your head. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Why do you still see him if you live here now?”

“It’s complicated.”

JJ reluctantly nodded. He hated that this was a part of your life he couldn't exert himself into just yet. He had to earn that. He needed you to trust him first before you let him into such a vulnerable part of your life. But he understood that. He understood that more than anybody. 

But he was going to make sure John B kept his eyes on you. JJ knew you two were close.

“I won’t push you to tell me. But you can talk to me about it. I won’t judge you.”

“Thanks, JJ,” You said graciously. People say that all the time. You can talk to me. For the most part you never believe them. You think its just something people say to make them sound sincere. But with JJ it was different. You believed every word.

“Just promise me if you see him again to take someone with you. Like John B or something.”

“Okay,” You said. You didn’t know if you meant it because all you could think about was that JJ cared enough about you to be worried. 

“Okay...” JJ said awkwardly. “So we’re good? Friends?”

Your heart cracked at the ‘F’ word but you knew you were crazy to hope for anything else. You were lucky enough to even get called a friend. You bit down on your bottom lip as your grinned and nodded. “Friends.”

“Good,” JJ nodded. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay...” JJ clapped his hands in front of him nervously. “Good. Then I’m just gonna...”

“Yeah, I should probably get back to...” You pointed back to the mulch.

“Bye, Sassy.”

You turned back to the mulch in your wheelbarrow and bit back the urge to squeal in delight, at least until the van pulled out of your driveway again. 

“Actually you know what?” JJ said, making you turn around. He was walking back over to you with a determined look on his face. “Screw friends.” 

“What -”

Before you could process what was happening, JJ cupped your cheeks and smashed his lips against yours. You instantly kissed him back and pulled him closer to you by fisting your hands into his shirt. The butterflies in your body transformed into a stampeded and your heart was hammering against your rib cage. 

You’ve kissed so many other guys before, but this one felt different. There was a passion behind this one - a meaning that felt so deep it could only be explained through actions. Kissing JJ felt right, like you had done this hundreds of times before. 

JJ pulled away first and rested his forehead against yours, his eyes trained on your swollen lips. His breath hit your face and your legs went weak in the knees. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for about two years.” He said.

“What took you so long?” You said, your eye lashes fluttered up to look at him.

“I didn’t know what I had until it was gone,” JJ said, looking up at you. He pulled away to look you in the eyes. “I love you, Y/N. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but - “

You pulled him in for another kiss as fireworks exploded in your head. You didn’t want to let go of this moment. You couldn't believe that everything you wanted was happening.

“I love you too.”

JJ’s eyes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree as did his smile that widened with each second. He picked you up by your waist and spun you around. You giggled above him and beamed down at him. You’ve never felt this happy in your entire life.

When he set you down, he kissed you again. “Say it again.”

You pulled him in close enough for your faces to be nose to nose. “I. Love. You. JJ Maybank.”

JJ shook his head and chuckled. “Unbelievable.”

He kissed you again, and you didn’t care if you didn’t get the yard work done in time because you fulfilled your duty as a Kook. You officially have everything you could ever want. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tags: @allycat449-blog @zarahsloves

[footballcloud]

Familiar - Anyone You’d Like

Unlucky today baby, when do you think you'll be home? xxx

delivered - 17:58

read - 18:02

It was a familiar feeling for you. Being ignored. It'd begun to become the norm meaning that loneliness had also begun to seep in. His team had suffered a heavy defeat, something else that was also becoming familiar for him and that meant you spent a large proportion of your time with him feeling like you were treading on eggshells. Although, you spent very little time together anymore, so at least he spared you that feeling. It was past 2 o'clock in the morning when he arrived home, from the 3 o'clock kick off but he seemed to be arriving back later and later each week which meant you were at home by yourself for longer and longer each week with only your phone for company. God knows what he was doing between leaving the ground and getting home. Your friends back home didn't cheer you up on FaceTime the same way a night out did but those had been few and far between recently.

As soon as he arrived home, he dropped his rucksack with a heavy thud by the door and closed it behind him. Brushing past you, he drank quickly from a glass of water that you'd left out for him in the hope it'd settle him down. You watched him as he drank it with his back turned to you, contemplating whether you should break the silence to try and console him but risk getting your head bitten off if he hadn't calmed down yet, or leave him to simmer for a while and speak to him in the morning. It wasn't a rarity for the two of you to go for days without speaking to each other despite living under the same roof and sharing a bed. You were working or he was training, away with the team or on his Xbox.

"How are you feeling?"   You asked tentatively, being able to feel his anger radiating off him even with is back still turned to you. "Fucking fantastic thanks", he made a snide, sarcastic remark and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve before refilling up his cup, "and don't tell me that bollocks about 'it's always better to talk things out', because not. You're the last person I want to speak to". He added abruptly, imitating your voice for a second or two before slamming his glass down on the kitchen worktop. His word stabbed through you like a knife in your back, but it was the last sentence that provided the fatal blow. It wasn't like you to lose it with him, you were definitely the calmer one out of the two, but even you were on the verge of losing it.

"If you don't want to talk to me now, when were you planning on speaking to me?" You raised your voice slightly as he turned round to face you and gave a pathetic shrug as if to say 'I don't know'. "Because if you're not planning on talking to me, then there's no point in me being here. You dragged me half way across the country for what? For you to ignore me, stay out until stupid hours of the morning and throw a tantrum like a child when I ask where you've been?" You snort scornfully, feeling your temper rising in your stomach but you didn't feel the need to suppress it given that's all you did around him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, lay off it will you? If it's so much of a chore to be here with me then go back home!" He folded his arms over his chest, vein pulsing prominently on the side of his neck which showed his heart rate pick up as his bit back at you. "Why can't you see the position that I'm in? Take yourself out of your stupid footballer bubble and see the bigger picture for a second. I've dropped everything for you to be here. Friends, family, degree, but you haven't even got the decency to acknowledge me!" You were somewhere between tears and about to erupt with anger. You needed to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret in a few hours time but there were some things that you needed to get off your chest because they’d be brewing in your head for a while. He’d certainly changed since he’d moved clubs, you weren’t sure if it was the bigger pay cheque, larger media following, heavier pressure on him from playing at a higher level or possibly a mixture of all of them - but he definitely wasn’t the same person you’d started dating almost three years ago now.

“All I see is someone being needy for attention”, he snarled which was the final straw for you so you took yourself off to the spare bedroom, not even able to look at him without his face making you distraught and a little teary, let alone share a bed with him. Your relationship had never been perfect, he’d blow hot and cold with you occasionally, dipping in and out of commitment without a second thought leaving you feeling like you were on the outside, never really knowing where you stood with him from time to time when he would give you the cold shoulder but cuddle you for a hour the next day. You weren’t perfect either, not being able to grasp how someone was so carefree, causing you to occasionally making a decision out of impulse rather than thinking through the consequences before hand, meaning an argument would escalate even more when he frustrated you. It was times like that when you had your biggest doubts. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for hours on end, trying to work out what you’d done to irritate him that time. The fact he was so carefree was beginning to become a reoccurring theme, possibly the root of the problem was that was he didn’t really care, or at least he acted like he didn’t. He was becoming inconsiderate and you were becoming tired of it.

The morning after wasn’t much better. The atmosphere was still heavy with tension that could you virtually cut with the knife you were buttering your toast with. He was across the kitchen from you, making a mug of tea with his back turned to you but you could tell from his posture alone that he was tired with his shoulders slumped. After last night’s fiasco, you’d learnt not to break the silence and get your head bitten off, you’d said all you felt you needed to without going too far and really doing some damage.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He spoke, sleep evident in his voice as he threw the teabag in the bin. “Which bit?” You asked, not entirely sure as to which part if the argue argument he was picking at, there was quite a lot to go through. “When you were going on about the point in you being here?” He reminded of the events that’s you’d spent hours trying to block out your mind. You had two options: say yes and risk World War 3 taking place over the kitchen island or say no and bottle up your feelings again like you’d been doing for months. “Yeah... I did”, you confessed, chose the first options and watched his face sink. ‘Oh fuck’, you thought, ‘that wasn’t the answer he wanted’ - his emotions plastered on his face flung you into a world of guilt as he stared solemnly into his mug.

 “Would you go back home?” He asked, not breaking his gaze with his drink to make eye contact with you. You wanted him to know how you truly felt but without hurting him, even though he’d spent months unintentionally hurting you. “I’ve considered it”, you spilt to him, “only occasionally when I’m overthinking things. You know when your deep in thought in the middle of the night and everything seems a billion times worse than it actual is”, you added, trying to reason with him to soften the blow and being careful not to add insult to injury. Yet last night, thinking about it didn’t make it any worse, instead just putting things into perspective and you were seriously considering taking a break and going back home. “I don’t think either of us are in a state to talk about”, you watched him yawn as your eyelids felt heavy, the adrenalin rush from the argument clearly took a told on your quality of sleep.

“We can’t just keep brushing it under the carpet”, he said matter-of-factly as if he hadn’t been acting like a child 8 hours ago, he was hardly a martyr. “Why are you so desperate to talk now?” You impulsively blurted and then instantly regretted it. It sounded far more facetious than you intended whilst he lent against the kitchen island as you waited for his reaction. ‘Fucking hell’, you scolded yourself for being such a bitch, whilst your boyfriend stood opposite you - practically a ticking time bomb with the end result probably him throwing hands and storming off again, but on this occasion it was probably deserved after the snide comment.

“I can’t be under a roof with you knowing that your unhappy with me, something needs to change”, he took a sip of his tea and nodded calmly, changing the subject, not giving the reaction you expected but you certainly weren’t complaining. “Tell me, what is it specifically that you makes you unhappy because I can tell somethings wrong”, he made eye contact with you, with bags under his eyes and glaze behind them that told you he was upset too. “It’s the blowing hot and cold, staying out late, mood swings...”, your voice tailed off towards the end. You could’ve rambled on and listed a whole host of things that annoyed you but you didn’t want to overwhelm him given that sensitive conversations like that were few and far between.

“The team’s been struggling at the moment, you know I haven’t quite got the hang of a work - life balance yet. I try not to bring it all home to you, babe, I swear but sometimes I can’t help it”, he babbled on aimlessly for a bit but it was the nickname that softened you, making you relax in your seat and smile slightly. At least it had given you some clarity that it was nothing you’d done to upset him. “It’s fine, calm down we can work through it”, you reassured him as he started to get worked up about what he had and hadn’t been doing over the past few months, and whilst the situation hadn’t been ‘fine’ the fact he wasn’t totally oblivious to your feelings anyone made things better. The two of you sat in silence for a while, him sipping on his drink and you nibbling your toast which had gone cold by that point.

“You gonna eat that?” He asked, eyeing up the half eaten piece of toast on your plate. You just shook your head which he basically took as an invite to finish it for you. “I love you, you know that right?” He whispered and swallowed the toast before giving you a kiss on the side of your head, no doubt leaving toast crumbs there as well. You leaned your head on his shoulder for a few moments, enjoying the blissful silence between the two you that, for once, wasn’t awkward or tense.

“You know the first thing we can sort out?” You lifted your head and faced him, who nodded eagerly

“What?”

“Your morning breath, go and clean your teeth”, you held your nose mockingly and pointed to the stairs, telling his to go to the bathroom. He furrowed his eyebrows in dismay and kissed your lips despite your resistance although it hadn’t being particularly strong given you’d had very little physical contact, that you were oh-so familiar with, it was definitely something you’d missed.

~ tell me who you imagined it with, hope you enjoyed it 💕

[vigilantesanonymous]

family gatherings - klaus hargreeves

You meet the family, and make a good impression. Diego is a little too overprotective over his brother. Hilarity and awkwardness ensue. 

Word Count: 2382

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

You had been dating Klaus for 6 months before he brought up his family. Another month after that, he ventured the idea of possibly meeting them. 

After the awful childhood that he had shared with his siblings, he wasn’t keen on seeing them again. Well, the childhood, and then the stopping the apocalypse debacle. He was sober now, and had (relatively) gotten his life together. His siblings knew how to push his buttons, and even though he loved them, it was easy to fall into old habits. Habits that were particularly numbing.

As part of his sobriety, Klaus had tried to keep busy by becoming closer with Vanya. She was easy to talk to, seeing as he was allowed to do most of the talking and she wouldn’t become annoyed with him for being a chatterbox. He had proudly boasted to her that he met you in a normal way, at a book shop where you were flipping through volumes of Steinbeck, and Klaus happened to be there hoping to find some solace in a woowoo self-help book. After all of the secrets, the damage, the baggage, and the drama that he had relayed to you, you hadn’t run away. So he was sure now that meeting his family would really, truly not be that bad. At least he knew you could handle some of the more… Interesting members. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You ask, nervously trying to smooth down your hair. You had changed three times,  Klaus following behind to pick up your discarded garments and contemplate borrowing them for his outfit of the day.

“They’ll like you,” Klaus assures as he takes your fidgeting hand. “Besides, I know for a fact Vanya already likes you. She asks me about you whenever I talk about you to her, so that’s a good sign.” He presses a kiss to each fingertip before sliding his hand into yours. “Now any more fussing, and we’ll be late. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

You can tell Klaus is just as nervous as you are, though. He pretends like he doesn’t care about his family and how they’ll act, but deep down it’s obvious that he does. Revisiting the shit show of the household he grew up in always brings back painful memories for him, and he would rather have this ordeal over sooner rather than later. 

The walk over to the Hargreeves household is incredibly long and strangely short at the same time. To say the mansion is huge is an understatement. It’s dark and imposing, certainly making you even more nervous than you were before. Klaus saunters in ahead of you, preparing to intercept any siblings before they can pounce on you. 

Allison is the first to greet you both, all smiles and smelling of expensive perfume. “Hi guys!” She pulls her brother into a hug, eliciting a confused glance your way. She’s definitely putting on a normal family act, he thinks to you. 

The one that you assume to be Diego emerges from the shadow behind a pillar, eyeing you warily while Klaus is occupied. “So you’re the girl my brother’s dating then, are you?”

“That’s me,” you agree, hoping you sound cool and collected. Klaus told you that Diego would be a bit much, standoffish and intimidating. “Which number are you; 1, 2, or 5?”

“2,” he says curtly. 

“Ah, so you’re the one with the knives. When someone has a problem, do you say you’ll take a stab at it? Or are you not that into puns?”

Diego’s hard exterior cracks as he grins. He shakes his head, laughing softly. 

At this point Vanya shuffles by, offering you a small wave and a timid smile. 

“Well come on in guys! I know Mom made lemonade.” Allison leads you into the sitting room, which is as large and regal as the rest of the house. The atmosphere changes, however, as you notice a giant man sitting on the corner of the couch. Another person, a small boy around the age of 13, has his back to you as he stares at the painting in front of him.

“Luther, Five. Our guests are here.” Allison motions towards you and Klaus. 

Five stays silent, pretending to not hear her. 

Luther also sits mute, glancing between you, Klaus, and Allison.

Vanya pipes up, attempting to cut some of the tension. “Mom made-”

“-Lemonade, yeah!” Allison perks up at the next possible solution to make the situation less awkward. “Diego, do you remember when we were younger, and Mom made-”

“Let’s cut the awkward small talk, alright Allison?” Diego sinks into a chair opposite you, inspecting one of the many knives on his person.

“Okay,” Allison says, exasperated. 

Luther is a bit gruff and awkward, obviously not used to socializing in really any capacity. He just keeps looking between you and Klaus, eyeing your intertwined hands. You wonder if he’s looking for a ring or something. 

“Chummy bunch, aren’t we?” Five smirks, finally turning around. “Welcome to the family, dear,” he says with a mock bow to you. He saunters over to the bar, rummaging around with various bottles of what must be incredibly expensive alcohol.  

“Five, don’t be rude,” Allison sighs. Her perfect posture wilts a bit under the awkward air in the room. 

“Drinks, anyone? At the risk of coming across as crass, I would have to admit I prefer a good martini to a lemonade.” Five smirks, twirling around martini glasses. “Just me? That’s fine. Really, you wouldn’t have noticed I was gone with all that tantalizing banter going on.”

“Five-” Allison starts again, looking apologetically at you. 

“Amazing family gathering guys! You can’t even pretend to be normal for five minutes,” Klaus chides bitterly. His hands twitch, gaze flickering back and forth to the bar in the corner. You squeeze his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles. 

“Sorry, it’s just the last time one of our siblings brought their significant other over, they started the end of the world,” Diego deadpans. 

“Do you really need to bring that up?” Vanya huffs, eyes shooting daggers at him. 

“Fine,” Diego shrugs, turning to Luther. “What about you, big guy? Got anything to say?”

“I- I um…” Luther stutters, unsure. “I’m not the greatest at making conversation anymore. You know, being on the moon for so long and not talking to anyone…” he trails. 

“Oh, here we go with the moon again,” Diego huffs, earning an annoyed glance from Luther.

“No, start the fight! The sooner you two go at each other, the sooner we get to leave,” Klaus adds sarcastically. 

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me in the kitchen?” Allison asks, looking directly at you. You nod, getting up to follow her and leave the boys to their bickering. 

“I am so sorry,” Allison says as she hands a mug to you. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t usually like this. But, it’s just… It’s not appropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say, understanding. “Klaus clued me into the dynamic between everyone. It’s just families. I don’t think I’ve ever met one that is actually 100% perfect and functioning before,” you chuckle, earning a giggle from Allison. “I wanted to meet you all though, because you’re important to Klaus. Even though he might not always express it. He really will do anything for you guys, and I really admire that about him.”

“Yeah, Klaus has always had a big heart, ever since he was a kid,” Allison agrees. “Sometimes I feel bad, and I wonder how he would have turned out-- how all of us would have turned out-- if we were able to just grow up together as normal kids instead of as a super unit.”

You shrug. “Powers or not, I love Klaus all the same. I’ll always be there for him, no matter what.”

As if on cue, Klaus saunters in. “Hey, you couple of chatty Kathy’s.” He snakes his arms around your waist, planting a small kiss on your cheek. “Five is starting to get sloshed, so I think that’s our cue to leave.” His exterior is relaxed and nonchalant, but you know him, and he seems stressed. It’s getting hard to resist temptation with all the booze here, he projects into your mind. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Wanna get some stuff for dinner on the way home? I can make that pasta that you like.” You give his hand a small squeeze, your way of letting him know you understand. God, is he so glad that you understand.

The two of you slip out with a goodbye from Allison and Vanya, and a watchful glare from Diego. 

After the large door has been shut, Allison turns to Diego. He watches the both of you walk away down the street with a small “Hm.”

“What, you don’t like her?” Allison asks.

Diego sighs, his shoulders falling. “No, I do like her. A lot, actually. She seems really good for Klaus. I mean, she managed our shit show pretty well.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Diego emphasizes. “When has our brother ever dated someone who is sane? Who has their life together? Never! I care about our brother, and I want to see if there’s something up with this girl.”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Klaus is getting better. He’s sober now, for real, and is actually trying hard to move on. Maybe she’s part of that, of him getting better. Not everything about change is bad, Deegs.” She gives her brother’s arm a supportive squeeze. 

“Well, I don’t want it to be like another Harold Jenkins scenario.” Diego crosses his arms in front of his chest, his face set. It was clear that dropping the subject wasn’t an option. 

Allison sighs, knowing that she should come along to act as damage control when Diego inevitably does something stupid rather than let him go out on a limb himself. “Fine, I’ll help you. But it’ll just be me and you. We’re not getting Five or Luther involved in this. Got it?”

“Luther would just get in the way,” Diego huffs confidently. “Come on, I’ve got a plan.”

*

Diego’s master plan ended up being to break into your apartment to rummage around. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Allison complains as she looks through your closet. “She’s got good taste though,” she notes as she passes by a particularly cute skirt. 

“There has to be something here,” Diego sighs, flipping through some papers on your desk. 

Sighing, Allison crosses her arms and emerges from the closet. “Diego, we’ve been here for an hour, and we haven’t found anything. When we went to Harold’s, we didn’t have to look far to find some incriminating stuff, but here there’s nothing. Do you think that maybe now you believe that she’s a normal person?”

Diego gets cut off by the sound of keys jingling and the door opening. Allison and Diego lock eyes, panicked. Quickly, Diego grabs his sister’s wrist and pulls her into the cramped closet with him. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Allison whispers. 

“Shut up,” Diego barks in a hushed tone. “Hopefully we can just ride this out.”

The pair sit in rigid anticipation, trying to make out the muffled conversation between you and Klaus. 

“I’m still sorry,” Klaus says, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Klaus, really. It’s okay. I don’t love you any less because of your family. Besides, it really wasn’t that bad,” you chuckle. 

Klaus starts to protest, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Let’s put the debate to rest and start on dinner, yeah?”

Klaus grins at you mischievously, eyeing you. “Well, what if I want dessert before dinner?”

“Oh?” You question, playing along. “We didn’t get dessert Klaus.”

“I’m looking at it,” he says, his voice lowering with lust. He pushes you back against the counter, trapping you in a heated kiss. Not that you minded of course. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ben tries to wave down his brother. 

“Not now,” Klaus mumbles through gritted teeth, preparing to strip you of your shirt. 

“Klaus, I think someone’s in the apartment,” Ben states, trying to look anywhere but the pair of you. 

“Fuck,” Klaus sighs, his hands slowing to a still at your waist. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, catching your breath. 

“Ben seems to think there’s someone else here,” he says a bit loudly, looking into the slightly ajar bedroom door. It isn’t until now that you remember you shut it before you left for the Hargreeves mansion. “Stay here, I’ll go check it out.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, beelining straight for the closet door. 

Opening the door with typical Klaus grandeur, the three Hargreeves stare at each other with wide eyes. 

“What the actual fuck, you two?!” Klaus laughs in disbelief, looking between his guilty sister and defiant brother. “Why are you in my girlfriend’s closet? Some kind of secret love affair you’re trying to hide from Luther, or is it that you think you can’t trust her?”

Allison opens her mouth to try to diffuse the situation, but Klaus just shakes his head. 

“She checks out, if you were curious,” Diego adds as he walks out. “No Harold Jenkins from what I could find.”

“Do I want to know why your siblings were hiding in my closet, or…?” You trail, looking at all three of them. 

“They thought you were shady, that’s all. They couldn’t believe that I could have a normal person in my life that isn’t trying to bring about the end of the world.”

You look between Allison and Diego and shake your head. “Why don’t you guys get out of here and we’ll just forget this all happened. Sound good?”

“Sounds amazing,” Klaus answers for them. “Now I don’t know about you two, but I’m excited to go back to getting my girlfriend in the mood to bang.” He shoos the both of them out the front door without any other comments, finally closing the door and turning back to you. “So, now that we’re alone… Want to pick up where we left off?”

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 12: That’s the Power of Love, Babeyyyyy

Thank fucking god, it’s almost over.

Our issue opens up with Ironhide deadnaming Slug, like the out-of-touch grandpa that he is. Everything is going to shit, the whole city’s covered in lasers like the world’s worst rave, and someone thought it was a good idea to let Swerve have a gun.

As the Ammonites try to murder everyone in sight, Whirl and Arcee have a little chat about how Whirl’s seemingly caused every problem ever in the last four million years.

…Whirl, you have been keeping up with your appointments with Rung, right? Like, I know he’s not the best therapist around by any stretch of the imagination, but surely something would be better than nothing in this case.

On the Lost Light, Hound, Perceptor, and Mainframe are keeping track of how many Ammonites have been killed. Everyone is extra British in this bit. Perceptor basically calls Hound a fucking idiot, because even with all the guys who’ve been taken out, there are still literally BILLIONS of these suckers running around.

Which seems a little overkill to me, but what do I know? Warcrimes aren’t my specialty.

Meanwhile, in the Mystical City of Making Science Cry, Starscream apparently knows what cosplay is, and takes a potshot at Jhiaxus for stealing his look. Metalhawk explains how the Ammonites got here in the first place, which, y’know, is cool. Love me some technobabble exposition.

I don’t actually love it.

I’m sorry for lying.

I WOULD ALSO LIKE FOR METALHAWK TO PUT A STOP TO THIS

BUT WE’VE GOT ANOTHER 19 PAGES TO GO

SO I GUESS LIFE JUST ISN’T FUCKING FAIR RATTRAP

While Metalhawk contemplates ending the comic event early, Starscream is getting his ass kicked by an old man who spent the war sitting on his butt in the Dead Universe.

Over with Team -Imus, Brainstorm’s taking a breather after getting Robertsed at the end of last issue. Ultra Magnus makes a pun, I guess to cope with the fact that he doesn’t understand anything that’s going on. Cyclonus is still dying, but this isn’t about him. Nightbeat is also dying. Oh, and Kup. Turns out, being a part of the Dead Universe is sort of an issue when you’re out of it.

Even though Galvatron was fine. And Jhiaxus. And Nova Prime, for the little bit he was out of it.

I feel like this plot point kinda just shows up when it’s convenient.

Anyway.

Brainstorm has shit in his lab that can help them not die, but he and Skids are gonna need help to get all these undead morons back to the Lost Light, which means that only two folks would be going to face Shockwave in this final confrontation.

Speaking of Shockwave, he’s gone full Burning Justice with that time drive shoved into his chest, as he makes fun of Megatron for being a dumb stupid idiot who gave him everything he needed to end the universe. He reveals himself to be a nihilist, claiming that a Cybertron which only exists for existence’s sake- and without any form of life- is the ultimate in perfection. Also, he’s a communist now. A nihilistic communist.

Just… whatever, Shockwave.

Megatron’s annoyed by all this posturing- which, same- but enough about him, it’s time for Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime drop down from… somewhere… to kick some ass. Shockwave promptly shoots Magnus, and is about to do the same to Optimus, when this starts happening:

Huh. Wonder what all that’s about.

Shockwave snaps out of his stupor and proceeds to fire on Optimus, yelling about being the only thing that exists as he does.

Over with Rodimus and friends, Cyclonus is bitching about Rodimus not leaving him behind so he could go fight Shockwave. Nightbeat, who I guess just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, tells Cyclonus to quit it, because they all know that he just misses his boyfriend. Cyclonus, though blatantly annoyed, doesn’t actually refute this claim. Brainstorm wonders aloud just how this gaggle of assholes managed to escape the Dead Universe without murdering each other.

Rodimus explains that when they heard the singing at Swerve’s, it proved they could still get out of the Dead Universe, so they desecrated Nova Prime’s corpse to make a space bridge. Brainstorm became a doorway, because he’s very nearly dead, and oh yeah, he should probably fix that when they get back to the lab, and also reconsider his lab safety protocols.

The gang reaches the outside world, and Rodimus is given a chance to spout off his personal philosophies.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

Then everyone looks up in the sky and sees some real bullshit.

Hey, Cahill? I just wanna talk, man. Just wanna talk about this boobie Windblade you’ve cursed my eyes with.

Back over with Jhiaxus and Starscream, Jhiaxus just cannot shut up. He just keeps waxing poetic about how smart Shockwave’s plan is. I couldn’t even tell you what the guy’s saying- my eyes glaze over whenever he gets a speech bubble.

Metalhawk at this point has had quite enough of all this nonsense, and decides he’s gonna throw himself into the equation that allows the Dark Cybertron prophecy to manifest.

By killing himself.

He just fuckin’… tosses himself into some heavy machinery and explodes, and that throws all the ores out of wack, since he’s got the Resurrection Ore in him. Jhiaxus is distracted by a man just straight-up dying in the same room as him, and this give Starscream the opening he needs to stab Jhiaxus in the gut.

Then the background just straight up disappears, as Rattrap lets everyone know that it’s all still going to shit, but in the opposite direction.

Really not sure about this art direction, but whatever. I’m over it.

Back outside, all the Ammonites are exploding. All of them. Billions of the little suckers, just popping off like fire crackers. The environment’s going to be ruined at this rate. Metroplex is having a great fucking time. Happy for him.

The Lost Light calls the ladies inside Metroplex’s brain room, and lets them know that they’re gonna break up Monstructor like the mediocre boy-band he is, though not without Mainframe being difficult beforehand. The ladies jump out and enter the fray, admiring Arcee’s style as they do.

Back with Rodimus and pals, Nightbeat’s being fucking cryptic, and Brainstorm gets to work making it so folks aren’t dying from being in the wrong universe, after a little prodding to his ego.

Back in Shockwave’s Super Saiyan Energy Bubble of Pure Unadulterated Logic, Shockwave says that’s he’s fucking ripped, and Optimus couldn’t beat him in a fight. Clearly, this means we’ll have to use our words to resolve this, like adults. Optimus isn’t too sure about that option, however.

I mean, do I even have to- Optimus, that’s GAY.

I have the sneaking suspicion that Roberts wrote this portion of the script. Y’know, just given his track record.

Then Megatron blasts Shockwave with his fusion cannon, and makes fun of Optimus for being a sentimental fool.

The fact that “Dark Cybertron” is telling me this makes me so mad. Like, you don’t get to talk, Exposition Central.

It’s at this point that Megatron drops a bomb on everyone present- he’s done with being a Decepticon. He’s gonna be an Autobot now.

See, ol’ Megsy here has seen the error of his ways- that by fighting the Senate, he allowed them to change him into a murderous warlord. To prove how much of a nice guy he is, he’s ripped the Autobrand off of Bumblebee’s lifeless body and duct-taped it to his chest.

Which seems a tad disrespectful, but okay.

…Megatron, you do realize that, as the leader of the Decepticons, you could just tell everyone that they need to be nice, and that would more or less be the end of it, right? You could just say “not evil anymore, I want to be loved now”, and everyone would be all “sir yes sir.” This is going to be a PR nightmare, I can already tell. Shockwave certainly seems to agree with me.

I really like this panel structure. Want to say this is the only place it happens, too. It’s just too bad it lives in “Dark Cybertron”.

Shockwave’s not having a good time right now, and he’s convinced that Optimus and Megatron have teamed up just to make him upset so he loses control of the time drive. The two spout off a little Autobot propaganda, and then Shockwave Remembers™.

Shockwave, having had his shadowplay reverse violently and abruptly, is horrified to find what he’s become. Alas, it’s too late for him- the only way to stop the time drive is for Optimus to kill him. Optimus promises to remember who Shockwave was- a callback to the line Shockwave gave him back before his empurata- and then shoots the everloving fuck out of the guy. Megatron helps.

And that’s a series wrap on Shoc-

-holy fucking shit.

The gang high-tails it outta there, IDW Optimus once again proving to be the shittiest version of everyone’s space-dad, as he leaves Bumblebee’s body to be consumed by the Shockwave Singularity. It’s looking pretty hopeless, but luckily none of these bastards can die without fucking up Season 2 of MTMTE, so the Lost Light swoops in to save the day.

Down below, Soundwave and his gaggle of small children and animals watch as the Lost Light fucks off into the distance. Soundwave’s having a time and a half, as he realizes with his balls-to-the-wall senses that Megatron’s joined the Autobots. Galvatron shows up to try to work out a deal. We won’t be seeing where this goes, because that’ll be covered later on.

The Lost Light lands in front of Metroplex, and over to the left of that are Rattrap and Starscream, climbing over the wreckage of the city. Rattrap tries to warn Starscream that things are gonna be tough, now that the Dark Cybertron prophecy has come to pass, but Starscream isn’t really having it. He’s gotten very paranoid, likely due to stress, and tells Rattrap to not play this game, because he’s the best player who’s ever lived. Then the Lost Light gang shows up and we get this face:

Sure.

Later on, Megatron and Optimus are hanging out in the Sky Roller, not-talking, until Megatron tells Optimus to get on with it, since the issue’s about to end. Megatron was totally serious about becoming an Autobot. Optimus isn’t really sure what to do with that. I don’t think anyone’s really sure what to do with that, to be honest.

Megatron, in turn, asks Optimus if he really could look past all the bullshit Shockwave pulled in the last several million years, and he gets a non-answer, because addressing your feelings is for losers, clearly. The two exit the ship, and I guess everyone else was just… standing outside waiting for them to talk it out. Weird.

...And with THAT, I am finally released from Comic Event Hell!

If you hear any distant, triumphant screeching right now, that’s likely me.

[omigiry]

𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫

Miya Atsumu

synopsis: Crown prince Atsumu needs to decide who will he pick to be the official crown princess, but the lady he wants is facing her own dilemma.

Notes:

Royalty AU

Fluff

POV: Third person (she/her)

wc: 4.1K

ry’s notes: for plot convenience i did not put any love rivals. it was already long without it, even though i have contemplated whether i’d put one or not, but i ended up not to. hope you enjoooy ~~  ♡ ♡ ♡

Sweat drops on (y/n)’s forehead as she swung her sword to attack the dummy in front of her. The moon serves as her light along three lamp posts on the training ground. She could feel her arms getting tired from the weight of the sword. She tried handling the swords the knight usually uses, but she couldn’t do it if her brother, Kita Shinsuke, or her father was around; they did not allow her since she is still a lady. 

“It’s dangerous for a lady to be out at this hour.” A familiar voice said.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the crown prince making his way towards her.

“And why is the prince strolling around at this hour of the night too?” 

“I needed some fresh air.” Atsumu said and leaned on the dummy. They knew each other ever since they were little because of the loyalty of (y/n)’s family lineage to the throne. His father is the head of the first squadron of the royal family and his brother will be the one taking over.

The king has taken a liking towards (y/n) as he watches her grow up into a wonderful lady. Both of the family have agreed for her to be the crown princess and betrothed to Atsumu since he was the oldest among the twins. After hearing this news on her 8th birthday, she doesn’t know how to react. An 8 year old doesn't know what she wants to be yet so she followed along. As (y/n) grew up she admired the swordsmanship of his father and brother and wanted to be a knight herself as well. 

At the age of 10 she talked to her family about what she wanted. Her mother almost fainted when she told them that she wanted to be a knight. Her mother dotes on her that she doesn’t want her hands to be rough through hard labor. On the other hand Shinsuke and her father were swelling with joy, but her father couldn’t help but worry as well since she was the youngest and only daughter of the family. Not only that, the crown princess couldn’t be a knight. 

They couldn’t stop her, so they had allowed her to practice basic swordsmanship. She practiced together with Atsumu and Osamu with her brother supervising. Sometimes she would practice with the first squadron and she was babied by all of them, they were treating her with extra care as if she was glass. 

“What brings you here? You know if my father and Shinsuke saw you on our grounds they would not hesitate to chase you away even if you’re the prince.” She said as she put the sword back in its scabbard.

“Do they even know you’re here? I’d bet you just sneak around at night too.”

“Touché” (y/n) said and glared at him. She went closer to him and both of them sat at the ground. Despite what their parents had arranged, they remained good friends to each other. Though it mostly consists of sarcastic and snarky exchanges in every conversation they had, they did share deep conversations once in a while when one of them is bothered. 

“You’re turning 18 already.” Atsumu pointed out. When (y/n) told his father that she wanted to be a knight, it honestly gave the king a headache. Nevertheless, being able to see (y/n)’s passion and also leadership skills during her training made the king to not easily give up on the lady. She was the perfect queen for the kingdom in the future. 

“Yes. Is the king still thinking on who to crown as the princess?”

“Every night.” Atsumu would be lying if he said that he didn’t want (y/n) to be his princess. “Why did you want to be a knight?”

“I want to fight as well, I do not want to be protected. I want to protect the people I care about.” There were other females who are knights as well, so it wasn’t against the law of the kingdom, the only hindrance is that she’s to be crowned. By her proclamation of wanting to be a knight the Aristocrats and Imperialists had a long meeting regarding the matter. The best decision was to have candidates for the position of crown princess. 

“Don’t you have a meeting with some of the candidates tomorrow?” She asked. She was also scheduled to have tea with him giving equal chances to talk with the prince, but she had an advantage since she grew up with the prince. 

Atsumu sighed as he thought about the busy schedule ahead. “Yeah, it’s honestly tiring.”

“Osamu has it worse than you. Especially trying to cover for you when you sneak out.” 

“Hey! I cover for him too.” 

“Sure you do.” She said sarcastically and rolled her eyes. 

“You wound me, my lady.” He clutched his left chest and acted as if he was stabbed in the heart. 

“I’m honestly concerned for the future of the kingdom on the day of your coronation as king.” 

“Then be my queen if you’re that concerned.” 

“Nice try, but try again.” It was normal for Atsumu to be flirty towards her, thinking that it was only a joke. She would always brush off every flirty comment that came out of his mouth, but she doesn’t mind it at all since she was used to it. 

“Well, it’s getting late. I should go back now before my father and Shinsuke notice that I’m gone.” She stood up and brushed off the dirt from her pants and Atsumu followed.

“Good night, my lady.” 

(y/n) was roaming around the palace ground as she waited for her turn to be alone with the prince for their afternoon tea. Suddenly, she was pulled into the corner of the hallways and pressed against the wall with a hand cupping her mouth. She saw Atsumu towering over her figure as he looked around if anyone was there. 

(y/n) glared at him for his rash actions. 

When Atsumu made sure that no one was there, he removed his hand and smiled sheepishly at him. 

“Did you sneak out again?” (y/n) said, crossing her arms together and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I was getting bored. All of them didn’t talk much, I could tell that they’re trying to put a good image in hopes I’ll choose them.” 

“Atsumu, you need to take this seriously. Your coming of age birthday celebration is only a month away.”

“I am taking this seriously, I already made my decision.” 

(y/n) was surprised that he already had decided, as far as she knows this is only the third time meeting every candidate. “That’s good then.” She simply said. Am I out of the choices?

“Aren’t you curious on who I picked?” Atsumu chided, noticing the change of expression. 

“No, it’s your life so it doesn’t affect me.” 

“But your opinion matters. I want to know, from a lady’s perspective, if the one I picked is perfect.” He tested the waters to see if her mood will change again.

“No one is perfect, Atsumu. All of us make mistakes and have flaws.”

He dismissed her comment and described the lady of his choice. “Well, she’s strong, wise, she’s clothed in dignity. She takes pride in her family name, and she will do everything to protect the ones she loves. She might be timid on the outside, but once that wall breaks she’s playful and charming.” 

“Sounds like a great lady.” She simply stated, turning her back to him. “You should return now. I’ll be meeting Shinsuke.” 

She walked away from him not looking back. Atsumu leaned on the wall as he watched her, a smile forming on his lips. Well, this is intriguing. 

She wouldn’t admit that she felt a little jealous when Atsumu talked about the girl he chose. Whatever it is, it won’t affect her, but she couldn’t deny that she felt aggravated when he talked about her. 

The little voice in her head tells her that she’s already in love with the prince.

No way. Me? In love with him? 

Her face morphs into a frown as she dwells in the idea of her being in love with Atsumu. It’s not that she hates him, they grew up together so she tolerates his presence. It’s just that the way he’d always act so playful and carefree towards her made her feel things she doesn’t know how to address. 

He would always do something unexpected. Like that one time she almost fell out of balance when they were training, he’d used his body to take the impact as she fell to the ground. Or that one time when she sprained her wrist from excessive training that she’d hidden from her family, he was the one who aided her. 

No, I won’t say I’m in love with him. She denied one more time, but the smile on her face says otherwise as she reminisces the time they spent together when they were younger. 

“(y/n)?” Shinsuke knocked on his sister’s door and called out to her. She was turning 18 tomorrow and she needs to make a decision if she’ll be a knight or officially be the crown princess. 

“Come in!”

Shinsuke entered and saw his sister doing paperwork. When she turned 16 she became a squire and she’s been in charge with reports. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m doing fine.” 

“Have you made a decision?” 

(y/n) let an audible sigh as she placed down her pen and looked at her brother. 

“Do you like Prince Atsumu?” At the question (y/n) bowed her head down. “I know you take pride in our family name and want to be a knight like us, but if your feelings for Atsumu weigh more, you know what to do.” She hates it when Shinsuke reads her like an open book. 

“I know. I really love what I’m doing and I have made a name for myself, I’m not just someone who is the prince’s soon to be princess.” All her life she had been molded to be a lady fit for the throne, even if she was training as a knight. Everyone already knows that she was favored. 

Shinsuke sat at her bed and she followed him. “We’re really proud of your achievements and how you grew up. Whatever you choose, we will gladly support you. You also don’t have to worry about us, you have a reliable big brother right here.” 

(y/n) leaned on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort her brother brings. Being the youngest, she would see how her father and brother protects the family and honor, and how her mother handles her business as well. It also means that she grew up being pampered, it felt like she doesn’t have a role in the family, always being the one they guard. She doesn’t want to look meek in the eyes of others. 

“Thank you, Shinsuke.” They’d talk until (y/n) felt sleepy, updating each other about their recent things that had happened between them. 

Atsumu was up all night. (y/n) was turning 18 tomorrow, and if she’s still undecided he might talk to his father to give it some more time until his coming of age party. He doesn’t even mind if he waits for another year. Whenever (y/n)’s ready to decide and whatever her choice is, he is willing to wait. 

It’s just that the circumstances don't allow them. If he wasn’t the crown prince it wouldn’t be that hard. He tried to convince Osamu to be the one to take up the crown when he learned that (y/n) wants to be a knight. 

The only good thing about her being a knight is that she would be in the castle more often. But if she chose to be his princess it would be better, since she would be staying at the castle to learn more about the kingdom. 

He stared at the ceiling as he formulates a series of plans for whatever possible situations that could happen tomorrow. 

Atsumu didn’t know when he started falling in love with her, but all he could remember was when he held her hand and he didn't want to let it go. He wanted to keep her hands soft and delicate, he doesn’t want to let her experience the hardships.

You could rely on me to protect you and your family. You don’t have to do it yourself.

On the day of (y/n)’s birthday, Atsumu was stunned by her dazzling appearance. His father has gifted her a head dress that she wore almost identical to the crown, clearly showing how she was still the first choice among the other candidates. In his opinion the whole getting to know other potential crown princesses was really pointless when clearly he and his father was already certain who rightfully deserves it.

“May I have a dance with the most beautiful lady among us commoners?” Atsumu bowed and held out his hand.

“I’m surprised you can call yourself a commoner.” (y/n) jested. She took his hand and Atsumu led them to the middle of the ballroom, he wanted to show her off. 

“You look wonderful.” He complimented as they swayed together. The years of practice of dancing made it easier for them to talk. 

“Thanks.” She simply replied and smiled at him.

“Why don’t we just run away and ignore our responsibilities?” Atsumu suggested.

“As if you could even do so.” Atsumu may have a playful character who loves to sneak around but he takes his position seriously and brings results beyond expectations. 

“Is that a challenge, my lady?”

(y/n) quirked her eyebrow. “What if it is?”

“As if you could leave your loved ones behind.” 

“Touché.” 

After the party, the King called for a private meeting with her. She already knows what they would talk about. 

“Have you made your decision yet, young lady?” 

“I’m sorry, your highness but --” She wasn’t able to finish the sentence when the door opened and Atsumu came barging in. The king was clearly not pleased at Atsumu’s sudden entrance. 

“Father, please extend the time given. After all, the final decision would happen on my coming of age birthday.” He pleaded. The king gave his son a stern look clearly implying that he will face consequences for intruding. “Please, father. Just a few more weeks. Whatever her decision might be, I’ll respect it.”

(y/n) looked at Atsumu and saw desperation in his eyes. She was confused, she thought that he had already chosen someone. Why was he extending her time?

“Lady (y/n)?” The king turned to her waiting for her response.

“If the Prince wishes so, then I will agree.” She said. She didn’t know why she said that, but she felt relieved when Atsumu requested for extension on her behalf. 

“Very well. By Atsumu’s coming of age banquet, you should have your decision already. We cannot prolong this any longer.”

(y/n) bowed down and pardoned herself for the trouble, then the king dismissed her saying that he would like to talk with his son in private.

After that meeting, (y/n) was avoiding Atsumu in the castle grounds for days. She has come to terms that she was indeed in love with him, maybe this was the reason why she was purposefully avoiding his usual routes. I won’t give him the pleasure of finding out that I’m in love with him, he’d probably wouldn’t let it pass by easily. 

Atsumu’s banquet was only three days away. He’s been in a bitter mood when (y/n) would avoid him. You think you’re slick? If you’re avoiding me then I’ll just have to see you myself then. He planned to sneak out again late at night and visit her. 

“Where are you going at this time again?” Osamu asked when he caught Atsumu carefully walking down the hallways. 

“Be quiet.” Atsumu said. “I’m going to visit my lady tonight.”

Osamu gave him a disapproving look. “If Shinsuke caught you he won’t hesitate to hit you even though you’re the crown prince.” 

“That’s why I’m sneaking in.”

“I’m amazed at how stupid your ideas can get at some point.” Osamu sighed and felt a coming headache. He knows that he couldn’t stop his brother no matter what. Besides he also wants (y/n) to be part of the family. Though he wouldn’t say to Atsumu that he’s willing to cover up for him.

Now that Atsumu was in her family’s home, he doesn’t know where to start looking. He expected to see her at the training grounds but she wasn’t there. He hoped that she wasn’t in her room, that would make the situation hard, but he would still think of ways to see her even if that was the case. 

As he walked around the south area of their house, he finally spotted her in the garden sitting next to a tree. He cautiously moved closer to her hoping that she wouldn’t notice him.

When he was close enough, (y/n) quickly turned around with a small dagger in her hand pointing it close to his neck. Atsumu almost yelled at her sudden defensive stance, his eyes widened and cold sweat formed in his forehead.

(y/n) was clearly surprised when she realized it was Atsumu. “What the hell are you doing here?” she gritted as she dropped the dagger. 

“What are you doing with a dagger?” Atsumu hissed back at her.

“For self-defense, for situations just like what you did a few seconds ago.” Atsumu couldn’t reply back to her response, it was his fault either way. 

“I came here to see you, you’ve been avoiding me.” He said. He sat down and leaned on the tree.

“Well, it’s getting late. I’ll go back inside now.” (y/n) said and was about to walk away when Atsumu grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her to sit next to him.

“No, you’re not getting away this time.” He acted on impulse and wrapped his arms around her. “Though it may be disrespectful for me to act like this, but no way you’re going to escape.”

“Alright, I won’t go anywhere, so you better let go now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Slowly, Atsumu removed his embrace already missing the feel of it. 

“Care to tell me why you’re avoiding me?” 

“I wasn’t.” (y/n) denied and tried her best not to meet his eyes, but Atsumu was persistent as he leaned down and tilted his head to catch a glimpse of it. “I just got busy, that’s all.”

“Liar.” He claimed. “Look me in the eye, my lady.” 

(y/n) slowly shifts her gaze to meet his. Once it did, Atsumu gave her a wide smile where his eyes crinkle into slits. “There we go. Now tell me, why are you ignoring me?” 

She let out a sigh. Atsumu can be very persistent if he really wanted to know and would not give up until he got an answer. “It’s kinda unfair for the other noble ladies. I always get more chances to be with you since we grew up together.” Excuses.

“You’re not really going to tell me honestly? Fine. I’ll not push the subject.” Atsumu said.

How can he see through me like that? Am I getting easy to read?

“But.” He continued. “Stay with me for a little while. I miss talking with you.” 

(y/n) nodded and relaxed herself. It was silent for some time, both of them just gazing at the starry night above them. She could feel Atsumu’s peaceful breathing next to her. It was a comforting atmosphere. 

“You know. I always wonder what it feels like to be just a noble or even a commoner. No responsibilities whatsoever, I could easily marry the girl I want, no sneaking out at this hour.” Atsumu started to ramble, breaking the silence.

She turned to him, bracing her knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on top of it. “Well, I think it’s not much of a difference. Sure the responsibilities would be different. But we still have a role to play. Also, love doesn’t come easy, there would always be sacrifices you have to make and obstacles ahead.” 

“Hmm. You got a point. Life, in general, isn’t easy.” 

“Do you not want to be the King?”

“I had thought about it, but as I grew up I learned to appreciate the role.” 

They continued to talk about random topics, from serious to something funny. Atsumu was so carefree that it was also affecting (y/n), whenever he laughed she would also laugh. And maybe it was because of the moment they were sharing right now, or maybe it was how beautiful the night sky is, maybe it was how Atsumu’s eyes sparkled under the moonlight, she just found herself leaning closer and kissed his cheeks. Atsumu had stopped laughing when he felt the feather light kiss she did.

Registering what she had done, she immediately pulled back and blinked away in surprise. Atsumu turned to her and looked into her eyes, mirroring her expression. 

“(y/n)?” His voice was a whisper but it was loud in her ears like it was echoing. She felt her cheeks heats up and blood was rushing through her head. 

“I, it’s getting late. I gotta go now.” She stuttered and quickly stood up. 

Atsumu was quick to act and grabbed a hold of her hands once again. “What did that kiss mean? You just don’t go kissing someone, (y/n).” He interrogated. 

She hid her face by looking to the other side, hoping that her hair would mask her expression well. 

“Do you love me, my lady?” He asked as he took a step closer to her, squeezing her hand hoping that she would get the message and look at him. 

“No…” She replied, but her tone was unsure.

“You seem to have formed a habit of lying. That’s not good.” He teased. The shade of pink in her cheeks, how she was not trying to pull away, how she was acting shy and flustered all of the sudden, was enough of a sign for Atsumu to know. 

“I love you, my lady. Only you.” Atsumu said and kissed her hand before he let go of it. “You should go home now. I’ll see you in two days.” 

As he was walking away, he was slowing down to hear if she'd say something. Though there might already be a distance between them, he would not miss the sound of her voice even if it was only a whisper in the air. 

“I love you too.”

Atsumu felt his heart swell in joy. He tried to hold himself back from running to her and to spin her around as he declared his love for her again and again. 

“Good night, my princess.”

“So, did you make a decision already?” The king asked again. He ordered them to meet before the banquet started. 

“Yes, your majesty.” 

“Care to tell me now?” 

“I love being a knight.” She paused, she suddenly felt shy about telling her out loud. When she and her family talked about it, it was honestly harder than the first time she was holding a real sword. But it felt nice to be honest towards her feelings, everything felt clearer. “But I love Atsumu more, that I’m willing to give up being a knight.” She finally said, every word that left her mouth gets quieter.

“I’m happy to welcome you in the family, I know it was unfair for the other noble ladies, but I have always favored you from the very beginning. I’m sure you can still use your skills you learned as a knight some day.” He gave her a fatherly smile that she hasn’t seen in so long, he would always smile at her like that when she was a little kid.

The king dismissed her and she bowed down in return. 

Atsumu asked (y/n) to dance, his smile couldn’t be contained. It wasn’t because of the banquet, or the people that had greeted him, or the gifts he received, it was because of the lady he’s holding right now. 

“My princess.” Atsumu lovingly said. 

“Shut up. It’s not yet officially announced.” She said and glared at him. 

“Well we could always whisper in the air our declaration of love.” 

“Speak one more time, and I’ll change my mind.”

“You can’t do that. Father already knows, so you can’t just take back what you said to him.”

 She rolled her eyes at him and did not reply. He pulled her closer to him and continued to lead her in the dance. His eyes transfixed on hers and she averted her gaze, feeling embarrassed at how he looked at her. 

Atsumu tuned out the rest of the crowd as he only focused on her, everything felt complete. It was worth the agonizing wait.

[shotsbyshae]

Stone Cold

Warnings: Language

Words: 2.8k

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ransom has one last interview left for his book. 

Sequel to In the Dark

Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

God knows I tried to feel, Happy for you. Know that I am, even if I, Can’t understand, I’ll take the pain.

The door to your apartment creaks as it opens, and your entire body goes numb as you see the man step into view. The remorseful look in his steel blue eyes tells you everything you need to know, but you ask anyway.

“He stayed with her, didn’t he?”

The tears well up in your eyes and Barnes closes the short distance to wrap his arms around you, sinking with you to the floor as silent tears stream down your face.

“I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, doll.”

“No – no,” you whisper quietly.

After everything.

Natasha.

Tony.

You can’t wrap your mind around how he could do this.

“Hey,” Ransom’s voice brings you back to the present. “What do you think? Wilson said he knew Rogers the longest, but I can’t get him to return my calls.”

You sigh because you’re not sure it’ll do any good. Sam had settled with a phone interview because he and Barnes were away on a mission, but Barnes had refused even that.

“I’ll talk to him,” you remark quietly. “He usually listens to me.”

Ransom stands from the chair in your living room and begins to approach where you stand in your kitchen, his head tilting curiously, “Really?”

You take a bite of the frosted flakes cereal from the bowl in front of you, shaking your head at him as you do so. “Nuh uh.” You mumble around the food in your mouth. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he smirks. “This is – classic.” You take another bite of cereal as Ransom leans against your counter. “You were pining and the best friend swoops in to – comfort you.”

“It’s not like that,” you state flicking your eyes over to him. “We’re friends.” You clench your jaw in annoyance as Ransom continues to stare at you with that boyish grin.

“Friends,” he reiterates not believing you.

“There was one tequila infused night that we don’t talk much about – okay.”

“I knew it!”

“Don’t make me stab you,” the words slip past your lips only half threatening as you point your spoon at him.

“With that?” Ransom questions, eyeing the utensil.

“It’ll hurt more,” you reply before shoving it back into bowl of cereal.

Later that afternoon

You spin quickly, but he grabs your wrist instantly. The vibranium is cool against your skin and the mechanisms in his hand make an almost ominous sound as his grip tightens and he flips you onto your back.

“You’re rusty,” Bucky remarks before helping you up from the sparring mat.

“Says the hundred-year-old man,” you state under your breath.

“I’m kicking your ass, aren’t I?”

“Oooohhh,” you cut your eyes over at him. “That new haircut is making you cocky.”

Tossing him his water bottle first before you take a long drink from your own, you contemplate how to ask your next question. With a sigh you finally do it, “Will you talk to Drysdale – please?”

A groan escapes the man in front of you and a look of annoyance crosses his face, “So, that’s the reason for your visit.”

“And to let you kick my ass,” you smirk at him, trying to ease his irritation.

He shakes his head at you, “I’ve seen photos. He looks just like him, doesn’t that bother you?”

“At first.”

Bucky stares at you for a moment, “Why do you care – about the book?”

You glance down at the bottle in your hand, wanting to give him the same excuse you’d given Sam when he’d asked you the same question.

Because Fury had asked you to.

However, you know Barnes can see through even the slightest of lies when it comes to you. “Regardless of what he did,” your words come out slowly. “Steve was the best of us.” You glance up at your friend. “I can’t let my feelings get in the way of that.”

A grin crosses his face, “He used to say that you were the best of us.” Your brows furrow in confusion and Bucky continues. “That even if the whole world sees the devil, you would only see a fallen angel.”

Your lips turn up in a sad smile, “Of course he did – jerk.”

“He was a punk,” Bucky comments reminiscently.

You fold your arms across your chest, “He was never mine, Buck. Part of me knew that going in, and I did it anyway.”

“But you don’t regret it.”

You shake your head slightly, “I don’t, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Bucky’s hand reaches for your shoulder, pulling you into a loose hug. You accept the embrace and wait a moment before continuing. “So, you’ll talk with Drysdale?”

Barnes sighs, “I guess.”

“Thank you.”

2 Days Later

Ransom’s phone vibrates from the dresser in the hotel room, and he quickly looks to see a new message from you.

My place 2pm today. Bucky will be here for your interview.

He smiles as he types his response.

Good job. You two better be dressed when I get there. No Tequila.

Your response is quick.

Shut up. Also, it's been a long week and I plan on binging Netflix while eating my body weight in pizza tonight, so the interview better be over by 5.

Drysdale laughs at your statement.

Promise. Besides I have a date at 7.

With who?

Girl I met in the hotel lobby.

Careful, if she’s named after a flower or food, she’ll expect payment at the end of the night.

Ransom sends two laughy face emojis, followed by the middle finger one.

 You had offered up your apartment as a neutral meeting ground for Bucky to have the sit-down interview with Ransom, that didn’t mean you wanted to be present.

“Where’s –” Drysdale begins to question Barnes as he shrugs off his coat, looking around the apartment for you.

“She went for coffee,” Bucky responds, watching the man closely.

“Coffee – sure,” he states, pulling a notebook and pen from his bag, part of him disappointed that you aren’t present for the interview. Given your history with Barnes, you might be able to pull more information from him than Ransom could alone.

Bucky spends the next forty-five minutes answering questions about the years he spent with Steve before the serum – the war. All while trying to figure out the man sitting across from him who looks eerily similar to his best friend. Barnes doesn’t trust easily, especially trust fund, playboy types who seem to have ulterior motives.

It only takes an hour for those possible motives to make an appearance. Barnes had spoke earlier of Steve’s relationship with Peggy and Ransom had gotten his opinion on their dynamic, but it isn’t until Bucky mentions your name that he notices a shift in Drysdale’s demeanor.

“What can you tell me about their relationship?” Ransom questions with his phone lying in the center of the coffee table, recording every word they’re saying.

“Is that important to the book?” Bucky asks, almost defensively.

“Well – yea,” Ransom responds. “I want to show that relationship as well. To lose the love of your life, wake up seventy years in the future. Having to learn so much, including how to love again. She loved him, that much I know.” He hesitates a moment. “And he loved her.”

“He did,” Bucky practically cuts him off.

“O-kay,” Drysdale replies. “And – then he left.” Barnes stares at him threateningly before he leans back on the couch, folding his arms across his chest as Ransom continues. “I’m just trying to figure out why.”

“Why?”

“It really seemed to affect her,” Ransom replies, watching the man across from him curiously, unsure who’s interviewing who now.

“Of course it affected her,” Bucky states. “Don’t sit there acting like you know her – you don’t. I was there – you weren’t. I thought this book was about Steve.” Drysdale shifts in his chair as Bucky continues. “Is that what all this is really about – her?”

Ransom narrows his eyes, “No.”

Bucky leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “See – I’m beginning to think it is. That’s why you tracked her down, because she didn’t fall into bed with you. Then, to your surprise, you find out about Steve and it gives you the perfect reason to hang around – a book.” He watches Ransom’s jaw clench. “I’ve known men like you. Always wanting what you can’t have and trying to burn the whole world down just to get it.” Bucky can see the anger on his face, but he doesn’t ease up. “All because – why? Your mother didn’t hug you enough as a child?”

“Careful Barnes,” Ransom sneers. “You’re sounding a bit jealous.”

Bucky laughs, “Trust me, I’ll never be jealous of you.” He stands up from the couch, glaring down at Ransom. “Because, I know her, and she’ll never be able to look at you and not see him.” A small malicious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “She’ll always see Steve.”

Drysdale drops his notebook on the coffee table as he stands up, eyes narrowing at the man across from him, “Keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep better at night.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “Although, I would think that would be the last thing to keep you up at night, being a former Hydra assassin and all. Exactly how many people have you killed Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky’s fists clench at his sides, “Too many, but I can always add one more.”

“That’s enough, Buck,” you state angrily, glaring at the two of them.

They were so wrapped in up asserting their dominance, neither of them heard you come through the door. Your arms are folded across your chest angrily and both of them look at you in surprise.

“I should go,” Bucky states, crossing the room towards you.

“Yea,” your answer is sharp. “We’ll discuss this later.”

He gives a curt nod, already hearing your voice yelling at him in the back of his mind.

You and your overprotective big brother bull shit.

You’ve used the phrase once or twice with him before.

Your gaze follows Bucky as he exits your apartment.

The tension in the room is heavier than it’s ever been.

No doubt because of the conversation with Barnes. He hadn’t let him see it, but his words had affected Drysdale. Your eyes drift back to Ransom and he can see a softness there – you aren’t angry with him.

There’s a touch of sadness in your eyes and his brow furrows, “He’s right, isn’t he?”

“What?” confusion apparent on your face.

“You see him,” Ransom’s tone turns hard – cold. “When you look at me – don’t you?”

Your shoulders drop – voice quiet, “Don’t.” There’s a pause as he glares at you, your eyes pleading with him to stop. “Please – don’t do this.”

“You were in love with him,” he begins angrily. “So, it’s nothing about me. Everything you’ve done for me is because of his face. Because he was a better man than I’ll ever be – right?”

You fight back the tears as you raise your voice, “Stop!” You take a forceful step towards him. “You’re right, I did see him when I first met you, and yea, just looking at you was the hardest thing I’d ever done.” Ransom watches you carefully, determined to know the truth. “Part of me hated your face, because he fucking left.”

“Why?” Ransom questions, and you start to shake your head. He watches you bite the inside of your lip. “Why would he leave – abandon you?” He knows that word that will set you off.

You glance over at the picture of you and Steve on your shelf, “He knew I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have Sam – Buck.” The words angry as you swallow the lump in your throat. “So, he didn’t abandon me. Or us, because he knew the three of us would have each other. I guess that’s what made it okay in his mind.”

“That’s fucked up,” Ransom says quietly. “If he loved you –”

“She had his heart,” you reply sincerely. “I could never compete with that.” You glance back to the man in front of you. “So no – I don’t see him. I haven’t for a while, Ransom.” Your voice barely above a whisper as you admit it. “I only see you.”

His breathing falters at your statement and he reaches to turn off the recording app on his cellphone before he sits back down on the sofa. You move slowly over, glancing at the coffee table where the notebook is. Reaching for it, you half-expect him to stop you, but he doesn’t. You begin to read over some of the messily jotted down lines.  

Steve Rogers believed in doing what was right, regardless of the consequences.

A true hero (more than once) when the country needed it the most.

Rogers was a friend to everyone and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for a friend.

He was loved twice by women (not only beautiful, but smart and strong) with such passion – ferocity – most people are lucky to experience that kind of love just once in their lifetime.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you read the last lines and Ransom speaks quietly, “Are you still in love with him?”

You glance at him thoughtfully for a moment, “No, but there is a part of me that will always care for him.” There’s a hint of disappointment in his eyes and you change the subject. “Why did you track me down?” Hearing Bucky’s question earlier had brought it back to your mind. “Because I know it wasn’t easy – and it wasn’t over a wallet.”

“I don’t know,” he flicks his eyes up at you, seeing the expectant look on your face. “Maybe it was the fact you were just so – real. I mean – aside from the fact you were lying.” You can’t help but smirk as he continues. “Even as Natalie, you weren’t fake with me. I’d never experienced that before.”

There’s a warm smile on your face as you lay the notebook back on the coffee table, “Well, when you finish this book, maybe you should get out more.”

“Funny you mention that,” Ransom stands as you start toward the kitchen. “I have an idea for another book I want to run by you.”

You turn around curiously, “Run by me – why?”

“Well, Granddad is known for his murder mysteries,” Ransom begins, eyeing you closely for your reaction. “I thought I might give it a shot, maybe put a different spin on it. Instead of far-fetched ideas, going more of a ‘based on actual events’ route.” Your mouth begins to open slightly as you see the grin forming on his face. “Granddad’s leading characters were always men, so I’m thinking for my leading character a female secret agent perhaps.”

“Me?” the look of shock on your face is hilarious.

“Well,” Ransom smirks. “She would have to be smart. Funny. Attractive is a given.” You fold your arms across your chest as he takes a few steps closer to where you stand. “Intimidating. Definitely a bad ass.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

His face lights up, “All the missions you’ve been on, all the secrets S.H.I.E.L.D.’s kept, I might could shadow you on future ops.”

“Absolutely not.”

Ransom’s face instantly falls, and he looks similar to a sad golden retriever.

“If you want to stay in New York – stay.” you remark, watching him carefully. “But you’re not writing a book about me.”

There’s a smug look on his face as he responds, “It’s not about you – it’s about Natalie.” You narrow your eyes at the man, and he holds his hands up defensively, “Okay – fine.” He turns around and walks back over to the coffee table and begins to gather his things.

You watch him for a moment, remembering he’s going back to his hotel, probably to get ready for his date with random lobby girl. The feeling you’re having makes you want to scream into the nearest throw pillow.

What – why?

Are you seriously jealous right now?

You can feel the heat starting at the base of your neck and you take a deep breath before speaking, “Hey – do you wanna stay?” He stops packing his bag to glance up at you, seeing something unusual on your features – trepidation. “We could order in – watch a movie.”

He gives you a genuine smile, “Sure.”

There is nothing he wants more than to spend the evening with you, eating take-out and watching old movies, because you see him and not many people do.

But who in their right mind leaves a beautiful blonde waiting in a hotel lobby across town for a date, without so much as a call or a text to let her know he can’t make it?

He does.

Because after all –

Ransom Drysdale’s an asshole.

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[annabethy]

Since you want more prompts: Actress Annabeth who goes to the store/coffe shop/ restaurant (whatever you choose) and star struck fan boy Percy who’s trying to play it cool but “wow she’s way prettier in real life and she’s super nice and funny and how is she so poised and elegant I must be making a fool of myself” I just love that and we all know Annabeth would be *that* celebrity who does everything she can to make her fans happy and treat them well “hey this fan is pretty cute and sweet”

Percy really just wanted to go home.

It was only noon and he had already had his fair share of awful customer encounters in the magical place he called Walgreens. He didn’t know what was up today, but it was as though every single person had a stick up their ass, and he was not being paid enough for this.

Regardless, he didn’t have the option of going home because he just started his shift and also because he needed money as a poor twenty-four-year-old who decided to go to grad school.

Still. He wasn’t even doing anything useful. Someone else was at the front manning checkout, so he resorted to sort of stumbling around the store for any source of amusement.

Surprise. Nothing came.

At some point during the next hour, he found himself moping in the candy aisle, contemplating on whether or not he should grab something to keep himself awake. It wasn’t like the store was going to miss those delicious sour gummy worms, and if they did, it would still be worth it.

Percy only managed to calm his desire to snatch that colorful candy when someone breezed by the end of the aisle. He wouldn’t have looked twice if it hadn’t been for the fact that they looked like they had just robbed a bank and were now sulking around the aisles suspiciously.

He tried to ignore them the best he could, but in the mirror lining the top of the wall, he could see the person standing in front of a shelf of rather expensive technological shit he couldn’t be bothered to name.

The girl, or at least he thinks it’s a girl if the long blonde hair peeking out from underneath a black hoodie was any indication, had her hands stuffed deep into the front pocket, and she was shifting on her feet ready to run at any given moment. This girl appeared really sketch, and as much as he definitely doesn’t want to get involved, he kind of has no choice if she’s stealing.

He quietly made his way around the aisle towards the area she was occupying, treading lightly. Once she came into view, he leaned against the metal rack to survey her, hoping she wouldn’t turn around and notice him ominously watching over her.

From where he stood, he couldn’t really see her face, but everything else about her seemed overly poised. The fabric of her sweater seemed way out of his pay grade, even with the distance between them, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers over it.

She stood there for a second, analyzing the display of expensive chargers and headphones, before gently grabbing one and sliding it down the opening of her sleeve. It sent off alarms in Percy’s head because he was fairly certain that she intended to steal it.

He bit his lip sharply, a wave of annoyance coming over him. What was it with customers thinking that they could get away with theft?

He was just not in the mood to do this today. In the middle of New York City, it could get pretty dangerous when someone was completely disguised by an oversized hoodie. For all he knew, she was carrying a weapon, ready to knock his brains out if he interrupted her master escape plan.

Still, it was his job and those headphones she just grabbed seemed pricey enough to make him lose his job if he just sat by and let it happen, so he didn’t have a choice.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he called out just as she started to turn and stalk off. She whipped around rapidly, which didn’t do anything to take the suspicion off of her. He still couldn’t get a great view of her face, and he also didn’t really care to.

She slowly twisted her hands together, her fingers just barely peeking out from below the rims of the sleeves. She stayed silent, perhaps to stay innocent until proven guilty, but when he didn’t elaborate, she was forced to calmly mutter, “Yes?”

Percy almost snorted in her face. From her stance, she seemed to know exactly why he had interrupted her. Instead of mocking her though, he just nodded towards her hands. “You’re going to have to pay for that, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

The girl froze. “I—I was going to.”

Percy eyed her carefully, concerned about the hoodie still really low over her face. “You stuffed it into your sleeve and you’re wearing a black jacket over your face in the middle of New York.”

She scoffed, and then her hand was reaching up to yank the hoodie off her head, revealing her flowing blonde locks and piercing grey eyes, and it was then that Percy realized his grave mistake. “I was not going to steal!”

Percy stumbled over his words because standing right in front of him was Annabeth Chase, one of the biggest actors in the country, hell, maybe even in the world, and she was glaring at him like she was about to pull out a knife and stab him for even insinuating that she would steal from a random Walgreens.

“I—” Percy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the celebrity only five feet in front of him. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Her voice as she spoke was venomous, dripping with apathy.

Percy couldn’t find it in him to gather his words because Annabeth Chase was so close he could probably reach out and touch her, and he had spent so long being obsessed with her (but in a healthy way, he thinks) and this could not be happening.

“You’re Annabeth Chase,” he said, dumbfounded. He probably had his mouth gaping and everything.

“And?”

“You’re—” Percy swallowed, suddenly self-conscious of his ugly red polo and work khakis. He felt like Jake from State Farm. “You’re so much prettier than I expected.”

“Excuse me?”

Percy cursed, holding his hands out as though to soften the blow of his words. “No! That’s not what I meant! I just—”

“You just what?” Annabeth looked thoroughly offended by him, and he didn’t know how to clarify what he was actually saying without sounding like a stalker that may or may not have a shrine for her.

Still. He didn’t want to insult someone that could turn millions of people against him with the snap of her fingers, so he rushed to say something, which did approximately nothing. “I’ve been watching you for years and you were so pretty, but now you’re standing in the middle of Walgreens and you’re, like, really pretty, like so pretty I could kiss you, and—” Percy shrieked. “Wait, no! Not kiss you! I mean, I could of course, but that’s pretty rude and I’m pretty sure it’s considered harassment in some states, if not all of them, so I definitely won’t do that to you, but—”

Somewhere along his mess of a speech, her face seemed to morph from fury to amusement, and he wanted to just melt into a puddle on the floor and die.

“I’m making myself look like a fool in front of Annabeth Chase,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Perfect.”

“I would reassure you and say you didn’t, but I’d feel guilty lying to you, considering how honest you were with me two seconds ago.” Annabeth looked him up and down, and Percy thought she looked unimpressed. When her eyes trailed back to his, she tilted her head to the side, lifting the side of her mouth slightly in a smile that showed off one of her dimples, and god, she was so freaking gorgeous. “I wasn’t going to steal, for the record.”

“Yeah, I got that now.” Percy suspected his voice also just cracked, and he was actually going to go bang his head into a wall repeatedly until he had a brain bleed.

It was entirely unfair just how elegant she seemed in this moment because Percy was a blubbering mess over here, and she had the audacity to laugh at him. How could someone be so put together, and just how unlucky do you have to be to look this moronic in front of arguably the hottest celebrity out there?

“Are you alright?” Annabeth asked. “You’re looking a bit faint over there.”

“I just—” Percy gave an awkward grin. “I’m starstruck over here.”

“Starstruck?” she asked, testing the word in her mouth. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Really? How could they not?”

“Most people would consider it lame to actually say that to their celebrity crush, as you so eloquently put it.”

Percy flushed. “Funny.”

“It is, don’t you think?” Annabeth smirked at him, and Percy’s heart just about leaped out of his chest. “I have to say, no one’s ever messed up that badly before.”

“Well, I guess no one’s as stupid as me.”

“No one’s accused me of stealing either,” she added unhelpfully. Even without a mirror, Percy just knew he looked redder than a tomato, and he could tell she was basking in his misery.

That’s it. Percy’s going to walk into the street and let himself get run over by a taxi.

“A lot of firsts in this room,” Annabeth said, a teasing edge to her voice. “First time meeting a celebrity?”

“How’d you know?” he asked sarcastically, and he realized he was standing awkwardly at a distance from her.

She looked at the floor between them. “You can get closer, you know. I won’t bite.”

“The look you gave me earlier said otherwise.” Percy got closer anyways so that they were talking like normal human beings.

Annabeth laughed, and even that about her was smooth and melodic.

He lifted his hand to scratch the base of his neck. “I’m sorry I accused you of stealing.”

“I’ll let it slide because you’re so cute.”

Percy’s mind came to a reeling halt as he processed her words. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought she was flirting with him, but she obviously wasn’t because he was a nobody off the streets. Right?

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say now,” he offered meekly.

“You really are new to this,” she said, whistling slightly.

“Obviously, I haven’t ever tried to stop a famous actor from stealing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Percy blinked. “Oh?”

“I guess I’ll just have to help you out then,” she said, sighing in mock disappointment. “You’re supposed to tell me your name.”

White hot alarm flooded through him, because yeah, she was one-hundred perfect flirting with him. That, or she was trying to get him to make even more of a fool of himself.

Either way, she sure knew what she was doing.

He supposes he would just have to settle with defeat if she was conning him because in no way was he about to pass up the opportunity to cozy up to the hottest girl alive.

“I’m Percy,” he offered, working up the confidence to give her a dazzling smile. “Figures you would want to know my name.”

“Had to know the name of the guy to call me out for my thievery,” she excused jokingly, eyes gleaming. “And the one who proposed making out in the middle of a convenience store.”

“I’m still down for that kiss,” he teases, voice suddenly much less shaky and much more low, deep in the back of his throat.

“Oh, so now you wanna have game?” she asked, leaning against the shelf with the headphones she’d grabbed now clear in her hand. “Where was that when I asked your name?”

“I was still gathering it up,” he said.

“Hm.” Annabeth nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“Should I make it up to you, then?”

“You’re going to have to if you expect this to go any further,” Annabeth said, but he can tell that she’s mainly messing around with him.

Percy decided to tease her back. “You expect this to go any further?”

“It’s gonna have to. You promised me that kiss, and I expect you to pay up.”

“I guess I’ll just have to deliver, in that case.”

“I charge interest.” When Percy locked eyes with her, there was fire burning between them, and it was like there was something more between them, despite them having just met.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said.

A silence fell between them again, but it was comfortable and fitting. They just stared softly at each other for a while until Annabeth spoke again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re different,” she started, nibbling on her lower lip. “You’re really sweet.”

“I think you mean chaotic,” he quipped, ignoring the way his heart pulsated beneath his fingertips at the heartfelt compliment.

“That whole being in love with me spiel you did was pretty cute,” she said. “When I say you’re sweet, I mean it. I don’t hand things like that out for nothing.”

Percy blushed, gesturing towards her. “Look at you, though. You’re — perfect. I’m not sure how else to put that, but you do everything to please your fans.”

“I am quite perfect,” Annabeth agreed. “But being accused of stealing and then watching you melt into a puddle of nerves and get all jittery? It’s unmatched.”

Percy could not believe that this was actually happening. Everything he thought was true about her from movies and pictures was magnified by ten in person, and she was such a nice person. She was more down-to-earth than other people out there, and it was refreshing.

He tried to play it cool, but he did the exact opposite, and she still called him cute and sweet and he could actually start fangirling right now.

Percy really didn’t want this to end, so he would just have to take things into his own hands.

“Listen,” he said, standing up straighter. He could feel his stomach tingle with nerves. “I know you’re famous and all, and I’m…not, and you probably get asked this all the time, but you seem like someone I’d like to get to know, so I was wondering if…”

“Careful,” Annabeth warned, amused. “You’re starting to lose your game again.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, gently shoving her shoulder. It wasn’t until after the fact that he realized he just touched the golden girl of the country. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

She didn’t answer, and his heart dropped, but then—

“I thought you’d never ask.” Annabeth pursed her lips to stifle her widening grin.

Percy clapped his hands together, admittedly surprised that she agreed. It was something of dreams. “When are you free?”

“Today works.”

He looked around, contemplating on how to answer. He really needed the money, and he was still in the middle of his shift. Leaving now would cause him to get in some major trouble, but on the other hand…

“Let’s go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Right now,” he confirmed.

“You don’t have to finish working first?”

“The guy up front can cover for me,” Percy said, already working up the courage to grab her hand and start pulling her towards the exit. She seemed just as enthusiastic to go with him, lacing their fingers together, sparks of electricity flowing through them.

Annabeth dropped the headphones back onto the metal racks, smiling jokingly when he looked at her. “Wouldn’t want to steal, would I?”

“I suppose not,” Percy said, utterly infatuated. He had just met her, and he was already dreaming of a future with just the two of them. From the way her eyes traced over the slopes of his face, as though burning them into her memory, he knew he wasn’t alone in it.

As they walked out into the New York sunshine, Percy smiled at Annabeth, and thought she looked amazing under the rays of light. She was everything — pretty and funny and nice and flawless — and she agreed to go out with him.

Percy tries not to fall in love, but it was easier said than done when this perfect woman was looking at him with those breathtaking eyes and setting his heart on fire.

(But when she kisses him in the middle of Central Park, he knows he already is. He finds he doesn’t mind).

[prrplwtch]

mc ends up killing a person (whether human or demon, premediated or self defense its up to you). but then someone walks in on mc. they have not hidden the body yet and await the person's reaction. will they help? pretend they didnt see anything? take them to diavolo? (hcs for the boys' reaction)

Hi nonny :) Ooh, such an exciting ask. I think I’ll go with MC that killed a demon (since Solomon is the only other human in Devildom, and I’d really rather the poor boy not die) by accident or in self defense 💜

So the tally thus far is: 

Tell Diavolo: Lucifer (though not the whole truth)

Help hide body: Mammon, Levi, Satan and Beel

Pretend they did not see anything aka not help: Asmo, Belphi

Lucifer: 

When Lucifer walks into an empty classroom, the last things he expects to see is MC covered in demon blood with a dead demon laying on the floor. Yet that is exactly what he sees. 

“What happened here?” Lucifer asks, seeing MC’s teary eyed face. 

The explanation is as stupid as it is surprising - MC accidentally sprayed the demon with her perfume that she brought from the human world. As it turned out, the perfume ingredients are lethal for demons.

Lucifer takes out a handkerchief and confiscates MC’s perfume - he needs to get rid of it before more damage is done. 

MC is freaking out, saying she should go straight to Diablo and confess, so that she can be punished. 

“Punished for what?” Lucifer asks as he looks at her, “He tried to attack you, and you defended yourself with what you had on hand, which by chance ended up being lethal to demons. There is nothing to punish you for.”

It is clear that takes MC a moment to understand what he is saying. 

Lucifer knows that the decision he made is best for everyone - after all, there was nothing important about this low-level demon, and Diablo hopes so bad that the exchange program goes well that Lucifer cannot let him down. 

And if reporting to Diablo that it was self-defense would ensure that MC does not get punished - well, who needs to know that that is why Lucifer chose exactly this cover story. 

Mammon:

Mammon is woken up in the middle night by MC. 

“What ya doin’ here?” Mammon asks, wondering if it’s another one of those dreams. Turns out it isn’t - and he realizes that when he sees MC’s wide-open, scared eyes, and sees that there is blood on her clothes.

“Are you alright, MC? Don’t ya die on me,” he says.

When MC explains that it is not her blood, he breathes out a sigh of relief. When she explains that she was out for a breath of fresh air when she was attacked by a lower demon, he gets angry at himself for not being there for her. 

“What do we do now?” MC asks, despair clear in her voice, “Should we tell Lucifer? Should we tell Diablo? Oh what will happen...”

“We will do the only logical thing in this situation,” Mammon says after momentary contemplation, “We will hide the body.”

Luckily for MC, Mammon knows plenty of hiding places in Devildom - some of them so concealed that no one would ever find the body in there. 

MC tries to argue, saying she should confess, but Mammon insists that his plan is best. He doesn’t think Lucifer or Diablo will punish her for self defense, but he does not want to take any chances when it comes to MC and her safety. 

Leviathan:

Leviathan is surprised, when MC runs into his room, clearly distressed. 

“Wh-what happened?” he asks, as he looks at her. 

As it turned out, when she was opening window in her room a part of the window sill came off and fell right atop some demon that was passing by outside House of Lamentation. 

Oh, this is just like in those outrageous dark comedy animes, Levi thinks to himself. Apparently, the thought made him smile, as the next moment MC asked him in a horrified tone about why he is smiling at someone being dead. 

“We should check if he is actually dead,” Levi suggests - in plenty of the animes he is thinking about the victim of such an incident might actually be alive. 

As it turns out yet again to Levi’s disappointment, real life is no anime, and the lower level demon lying by the walls of House of Lamentation is actually dead. 

“Should we do something? Should we tell Lucifer?” MC asks, making Levi think. They could always tell Lucifer - but then he would make them answer questions, and Levi’s show that he desperately needs to watch is starting in less than two hours. So he makes the decision.

“No - no one will even notice he is gone - and I have just the perfect idea of what to do with the body.”

The demon is heavy, but carrying him together is not so bad, and, luckily, the ocean is just about a twenty minute walk away. Lotan, the seven-headed sea monster, is grateful for the fresh snack, and Levi feels happy with himself. He solved the situation so masterfully, just like those anime characters. 

Satan:

Satan is enjoying a quiet afternoon in the Devildom library (it’s Friday, so he is like the only one there, when suddenly he hears a yelp, and then a thud. 

Annoyed by the disturbance, he goes to the sound, only to find MC holding a small knife and a dead demon at her feet. 

“What in the...” is all he can manage. MC looks pale and terrified, and it takes her a moment to speak, but when she does, his heart fills with anger - it turned out the demon was stalking MC and went into the library after her. When she tried to get away grabbed her, so she had to stab him in self defense. As it turned out, fatally. 

“What am I going to do?” MC exclaims. 

Satan knows that they could probably go to Lucifer to explain the situation, but the last thing he wants is Lucifer’s help. And besides, if they do go to Lucifer, that would waste the perfect opportunity to use all the knowledge he picked up from the detective series about how to hide the body. 

MC is in shock so she does not really argue, and Satan is delighted -finally he can put his knowledge to task. 

It does not take them very long to clean up all the blood in the library and also to deal with the body. Satan is pleased with his handy work - no one will ever find the body, because there is no more body to be found. 

Satan ends up spending quite a bit of time in the following weeks watching over MC to make sure that she was ok after the incident. 

Asmodeus:

When MC comes to Asmo all stressed, telling him about how she accidentally stabbed a demon to death, he cannot help but be amused. 

“You are so adorable when you are clumsy,“ he tells her as he blows at his freshly painted nails.

MC asks him to go with her to check if demon is still alive, and Asmo follows her. The demon is sprawled out on the ground, clearly dead. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone will mis him anyway,” Asmo says as he turns the demon’s face to the side with the front of his shoe, careful not to get any blood on it. The demon is one of the lower ones - and there are plenty of those in Devildom. 

“What do I do?” MC panics, and Asmo pauses, thinking before suggesting dumping the body in the pit not far from the House of Lamentation. 

“What’s in the pit?” MC asks neverously. 

“Just some ancient spirits of darkness, that love nothing better than fresh flesh,” Asmo tells her, shaking his hands - his nails are not drying fast enough. 

MC nods, then picks up the demon’s arms and looks at Asmo’s expectantly. 

“Are you not going to help me?” she asks.

“Me?” Asmo asks, “Sorry, darling, but I have just painted my nails - wouldn’t want to ruin him. Besides, I have already helped you with the great idea. Good luck.”

Beelzebub:

Beel has never expected someone as nice as MC to kill someone, even if it was by accident, so he is a little shocked when MC approaches him with her little problem. 

Nonetheless, she is clearly distressed, and Beel cares a lot about her, so he wants to help. 

“Where is the body now?” he asks, and follows MC to some bushes to which she says she dragged off the demon’s body so that no one would notice it. 

Beel first checks if the demon is truly dead - and it turns out he is. 

MC is pale and panicking, wondering out loud if she should go and confess everything to Lucifer, and for a moment Beel thinks that it might not be the most terrible idea. That is, until he remembers just how harsh Lucifer’s punishment can be. He does not want MC to be punsihed. 

“There is no need to bother Lucifer with this,” Beel tells her, “We can simply toss him off the cliff of despair - no one will find him.”

MC seems reluctant and nervous at first, as if she is close to crying. Beel pulls her into a quick hug in order to calm her down and that seems to do the trick. 

She wants to help him carry the body - but he can lift the dead demon easily and does not need help. 

He wants MC to go to her room so she can rest, but she insists on accompanying him. He does not mind - though disposing of the body is not the most pleasant of tasks, anything is made better by her presence.

Belphegor: 

Belphie is really mad when MC wakes him up from his nap only to tell him that she accidentally killed some demon. 

“You did? So what,” is Belphie’s reaction - it’s not like he had never killed another demon, and all of his brothers definitely have. 

MC, however, looks completely distressed, and though Belphie wants nothing more than to turn to the other side of the bed and sleep, he sits up on the bed. 

“Listen, we’ve all killed other demons before,” he tells her, “It’s not that big a deal.”

“But what do I do now?” MC asks and Belphie sighs. Humans.

“Well there are a few things - you can always go confess to Lucifer, although, in your shoes, I would not. There are plenty of places to hide body in Devildom, after all.”

MC seems to ponder his words. Her face hardens, as she gets up from bed and walks over to the door. As she opens the door she looks back at him. 

“Are you going to help me?” she asks, as Belphie sinks into his pillow. 

“I think I already did,” Belphie says, “Besides, you are one grown human, you can manage.”

[strongsassysexysloane]

I Should Hate You

I was in a mood. Feelings come out and this was the result.  . . . . . . . 

"That was a mistake." As soon as the words left Jack's mouth, she instantly saw the dagger leave her lips and stab you in the chest. She couldn't do this. It was too easy and that scared the hell out of her. The last time she fell this hard for someone her heart got ripped out and stomped on and she wasn't going to go through that again. She'd built this life, this wall and she couldn't let anyone in but you'd managed to slide in between the cracks with your sweet smile, flushed cheeks and soft touches.  

"If that's how you feel." You whispered, you wanted to bury yourself under ten blankets, hell, one hundred blankets wouldn't even help at this point. She was lying naked in your bed, breathing deeply, it had only been minutes from the most amazing sex you'd ever had. It wasn't even the high of the orgasm that had you feeling so blissful, it was the connection, the emotion you both shared, you connected so deeply at least that's what you thought.  

. . . . . Hours Earlier . . . . .  

The night had started out like any other Friday night after you'd wrapped up the current case and went out for drinks with the team. Jack had walked in at the perfect moment as she usually did and you couldnt help but ask her, almost beg her, to come along as she was clearly not in the mood for drinks. She'd been busy all week, dealing with several different investigations plus helping Vance with the quarterly evals had her swamped. She had mentioned earlier in the day when you caught a moment with her, in her office, that she had a bottle of Shiraz waiting at home with a nice hot bath that her name written all over it. But she couldn't resist your puppy dog eyes and she stated that, out loud, which gave you an extra pep in your step when you left the office. She'd called you out on it, so had Ellie but you didn't care. It worked.  

Gibbs left after one drink, claiming his boat had been neglected enough this week and none of you challenged him. McGee joined him, saying he wanted to spend time with his family and there was no arguing with that. After they left the drinks kept coming and the laughter, flirts and long glances became more and more obvious between you and Jack. Once Jack left to buy another round of whatever you were drinking, you'd lost track at this point, Ellie and Nick couldn't help but state the obvious.  

"You two are totally into each other!" Nick bounced in his seat, he was too preoccupied with whatever was on his plate this week to notice that your flirts with Jack had been very obvious. Even Ellie told you on Wednesday night that Gibbs was starting to notice but something had changed in your attitude to not care. If he had an issue with it, he'd tell you or just glare at you. Either or you didn't mind. You really liked Jack and she seemed to like you too.  

You watched Jack at the bar chatting with the bartender before you turned back to reply to Nick's comment and look at Ellie's smirk. "Think the alcohol is helping a lot." You shrug and watch as Jack walks back to the table. She was sitting on the opposite side of the booth, beside Ellie, before she left but now, she slipped in next to you which the close contact caused you to clear your throat. She handed you your drink with a smirk. "Perfect." You hummed; your eyes heavy from the alcohol but looked at Jack while you took a long swallow of your beverage. Her eyes didn't leave yours; she even had the audacity to flick her tongue out and dampen her lips while looking you directly in the eye.  

"Well, I don't know about you Nick but I think this'll be my last drink. We have goat yoga in the morning. You can't get out of it this time!" Your eyes left Jack's once you placed the glass back on the table and watched as Nick was contemplating arguing with his partner but you could see he was beyond tired and couldn't argue even if he wanted to.  

"Fine.” He took a large sip, emptying half of his drink in the process. "We really need to find a more enjoyable thing to do on a weekend." He saw everyone's eyebrows raise at his statement and you could see the regret and laughter in his eyes.  

"I go to a kick boxing class whenever I have a Saturday free and can be motivated to get up early enough. It's actually quite close to your goat yoga class." Jack hums, seeing the panic on Nick's face. You laugh at his panic now trying to think of a good excuse to get out of that suggestion because you could see Ellie was about to jump all over that idea.  

"I've always loved boxing. Did it for a while when I was at the NSA to let off a bit of steam when I couldn't think straight. Stopped classes when work became less routine at NCIS." Her lips twitched, showing her frustration about the loss of stress relief. You knew she had a small punching bag at her apartment for the really bad days but always said having a sparring partner was best. You never wanted to be on the other end of her bad days so you managed to get out of it up until now. Now it looked like it was time for Nick to pick up the mantle. He looked as pleased about it as you were the first time she asked.  

"But isn't the class like females only or something? Wouldn't be fair pairing a woman against a man. The difference in-" He stopped all too late when he looked around at the woman glaring back at him, waiting for him to really put his foot further into the hole he'd just dug with his words.  

"Oh, please continue Nicholas. Difference in?" You choked on your drink with Jack's words and venom behind them. You may be all drunk but this wasn't going to go away as quickly as Nick hoped it would.  

"There's clear muscle difference between me and Bishop?" He tried, he so tried to make it sound better than it did. You almost felt sorry for the guy now sitting beside the angriest woman in the bar.  

"Only muscle with a have difference is our tongues and mine knowing when to shut up. We are going to this class and I'll show you that your tight shirt and toned abs has no difference from mine and how I use them." You winced at her attempt of a comeback. It had its points but the alcohol definitely hindered its impact and delivery.

"Your tight shirts and abs?" Nick smirked but it faded quickly.  

"If you noticed." Ellie's quick wit was on point tonight and you coughed down your drink. Jack's hand came up and patted you on the back, the light taps sent electric shocks to your system but what had you sit up straighter was that her hand never left once you stopped coughing. It rested on the small of your back, her fingers curled around your hip, keeping her hand in place. You watched Ellie as she downed the rest of her drink and got up, splaying out her hand for Nick to take.  Nick downed his drink quickly.

You watched as they walked out of the bar, hand in hand with no care in the world. You wondered if they were going back to Ellie's place together but that thought was far from your mind when Jack's hand moved slightly and her body shifted more into your side. You leant into her sudden movement and she relaxed against you once more.  

"You want a refill?" She was happily and teasingly watching your every move. She loved watching you, loved the way your emotions controlled your features before you got control of them. She noticed it a lot when you two were alone, probably because you had less control over them around her and she loved it.  

"You paying?" You smirked, turning your head more so you were almost nose to nose. Being that close sent shivers down your spine but you made no attempt to move and neither did she.  

"You haven't paid for one drink tonight and this was your idea. Begging me to come out for drinks when I had a perfectly good bottle of wine at home." Her eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. You let your tongue slip out for a second, drawing her eyes back to your mouth. Your lips were all of a sudden very dry, she was so close, you could just lean forward a centimeter and noses would touch, lips so close.  

"Thought it was my puppy dog eyes that had you coming. I never mentioned buying you drinks." You'd be lying if you didn't notice her eyes widen and darken at your words. Your legs shifted, squeezing together more and apparently that was an invitation for Jack to slip her free hand onto your thigh, running it up too high and down again softly. This was definitely way past being extra friendly.  

"That's no way to turn a girl on." She breathed, watching you control your shock and lust. It was hard with several alcoholic beverages in your system and her being so touchy feely.  

"Think you got that under control, Jacqueline." You leant forward, burying your face into her curls, seeking out her neck and you smirked when you felt her tilt her head back slightly. You found the skin you were seeking and left open wet kisses against her skin until she was moaning under your touch. Her hand on your thigh tightened, her nails digging into your jeans. "Still want that drink?" You murmured against her skin, trailing wet kisses up her neck, nipping at her earlobe and she moaned louder this time. You so wanted to kiss her lips but this just seemed like the crazier, more passionate option.  

"You got a drink at your place?" She moaned when you sucked her lobe between your lips and you did it over again to hear that moan from deep within her crawl out. Her fingers digging deeper into your thigh and you squeezed your legs together in response.  

Feeling your thigh move under her touch, she loosened her grip and trailed her hand up, running her fingers too lightly over your inner thigh until her thumb rubbed not so gently against your centre.  

"God, yes." You couldn't help but grind against her hand. It was involuntary but your mind had walked out the door with Ellie and Nick.  

Jack smirked, your lips leaving her skin when she moved her thumb in a circular motion, causing you to falter. "Then let’s go." She slipped her hand out from between your thighs and you moaned at the sensation it left in its wake. Your eyes followed her hand, up her arm, shoulder and found her lustful glazed eyes looking down at you.  

"The quicker we leave the quicker I can -" You jumped up before she could finish, not wanting those words to be heard by anyone else but you. She laughed at your response, loved watching what she could do to you. The alcohol was very much still driving both your actions but neither of you seemed to care right now. This was what everything had been leading up to over the past few months. All the touches, winks, flirtatious comments thrown back and forth. Your want had been building for months and so had hers. Your hand and imagination were never going to live up to this moment.  

She had you pressed against the wall outside the bar before the Uber had a chase to agree to the contract. Her lips seeking yours, nipping at your bottom lip, sucking it between hers and devouring you all together. Your hands gripped at her jacket at her waist, trying to find some balance there but she was crushing you, demanding entrance between your lips and her tongue gliding and exploring your mouth. A moan ripped out from your lips, she pulled back heaving for breath but you didn't give her enough time, crashing your lips back to hers, she could use your air for all you cared. You couldn't get enough of her now. You feared, hoped you never would.  

You managed to keep your hands mostly to yourselves in the Uber, the driver was friendly, Jack struck up a semi coherent conversation with him for the short distance to your place while her hand glided along your thigh, keeping you both on edge.  

The trail up to your apartment was another story entirely. Your hands slipping under her blouse, her moans and cries swallowed by your lips. Luckily your apartment was on the bottom floor and you managed to open the door straight away by some miracle with Jack's lips attached to your neck. Her tongue came out to sooth the red skin but that had you melting all over again. You shoved her back against the door and it slammed shut.  

"Your bedroom." She moaned as your lips captured hers, her fingers crawling under your shirt, her knuckles brushing against your skin and your groaned at the contact and the mention of your bedroom. She slipped your shirt off before you could even think about what was happening. It landed somewhere in your entry way but you didn't care. She pushed you back, her lips trailing down and paying attention to your collarbone as she walked you back, down the hallway and into your bedroom. She'd been here a handful of times to know where everything was however, she'd never stepped foot in your bedroom.  

Your room had never been so loud. Your moans echoed off the walls, her moans sounding like they were meant to be here and nowhere else. She took you to new heights. Clothes were long gone, the alcohol starting to lose its edge but that didn't matter now. She was intoxicating enough for you. She was like a drug, watching her trail down your body was enough to almost take you over the edge but the way she touched you, sucked and caressed, had you on a whole other planet. But that wasn't the end, no, you wanted some, you wanted her. Flipping her over, having her under you, her whiskey brown eyes almost black with desire and a thin sheen of sweat glistening her body had you moaning all over again. You licked and sucked and made her body shake and convulse under your touch. She screamed your name when you finally let her give in to the abyss and that sound would be etched into your mind forever. Nothing could take that away from you.  

That's why when she uttered those words not minutes later, you were still catching your breath and almost ready to go another round when she killed that feeling dead in its tracks. You replayed the moment over and over in your head as you heard the front door slam and Jack was gone. It was such a perfectly drunk evening of finally giving into your feelings and desires and she'd run away. You sunk further into your bed, it smelt like her, like you, like what you could've had but now it was just a smell of what had been.  

The turmoil inside of you wrecks you and you have half a thought to try and call Jack but knew she wouldn't answer. You manage to find the energy to roll over because even that seemed like moving a mountain right now and you buried your face into the pillow your face found there. The smell of Jack's shampoo rudely invaded your senses and you groaned. Rolling back over to find anything that didn't smell like the woman who'd ruined you in every possible way.

. . . . . 

[wordlessbabbling]

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 19

“Family means bullying the shit out of your silblings until they try to stab you.”

Masterlist

He stole a day dreamers heart with a handful of clouds.

Things weren't good.

But things weren't bad either.

Ever since Dean had gone to work for Thomas, Dorothy found that she could give her family more than a slice of bread or porridge for a meal. She could cater a pie once a week or maybe Toad in the Hole if she got to the butchers at the right time.

But her father, no matter what Thomas promised, could only be as safe as Thomas could afford. She didn't like the work, but she saw the upsides. Dorothy for the first time managed to get remedies from the local pharmaceutical, but that came with the price of her father being in danger.

But nonetheless, the days moved forward. It had now been around a week and a bit since the night where Dorothy invited Thomas back to her house for another night to get his newly stolen shirt for him. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him.

She thought about him day in and day out. She thought of the smile that she only just started being able to coax out of him more often. She thought of his warm embrace despite cold hands, that didn't really make sense but she revelled in the feeling.

——

Thomas was the same. He thought all about her, all the time. At least this time though, he was on top of his work.

He thought back to the moment when she cried her eyes out in front of him and he leant down to her level and for the first time, he looked deep into her eyes

He saw her blue/grey eyes that were harsh shades of grey with dark lines around the edges. He saw the stormy grayscale and saw an oxymoron on her face as her smile brightened the room but her eyes displayed a cold feeling to the heart.

Her pale and slightly gaunt face made her grey azures stand out among her delicate features.

"Delicate." Thomas thought. She was delicate, though he would never say it out loud to her because she would probably clap him upside the head. But she was. She was fragile in his arms and he held her together as he encircled her in his embrace.

He missed her. Terribly.

And that's why he decided to go see her.

After contemplating reasons for justifying a visit, he decided he didn't need one.

He was Thomas Shelby. He did what he wanted.

She was probably on a lunch break of sort around now.

Perfect.

——

Dorothy didn't look up when the entrance bell chimed, "Sorry, Ms. P is sick and I need to take a break to watch the ovens. Please come back in an hour, and I can serve you then!" She tried her best to be sweet about it, but if she was honest, she was tired.

She didn't actually have to watch the furnaces, it was actually her lunch break, but Dorothy didn't have lunch.

Things had been better. She tried her best to make them look better.

She decided that as gratitude, she'd try her best to make at least one full meal for her parents per day. And if by doing that, it meant that she couldn't eat a lunch, then she didn't worry. She'd eat in the evening anyway.

"Not even for me, Bons?"

Dorothy took a moment to register the voice before her head snapped up and she let out a squeal and clap at her guest.

"Bubs! Oh I've missed you!" She ran around the counter to stand in front of him.

This was really their first encounter in daylight, when any of the public could be watching. She understood that he had a hard reputation to uphold so she held back from attacking him into a tight hug and squeeze.

"I haven't seen you in a week and I don't even get a hug? The worlds truly fallen to pieces then, eh? C'mere." Thomas gestured by opening his arms, awaiting the force of her body slamming into his chest as she collided with him, momentarily winding him.

She rushed forward and embraced him in a tight hug, one that you'd give to a friend when they have to move away or when you'd just seen someone for the first time in years. It surely felt like years.

"I missed you..." Dorothy mumbled quietly, so quietly that Thomas almost missed it.

He hummed quietly in agreement, just enjoying the moment the two had together.

"Now what's all this about watching those ovens? I woulda' thought Ms. P would have at least given you a lunch break?" Thomas leaned back to look down at her.

"Don' have 'ny." Dorothy mumbled as she dug her face further into his chest, if possible, as he leaned back slightly, refusing to let go of him.

Thomas leaned forward again, chuckling a bit to himself at her actions, "I thought I paid your father enough to give you a lunch at least."

"Needed it for other things."

"Ok, well I can pay Dean more, business is getting better so 's no trou-."

"Don't give us special treatment. We're not a charity case, Bubs." Dorothy for the first time leaned out of his embrace, not fully letting go, but just enough so she could stare up and glare into his eyes to show she was at least a bit miffed.

Thomas momentarily let go of her as he held his hands up in surrender, "I know. I'm sorry! I just wanted to make things better." He hooked his arms back around her as he rested them on her back again.

"Well don't. You're doing fine just being here. Don't need none of that extra shit." She muttered back.

"So if you don't eat a lunch, when do you eat?"

"I'll eat this evening with my parents." She sighed, wanting to change the conversation, starting to walk around the counter towards the kitchen.

"Do they know you ain't eating lunch?"

Dorothy was now halfway into the kitchen and Thomas had no choice but to follow her, "what they don't know won't hurt them." She waved a hand in his direction, dismissing the conversation from going any further.

"Well we can't have that, now can we?"

"Come on. You came at the perfect time. Thought I was gonna be alone for an hour or so." She held a door open that Thomas hadn't noticed before.

Going through, he realised it was just the back entrance to the store for staff. When going out, he found crates of God knows what that hid in the alleyway of the bakery and other building. Dorothy nestled herself on one of the crates in the corner. Going one way, there was a dead end as the crates stacked so high, you couldn't get over, and the other had a clean but secluded view of the busy market in front.

Thomas sat on a crate, opposite her. It wasn't that he was worried about about people seeing him with her and having fun. He just wanted to create space so she was comfortable.

The two sat and chatted for as long as they could. Thomas laughed and sighed at all the things they talked about.

He felt like he only spent a minute in passing when she had to get back to the bakery after only an hour and a bit.

They parted ways again, Dorothy waving furiously at him as he smirked slightly, stalking away.

She went through to back door and he went down the alley, connecting once again to the market place, scaring a few unsuspecting buyers as he seemed to just have appeared out of nowhere.

His short daydream of thinking about Bonny was interrupted by his older brother clapping him on the back.

"Oh hello Tom! We's thought you'd gone wondered off. No ones been able to find you, yeah, for the past hour. My, my, I wonder what you get up to." Arthur laughed as John joined them.

"You reckon he finally got a bird, Arthur?" John 'swaggered' on their general direction.

"Aye! I do! 'E's been softer more! Reckon it's one of those pretty new barmaids!"

Thomas stayed silent through the whole exchange, rolling his eyes at his brothers assumptions and stalking off in a different direction, shaking his head slightly; trying to clear his thoughts or Dorothy.

——

It was now dinner in the Shelby household. Polly insisted that everyone came back from wherever they were living to go back to the Old Shelby household for one night for a 'family meal'.

The family crowded around the table, digging into the food. It was slightly tense at first but as soon as John and Esme arrived with booze, the happy family got back into full swing, laughs and potato's passed around the table.

Thomas, always the quiet observer, just sat and smiled occasionally. He didn't show it much, but his family knew that he was content and not brooding.

"So Thomas, when were you going to tell us, you finally had a girl?" Arthur started.

From there it only went downhill, for Thomas.

The family gasped and started speculating who she was. Only laughing in his face as his jaw clenched. He couldn't get a word in, not like he wanted to. The conversation only ended when he threw his fork, like a dart, right next to Arthur's head, clattering against the wall behind his head.

Arthur only held up his hands in mock surrender and changed the subject as Thomas glared daggers into the side of his head.

The dinner ensued all the same. Only now, the conversations were weighted with subtle jokes and prods at Thomas' love life.

He would never admit it, but he did find some of the jokes funny. Only because of the kind of girl they envisioned Thomas was supposedly with. Thomas could only laugh harder when he thought of the girl Thomas was really with.

Well he wasn't with her, was he?

Thomas froze in that moment. Maybe he wanted to be with her. Thomas smiled sheepishly to himself.

He was surely in trouble now.

——

I'm having far too much fun with this book.

I really just enjoy any kind of domestic fluff and I need MORE Shelby family fluff where everyone's just okay and happy. I NEED IT.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

To Live Again

Ben x Reader

Soulmate AU

Not even death could keep you from your destiny. 

The world is silent as you gaze at the tombstones surrounding you, yet a haunting melody thrums in your ears. You have an idea, just the tiniest inkling of the concept you need, but it hasn’t fully formed yet. This is why you are leaning with your back against a tree, the world growing slowly darker around you. The concept for this photoshoot must be just right. It’s to be a darkly beautiful piece, haunting if you will, and the perfect place to capture such a wonderful sight is in a graveyard. The name of your Soulmate glows blue in the pale light as the moon peeks out from behind the clouds.

You sit a while longer, just thinking of all the possibilities and wondering fleetingly when you are going to meet ‘Ben.’ After about an hour, the chill in air is too much and you stand up to leave. You go to turn your flashlight on only to discover that the batteries are dead. You frown at your lack of luck but don’t think anything else of it as the moon is full and it will be easy to navigate your way back to your beat up old car.

You don’t think much of the dark as you make your way towards your car. However, you notice something glowing red off to the left. You contemplate just ignoring it, but something is telling you not to, especially when you notice the name on your arm glowing a deep red. You walk towards the tomestone and notice the name of your soulmate in glowing bold red letters. What is more startling is the man lying unconscious on the ground half in and half out of the grave. Your own name glowing a deep red on his own arm. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight and can’t believe the carnage that is left behind. Splintered wood is scattered everywhere and the cratered like hole looks like something burst up from the earth. The man lying on the ground seems to be okay, just unconscious from what you can tell.

“Well what do I do now!?” you exclaim more to yourself than the unconscious man in front of you.

You regard him warily before you take your foot and gently nudge him with it and jump back. When he doesn’t move you take a step closer and crouch down beside of him. You study him for a moment before you reach your hand out and nudge his shoulder.

“He’s dead isn’t he…” you groan to yourself.

After a moment's consideration, you steel yourself against your own fear and reach out. You put your fingers to his pulse point and you’re surprised to find a heartbeat.

“Oh… okay…well….shit. What do I do?”

You look around the empty graveyard with the hope that no one or someone would be there. Upon seeing no one anywhere near you, not that you really expected to… it’s a graveyard… at night…

“Where are Sam and Dean when you need them….?” you wonder aloud as you stare down at the man on the ground. Your soulmate.

“Oh shit… he’s my soulmate… My soulmate was buried alive?!”

You whip your head around to see the dates on the tombstone and your eyes widen at the dates.

“This can’t be...right?”

Your mind is reeling as you see that he’s been dead for almost ten years, and yet he looks like he’s around your age… He looks closer to 30 than he does to 20…

“Ok something weird is going on here… What kind of syfy movie is this? Any takers?”

You sigh at the silent grave yard around you and gaze down at the man below you. Your name is glowing a bright red on his forearm and regardless of how much you want to turn tails and run, you know you cannot abandon your soulmate to face whatever this is alone.

You brace yourself and bend down and grab his arms, pulling him out of his grave and onto the grass. With much effort you turn his body so that his back is on the ground. Picking up his arms you begin the daunting task of dragging his limp body towards your car. The feeling of his skin starting to gain warmth is not entirely unpleasant, but you aren’t sure how to deal with this situation. Somehow you haul him into the back seat of your car, with no help from him whatsoever. After you plop down into the drivers side you take a moment to catch your breath then start the engine.

As you are driving down the road you hear a groan from behind you and when you look in your rearview mirror you are surprised to see the man, Ben, sitting up in your back seat holding his head. You let out a screech and out of panic you jerk your car to the right, the car wheels hitting the side of road then the grass jolt you out of your panic enough for you to steer the car straight and come to a violent stop on the side of the road. You throw your car into park and whip around to see the man behind you.

“WHAT is going ON?!” you yell in a panic looking him dead in the eyes.

“You...You...can see me?” he asks just as panicked.

“Yes. Yes I can. Of course I can. What is going on?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m not going to hurt you! I’ll just go!”

You watch in shock as Ben turns and just rams himself straight into the door. His hand comes up and cradles his forehead in his hands and he groans in pain. Very suddenly his head shoots up out of his hand and he stares at the door like he’s never seen one before. His hand reaches out and he rests it against the glass, his other hand rests over his beating heart. If you weren’t prepared for the moment that he rammed into your back door, you definitely weren’t prepared for the moment that he burst into tears.  

“Oh!” you exclaim as you struggle to get out of the car, your forgotten seatbelt catching your chest and throwing you back into your car. You can feel your heart breaking for your soulmate, and regardless of how freaked out you are, you can feel him. You wrestle with the seat belt until you free yourself then hurtle yourself out of the car before you yank open the back door. He had been leaning against it in his emotional state and tumbles into your arms. You hear him gasp as he rests against you for a moment before his arms wrap around you. He clutches you as if you are the world and nothing else could ever even begin to matter. You rest your lips against the top of his head murmur soothing words into his hair. You feel your own eyes well up with unshed tears at the man in your arms.

“Ben? Ben… It’s okay…. I just need you to calm down okay?”

“How… How do you know my name?” he asks as he pulls back from you after a moment. His hands are still locked onto your form, as if you are an anchor holding him here.

You pull away from him just enough to show him his glowing name on your forearm.

“You’re…” he asks as he gazes at you as if you are an angel.

“I guess so….” you murmur as you avert your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out before jerking away from you and curling into himself. You’re stunned at the reaction, and a little hurt.

“Ben...Why are you sorry?” you ask softly.

He lets out a humorless laugh, “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me…”

“Stuck? No…” say in confusion.

“You should stay away from me…” he says as he scoots farther away from you, back into your car and curls in on himself.

You’re left speechless. You had dreamed of the moment that you would meet your soulmate for years and you had never imagined that this would be your first encounter.

The sharp pain of rejection stabs your heart and you slowly get back into the driver’s seat.

“Do you want me to go?” Ben asks from your back seat.

“No… Where would you like me to drop you off?”

He’s quiet for a moment before he whispers quietly, “The Umbrella Academy.”

In an instant your blood runs cold, and you remember the celebrities of your childhood. Ben had been quiet, elusive and often a reluctant participant in the antics of The Umbrella Academy. You remember being especially intrigued by him since his name is emblazoned onto your arm. Never would you dream that your name would don his arm as well. Suddenly you understand his sorrow and his confusion. He had died mysteriously of a violent accident when he was just 20 years old. His powers had gotten the best of him is what he rumors say. A power that is great and terrifying.

With a sigh you head in the direction of the city and to the mansion you never thought you would ever see in person.  

The ride is silent and uncomfortable. Anytime that you would glance in your rearview mirror to see the man in the seat behind you, he would be staring with abject determination out of the window. You pull up in front of the mansion and park the car. Ben says nothing to you as he just gets out of the car. You watch as he hesitates at the gate and gazes up at the place he spent his childhood.

It takes only a moment before you get out of the car and rush to his side. He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes before he averts his gaze once again. You say nothing as you take his hand in your own. You’re surprised when he doesn't fight it, just tightens his hold on you.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers forlornly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for…” you say softly.

With a new found courage, Ben pushes the gate open and the two of you walk up the stairs to the front door. Ben just stands there and stares at the door.

“I don’t want to be here,” he finally says.

You turn to look up at him in confusion.

“I spent my whole life trying to get out of here, and I don’t want to go back… but I don’t have anywhere else to go…”

“But you do… You have me.”

He looks down at you in awe and surprise.

“I can’t…”

“The universe, against all odds, wants us to be together… You can.”

For the first time you watch as the man you are supposed to be with smiles at you. It’s more than you ever hoped for.

[ladybugsfanfics]

Seven Days [4/7] | Loki

→ Pairing: prince!Loki Odinson x pirate!reader

(eventually prince!Loki x pirate!Steve Rogers x pirate!reader)

→ WC:  2k

→ Warnings: gore, more blood than I thought, violence, a lot of violence, the whole part is just a fight going for 2k words, 

→ Summary: Prince Loki has run sick of not feeling welcome at the palace and asks to join you and your life forever. You give him seven days to try the new life, seven days to realize how much he loves you. And in those seven days, he learns to know you, and himself (and the first mate) a little better… In the end, he only has one question left to answer. Will he stay?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

No one seems to know when or how it happened. The storm is over, lasting shorter than originally presumed. Everyone helped with the little extra that needed to be done. Securing storage that had been flung around, changing the sails back to the actual sails and not those for storms, getting back on course even though the ship hadn’t strayed a lot. 

Loki was exhausted, using his energy to help you do the small stuff. You had put him on storage duty together with Steve and Barnes. He was both exhausted from securing it, but also from Steve’s incessant quipping. Neither Loki nor Barnes found it amusing. 

And then comes the screams from above. Or shouts and yells. Your voice reaches them on the lower deck, and all three scramble up to the main deck to see what’s going on. Everywhere around them are men, swords drawn and pointed at various members of the crew. Most of the crew’s swords are drawn. 

Loki’s gaze travels across the many men and finds you pinned to the mast, two men with their swords pointed at you. Your hands are empty, yet Loki can see that your sword is on you. 

“We would like to talk to the captain.” The voice bellows across the ship, and comes with a familiarity Loki can’t place. The man it belongs to steps across the deck, through the crowd of men. His back is turned to the three men that came up the stairs, but Loki still recognizes him. 

One of his brothers trusted guards, Volstagg, makes his way towards the mast, towards you. His big frame makes enough sounds for the eyes of most of the crew to stay on him. “I ask again,” he says, “who is the captain?”

You straighten up where you stand. No expression colors your face as you step forwards. The two men with their swords pointed at you move closer. In a swift move, you knock both swords out of their hands and point them at their owners. Their eyes go wide as you step between them, turning your back to them. Only, you don’t. 

Loki isn’t sure how, but two heads roll across the deck. 

Volstagg stops one with his foot. His head leaned down to look at the face, and then he lets it travel up and land on you. A mocking laughter fills the air. The big man leans backwards, holding his stomach as the laughter rings out. His men join him. 

But neither you nor your crew make any sign of anger, hurt or… actually, everyone is with a perfect poker face. 

The laughter dies down. Eventually, Volstagg takes another glance at you. Even just seeing the back of the big man’s head, Loki knows his gaze travels from the bottom to the top. 

“You’re the captain?” he asks. There’s still a hint of mockery in his voice, but it’s mostly faded. 

You nod. “Does that matter?” 

He shakes his head. “I suppose not. We are here for Prince Loki of Asgard, second heir to the throne.” 

A smile graces your lips then. This one has clear mockery, mockery of Volstagg. “I’m not sure why you expect to find a prince here. Do you know what ship you’re on?” 

“A pirate ship.” 

The smile widens. It doesn’t reach your eyes. They remain cold, emotionless, yet glinting with something. It doesn’t reach your body. Which remains standing upright, light feet and a straight back (which doesn’t give the taste of you being able to put up a fight, but you’ve already proved that you can). 

“Ever heard of Vicious Storm?” 

Volstagg looks around him. His face turns enough for Loki to see him swallow, to see his gaze travelling. He looks afraid. Then he turns back, and probably nods. 

“Well, welcome aboard.” 

The visible change in expression falls across the entire set of men standing on the deck; the Vicious Storm’s crew’s eyes all glint, whilst Volstagg’s men all gulp and tighten their grip on their swords. 

Volstagg takes a small step back. “You’re lying.”

“I am?” You frown and shrug. “You wanna chance it?” 

“Give us prince Loki and we will let you go unscathed.” Volstagg straightens his back and draws his sword. Its large silver frame blinks in the sunlight. He points it at you, confidence returned. The drastic contrast between the two of you makes Loki’s stomach turn, yet he knows the outcome. Only one of you will come out alive, and he’s willing to put money on you no matter how strong he knows Volstagg to be. 

You discard the two swords you took from the now headless men. They fall to the deck with a clatter and if Loki wasn’t great at paying attention, he would have missed the slight flinch in Volstagg’s posture. 

At his side, both Steve and Barnes have drawn their swords. Their eyes are trained on you and Volstagg, but Loki’s sure they’re ready for anything else around them. All three wait for your signal, but it doesn’t come. You stand there, armorless and the one weapon (visible) on your body, is still sheathed. 

You shake your head. “We got no prince aboard. Wrong ship, prob'ly.” 

Volstagg goes in for the stab. You take a step to the side, sending the big man toppling after his sword. As his back is turned to you, you draw your sword. A thin needle compared to the massive one Volstagg carries. He turns back to you, so fast and with no sight to where your tiny sword is perched it snits his neck. Blood trickles down as he sees the wound. 

He lunges and misses as you step to the side again. To the side where the sword cuts across his neck and instead of regaining his balance, the man loses grip of the sword and falls flat down on the deck. A pool of blood forms around him. He doesn’t move. 

The men who followed Volstagg take the cue to charge, and the fight erupts around Loki. Steve and Barnes both charge in and the bloodshed starts around him. Loki, despite being pushed to the middle of the deck with swords clinging on every side, has no weapon except exposure. 

His eyes travel around him. To one side, you fight off every man, all with the mockery on their lips until your sword has pierced through skull, heart or limb, or all three. Next turn, Barnes and Wilson fight side by side with better teamwork than any of Volstagg’s men. And more and more around him. Steve, though, is gone from his sight. 

But the man that charges his way is not. Nor is the word that falls from his lips, “prince.” It’s loaded with venom, with hatred, with the same tone he’s gotten all his life from his father and brother. 

The tip of the sword closes in on Loki. A glint in the eyes of the man who holds it as Loki only stands still. His feet won’t move even though his mind screams at him that he will die if he doesn’t. Yet, all he can do is hear the rapid beating of his heart; feel the sweat coating his back; taste the iron of blood on his tongue; and watch as the male advances. 

Loki topples over as something hard hits his side. He catches the fall with his hands.  Pain shoots up his wrist, making him grimace. However, he’s more interested in knowing what hit him. He rubs his wrist as he turns to look.

Steve stands where Loki stood. His shirt ripped in a line where blood trickles down, and the sword that was meant for Loki lies discarded on the deck coated in a thin line of blood. The first mate’s own sword is jammed into the neck of the male who had every intention of mercilessly killing Loki. Blood runs down the hilt, spreading over Steve’s hand and down his arm. The male drags the sword out, making more of a mess than was already there. 

“Try not to get killed,” says Steve as he throws away the lifeless body of the man. The look he sends Loki is mixed with annoyance and something Loki can’t pinpoint. He’s about to mutter a thanks―thought that does sting his pride―but Steve has rejoined the battle before he can utter the words. He’s left to contemplate why the first mate would save his life, only he can’t contemplate for long as a group of three men comes his way, all with wide grins―though seemingly no weapons. 

Loki finds his mind. He moves on autopilot, twisting his hand. Green webs shoot out and hit the three men square in the chest. All three stagger back as Loki makes a circle with his arms and conjure daggers in both (why did he decide not to wear them here?). They charge again. 

He ducks under a fist aimed for his head and shoots a dagger into the armpit of the man. Dragging the dagger out he blocks a kick and stabs the middle man in the eye. It comes with as he pulls out and trips the other guy. Before either of them come to their senses, the wind ripples and projections of himself appear in a circle around the three men. They charge for each their own, exactly at the points where they run through the holograms and spear themselves on swords. 

The magic falls away, leaving Loki a little drained. However, he keeps it up as another man charges his way. He keeps from more magic, needing more energy to manage more. But he has his blood covered daggers. 

How long goes by, he doesn’t know. The time is spent ducking, jumping, hitting, stabbing and avoiding. He has never spent much time in battle, never needed to. Every kill feels like a way to tell his father, his brother, and his brother’s friends that they were right. Yet, what else can he do? 

He’s fighting for his life, he tells himself. Fighting for a freedom he’s never felt before but with a little taste, will never let go. He’s fighting for you, for a chance to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s fighting for your crew, for a chance to get to know them better. He’s fighting for Stephen, for his happy ending with Stark. 

He’s fighting for himself and everything he couldn’t do before that he can now. And he’s fighting side by side with people that have actual values―somewhat distorted values, but better than the royal family of Asgard. 

“You can fight, prince,” says a voice at his side. He glances to find Romanoff. “Maybe I judged you wrong.” She punches and twists her way through the men, in moments taking out three. Much faster than Loki did earlier. 

Too focused on the impressive woman before him, Loki doesn’t manage to dodge the sword that comes for him fast enough. His wrist, the same as he caught himself with earlier, graces the blade with enough pressure to draw blood. It’s not much, but it flows down his arm. With his other, he throws the dagger into the man’s neck. The force knocks him off his feet and he twitches on the ground until Loki drags it out and slits his throat.

Blood oozes from the wound, creating a dam around the lifeless body. He watches for a second, letting the small breeze flow through his hair and grace his own wound. It stings, shooting pain into the rest of his arm, but he bites it back. He needs to focus, after all, there are men worse than him. 

He turns around, facing the mass of people fighting. The swords clinking together creates a rhythm, the shouts across the ship adds to the melody and so does the quiet sound of the wind and the waves. 

Loki lets green fall from his fingertips. He wraps it around his wrist, letting the green create a sense of sheet to keep him from bleeding more. At least he doesn’t have to rip his shirt. 

With newfound energy, he charges back into the battle. His thoughts drown out by the shouts and yells, by the waves and the wind, by the swords and boots. Wisps of green emanates from his fingers and with practiced skills, he shoots created daggers at nearby enemies.

permanent tags:  @devilbat​ @adefectivedetective​ @gamillian​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @wiczer​ @chillcan​ @geeksareunique​

loki tags:  @iamverity​ @satanskatze​ @timetravelingsociopathicwalker​

seven days tags:  @marvelc00kie35​ @southernhoney21​  @senpaiweird​ @britkane-shsl-librarian​ @sociallyawkwardbeanwhowrites​ @rinthehufflepuff​

[thepencilnerd]

Melophile | Part II

– please read part 1 if you haven’t  – (it can be found on my masterlist ^^ )

melo·phile- noun; a person with great love and affluent passion for music

➵ A piano major and a composition major collaborating for a final semester project. It seemed straightforward, right? But what if you were forced to pair up with the school’s most problematic genius, Min Yoongi? Add to that the fact that he absolutely hated your guts and you had the perfect recipe for disaster. How can someone you’ve never even met before despise you like a sworn enemy? Getting to know each other was hard enough, but what happens when the most beautiful, painful, and darkest secrets force the two of you to expose the thing you each guarded the most—your own emotions?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: AU! enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow-ish burn 

➵ word count: 27k (sorry mobile readers)

➵ warnings: swearing, too much fluff, angst, discussions of depression, oral sex (m&f receiving), marking, biting, hair pulling, cumplay/eating, light impreg kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), i’m still screaming while writing these warnings bc i thought it’d pretty tame this chapter i was wrong

a/n: my longest work to date :’) i hope you all enjoyed and thank you so much for staying with me on this emotional rollercoaster <3 

Previously on part one of Melophile...

“Stop calling me that.” Each word came out through pursed lips and clamped teeth. Leaning into you so that he was directly in your line of vision, his lip curled into a smirk and his eyes flaunted a veil of malicious intent.

“Make me,” he snarled. Never in your life had two words made you more furious than at that exact moment.  

“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you spat out, face just centimeters away from his. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, I really am, okay? But you don’t know a single goddamn thing about me, so stop acting like you’re the only one who’s been hurt in the past.”

Moving closer to you in response, you felt his hot breath fan over your lips, making you lean back instinctively.

“I’m not hurt,” he pointed out with venom dripping from his voice. Leaning towards the shell of your ear, his exhaling breath tickled your neck.

“I’m broken, _____…” Yoongi growled.

“Fucking hell...” you muttered silently while pinching the bridge of your nose. Contemplating your reason for existence, you felt an unpleasant stickiness rub the inside of your thighs but ignored it as you found yourself studying the face of the sleeping figure beside you—what a great distraction to start off the day.

Yoongi’s sleeping face was the epitome of serenity. Lying on his side, his face pressed against the pillow like a marshmallow in a way that made his cheek and lips squish to the side lazily. His eyes were shut and his mouth was open the slightest bit, a faint snore emitting from his throat each time his chest rose and fell.

A grin sneakily crept onto your face when you took the time to admire how peaceful he looked. It was probably the first time you’d ever seen him so—exposed. Realizing the mistake of your words, your timing couldn’t have been worse when Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered open.

The corners of his eyes formed into half-moons as he crinkled his nose. Stretching over your body with his free arm, you shuffled away from his reach and rolled off the bed.

You let out a strangled yelp as your body tumbled onto the floor. As if you didn’t have enough bruises from last night already...

Hurrying to peek over the edge of the bed, Yoongi’s face bore a bemused look and you’d bet a million dollars he was about three seconds away from—

“Are you okay?” he chuckled, bursting into a fit of raspy laughter with a lazy smile. 

His upbeat aura made you analyze his face for any indication that he was hungover or on possibly on something, but all you saw was a genuinely cheery boy. 

“Y–Yeah...” you stuttered. “I’m good. Fine. I’m fine.”

Softening his gaze, he sighed and rolled back into bed, staring at the ceiling. What the hell were you supposed to do now? Struggling to find a way to break the ice, you only realized then now dry and scratchy your throat felt.

Clearing your throat, you scratched your head at your surroundings. “Is this your room?” Mumbling something that resembled an ‘mhmph,’ you took his half-ass mumble as a yes.

“How did we, um...” you hiccuped, nerves beginning to take over. You resorted to pointing to random points around the room sheepishly.

Hearing the rustling of sheets, you met his half-lidded gaze. He wasn’t wearing a top, yet you were the one who felt self-conscious and covered your chest with your arms—and you were actually wearing a shirt.

Sniffling slightly, he rested the side of his face on his arm lazily. “I piggybacked you here after you knocked out like a light,” he chuckled to himself, reliving the moment briefly. “Drooled all over my shoulder and everything.”

“I do not drool!” you exclaimed, wiping your mouth subconsciously while blushing furiously at his accusation.

“I beg to differ,” he smiled, flashing a gummy smile that made you hiccup. The conversation was becoming much too casual for your comfort, and you quickly got up on your feet to try and find your clothes. You needed to get out of here. You needed to get out of here now.

Unfortunately, your body betrayed you when your legs trembled and gave under you. Your muscles felt like jelly and you couldn’t even make an attempt at getting up the second time, so you slid down back into a cross-legged position on the floor as smoothly as you could, trying not to look as embarrassed or defeated as you felt. Yoongi hid his snort of amusement with a cough. 

“Where are my clothes?” you questioned, suddenly aware that you were dressed in black boxer shorts and a shirt too large to be your size. Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the realization.

Hands shooting up to cover your chest instinctively, you stared at Yoongi like a deer in headlights. “You undressed me?!” you gawked.

Propping his elbow up, he rested his cheek on his hand as he chuckled. “Technically I redressed you after the undressing part, so it counts as a double negative,” he corrected. Smug bastard...

Wincing at the stretch you felt in your thighs from just sitting in a cross-legged position, you stood up again only to stumble again like a tower made of jello cubes. Yoongi sat up immediately, grabbing your arm to help you stay upright, but you tore yourself away from Yoongi’s warm hands. The soothing sensation of his touch was making you feel too comfortable for your own liking. 

Clothes. Door. Exit. Now. Four words you never expected to dictate your every move thereon afterward. 

He looked at you with a puzzled expression, taken aback by your irrational behavior. Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but as soon as you spotted your pile of clothes in the corner of the room, you scurried across to pick them up. 

Yanking down the boxers you were wearing and pulling off his shirt, the smell of his cologne sunk through the fabric and made your heartbeat jump for a moment. Flashbacks of last night snapped like a series of camera shutters in your mind; his scent rubbing onto your skin, the texture of his hair between your fingers, the warmth of his lips against your neck, the feeling of his tongue—

“Pull yourself together,” you screamed in your head. Shaking your head to snap yourself out of your sinful thoughts, you jumped up and down into your jeans and threw on your hoodie in record time before he could make a remark about your nude state.   

Picking up your phone from his nightstand and stepping—more like tripping—into your shoes, you turned around and closed your eyes, crinkling your nose to focus and think about whether you needed to gather anything else. Once confirming that you didn’t bring anything other than your phone, you rushed out the door and left Yoongi with his mouth hung open. 

“Well shit...” he thought. 

It had been a full week since the “incident,” as you had labeled it, and you were cooped up in your dorm like a prisoner, only sneaking out to get snacks and coffee from the corner store across the street. The stupid week-long break could not come any sooner, could it? 

Words splattered like stray drops of paint across the walls of your mind as panic occupied every waking thought since that night. 

He knew your secret and you knew his.

You didn’t know why fear was growing on you like a parasite. It’s not like he was going to tell Powell. Even if he did, you’d probably just have to go to a few physical therapy lessons and get prescribed some medication to manage the pain. 

“He’ll restrict your physical participation hours and make you play less...” your subconscious suspected. There it was—that was your greatest fear. Crawling bugs, skyscraper-tall heights, deep dark oceans, and even being trapped in a burning building didn’t compare to the complete and utter dread you would feel if you had lost music. Just thinking about it was enough to make you bite your nails. 

As your silent nights of waking up, showering, eating a few bites of granola bars, and wallowing in your bed until you fell asleep became repetitive, Yoongi was as loud and active as he had ever been—in the form of texts, that is. 

Saturday

Min Salty: You good? [1:41 p.m.]

Sunday 

Min Salty: Earth to _____ ? [ 8:19 a.m.]

Min Salty: Did you get sick? [11:43 a.m.]

Monday

Min Salty: Are you okay? [4:50 p.m.]

Min Salty: Call me [5:01 p.m.]

Tuesday

Min Salty: _____ , talk to me [12:12 a.m.]

Wednesday

Min Salty: At least let me know that you’re alive [10:08 a.m.]

Yesterday

Min Salty: I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need [9:04 p.m.] 

Re-reading each text was like stabbing yourself with a rusted dagger over and over again as the realization of what you had done loomed over you like a storm cloud. Lying in your bed, you buried your face in the pillow and screamed, thankful that everyone down your dorm block was away for a few more days. It killed you even more inside when you read over the text you had sent five minutes ago.

Today

Min Salty: Practice room 2B at 3? [2:34 p.m.]

You: sure [2:41 p.m.]

Thrashing your arms and legs wildly in an attempt to relieve you of your impulsive and rash decision, you huffed one more time before getting out of bed and changing into a pair of jeans. Rubbing your eyes and triple-checking whether you had just done what you think you had done, you wailed overdramatically, praying that this was all just one big nightmare. 

What the hell were you thinking? 

Blowing your wild baby hairs away from your face, you ignored the state of the bird’s nest of a messy bun that laid atop your head and didn’t bother changing out of your hoodie. You were way too used to wearing those since you started college. Packing your dorm keys and notebook into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder half-heartedly and prepared for the storm that lied ahead. 

The entire walk across the campus was filled with dread and you didn’t bother cleaning up your disheveled state when you finally knocked on the door. When it swung open, you met his gaze for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

Yoongi was sitting on the piano bench with a cup-holder filled with two hot drinks and a paper bag settled on the guest table. He too was flaunting just as plain of an outfit as your black joggers and school logo-printed hoodie.

With grey sweatpants, matching sweater, and grass-stained sneakers, you both stared at each other with awe at your equal ability to feel so comfortable in your less than dress code friendly attire. You didn’t even notice until your eyes landed on his socks that they were different colors, to which you clamped your hand over your mouth and disguised your snort with a brash cough. 

“Don’t you look gorgeous?” he scoffed, admiring your equally casual half-strewn choice of an outfit. Pulling out two chairs from the side of the room and placing them next to the table, you opened your mouth to protest, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the room.

Starting with the coffee, he handed you the paper cup, tapping under your chin playfully because he found your dazed face amusing. Angling your head down low, you felt a pang of regret. He shouldn’t be this happy...

He tore the bag open to reveal an array of croissants, donuts, and pastries from the café across the street. You’d gone there so many times in the last couple of years, you would be a moron if you hadn’t memorized the menu by now. 

“Why did you—” you sputtered, pointing to the golden loaves of steaming hot fluffiness that made your mouth water. Sitting down, he patted the chair next to him, welcoming you to sit and make yourself comfortable.

“Food first then talk,” he halted. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything other than instant noodles and mix coffee in weeks—and I know better than anyone what that looks like...”

Scowling at his double-edged insult and scold, you sat moved the chair to be across from him rather than beside and sat down slowly like a cat who was exploring their new home. 

Were you dreaming? Why was he being so soft? Was he on something? Perhaps, plotting his revenge? Or worse, your murder? 

 Sensing your hesitant state, Yoongi shoved a mini-donut into your agape mouth. “I didn’t poison anything, you fusspot.” He continued eating his food in silence as if nothing were wrong in the world. Maybe this would be an opportunity for you to get some actual food into your system and not be forced to talk.

And who were you to turn down lunch?

Chewing the mouthful of glazed donut you'd been fed, you chewed slowly and closed your eyes to hold back the moan that nearly came out. Starchy bread and sugary fruit preserves had never tasted so good.

A few minutes passed in total silence. The only sounds came from the crinkling of papers as Yoongi pulled out more napkins and the gulps that came from the two of you idly sipping your drinks. Yoongi had finished eating, but you were purposely taking your sweet time by chewing slower than a turtle and being overly cautious with your now-lukewarm coffee.

Leaning back onto the wall, Yoongi looked up at your room, breaking the silence first. “You’re in a single-dorm?”

Pausing in the middle of chewing, you swallowed and nodded, reaching over for your drink again. 

“By request?”

Another nod.

“Does it get boring?” he continued, clearly seeing that he was getting under your skin with each question. 

God, why did he have to talk so much?

You shook your head a little too vigorously as you took the last bite of your donut before setting it down and then taking a few reasonably long gulps of your coffee, finishing that as well. 

“Why’d you call?” you finally asked. 

Chuckling at how he had broken through your shell with the peace offering of food and coffee no one could resist, he fumbled with the empty cup in his hands. “I just wanted to check up on you,” he replied simply. “Plus, I was bored out of my mind and you’re the only other person on campus so I figured it’d be smart to kill some time with practice.” 

You shifted in your seated position as the comment took you by surprise. “You knew I was fine,” you mumbled, voice coming just short of a shy child’s whisper. 

“I actually,” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about last week.” 

“It was a mistake.” That was all it was; a mistake. 

Yoongi’s eyes widened as his eyebrows lifted up, his expression morphing into one of shock at your unexpected answer. “No, I—”

Shaking your head, you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. The sooner you got this cleaned up the easier it’d be on both of you. “We made a mistake and we need to move past it. It wasn’t responsible for us and—”

“Bullshit.” The word came out in the familiar tone that he used with you that night; anger and rage directing itself into the fury of one single word. 

“What?” you scoffed, wide awake now more than ever. You couldn’t tell whether it was because you were shocked at his view on the situation or whether it was the caffeine kicking in and doing its magic. 

Stretching his neck to one side and exhaling through his nose, he couldn’t make direct eye contact with you and opted to stare at your hands wrapped around your cup. “It wasn’t a– you didn’t do anything wrong,” he altered his sentence. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us did anything wrong because you and I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he began to grow annoyed at himself. 

Why was he stumbling over his words so bad? 

“Yoongi,” you said firmly. It was your turn to take hold of the conversation. “Can we just pretend like none of this happened and go back to being—” Pausing to bury your face into your hands, you shrugged. “Whatever we were before.”

“You really don’t want to talk about it?” he asked bluntly. 

You refused to even give yourself a second to process the question before you responded with a firm no. His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek for a moment before he got up. “Should we work on the piece then?” 

For some reason, regret ate at you like a power-hungry monster that would never be satiated. 

“Yeah,” you responded robotically, sitting yourself down on the cold leather chair. “Let’s practice.”

Never in your life had those words tasted so bitter in your mouth. 

You wanted to say that moving past mortifyingly embarrassing moments in your life was a process in and of itself. You even dared to say that admitting them was the hardest part but of course, to each their own. 

It had been two weeks since you last spoke to Yoongi and timed seemed to move slower than ever. Whenever you found yourself pondering over the option of texting him, your pride got the best of you. 

Between passing periods and free time after school, you had yet to formally speak with him last week. You cringed internally as flashbacks of the week prior set off like landmines in your head.

Scurrying down the hallways like an undercover rat, you went as far as wearing sunglasses along with your hood to try and disguise yourself. Surely, Yoongi wouldn’t recognize you in this state, right? You were even wearing a colored hoodie, for God’s sake—completely unheard of for someone of your tastes. Black and grey hoodies were your wardrobes’ partners in crime.

You earned a couple stares from the crowds of people as you kept your back hunched and weaved through them, but it definitely won over having to run into Yoongi. Or even worse, actually having to talk to him. Chills ran down your spine. You’d have to face him one day, but this was the one things you could afford to procrastinate just a little bit. 

Then came the day when he too learned about your schedule after countless trials of “accompanying” you to your classes—while hiding from your line of sight. 

“_____!” he shouted through the bustling crowd, waving his arm in the hopes that you’d see him, but to aid him in the off chance that you wouldn’t run away from him this time. Somehow, by the laws of the universe and its devious ways, he managed to catch up to you and tug at your sleeve. 

Turning around after muttering a wave of silent swears to yourself, you turned around like a character who was moments away from being murdered by the serial killer. Spoiler alert: this scene actually had a happy ending. 

“I’m late for a class!” you chuckled wryly, cringing at your own forced and awkward tone. “Catch you later!” Waving goodbye, you sped off as quickly as your legs could carry you to your lecture. 

“Catch you later?” Did you jump out of a 70′s sitcom or something? Your pessimist mocked you, poking fun at your awful crack at an excuse. 

There was bound to be someone else who arrived at the lecture 20 minutes early, right?   

Lounging in the tightly nestled corner of the café, you were in the middle of shuffling through the notes from class when a certain someone decided to grace you with the gift of a heart attack.

“Jesus freaking Christ!” Your notes nearly flew into the air as you jumped like an animated cat. Turning around to face the person behind you who had made the ballsy choice to sneak up on you and poke your shoulder, Yoongi’s face greeted you with a cheeky grin.

“Busy?” he asked nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given you the fright of your life. Looking at him with your eyes open to the size of saucers, you wet your lips and gulped, trying to think of a way to dig out of yet, another hole you had buried yourself in. 

Pointing behind you with your finger to distract him, you raised your shoulders and jutted your neck forward, contorting into an uncomfortable pose that screamed awkwardness. “Text me later!” you spit out, crinkling your nose with a forced chuckle.  

“But—” Yoongi’s sputtering faded into silence as you dashed out of there quicker than a farm dog that was herding a flock of geese. 

Each time you replayed the self-deprecating memories like a slideshow in your head, it was comparable to sticking your hand into ice cold water you’d scooped up from Antarctica. “Dammit.” Your voice came out hushed but dangerously close to being an audible growl and your fist slammed onto the wooden table. 

Studying in the library was a bad choice. Odd stares and hushed whispers scattered across the room like a swarm of bees and caused the people around you to shift in their seats. Murming a silent apology at your sudden outburst, you packed your things and tried to leave as quietly as possible.   

As you felt the satisfying crunch of leaves under your feet with each step, your eyes drifted off into nowhere while your mind was a million miles away. You didn’t know why you felt so strange. It was as if everyone saw the world through black or white lenses and yet, you were the only one who hallucinated color in between the lines. 

Huddling your arms closer to your body, a cold gust of wind blew across your face, making you shiver and prickle with goosebumps. A dull, aching sensation made its way across the tops of your hands as your muscles reacted to the temperature difference, forcing you to tuck them under your armpits. Fashionable isn’t it? The weather of the autumn and winter months always bid the worst for your hands, and yet, your forgetful self always let the errand of buying a pair of stupid mittens slip your mind. 

It had also been a week since you’d gone anywhere near a piano and it stuck like a wine stain on white linen. You were jittery and anxious like a stranded survivor balancing on on the tip of an iceberg. Since you had a natural inclination to let out your emotions through playing, your cognitive acuity also felt at an all-time low. The rare possibility of running into your professor while you were in this state was soul-crushing, and the off-chance that he might see your restricted playing ability was even more so debilitating. 

Even though you hated to admit it, the best thing you could probably do for your hands was to go and play, even if it were for a few minutes. The doctor—even though it was his sincere recommendation for you to stop playing altogether and consider taking up stress ball yoga instead—told you that light activity was actually beneficial in regulating your chronic pain. 

The occasional Advil helped as well, but you’d been popping the tryhard M&M’s like candy on a regular basis since sophomore year, so your built-up tolerance to the orange-coated tablets rendered them useless. 

Debating between taking a hot shower back at the comfort of your room and going to practice for an hour (or three), you settled on the latter. You could use the extra hours anyway—you knew better than anyone how much you needed them. 

You took your usual shortcut around the quad and turned at the corner of the brick building you’d grown too acquainted with throughout the years. Stepping into the corridors, warm air welcomed you like an old friend as the buzz and whirring of the heater indicated that it was on full blast. Thank God. 

Treading down the length of the hallway with tentative steps, you were surprised to see that there were quite a few people occupying the studios. You recognized a few classmates through the glass panes of the doors. 

Judging by the pointless blabbering, incessant arguing, harsh thumping of keys, and scattered frustrated groans, the muted sounds that were still clearly audible through the soundproof rooms made you chuckle. Something told you that these were the master procrastinators who didn’t decide to start on the project until now...

When you reached the end of the hall, you were relieved to find an empty room. Finally. Sighing in relief, you had never found the flick of a light switch and whoosh of a closing door more satisfying than in that moment. 

Sprawling your things out haphazardly onto the floor, the overly-stiff lid of the piano opening made you scrunch up your face. If this piano was the only one out of tune in the building, you were going to—

You didn’t even finish the thought before your finger pressed on a key as if it had a mind of its own. “Thank the tuning gods,” you sighed, bringing your hand to your chest and exhaling out the air you’d held in your lungs. Sure, it was one of the older models the school’s inventory had to offer, but it was still miraculously in tune. 

If anything, you let out a ‘hm’ of intrigue as you sat down. You’d never played in this particular studio or on this piano before, but the different weight of the keys and peculiar texture of sound that emanated from them piqued your interest. 

Playing on a different piano than your usual model could best be described as a painter who had to paint with a completely different base canvas, colors of paint, and a set of brushes. Whereas a painter was familiar with his or her usual painting medium and more than comfortable with the feel of their brushes, the process of adapting to a new set of materials altogether was neither difficult nor easy, because they didn’t know what they were dealing with yet. 

It was just different. 

Pianos were almost grouped in the same theory, except rather than produce a visual piece with brushes and paint, you had to paint a picture with sound; an odd medium considering the less physically pliable nature of it. 

This piano in particular, for example, required more weight on certain keys to produce an equal amount of sound as the others. The texture of the sound was also a different quality, this being more rustic and ragtime sounding than the new models lined up in the front entrance studios. Those sounded much more acoustic, crisper, and sharper, fitting a more classical and structured repertoire. 

Starting easy with a few scales and basic pieces you learned when you were younger, the aching in your hands still lingered, but the pain grew more than bearable since your hands had warmed up. 

What were you going to practice today? Chopin? Beethoven? Lizst? Forming your mouth into an ‘o’ shape at the last name, you quirked your lip into a meek grin. When was the last time you played one of that psycho’s pieces? 

Settling on Liebestraum No. 3, you took a moment to try and remember the piece by heart. Closing your eyes to concentrate on picturing and mapping out the piece in your head, you breathed deeply and grazed your fingertips across the keys. 

The collection of three pieces was also known as Dreams of Love and the third piece’s gentle and melodic hymn was just that. The beginning of the piece was soft like a lullaby, enveloping the listener into a space of warmth and tenderness; like the sparks of a newly blossoming and dreamlike relationship. Hypnotizing and consuming, the simple unfolding melody drew you in completely.

The second cadenza then transitioned into the harsh reality of love, becoming more weighted and melancholic as the tempo not only sped up and became more frantic, but the tones and harmonics also developed into more complex ones. Desperate, heartbreaking, and filled with the raw reality that love had the ability to take just as much as it had to give, your hands no longer dictated how well you played at that moment; your humanity did. 

The final cadenza was the one that shredded your heartstrings. After the highs and lows of falling in and out of love, the dynamic returned to its former soft and lulling roots, reminding you that the everlasting form of love and eternal happiness was truly unattainable, and only lurked in the distant world that was your dreams. 

The words that constantly lurked in your head sent a pang of guilt into your chest, erupting and manifesting itself physically into the delicate and drawn out keys of the pieces final notes. Would you ever be happy?

Coming down from the euphoria that engulfed every nerve in your body, tears brimmed your eyes. Scoffing at yourself, you sniffled, dabbing away the wetness that dampened your cheeks as self-pitying chuckles left your mouth. This was a definitely a first. 

The sudden sense that someone was watching you made you grow suspicious. Snapping your head around to the door, your body went cold as a figure was visible through the glass pane of the door. 

Yoongi.

You remained frozen in place, unable to move from the wave of anxiety that swallowed you whole. Your throat was dry and your tongue felt like it was cemented to the roof of your mouth. Turning back around to face the piano, you tried to wipe the remaining tears as discreetly as you could, but you realized that your puffy eyes and red nose betrayed you. 

Facing back to the door, you pressed your lips into a thin line and hoped that it would mask any indication that you had just bawled over a stupid piece. God, you felt so pathetic...

Through the reflective pane, you tried to make out his expression but felt your heart hiccup when you zoned in on his face. He sniffled once before looking down at his feet, then back up at you, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his glassy eyes. 

Was he—crying? 

Blinking hard through your still-puffy and damp eyes, you squinted to try and get a clearer view of him through the glass, but in the blink of an eye and almost as soon as he had appeared, he was gone; vanishing like a figment of your imagination in a dream you had rudely woken up from. 

Your feet felt like they were cement blocks weighing down on the pedals. Unable to come to your senses enough to stand up and stop him you could only stare blankly at the door as the illusion of his echoing footsteps deadened into silence.

Today

You: 4A in 20 minutes? [5:22 p.m.]

Min Salty: sure [5:26 p.m.] 

Trying to push past and cross the awkward tightrope of a situation that you had created, you felt your breath hitch in your throat and form a hiccup instead. You weren’t sure what surprised you more, the fact that he had replied quicker than you anticipated or the actuality that he had replied to you at all. 

Biting your cuticles raw, your nerves were stinging you like a swarm of angry bees. You were already in the studio, of course, and had been practicing for an hour or so before the idea popped into your head. After that, the text had been saved as a draft for about ten minutes before you eventually swallowed your ego and placed your finger on the dreaded send icon. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Exactly two-minutes had passed since his response and each tick of the clock was like the ring of a bell, signaling that it was feeding time for the growing monster that was your anxiety. 

You hissed through your teeth when you accidentally bit down too hard on your cuticle too hard and made a pool of bright red blood flood the edge of your nail. Simultaneously, the click and turn of the doorknob made you snap your head up and freeze, halting your pacing steps. 

Smoothing over the top of his hood, Yoongi fashioned a plain black shirt, tattered burgundy jacket, distressed jeans, and scuffed white sneakers. It didn’t take you a second longer to notice the black dust mask he had over his mouth, either. Whether it had become a habit of yours or a natural inclination to study him from afar, you always found yourself staring for a moment too long before you spoke. 

“You’re—” you cleared your throat. “—early.” Glancing at the clock, you made sure that you read it right. “Really early.”

He pulled out a chair and slung his bag onto the floor. “I figured you’d be here already.” His voice sounded rough, but not the abrasive kind of rough—the sick kind. When did he get sick? Did he take any medicine? Why was he here?

“Shut up...” you reminded yourself. “It’s none of your busine—”

“Are you sick?” Repressing your negative subconscious, you cared more about his health, for now, more than your ego could force you not to. He shook his head no rather than give you a formal response, refusing to speak and therefore, confirming your suspicions. 

He hadn’t even taken off his mask yet and you were pretty sure it was about 75 degrees outside; more than toasty enough for him to walk around without a mask to keep his mouth warm. 

“Yoongi, you should go home and rest,” you sighed. Instant guilt began to gnaw at you. 

Another forceful head shake and a few suppressed coughs later, he sat down on the chair and pulled out his notebook. It was bad enough you had your own pride to deal with, and adding Yoongi’s into the mix wasn’t going to lead anywhere. You weren’t putting him through this today. 

Taking his notebook away from his lap, you set it on top of his bag and kneeled down, placing your hand on his forehead. As you expected, it was slick with sweat. 

“Christ, you’re burning up...” you swore, flipping back and forth between the palm and back of your hand to make sure that he was really that hot. Gently grabbing your wrist, he craned his neck away from your reach and pulled your arm away from his vicinity.

He took his mask off agitatedly at your relentless nagging to try and prove his point. “I’m fine.” His voice was stern but still weak, a clear indication that he was anything but that. Frowning with concern written all over your face, he simply stared vacantly into your eyes while still maintaining his hold around your wrist. 

Shaking your head at his hardheaded attitude that mirrored yours, you pried his fingers off of your wrist and pressed the back of your hand to his damp cheek. Yoongi’s eyes went wide as his face instantly heated up and flushed at the contact. 

“You’re running at least a 100 right now, Yoongi,” you scolded. “We can practice anytime, but right now, you need to go home and rest.” Your hand was still resting on his cheek while you spoke while he continued looking at anywhere but your eyes. 

You pulled your hand away from his cheek and let out a near-inaudible gasp when he clutched your wrist again. Bringing your cool hand back to his face, you swallowed tensely when he slid his grip up to your hand and guided it to the side of his face, cupping his large hand over yours so that it was now cupping his cheek. 

He closed his eyes tenderly at the coolness of your hand, relishing the soothing and comforting touch that only you could ever provide. Your eyes fluttered a few times before you gave into his silent plea. Running your thumb over the delicate skin of his cheekbones, a twinge of woe struck your chest at the sight before you. 

“Why do you make me feel this way...” you murmured to yourself. 

“If only I understood the way I felt about you...” Yoongi thought. 

A soothing and not-entirely awkward silence filled the room. Yoongi’s throaty breathing and occasional sniffles were the only other noises that were distinguishable, and your intermittent hiccup decided to grace you with its presence towards the last three minutes of the hour. 

“Yoongi?” you whispered. Had he fallen asleep? Sitting up? Was he secretly a horse? 

“Mhm?” he hummed. Whew—still awake. 

Holding back the tiniest grin, you sighed. “Let’s go back to your dorm.” 

Mumbling something in his enervated state, you helped him up to his feet and slung his arm over your shoulders to keep him upright and on his feet. You could only pray that he was still conscious enough to have control over his legs. 

That day, you learned that dragging a barely conscious man who was twice the size of you into the boys’ dorm block was a sight worthy of earning a couple tentative stares. The childishly logical part of your brain wondered how serial killers did it. 

“Hm, I don’t know _____, maybe the fact that they’re absolutely maniacal psychopaths who possess four times the upper body strength you do helps,” you huffed, verbally exercising your strain as you tried to walk straight while propping Yoongi up. Was he drunk or really that sick?

Where was the RA anyway? Paying that high price of tuition should at least warrant a decent resident advisor for safety reasons. 

Brushing the shoulder of a stranger, the guy stared at you with terribly confused eyes as he stopped brushing his teeth. Panting heavily, Yoongi grumbled another illegible sentence of nonsense as you took a breather to ask the stranger where his room was. Logically, it had to be one of the only single-dorms in the building, so you prayed it mirrored the layout of yours and was at the end of the hall. 

The doe-eyed boy pointed to the end of the long corridor, the minty toothpaste bubbles foaming around the sides of his mouth as it remained parted open in confusion. You quickly thanked him and stumbled slowly but surely down the length of the hallway. Even though it was safe to assume that his door was locked, you turned down the lever and were surprised when the door swung open. Yoongi apparently doesn’t lock his door on the regular...

Thankfully, the layout of the room did, in fact, resemble yours, so you were able to find his bedroom with ease. You convinced yourself that fact that you had woken up there one fateful morning certainly played no part in it. Flinging himself (along with the frustrated force that resulted from your built-up and rushing endorphins) onto the mattress, he landed into the rumpled sheets with a thump. Apparently, he also didn’t have a habit of making his bed before he left his dorm. 

You let out a final harsh exhale. You did it. Stretching out your shoulders as a reward, you were more than positive that they’d be sore tomorrow. When was the last time you worked out? A trick question with a secret option C. You couldn’t be bothered to. 

Pulling off his shoes and peeling his jacket off of his body, you started to question whether he was secretly blackout drunk or truly terribly ill. He was out like a light within the first few steps into his dorm. You splayed his crinkled blanket over his body loosely, careful to keep him insulated but still allow some room for air to circulate and allow breathability. 

When your fingers brushed away the blonde hairs that were stuck on his sweat-dampened forehead, he shifted from his side-lying position, reaching out instinctually to grab your hand again. Yoongi kept his grip on your wrist firm, locking it close against his chest like a child’s teddy bear. He nuzzled his head into your wrist like a puppy, nosing the soft skin between your pulse point and prominent vein. He couldn’t help it that the cool skin of your poorly circulating limbs felt like ice packs on his burning hot skin. 

You blinked a couple times trying to process the options you had. Each tug in an attempt to free your arm from his grip only resulted in him clutching tighter, and he seemed to mumble something as his face contorted into a recognizable expression of discomfort. Nightmare?

Finally realizing that he wasn’t going to let go of you anytime soon, you gave up. It’s not like you had anything better to do today. Kneeling down beside the bed, you placed your free hand underneath your chin and propped your elbow on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position and wait for the situation to pan out for a couple minutes. He’d have to let go of you eventually. 

You couldn’t hold back the burning desire to admire his sleeping features. He looked so at peace compared to his day-to-day mood, almost like an entirely different person. Rubbing over his knuckles involuntarily, you didn’t even realize you were doing it until you felt his grip relax with your touch. Judging from how he had his mouth slightly parted and the steady rhythm of the rising and falling of his chest, you concluded that he had fallen asleep. 

Not wasting another second, you stealthily slid your hand out of his caging hold and folded the remaining edge of the blanket over his arms. You stood up and brushed off your red kneecaps and tip-toed to the door, closing it as softly as you could. Yoongi needed to sleep his heart out. 

Was it wrong to just leave? You stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that by the time he’d wake up, he would be starving. It wasn’t easy eating when you were sick, and Yoongi’s comment last week about him knowing what a month’s long diet of instant noodles and coffee looked like made you shudder in guilt. Gathering every single bit of patience and empathy you had left in the degrading bones of yours, you diverted yourself away from the exit and to the kitchen. 

Single-dorms on the university campus were like miniature studio apartments. Usually reserved for students on an as-needed basis, there were only six or seven in total. So far, Yoongi was the only other person you had met who occupied one. You hated to admit it, but he was probably the only other person you had talked to and gotten to know this much in all your years of attending the school. Would you dare go as far as to say he was your only friend? 

You quickly shook off the thought and went back to digging around his kitchen. His fridge and cupboard inventory didn’t come as much of a shock to you. It was, for lack of a better word, horrendous. 

The small refrigerator was practically empty, and the only things occupying the near-empty shelves were a couple apples, a half-dozen pack of eggs, a measly portion of fruit salad (probably from the mini-mart down the street), a package of mixed and chopped vegetables for soups and stews, one styrofoam takeout box, and a suspicious looking tin-foil boat. 

Don’t even mention the side compartments. Those were reserved for a few energy drinks, half-opened caffeine shots, packets of takeout condiments, a full-sized bottle of ketchup, a block of cheddar cheese, and a torn open foil pack of butter. Quirking the edge of your lip into a dumbfounded pucker, your face relaxed into one of comedic amusement. How could anyone live off of this—garbage? You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word “food.” That would be offensive to the existence of food itself. 

His freezer was completely empty, so moving onto the cupboards was either going to be a big mistake or a happy accident. You prayed deep down it was the latter. Then again, you also could not have been more wrong. 

The cupboards weren’t any better. If anything, they were worse. The grey-painted plastic backboards were the only things visible, usually a sign that a student had just moved in days ago. In one corner of the lowest shelf was an almost-empty box of granola bars; the shitty 99 cent ones every seasoned uni student stocked up on in bulk before the semester started. Beside it was a newly opened bag of rice. At least that was the one food item in this crapshoot that seemed remotely new. 

The rest of the shelves held two worn-out, rusty frying pans, and chipped glass china. Those were probably hand-me-downs from senior students who couldn’t be bothered to throw their old belongings away after graduation. There was a whole recycling bin full of them in the storage shed by the cafeteria 

You bit your lip, trying to think of what to make with what little you were given. Omelet? Boring. Soup? Painfully more boring. Curious, you unwrapped the mysterious bundle of tin-foil and discovered a very fresh marbled flank of beef. Cheering internally, you set to work on your favorite childhood dish that you were most confident in cooking: fried rice.  

You were more than willing to buy him another pack of meat. Hell, after the shock of seeing his fridge? You were more than willing to buy his groceries for a whole damn month if it meant he would take care of himself. Your grandparents always sent you too much money at once anyway. It wasn’t as if you had friends to go out and drink with, so paying for dinners wasn’t a usual activity you took part in. 

You started off by washing the rice and setting it up on the stovetop to boil. It would take the longest to prepare, so it was only natural to get that out of the way first. Next came the simple process of chopping up the meat, cooking it thoroughly, combining the packet of pre-cut vegetables, and then mixing in the rice last. On any other given day, you would have seasoned the meat with at least a pinch of pepper, but you didn’t exactly have that option considering the given circumstances.

It didn’t take long since the limited and pre-measured ingredients boxed you in along the way. Plating the rice onto the only dish deep enough that Yoongi had available, you used the same pan to quickly fry up two eggs. The smell of steaming hot food made your stomach grumble in response. 

Not to stroke your ego or anything, but you enjoyed patting yourself on the back for your accomplishments every now and then, no matter how small. Self-assurance was good for the old pessimistic soul. 

You tried to think of any other thing you could add to the meal and ogled the table when you nearly forgot. Shuffling back to the fridge, you cut up half an apple and arranged the slices into the plastic mini-mart bowl of fruit salad. Then, you eagerly jumped towards the bottle of ketchup and shook it vigorously with arms that were already starting to feel sore from lugging around Yoongi earlier. 

Drizzling the condiment over the golden heap of steaming rice, the red zig-zag streams finished off the orange and green vegetables quite nicely. You covered it with the only other dish Yoongi had in his cupboard and hoped it would still be warm by the time he woke up. Sighing in satisfaction as well as exhaustion, you didn’t pause to check the time. 

“Shit...” you muttered. The sky was already pitch black, meaning that it was well past 9. You facepalmed. How long had you been here? Mind you, you also completely forgot that you still had an essay due next week. Do you know how much easier life would be if your laptop grew its own set of hands and just wrote it for you? 

If you checked up on Yoongi before leaving, you had a feeling he would wake up the minute the doorknob clicked, so you thought it was best just to let him rest. Sneaking out of a dorm for the first time in your life, the door creaked ever-so-slightly before latching shut as Yoongi and his dorm returned to their all-too-familiar state of vacancy. 

Getting up the next morning was certainly an interesting process, to say the least. You sat in your tangled mess of bedsheets for about ten minutes before coming to the realization that yesterday was everything but a dream. It hit you like a bucket of cold water that had just been dumped over your head.

Throughout the entire day, you hobbled through your classes with hunched shoulders and a rounded back, feeling a constant strain in your upper body each time you tried to straighten out. “Working out” was a mistake. 

As the deadline for the performance was almost at the two-month mark, you grew more and more anxious with each passing day. It wasn’t anything special. You always had a healthy amount of anxiety revolving around academia but your performance nerves were on a completely different level. 

Humming to piece to yourself, your phone buzzed from your pocket as the blaring of your ringtone sounded. Your parents didn’t call you during the weekdays and you couldn’t think of anyone else who had your phone number. “Perks of having no friends,” you thought. Fishing it out of your coat pocket, your eyes widened when Yoongi’s name flashed across the screen. 

Your fingers swiped across the green icon absentmindedly, accepting the call with little hesitation. “Hello?” Didn’t he usually prefer to text you rather than call?

“Hey,” he replied. He sounded a lot better than yesterday but his throaty tone made it clear that traces of his cold still remained. “Are you free?”

You hiccuped. “Wh–yeah. Yeah, I’m free.” Of course, he knew you were free. It was a trick question. After following you around and trying to catch your tail, he had familiarized himself with your schedule, just as you had done a few weeks prior. “Do you want to book a practice room?”

A sniffle suddenly sounded from behind you and echoed in the receiver, making goosebumps sprawl across your neck. Not a millisecond after, the line clicked dead. Rip it off like a band-aid or peel it off slowly and painstakingly? Opting for the former, you closed your eyes tightly and mouthed a silent swear, turning around in slow motion like something out of an action film. 

Low and behold, there was Yoongi shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to go on a—” he paused to rub the back of his neck; he only did that when he was nervous. “On a hike?” 

“A hike?” The word felt foreign in your mouth. As far as you were concerned, yesterday’s fiasco was enough physical activity to last you for the rest of the year, but Yoongi wanted to go on a hike? “Aren’t you still sick?”

He shrugged. “A little cardio might help me burn it off and do me some good.” 

“You’re not plotting my murder, are you?” you gulped. Why was that always the first logical explanation that presented itself in your head?

Blinking at you for a moment, he chuckled and shook his head at your comment. “Not unless it's by physical activity. And it’s only up to the viewpoint. You’ve sprinted to classes farther than that.”

He had a point. The school was built atop a hillside and the viewpoint was, as its name entailed, a spot where you could look over the entire campus. It was about a five-minute walk outside of the gates and the climb wasn’t too steep. It certainly beat running a whole campus-length to each of your classes. 

“What about practice?” you sputtered, tongue weighing down your mouth like an ankle weight. “We haven’t gone over the piece in weeks.” 

Throwing his arm over your sore shoulders and bringing you close to him, he sighed. “Learn to live a little, _____. We still have two more months. A walk might clear your head.” Since when was Yoongi the voice of reason? 

You allowed him to walk a few steps ahead of you and ducked under his arm swiftly when you got the chance, freeing yourself from his hold. The concept of space bubbles around Yoongi had grown dangerously close to popping now. 

“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “Fine, fine, let’s go.” Picking up your pace, he trailed behind you with an amused smirk. 

Was it the cough medicine making him loopy or was he just particularly charming today?

“Min Yoongi, yo–I swear to God—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before collapsing onto the grass like a sack of potatoes. “If I ever get the strength back in my legs, I am going to smother you with a pillow,” panting between each word. 

By the time you made it up to the top of the hill, the sun was already set, making vivid orange and dusty pink colors streak across the darkened sky. The air was colder up here than back down on the campus level but you tried your best to hide your discomfort whenever your hands throbbed from the cold. 

Yoongi laughed as his eyes crinkled and his pearly white teeth showed in a gummy smile. “Good luck with that,” he chuckled. Making himself comfortable and sitting down beside your limp body, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, breathing in deeply. The walk actually did in fact, miraculously clear up his stuffy sinuses. Wonderful. 

Sitting up, you tried to rub your hands as discreetly as possible so as to not make him worry but failed when cracking of a few knuckles caused him to snap his gaze to you. He unzipped his jacket and flung off his hood and you immediately stopped him. 

“Nope,” you retaliated quickly. “No. Put it back on. Don’t even think about doing anything textbook cliché or I’ll roll you down the hill like a Lincoln log.”

Raising his eyebrows slightly at your distaste and choice of a non-threatening threat, he shrugged his jacket back on with a quizzical pout. “Don’t you have a pair of mittens or something?”

You grumbled a no in response, embarrassed that even he was aware of how ridiculous it was. A calming silence cast over both of you, the only sound coming from a few crickets chirping and the murmuring city far below. Your teeth started to chatter a couple minutes in, making genuine concern spread across Yoongi’s face. 

“Come here,” he sighed, gesturing to his open arms. Widening your eyes, you raised your hands assuringly.

“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously. “I just have really bad circulation, that’s all.” It wasn’t a total lie. You really did have awful circulation and it constantly made your hands and feet cold. Not a day went by when you didn’t wear socks and a thick wooly sweater around your room. 

“Do you want to get sick too?” he asked with a bite in his voice, almost as if your stubbornness was beginning to get the best of him as well. “We’ve done worse things with fewer clothes on anyway...”

“Hey!” You jabbed his side. Narrowing your eyes at him in a silent message that he had won this round, you scooted over beside him as he wrapped his arms around your frame. It never ceased to amaze you how no matter the situation, whether it was his hands around yours or his arms around your body, you seemed to fit perfectly in his hold like a matching puzzle piece. 

Nestling yourself into his warm figure, you felt yourself relax into his touch. It would be a sin to deny that he had an unexplainable effect on you. The softness of his jacket, the heat radiating from his body, and his natural scent lulled you into a dazed state, too relaxed to even care about boundaries anymore. 

“Can we talk about it now?” he whispered, voice coming out muffled because his cheek was squished on the top of your head like a child’s. 

Fluttering your eyelashes open at his sudden request, you swallowed tensely. How did you not see this coming? You pulled away to get a proper glimpse of his face. “What is there to talk about, Yoongi?” 

“Don’t say my name like that,” he cut off abruptly. Had you already ticked him off? Giving him a look of confusion, he shook his head and looked down. “Don’t say my name like you pity knowing me...”

“Yoongi,” you exhaled faintly. He didn’t interrupt you this time. “I don’t understand what you want to talk about. We got angry at each other, we fought, and we made a mistake. That’s all.” Forcing out the last phrase felt like swallowing a jagged blade. You hated admitting it because of how untrue it was. 

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me, _____.” His face remained firm as he used your name, speaking with an unflinching air of confidence and assuredness that only he could muster. 

It was your turn to shake your head and scoff. “What do you want me to say? That it was amazing? Because it was. It was amazing, okay? Everything felt so fucking perfect and I hate admitting it—” Pausing to breathe, you groaned and tangled your fingers through your hair at the sudden outpour of emotions you’d kept bottled inside of you for weeks. 

"Because feeling that good and happy for once scared the shit out of you, didn’t it?” he finished for you. Looking up at him, his gaze remained glued onto you, completely unfazed at your expected outburst. 

The question that made your heart race like the beating of a butterfly’s wings suddenly presented itself on a silver platter. 

“How did you know about my RA?” Your throat went dry as the words felt like chalk on your tongue. Had he told Powell yet? 

Leaning his head to one side, his jaw muscles tensed. “It doesn’t take a doctor to see that you're in pain outside of class.” He said it with a tone of dripping bluntness. “Not to mention how sensitive you are to the temperature changes; how you always rub your hands when it’s cloudy outside because it’s cold; even after playing a long piece because your fingers start to ache, and how abnormally swollen your joints get after a long day.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed into a dumbfounded frown. How did he know all of that? You weren’t even remotely aware of the fact that he was cognizant of your existence, much less your usual habits and mannerisms. “How do you notice all of that?”

Yoongi's jaw muscle tensed but he didn’t respond. 

Licking your lips nervously, another equally anxiety-inducing question made its way to the tip of your tongue. Moving your hands down to his sleeved arm, Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat when you looked at him softly, silently asking for his permission. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, hesitant for a brief second, before tipping his chin down once.  

Your fingertips lightly brushed across the smooth skin of the top of his hand before grasping the edge of the sleeve cuff. Sliding it up slowly, the scars that were hidden became exposed, the milky tone of his skin contrasting with the rough and darkened scratches that were scattered across the entire length of his arm. 

“Gnarly, isn’t it?” He let out a nasal scoff. These were the only battle scars he was sure he would never flaunt in all their glory. The pads of your fingers carefully brushed over the delicate skin, studying the textured pattern like an ancient relic; one that would leave an impression in the mind for all the wrong reasons. 

“What happened afterward?” Your voice was cautious, coming out just shy of a whisper. Would he trust you enough with this? 

Yoongi’s jaw clenched again. Before he could say anything, you slid his sleeve back down over his arm and instinctively held his hand for support. Gripping yours back in response, he took a deep breath to compose his thoughts before speaking. It was now or never. 

“Powell found me. Whether it was because of fate or some bullshit theory of the universe, I don’t know, but he rushed me to the hospital and stayed with me for the entire week in the recovery unit.” A cold gust of wind blew and he was the one who held your hand tighter. “I didn’t tell my parents of course,” he chuckled dryly. 

“They never supported me in music until the day I got my scholarship here. Before that, they practically forced me away from anything having to do with music. ‘You’ll die starving and poor; you won’t have a proper job; and when you’re on the streets, homeless and begging for money, we won’t be here to help you. Just to tell you, We told you so.’ If I told them, I knew they’d force me to move back in with them and take on the family trade; scrubbing pots and serving drinks for drunkard business mongrels until 3 a.m.”

Yoongi’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the memory but his eyes remained centered. “I took a semester off to recover and decided that it was probably best for me to just drop out since I couldn’t play anymore. PT was a crapshoot. There was nothing left here for me.” His eyes glazed over momentarily but returned in a split second. Did physical therapy really not work? Had he even tried a single session? 

“Then Powell spent the entire semester practically begging on his knees to try and convince me to switch majors to composition and theory instead,” he grinned faintly, even letting out a ghost of a chuckle. “It took a month or two, but I figured I owed him that much. The old man practically raised me like his own son ever since freshman year.”  

He turned to face you, gaze landing on your intense ones with a soft smile as his thumb rubbed over your hand. “Everyone thought I got sucked into the party scene, failed all of my classes. I think some of those idiots assumed I got hazed into a gang or a cult. Like those morons knew anything about me...” 

You bit your lip. People were truly the worst. Not to mention immature, gossip-mongering, feeble-minded pre-burnout college pricks. 

“The hospital seemed like heaven compared to the hell I stepped into when I got back. I was like an animated corpse. I rarely ate, couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t even bother going to classes. I’d just sit my bed all day and stare at the ceiling like a rock. I was too afraid to sleep because every time I did, I’d have nightmares about it.” 

He frowned at the pang of contrition that struck him. “The headlights centimeters away from my face and blinding my eyes, the sirens ringing in my ears, the creaking metal wheels on the gurney...” Shaking his head, tears flung off his face and a droplet landed on the top of your hand. 

Your eyes fell to the grass at you held back your own budding tears. No matter how badly you wanted to scream that it was all over and in the past and that you were there for him, all you could do was sit and listen.

“Everything just felt so fucking empty…” he whispered, tugging hard at the edge of his lower lip between his teeth. “That night with you in the practice room was the first good night’s sleep I’ve gotten in two years.” The confession took you by surprise, your eyes lighting up like a spark from a firework. 

His eyes softened at your reaction. “When I got rolled into the ER, a nurse was rushing down the hall with me, holding my hand the entire way. I was busy blacking in and out of consciousness.” He stopped to grab your hand and bring it to cup his cheek, closing his eyes instantly at the contact-comfort. “But she had her hand by me the entire time until I completely knocked out in the operating room.”

Stroking your thumb over the sleep-deprived hollow that sunk in under his eye, his eyebrows knitted together and he clutched your hand tighter, afraid that if he let go, you’d dissipate like a figment of his imagination that was too good to be true. That’s why he wouldn’t fall asleep yesterday...

“It was dangling there like bait in right in front of me; taunting me, insulting me, mocking me like I was nothing—like the universe was reminding me that I was never going to be able to love anything else ever again and that I’d just have to live with it,” he continued with his face strained, expression taut as he tried to focus despite reliving the painful set of memories. 

He hadn’t bothered touching a piano since that night, refusing to accept the fate he’d have to gamble in anticipation of finding out whether he still had the ability to play or not. In reality, he didn’t know whether he could still coordinate his muscles—and he had absolutely no desire to find out any time soon. 

Yoongi let out a huff through his parted mouth. “Do you know how easy it is for people—things—to come into your life, give you everything that you would ever want and could possibly ask for, and then have them take it away just like that?” Seeing his breath through the frigid air, you had a feeling it wasn’t the weather making his words sound cold, but the emptiness and distance he had created within himself.

Gnawing on the corner of your lower lip, you kept your gaze focused down at your hands. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. Somehow, you finally found the courage to speak. “Is that why you hated me?” you asked in the barest of a whisper, your voice quieter than the rustling of the leaves on the trees. “Because you felt like I took that away from you?”

“No,” he replied instantly. Fluttering your eyelids at his unexpected and confident response, you frowned at him, confused. 

“I never hated you—didn’t—hate you because you played the piano,” he shook his head, eyes directed to the ground wistfully. “I was jealous.”

Your gaze softened at the confession as you swallowed nervously, awaiting his next words. “You looked so happy,” he smiled, letting out a chuckle that was too full of melancholy. “I knew from the first moment I saw you playing by yourself in the studio...” Yoongi’s voice trailed off, face melting into an expression you couldn’t read. 

Staring into his eyes, you silently pleaded him to continue. The corners of his mouth lifted into a gentle smile as his pearly white teeth barely peeked through his lips. “From the moment I saw you on my first day back, I knew I was screwed,” he grinned. “I wanted to hate you so badly but you were so perfect, how could I?”

A rosy flush crept onto your face at his heartfelt words. “You were alone in the studio two hours before any classes started and you were just playing your heart out,” Yoongi remembered the day clearly, the vivid details of the first time he encountered resurfacing like the fresh morning air after a rainstorm. The way his heart raced in his chest made it seem like it had just happened yesterday. 

“I thought you were some competition kid who got a free pass into school because of personal connections or an arranged acceptance, but I just heard you playing and—” he chuckled, shaking his head again. 

“You weren’t just reading notes and playing the piece like a robot; you were breathing the music and I could feel it.” Yoongi’s fingers stroked the palm of your hand. “I could feel you. In every single piece I’ve ever heard you play: Campanella, Liebestraum, Fantaisie, Moonlight Sonata...”

Your pulse was racing like the engine of a sports car. Judging by how confidently he listed down the pieces, he knew each of those pieces by heart, recalling each exact moment when you had played the melodies like a page out of the book of his recollections. Campanella was the piece you’d chosen for your junior year exam, Liebestraum your senior, Fantaisie was simply one you practiced for fun, and Moonlight Sonata was the piece Powell had asked you to play for an exhibition recently. 

“I tried so hard to avoid you and hate you and completely despise your existence,” he scoffed at himself. “You glowed brighter than the stars when you played. Seeing it from you made it hurt so much more because I missed that feeling more than anything,” he paused. “But I couldn’t. I was already in too deep, so I just ignored you.”

For the first time, a lengthy and comfortable silence befell the two of you.

“I didn’t know what who I wanted to be until I started college,” you admitted suddenly, confidence stemming from the seed Yoongi had planted with his truth. 

“My mom taught me how to play the piano when I was four. She’d put me in her lap while she played and let me press the keys.” You chuckled at the flashback. “I didn’t think much of it until I fell entirely in love with it in middle school. It was this weird need, this urge to play whenever I was happy, angry, sad, annoyed, and frustrated. I felt like it was the only friend who understood me better than the actual people I knew.”

Yoongi gave you an understanding smile, sympathizing with your logic by the nature of personal experience. 

“In high school, everyone thought I was the one who had my whole life plotted out like a map: a loving family, supportive parents, good grades.” A ghost of a smile grazed your face at the distant memory. It felt so close and yet so far like you could reach out and touch it, yet it was a fingertip’s length from being torn away from you.  

“During senior year, I found out that I really didn’t have a passion for anything. Not even for music—at the time,” you filled in. “I shut everyone out with these gates I built. I hated how lonely I was, but who else could I blame? I didn’t want people to see me for who I thought I was: a passionless, unmotivated, lazy, worthless failure who would never amount to anything.” 

Shaking your head, tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet refused to cry over something as stupid and insignificant as this. Seeing this, Yoongi simply laced his fingers through yours firmly, wordlessly showing his support for your endurance. 

“I auditioned for fun one day after seeing the posters stapled across our school’s bulletin board. Didn’t expect much at the time since I didn’t think you could do anything with a degree in music, and in the beginning, I actually thought I was right,” you laughed wryly at yourself. 

“Undergrad was pretty awful. Playing as a student with a major was so much different than playing for fun. I was so stressed with deadlines and projects and practice hours, I almost forgot why I started playing in the first place.” Your mind wandered back to the long, sleepless nights you spent in the studios trying to perfect what would never even come close to the synonym of perfection.

“Then in my sophomore year, I got to take more classes with Powell and he completely changed my life. I wish I was exaggerating, but he really did change who I was as a person, not just a dazed university student. I don’t think I’d still be here without him.”

Your lips formed into a tender smile. “I started getting my passion for playing back and I learned to appreciate the value of my scholarship. I guess now, I’m just hanging in the middle.” Yoongi’s eyes studied your features intently, concentration remaining unswayed for the entirety of your release of emotions. 

A couple moments skimmed by before you resumed speaking. 

“I like spending time at coffee shops, taking the bus to the bookstore when I have free time, and sometimes I even make an effort to actually greet some of the people there—but I like being alone,” you admitted. Yoongi’s ears perked up at your last phrase.

“I like doing things by myself and being able to have control over everything in my life so that I don’t have anyone to blame other than me when shit goes downhill,” you rambled, swallowing your words while you spoke like bitter medicine. Yoongi’s smoldering gaze, as it lay on you, was intense enough to start forest fires.

You sighed heavily. “But frankly, I don’t like being lonely.” The confession bled past your lips like spilled ink from a bottle, leaving a splattered and stained trail as it seeped through your mind. 

“No one does,” he responded honestly. Directing your watery eyes to his softened gaze, you looked down at the pair of your hands entwined together.

What was this in his eyes? 

Who were you to him?

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t waste a single second before cupping the sides of your face and bringing you into a kiss. The force took you by surprise and made you land on your back with a soft thud, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter against his lips.

It didn’t take you longer than a couple of flashes in your brain synapses to give into his magnetizing touch. Making out on a hilltop in front of the city lights never crossed the line of sounding appealing other than outside of a cheesy rom-com, but Yoongi’s warm lips preoccupied every train of logical thought that ran cross your mind. God, what was he doing to you? 

You’d slept with him once and you still managed to get butterflies like a giddy teenager who was in their first relationship; immature and blind with infatuation. You tangled your hands through his hair like second nature as his weight pressed on top of you, making you feel secure under him. The kiss was tender and patient—a stark contrast to the last time you had locked lips with him. 

“Can I be alone with you?” he asked suddenly, breath fanning across your lips because he refused to pull away farther than three centimeters from you. 

You laughed heartily, making him flash his pearly whites and peeking pink gums again. “Is this your dumb way of asking me out?” Smiling widely in response, his lips connected with yours again, effectively shutting you up. 

“I don’t want to pretend like I don’t have feelings for you anymore, _____,” he murmured into your ear. “Do you know how hard it’s been having to act like I hate your guts for the past three years when I can’t stop thinking about you on a regular basis?” 

Another awfully timed blush graced the tops of your cheeks. You shoved his shoulder playfully at his seemingly sarcastic yet sincere compliment. “Stop being such a softie, it’s gross.” Yoongi pouted, feigning hurt at your teasing comment. His childish face made you burst into laughter, vibrant and full of life. You’d swear on your life that he had a million personalities buried deep underneath that facade of a stone-cold gargoyle. 

Biting your lip, you shook your head, picking at the grass to distract yourself. “What if I’m sleeping and this is all some dream that’s way too good to be true?” you mumbled. How did you go from avoiding each other like water and oil to melding perfectly like paper and ink? 

“Then it’d be your dream and my nightmare...” he murmured, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his lips remained centimeters away from contact.

You laughed shyly, shoving him away teasingly at his admirably honest nature. “So three years, huh?” 

Again, Yoongi chose not to respond, allowing you to take note of yet another one of his habits: refusing to answer a question he knew he was guilty of.  

You only had one shitty, wonderful, stressful, joyous, short life. Might as well make it worth living with what you were given. 

As you gazed deeply into the dark eyes that belonged to the person who you once thought hated your very being, you realized that you were entirely and utterly screwed—because you were completely captivated by each other. 

The best part? You had a million more reasons to discover exactly why. 

Relationships were never you or Yoongi’s thing. Whereas the typical couple would spend hours at a time arguing over stupid things, trying to work it out but only tearing their hair out in clumps and eventually breaking up, you never saw the point in arguing in general. If you argued with your partner, you would request to break up. Simple. Clean. Painless. Well, at least for one.

It was a really black and white way of seeing the complex web that composed a relationship, but to you, it was just blatantly obvious. Some called you cold but that was just another opinion. 

Why argue if you’re “in love” with each other? Why fight if you’re “in love” with each other? Why hurt the person you love if you can choose not to be with them and let them be happy? Holding onto people for the sake of a quote on quote, “relationship” despite hurting each other was selfish and pointless. 

To you, that wasn’t love. It was self-sabotage. 

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice peeped from above you, mumbling into your hair. 

“Hm?” you hummed, snapping out of your daze. He chuckled deeply at your deeply unwavering expression, pressing a kiss to the top of your head tenderly. You were currently tangled in the sheets of his bed after waking up from a nap. Today marked the first week of your official relationship and you had to admit, it was pretty nice. 

Okay, nice was an understatement. It was perfect. 

You had yet to get into an argument, as both of you had quite passive and anti-argumentative personalities. Then again, you were still technically in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, so it was bound to pop up at some point. 

Your days together were few and far between spending time in the studio practicing, sleeping over at his dorm (courtesy of his ever-so diligently working resident advisor), walking each other to class, texting and video calling for hours until one of you fell asleep, and occasionally going up to the viewpoint when the weather conditions proved to be favorable—and you had chugged four cups of coffee. 

It was like something of a fairytale, and you were always worried that you’d wake up one day to find out that it was just that: a false reality you had conjured up in your own head. But if it was a dream, it was one you never wanted to wake up from.

“Hold still,” you scolded for the tenth time. 

Yoongi grumbled. “I’m trying, but it’s hard when you’re tickling my neck.”  

Huffing at his fidgety muscles, you blew a hair out of your face and kept your hands busy. “It wasn’t my idea to dye your hair, dummy.” He hummed an off-beat tune in response to your incessant scolds. 

In the early hours of the morning, you had gotten a text from your loving and selfless boyfriend that he needed to save a few bucks and needed to touch up his hair. You, being the only other person he spoke in the whole universe (practically), so graciously agreed. It was about five minutes into the hands-on activity that you were beginning to regret your generous and giving disposition. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to deal with the fumes of bleach as Yoongi had opted to dye his hair back to his natural dark brown color. He mentioned something about his growing lazy temperament and it becoming too time-consuming to continuously touch up the dark roots every few weeks. It wasn’t exactly the best for his hair either, the blonde ends breaking off due to the harsh chemicals and his inability to spare the extra five minutes to use conditioner. 

“Then why did you dye it in the first place?” you laughed, dumbfounded at his odd reasoning. 

Mumbling something in an inaudible hush, you shot him a confused glance. "I was going through a phase...” he said clearer this time, tucking his chin down in shame. 

Lifting your eyebrows, you nodded, accepting his answer and sensing that he wasn’t going to elaborate any time soon. “You know, you could just let it grow out and style it like that, grown out roots and everything” you offered. “I’ve seen a few celebrities who pull it off pretty well.” 

“Eh,” he let out a disgruntled sound, crinkling one of his eyes.

You snorted through your nose from holding in your laugh, making him flinch as your breath tickled his sensitive neck again. “Sorry,” you giggled. Continuing brushing the pitch-black gel over his roots, you were trying to be careful and not let it get on his skin. As far as your experience in hair dye went, the stains would wash out easily with some warm water and soap, but you didn’t enjoy the extensive process of cleanup it would lead to. 

“Does it bother you?” you asked, referring to the color differentiation of dark roots to beige blonde hair during the grow-out process. 

Thinking over it for a minute, Yoongi pouted and gave into his perfectionist attitude as he clicked his tongue with a “yup.” Holding back a grin at his undeniably soft personality, you couldn’t believe that you still hadn’t woken up yet. You intentionally blew a puff of air in his ear, causing him to jolt from his seat. 

“Hey!” he was the one to scold this time. 

“My advisor is going to kill me.” 

“If you die, I’ll kill you.” 

Scrunching your nose at his menacing threat that made absolutely no sense, he let out a sleepy grumble, nestling his head into your hair and inhaling your scent. 

“Just because your advisor is shit at his job, doesn’t mean that mine doesn't notice when I’m gone,” you pointed out. 

Yoongi mumbled lazily into your hair in the hopes that you’d drop the topic and go to sleep. It was an idle Friday night and the two of you had spent the entire day at the studio practicing the piece. Since you only had classes from Mondays to Thursdays, you got into a routine of meeting up and spending the whole free day in the studios. 

The last day of the week was what Yoongi looked forward to more than anything because it usually ended with you burying yourselves in his bed sheets with a random episode of The Office playing on your laptop and falling asleep tangled in each other. 

“Yoongi,” you groaned. “What if I get in trouble?” 

He hummed something inaudible into your chest once again, tickling your collarbone with his whispers. No way were you letting him fall asleep that easily. It was only fifteen minutes past 8. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Poking his shoulder playfully, his mouth was still closed, indicating that he was indeed fully awake. He always parted his mouth slightly when he was asleep, another habit you picked up early on the way before your relationship started.  

Then an idea struck you. There was that favor you needed to repay him for...

Prying your body away from his arms gently, you bit your lip coyly, smirking at his clueless sleeping body. Your hand trailed down to the band of his sweatpants slowly, making him gulp. Running your fingers along the bundle of fabric near his hipbone, you were surprised when your hand met his already-hard length. 

Yoongi’s eyes were now fully open as you shot him a questioning gaze. “Your fault for being so goddamn attractive all the time...” he defended, jutting his lower lip into a pout and not bothering to hide his blatantly obvious hard-on. 

Dropping your mouth in a mock offended gape, you raised your eyebrows as a chuckle of disbelief came out. “I haven’t even touched you yet!” 

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he admitted all-too casually. Smacking him on the shoulder from embarrassment, you shook your head and couldn’t help but bury your face in his chest. 

“It amazes me the same Min Yoongi who despised me a few months ago would turn out to be the softest cheeseball I know,” you scoffed. 

Kissing your nose, he wrapped his arms around you and turned onto his back, rolling you on top of him. The change of angle made you immediately feel his hardness pressing under you. You rested your chin on his chest innocently, rolling the piling lint on his shirt between your fingers. 

Yoongi’s eyes started drifting off again, too tired to keep the ball rolling, but not before giving you another idea. Keeping your chin resting atop his chest, you began rolling your hips slowly against his, making him suddenly choke while exhaling. 

Lifting his head to look down at your seductive grin, you batted your eyelashes sweetly, feigning innocence as you continued grinding your hips over the growing tent in his pants. 

“_____,” he whined, rubbing his tired eyes. “You know there’s nothing or anyone I’d rather be doing right now, but I’m a little sleepy.” Pressing a swift kiss to his lips, you ignored his excuses and slid down to pull down his sweats. 

“Who said you had to do anything?” Your voice was too cocky for your own good and Yoongi was, as he had mentioned, too tired to even sit up and watch what you were doing. You had all of him to yourself and at your mercy. 

Snapping the band of his boxers against his skin, Yoongi let out another soft whine as he started growing more impatient and harder with your teasing pace. His clothed member was straining against the tight cotton of his briefs and made you lick your lips in anticipation. 

You palmed him through the thin fabric, drawing out teasing him for as long as possible to make his pleasure greater in the long run, but it forced another throaty growl out of his mouth. His gruff tone made wetness pool immediately between the junction of your thighs. 

Unable to handle your own slow pace for much longer, you yanked down his briefs in one swift tug as his length immediately sprung out against his toned stomach. It was just as perfect as you had remembered. 

You were seconds away from biting your lip to the point of breaking the skin. Wrapping your hand around his hardness like a magnet, it throbbed underneath your fingers, already oozing precum from the red and swollen tip. Each time you pumped up and down his length, it caused a bead to well up and pool around his slit. Fuck—how was he was so perfect?

“_____,” he moaned through a strangled whine. Watching his face with every precise stroke, Yoongi’s face flushed bright pink as he clenched his jaw and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Words of encouragement weren’t needed to put an end to your teasing; your own blooming arousal took care of that. 

Gnawing on your lower lip, you couldn’t hold back your desire anymore as your tongue darted out to lick a slow line along his tip, grazing the dimple of his sensitive slit with the flat edge of your tongue. He arched his back off of the bed instantly and almost came with a single touch. 

Unable to talk and already breathless from the contact he had been waiting for since that night, you peppered kisses down his thick member and licked a stripe on the prominent vein beside his tip, causing him to jolt again. Your core throbbed seeing him in such a vulnerable state, while Yoongi knew that at that exact moment, he belonged to you, and only you.  

Finally wrapping your lips around his head, your tongue smoothed over his cock, sucking with just the right amount of pressure to keep his nails digging into the mattress. Swirling your tongue around the tip tantalizingly slowly, you guided his hands into your hair, directing him silently to tug your tresses. 

Obeying instantly with a moan, lewd sounds began filling the room as you began bobbing up and down mercilessly, varying your speed and pressure occasionally to keep him on edge. You even went as far as to grasp him with your hand and drag his tip across your slick and swollen lips which earned you another deep moan from him.  

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, throat raspy and rough from holding back his cries of pleasure. Pausing your unholy administrations, you gave your jaw a break by gripping his base tightly with one hand and swirling your tongue around the index finger of your free hand. He craned his head back in an overload of pleasure as you used it to rub over his slit, toying with his red tip. 

Everyone had a different piece of advice regarding giving head. Some said you needed to focus on the tip; others said that the balls were highly disregarded; a few said that the spot where the head met the length was the most sensitive. All in all, it really depended on the person, and to be quite honest, you weren’t that experienced. 

Yoongi was an exception, as both of you had learned your respective kinks out of genuine interest and desire for mutual pleasure, not as a nagging chore or contract payback. 

Not to mention the first time you’d slept with each other was—enlightening. 

“Fuck, _____,” he growled, moving your hair out of your face to gaze into your eyes. “How are you so fucking perfect?” Huh—even when he was blissed out, he was still the romantic type. 

You broke your character of confidence as a shy grin escaped. Wrapping your mouth around him again, he let out a grunt and threw his head back onto the bed. The sloppy, obscene sounds returned once you repeated your actions, his knuckles moving out of your hair to grip the bed sheets for fear of hurting you. His fists were clenched so hard, his knuckles were white. 

Yoongi’s body grew warm, a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, and he began pulsating in your mouth more frequently; he was close. Closing your hand around his throbbing length, you gripped him firmly and coordinated your pumps with your mouth, making him throw his head back in pure ecstasy. 

His hands found their way back to your hair, trying to pull you away as a warning that he would cum soon, but you swatted them away. Grabbing your hands instead, he laced his fingers through yours in a death grip, heart pounding so hard that it nearly burst through his ribcage. 

His pants grew increasingly urgent and his moans were primal. He found his release with the cry of your name as his cock shot hot spurts of cum into your throat and on your readily cupped tongue. The sensation of him throbbing in your mouth as his breathing calmed down was such a powerful feeling, and add to it the pleasure of seeing him writhe in pleasure beneath your fingertips? 

It sounded like a recipe for a perfect Friday night in both you and Yoongi’s books. 

Sucking his remaining release off of his softening length, you savored the satisfying, salty taste like fine wine as it coated your tongue and throat. It felt so wrong but too right. You wiped off whatever you could from his spent cock, hating to waste anything. Once you were done, you tugged his boxers back on as Yoongi brought you into his hold and wasted no time kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth with his tongue. 

Parting your mouth to calm your breathing, Yoongi’s eyes bore into yours with blown out pupils, still coming down from his high. “I didn’t know that’s what you meant by sleepyhead.” His euphoric chuckle reverberated like the baritone of a bass. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” you moaned softly under your breath, licking the remnants of his release off of your index finger as you nestled into his side.

He gazed at you warmly as his mouth broke into a gummy smile and eyes into half-moons. “That’s supposed to be my line.” 

Suddenly, a mischievous expression glassed over his features. You narrowed your eyes. “What is that face?” Smirking with a sinister gaze, Yoongi was now wide awake, giving you no time before flipping you onto your back and tickling your sides. 

“Hey!” you giggled, trying to swat away his arms like flies. Without giving you a formal warning, he tugged down your shorts making you yelp in surprise when the cold air hit your dripping core. 

Licking his lips in excitement and carnal instinct, he flashed a far too innocent grin at you before he delved in, unable to hold back his mundane hunger for another second. 

It was going to be a long weekend.

Digging around the fridge, a bundle of asparagus landed in Yoongi’s hand as he caught it mid-air from falling. You were already crouched down and braced for impact, but unfurled your wound arms, taking a peek at the grinning figure above you. 

“You okay there?” Yoongi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, helping you up from your hunched position. Taking the bag from his hands, you beamed at him in response, turning back to the stovetop. 

He sighed. “You really didn’t have to stock up my fridge, you know.” Sneaking a carrot off of your cutting board, he popped it into his mouth like a 12-year old badgering their mother in the kitchen. “The apocalypse isn’t until—” he snuck a glance at his imaginary watch, filling his cheeks with air and pursing his lips into a puffer-fish face pout. “—400 years from now.”

You rolled your eyes at his ever sarcastic jokes. “If the apocalypse doesn’t kill you, your diet of energy drinks and expired caffeine shots will,” you lectured. 

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile warmheartedly. Not at your nurturing actions, but at you. He still felt like this was all a dream, too good to be true. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you fit into his larger frame like a lock and key as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck. 

“What’s on the menu today?” he asked, voice producing ticklish vibrations just under the shell of your ear. 

Turning to face him, you scrunched your nose. He wasn’t just a cheeseball—he was officially the biggest, softest, sweetest, weirdest, and most amazing person you had ever met. You never thought you’d say anything even remotely close to that in your entire life.

“Your favorite,” you answered in a sing-song voice. 

The corners of his mouth turned up into a cheeky smirk you knew too well. His hands trailed down slowly to your hipbones, rubbing soothing circles into them out of habit. He licked over his bottom lip teasingly, all while keeping his eyes glued on you. Yours were focused on washing the rice. 

“Yoongi,” you warned playfully, knowing his expressions like the back of your hand. You could feel his eyes drinking in your features, your very existence an oasis for him, a once deserted and desperate man. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He pouted, jutting his lip out as his eyebrows furrowed into a dramatic scowl. “But I’m hungry!” he whined impishly into your hair. 

“I’m making lunch,” you giggled. “Just wait.” Your eyes widened at the last word, emphasizing your point. 

Trailing gentle pecks long your neck, he murmured softly into your ear.  “Not for fried rice...”

Your hands froze in the midst of opening the bag of spinach.

“Yoongi!” you groaned. 

Another Wednesday, another solitary four hours spent in the studio alone. After your classes were over, you texted Yoongi saying you needed a few hours alone to practice freely. Just because you were in a relationship didn’t mean you had to spend every waking moment with each other. 

Besides, he and you were both aware of your respective personal space and private time you needed to spend doing your own things. Yoongi also mentioned that he needed to finish up a beat he was making for a friend, so it worked out well. 

You walked out of the studio with a scarf wrapped around your neck, sheltering you from the biting wind that graced the campus grounds. Skipping down the stairs, you were greeted by the back of a person whom you had become very well-acquainted with. 

Hearing the sound of your gleeful steps he had memorized down to the last click, he turned around—with a pair of to-go cups in his hands. 

Your eyebrows raised up as your mouth broke into a mixture of an endeared laugh and astonished chuckle. Leaning down, he pecked you on the cheek, feeling his heart flutter at your effortless beauty. 

“Was she even real?” he wondered.

“You didn’t have to,” you awed. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get dinner anyway.” 

Yoongi handed you the cup marked with the symbols you knew by heart: double-shot of espresso, a pump of mocha, a single packet of hazelnut creamer, and two packets of sugar. 

“Your hands need to stay warm,” he insisted, rubbing over your hands that were now wrapped tightly around the cup. 

Biting your lip, your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much at the simple but meaningful gesture. “Thank you,” you blushed sincerely, not just from the wave of emotions that washed over you but also from the cold. 

Was he even real? 

You nearly twisted your ankle trying to catch up to his speed-walking figure. 

“Hey!” you shouted, panting heavily at how quick he was on his feet. Was he training for a marathon behind your back? “Yoongi! Hold–wait up! Slow down!”

No matter what you said, it didn’t seem to faze him as he continued walking. Hunching over and putting your hands on your bent knees to hold yourself up, you took a couple deep breaths before sprinting as fast as your burning legs could carry you. 

“Min fucking Yoongi, if you don’t stop right now, I will—” You didn’t manage to finish your sentence before stumbling over a jagged crack in the pavement and falling with a gasp. The impact was abrupt, the shock not giving you a chance to let out a proper scream. Silent accidents were the ones that hurt the most. 

Yoongi was by your side in the blink of an eye, almost tripping over the ditch himself when he ran back to you. “_____!” he shouted in pure panic. Well, that certainly broke his vow of silence...

Helping you get off of your stomach and sit up straight, he winced when he saw your forearm. The injury was nothing more than a wide scrape on the damp cement, but the rocky debris and dripping crimson trail made it appear all the more appealing for a Stephen King movie. 

You cringed at the wound yourself, but more so at the stinging pain that began to spread over your elbow. Minor cuts and scratches were gifts sent from Satan himself. The thought of it getting infected made Yoongi pull out a pack of tissues from his bag as he pressed the bundle firmly over your wound. His face was still locked in an uncomfortable grimace. 

“Let’s go back to my dorm. I have a first-aid kit,” he mumbled, helping you onto your feet and bending down on one knee. You raised your eyebrow at his odd position, only realizing a few seconds afterward that he was offering you a piggyback ride. 

You let out a nasal scoff. “Yoongi, my legs are still perfectly mobile. Get up before you get your clothes wet.” You had enough to deal with his bitchy mood today and it certainly didn’t help that it had been raining a few hours prior to his temper tantrum. 

He pressed his lips into a firm line, refusing to respond or get up from his crouched position. Was he messing around? After a minute of complete silence, you huffed, annoyed at his ridiculous and adamant form of an apology, and saddled onto his back. 

Hooking his arms beneath your knees as you looped yours around his neck, you realized how much of a cheeky shit he truly was. Yes, he hated acknowledging it, but even he knew how ridiculous this argument and wanted to use the close proximity a piggyback would give to his advantage—even though the two of you were as stubborn as garden weeds. 

“Are you going to talk to me now?” you asked, propping your chin comfortably on his shoulder like a perched bird as he began walking the two of you back to his dorm. 

Sniffling once, he prodded the inside of his cheek in an effort to distract himself, too prideful to answer you right away. 

“Yoongi...” you sighed faintly, saying his name the way you did whenever he tugged at your heartstrings. He exhaled harshly through his nose once before finally speaking. 

“I don’t like how nice you are,” he said bluntly with an obviously sheepish tone of shame coating his voice. What?

“What?” you repeated out loud this time, unable to hold back your animated face of utter confusion.  

When he didn’t reply, you tugged on his ears like you were scolding a child who’d just been caught licking dollops of icing straight from the piping bag. “Min Yoongi,” you called out half-threateningly. 

He let out a whiny grumble, a sound that was a combination of a grumpy obese cat and worn out AC motor. 

“I don’t like how nice you are to everyone,” he repeated. “Especially to guys.” 

Your mouth was parted in an ‘o’ shape and your eyes were narrowed like an animated character’s. Was he—no way...

Your eyes widened to the size of the moon when he blushed. Oh my God. “You’re jealous?!” you screeched. He jumped at the volume of your voice. It was the first time he had ever heard you genuinely scream and he imagined it was what you would sound like if you were at a concert. 

Were you a Liszt or Chopin person? Rachmaninoff? Maybe Beethoven? He nibbled on his lips to hide his grin. Why were you so cute? 

“Earth to Yoongi?” you deadpanned, waving your hands in front of his face to get his attention. Snapping his eyes to you and blinking out of his daze, he returned to his stern expression. Tipping your head to one side, you stared at him with half-lidded eyes, tired of his antics. 

No wonder relationships didn’t last long; human beings were naturally and wholeheartedly stubborn as fuck. Flaring your nostrils at his unyielding disposition, you clicked your tongue between your teeth, resorting to blatant, unfiltered honesty. 

“Jungkook was just being helpful—and I was being polite.” Enunciating the word, Yoongi paid no attention to it, as it wasn’t one he had registered in his dictionary. 

There it was. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat at your ability to lay out your non-implicit thoughts onto the table. “You could’ve told me he was the idiot who told you where my dorm was when you were hauling me into my room that day.” He defended his reasoning, still unconvinced. 

“I didn’t even know who he was until we met him today,” you groaned, repeating what you had said earlier for the fifth time. This was all so torturously textbook newly-blooming relationship bullcrap and was making your head pound in your skull. 

Jungkook, the boy you’d seen that day when you dragged Yoongi down his dorm corridor and who had directed you to where his room was, recognized you during lunch today. Being the social butterfly and sweetheart he was, he found it in his best interest to introduce himself to you formally.

During the conversation, which lasted just short of a minute and a half, Yoongi’s glare was practically burning crater-sized holes into Jungkook’s face the entire time, imagining his face as target objects ranging from a checkered dartboard to a chipped wooden knife block. 

He jutted his lower lip into his signature pout. “Well I didn’t exactly enjoy seeing the little prick recognize you and shout like he’d just won the damn lottery...” he remarked bitterly, irritation directed purely towards Jungkook and not you. 

“Did he really not have a better way to grab your attention? I was this close to filing a lawsuit for hearing damage.” Unable to bring his fingers up to mimic a pinch, he narrowed his eyes tightly instead. “Nearly burst my damn eardrum running over to you and calling you 'superwoman lady...’”

“Yoongi,” you hummed, a chuckle escaping your lips like a song. “You’re jealous because of some sophomore who happened to recognize me from carrying her boyfriend—” you emphasized. “—to his dorm room because he was sick?” 

Coming to terms with your lawful point, he mumbled something under his breath that you could’ve sworn was, “Not back then I wasn't.” 

“I’m in love with you, you idiot.” Poking fun at his jealous side, it was quite endearing to know that he cared about you to the extent of fuming like a kettle in the presence of other guys. Grabbing one side of his face with one hand, you gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek, causing him to blush like a middle-schooler. God, he was so innocent. 

After a couple more leisure paces in the direction of the boys' dorm, you stopped for a moment to look at you properly. 

“I still think you’re too nice,” he closed with a ‘hmph,’ continuing his way back to his room. You could only hold back your hearty smile for so long before it burst. 

“No freaking way, buddy,” you scoffed. Tossing another kernel of popcorn into your mouth, Yoongi pointed to his open mouth. Popping one into his, respectively, you returned to your bantering debate. 

“Liszt is obviously far superior to Chopin,” Yoongi remarked snarkily. You’d gone over this for the past hour, killing time while the pre-packaged cookie dough you bough baked in the oven. 

Another sarcastic puff of air left your lips. “Are you kidding me? Other than the fact that he had freakishly large hands and made a pact with Paganini and sacrificed both of their souls to the Devil, I don’t think this is even a real topic up for grabs.” 

Snatching the kernel from your fingers in the midst of bringing it to your mouth, Yoongi chortled at your gaping jaw. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” His straightforward and genuine eyebrow raise made you shrug. 

“I don’t know. You listen to La Campanella and tell me.” Mirroring his inquisitive expression and raising your eyebrow, his voice vibrated in a lengthy hum. 

“Hm... Well played, _____. Well played...” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, trying his best to seem intimidating like a dollar store Sherlock Holmes. “But you mastered Campanella in your junior year, so who’s the real soul-sacrificing Devil here?” 

You poked your tongue out, launching another piece of popcorn into his readily awaiting mouth to shut him up. However, your aim was a little too northbound and it ended up hitting his forehead. You laughed to the point where your stomach was cramping. You assumed it was karma taking your side. 

Days blurred into weeks and before you knew it, it was the night before the performance exam. No matter how many times you’d been forced by your school assignments to play for an audience, it never ceased to get your heart pumping—for the wrong reasons.

Sighing, you flung your body into your freshly washed bed sheets. It was only 10, but you figured since it would take you a few hours to fall asleep from the nerves, it’d probably be best to knock out early. 

“Not too late to sneak over and cuddle with me, you know,” a voice reverberated from your phone speaker. 

You chuckled at Yoongi’s determined and unwavering stubbornness that stemmed from his giddy fondness for you. Your advisor had eventually caught you sneaking into your dorm room a few days ago and if you had, oddly enough, listened to Yoongi’s pestering and stayed in his room for the night, you wouldn’t be on room lockdown right about now. You felt like a prisoner in your own dorm. 

Wrapping the blanket around yourself like a swaddle, you hid your gleeful smile with the bundle of sheets as his equally gummy grin displayed on the bright screen of your phone. Both of your room lights were all off so his cheeky face was all the more visible. 

“She let me off easy and didn’t give me a suspension and that was because I’m one of the good students on this block,” you reminded. “I don’t think I want to push my luck.” 

Yoongi huffed exasperatedly, irked that he wouldn’t be able to hold you tonight. “Are you ungrounded tomorrow?” He spoke in pout. That damn pout...

Burying your face in your blankets and clamping your hand over your mouth to hide your squeal, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the crude beginnings of your relationship. Was this real? 

“Yup,” you mumbled sluggishly through the fabric. “You’re buying dinner after the performance is over.”

Letting out a sigh, he lied down on his bed and rested his hand comfortably beneath his head, allowing you to get a full glimpse of his body, only now realizing that he was shirtless. Despite the darkness that cascaded both of your rooms, you could clearly see the definition of his lean but built muscles, the veins on his forearm rippling with each time he shifted on his mattress. 

“Who gave you permission to be so hot?” you yawned out, accidentally letting the lewd thought slip past your lips as you grew increasingly sleepy with each sentence. He laughed huskily in a low voice, admiring your state of sleep-drunkenness, as you liked to call it. 

His raspy voice wasn’t just the thing you’re ears were blessed with in the mornings, but also at night when he was equally as exhausted as you. It was like a second piano to your ears, lulling you to sleep each time whether it was through video calls or cradled by his side.  

Bundling the sheets around his body, you whined faintly at the loss of your favorite sight. “I don’t know, my girlfriend. She’s cool or whatever,” he whispered, eyes beginning to droop shut like yours. “But don’t tell her I said that.” 

The word still felt like a new muscle stitched his tongue, every sentence that contained it sounding a million times better with the coined phrase. Yoongi continued cherishing his new reality: he had a girlfriend and it was you. 

You couldn’t respond with words, just a fuzzy, softhearted grin. “Love you, dummy,” you yawned again. 

Yoongi yawned in tandem with you, lips curling into the gummy smile you loved.  “I love you, _____...” he managed to say before allowing sleep to consume him.  

Neither of you even bothered to end the call, a habit you had developed from the hundreds of times you had rung each other and fallen asleep to each other’s voices. The first few times resulted in you both waking up with absolutely no battery and having to forgo your phones for the whole day, however, you quickly learned that splurging $30 on a portable charger just for these occasions was well worth it. 

What if you mess up? Are your hands warm enough? 

What if you forget a section? You should’ve fit in a few extra hours in the studio yesterday. 

What if your fingers cramp up? 

Did you remember to take an Advil? Should you have taken two? 

A million questions pestered your mind like a plague, buzzing and ringing in your ears loud enough to make a swarm of steroid-filled bees jealous. Pacing around backstage as the muffled sounds from the auditorium filled the space, you were a few paces away from boring holes into the ground. Performance jitters were the worst and your anxiety made them all the more unbearable. 

“Hey,” Yoongi interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders to snap you out of your pool of overwhelming thoughts. “Calm down. Breathe. You’re starting to make me nervous.” 

Running your hands through your hair, you groaned and uttered out another apology. Why were you so stressed out? It wasn’t a full audience. Just your entire class plus the comp majors and table of judgmental executioners, more commonly known as the board of music teachers. The entirety of their presence was the icing on top of your cake of nightmares. God, what you would do for a slice of double-chocolate cake right about now...

“What—” you started but Yoongi knew better to cut you off early and derail your train of thought before it arrived at the station. 

He cupped his hands around your flustered cheeks, his cooling touch bringing relief to the blistering hot skin that began to rise with your heartbeat. 

“Do you know how absolutely phenomenal these past few months have been?” Articulating his words in unison with his heartfelt gaze, his thumbs stroked over your cheeks softly, assuring you wholeheartedly with the fewest words he could. 

“I know how much pressure you put on yourself, but I also know how much more you love playing the piano,” he spoke soothingly. “Don’t think about them or messing up. Hell, don’t even think about sticking to what we fixed and picked on during practice.”

He brought you into his arms, making you lean onto his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat that thumped through his shirt. “Think about enjoying it to the point of not having any regrets. Of what it feels like while you play. Think about how you love it unconditionally through thick and thin, and how you wouldn’t give up anything in the world to let it go.” 

His words flowed like a stream in your head, smoothing over the rocky slopes of your worries and fears and replacing them with ripples of passion and confidence. Just as you pressed a kiss to his lips, the stage coordinator signaled to you with a frantic wave. It was your turn. 

Yoongi held onto your hands tightly for just a moment before giving you a small grin and going to find a seat in the audience. You took a deep breath. You only had one chance at this; you were going to make it count. 

Taking even-paced steps onto the stage, you closed your eyes and murmured a  wordless prayer to whoever might be listening. Whether that’d be the piano gods themselves or the ibuprofen coursing through your bloodstream and numbing your nerves, it didn’t matter. You needed to play for you. 

Not hesitating or wasting any more valuable seconds, your fingers brushed the cold keys, a sudden rush of eagerness filling your previously buzzing nerves. Your muscle memory activated like the flick of a light switch, the soft melody of the beginning exposition filling the echoey stage all the way to the back of the concert hall. 

Your fingers stroked the keys with such accuracy and precision, nailing each of the complex chords with ease. The development was coming up next. Changing your tempo from the quick-paced and exciting beginning to a mellow and even-toned pace, a pre-recorded track suddenly flooded through the onstage speakers but you didn’t have time to react.

You could recognize that beat from a million miles away. 

It was the same solemn tune that Yoongi was playing in the studio that night alone; same melodic chorus, orchestral strings, deep bass, and right down to the synth pad that started towards the end of the section. The flowing melody and tempo blended with your playing harmoniously, producing a euphonious sound that pushed you to play with more urgency and passion. 

The unexpected harmony made you smile, on the verge of tears as you could only comprehend one message that rang as clear as a bell: he wrote this for you. 

Before you knew it, you were already finished with the last recapitulation, the final remaining notes trailing off gently into what you assumed would be the end of the track, like that night, but it didn’t stop. It continued into another excerpt that melded perfectly with the coda you’d composed; vibrant, fuller, lively, vivid, and colorful—happy. 

The full-bodied and adagio resonance of Yoongi’s composed track with what sounded like a philharmonic orchestra and synth board contrasted like day and night from your constantly moving fingers. High off of the adrenaline of playing and euphoria of music, you paid no attention to the burning that had spread in your fingers during the first two minutes of the piece, instead choosing to bask in the utter state of bliss you were in.  

The track slowed down in sync with your playing, toning down the fast-paced and riveting chorus that had reverberated through the room seconds ago and replacing with it with the delicate and gentle closing notes that finished the piece.

It was over. You did it.

A momentary pause enveloped the auditorium, silence washing over the audience like a crashing tide. Your fingers were resting on the keys for a second before a roar of applause replaced the dead silent concert hall. 

You did it.

The panel of teachers were all standing on their feet, their warm smiles and nods of approval and continuous claps almost making tears trail down your cheeks. Looking around the crowd of people to try and find Yoongi, a finger gently tapped your shoulder, making you turn around with glassy eyes.

There he stood in all his gummy cheesiness, smiling his heart out. You sniffled, unable to hold back the tidal wave of tears that overwhelmed you as you burst into sobs and threw yourself into the safety of his arms. Enveloping you into his ever-warm and comforting embrace, he pressed soft kisses on the crown of your head, keeping you secure in his hold. Refusing to pull away even for a brief moment, he stroked your hair soothingly, urging you to take your time to breathe.

Sniffling once more, you managed to croak out a word or two. “When? How? Why—” you couldn’t finish before breaking into tears. You were a mess.

Even though the entire auditorium was still filled with the continuous applause and praise from the audience, Yoongi leaned down and chose to whisper into your ear. “I told you. Ever since that night when I saw you in the studio alone…” You could practically feel the happy smile that danced across his voice.

It was the first dream you didn’t have to wake up from.

It was real.

All of this was real.

The first thing you did after finishing your presentation was sprint like a marathon runner to the dressing rooms and change out of your quote on quote, “formal” attire. Consisting of a pair of black dress pants and frilly blouse with heels, your feet screamed in relief when you changed to your usual outfit of straight-cut jeans, oversized sweater, and frayed sneakers. 

Yoongi handed you a bouquet of flowers as you strode victoriously out of the concert hall to the stairwell at which he was waiting. You widened your eyes and had to blink a few times to make sure that this was still real life.

“Is this a practical joke or rom-com gesture?” you giggled, accepting the arrangement of dark red roses, lemon leaves, white snapdragons, and baby’s breath buds. He went the extra mile by personally requesting a gold ribbon to be weaved through each of the rose buds, making a sentimental warmth spread throughout your chest. Breathing in the fresh scent of the flora, the earthy and undeniably pleasant scent filled your airways.

Yoongi’s lips quirked in a shy grin and hid his gummy smile, rubbing the back of his head like he always did when he was apprehensive about something. 

“I figured I missed out on doing this on our first official date,” he shrugged as his tongue caught on the unused word. “So, I felt like surprising you on our twenty-something official one. And I might have snuck in a slice or few of cake in your fridge... ” 

Your jaw dropped to the floor. His face shifted back into the cheesy Chesire Cat grin you adored before humming a soft ‘ah’ and pausing his steps to reach for something in his bag. Was there anything that could make this day any better? 

Fishing through his disarray of loose papers and crumpled notes that decorated his bag, he pulled out a box that had miraculously not gotten squished or dented inside. It was wrapped in rose gold colored polka-dot wrapping paper and adorned with yet, another glittery gold ribbon tied into a neat bow. 

Making a shy face at the extensive detail, you carefully tugged on the end of the ribbon as flecks of glitter flew up in the air, the knot coming undone with ease. Yoongi offered his hand out to hold it.

Smiling, you moved onto the wrapping paper. Trying your best to peel it by the tape because you hated to tear it and make a mess, you finally got to the box. You pulled to top off to reveal another layer of tissue paper. A fluffy bundle of fabric was folded neatly underneath, making you take on a puzzled frown. When you took them out and unfolded them, you couldn’t muffle the gasp that escaped.

A pair of fuzzy mittens with a matching beanie.

“Yoongi...” you gawked. Rubbing over the feathery light, cozy fabric, he was still smiling widely at you, feeling pure happiness at seeing you so overjoyed from a pair of mittens.

Taking the bouquet, crumpled wrapping paper, and empty box from your hands, he set them down on the ledge beside the stairs. He first put the fluffy tasseled beanie on your head and smoothed out your baby hairs. Then, he rubbed your already-cold hands for a couple seconds to warm them up before sliding the plush gloves on.

“I don’t like it when you’re cold…” he said softly, rubbing circles over the tops of your hands through the wooly fabric. Cupping his cheeks with your warm and well-circulating hands, you pressed a single deep kiss onto his readily puckered lips. 

“Your room or mine?” His breath grazed your pink lips, a distinct warmth emanating from his body compared to the crisp winds that blew against the pair of you.

Biting your lip at his query, you shoved his shoulder teasingly. He already knew the answer.

Making out and walking backward was anything but a non-hazardous concoction. You practically topped over the door ledge while walking into Yoongi’s dorm, continuing to stumble over the bumps and dents in the poorly boarded floor. He managed to pull off his shirt and unbuckle his belt before shoving you onto the bed, and you only made it to the zipper of your jeans before landing on your back with a soft thud.

Caging you in between his forearms, he reunited his mouth with yours in a heated and feverish kiss. You captured the delicate of his lower lip between your teeth, nipping, tugging, and sucking on it to tease and satiate him for the time being. You had the whole weekend for yourselves.

His eyebrows furrowed as he couldn’t resist anymore and gave into his body’s demands. Grinding his clothed member into your aching center, you moaned at how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. Satisfaction and adrenaline surged through you and you couldn’t help but be the least bit proud at the fact that only you had this effect on each other. Undeniable lust triggered by unconditional love, aided with consistent support and mutual understanding; a thing so many people craved but so few had the ability to cultivate.

Yoongi let out a husky growl when your hands tangled into his dark hair, gripping firmly at his scalp and trailing down his bare back. Although your nails were trimmed short, they still left red lines down the defined ridges of his shoulders and back as he moaned into your mouth at the sensation.

Grasping you by the roots of your hair, he maneuvered your head to bare your neck to him, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses at the exposed and delicate skin. Nipping teasingly at the junction of your ear and pulse point, he bared his teeth in a grin before sucking a deep purple bruise into the skin, causing a rush of arousal to flow down your thighs.

“Yoongi,” you moaned out hoarsely. His pouty lips continued trailing down your neck before stopping, giving you to a moment to hastily take off your sweater and throw it mindlessly onto the floor. You’ll pick it up later. He licked his lips at the sight of you in all your beauty, pressing a soft kiss to the dip of your collarbone. He couldn’t help it when his lips instantly attached to your breast, massaging the other with his hand and lapping at your nipple skillfully. Moving onto the neglected side, you arched your back into his firm erection when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive nub.

Another gush of wetness flooded your thighs as you rubbed your legs together instinctually at the dampness. Yoongi noticed this like a hawk, eyeing your every movement keenly. Smirking, he slid down your unbuttoned jeans with one firm tug, swiftly yanking the loose-fitting pants down like a candy wrapper, except this sweet treat was one he could never get enough of. The best part? He didn’t have to worry about cavities.

Taking a moment to admire the string of arousal that trailed from your core to the string of your thong as he pulled them off, he gulped, saliva pooling in his mouth at the mere thought of lapping up all of your juices. His sculpted fingers rubbed small circles over your drenched folds, bringing the arousal coated digits to his mouth for a taste. He couldn’t wait another second.

Yoongi delved face first into your center, not caring to clean up the trail of wetness that painted your thighs beforehand. His cheeks were coated with your essence and he licked up as much as he could, his entire mouth cupping over your core in a desperate attempt to hear your delectable moans that spurred him on. Hearing your vocal sobs and whines of pleasure made him moan as you gripped his hair, the vibrations of his gruff voice making your body tingle with even more pleasure. It was a never-ending cycle of mutual pleasure.

You were in absolute heaven. Alternating the use of tender flat-edge of his warm tongue with the firm tip, you could’ve pulled a muscle in your back from how much you were contorting into the bed. Each time he sucked harshly at your swollen clit, it forced out a euphoric cry from you, teetering amidst the peak of your pleasure and the brink of startling ecstasy.

You tried to be gentle with his hair, but when you pulled your hands away from his tangled mess of locks, he growled in disapproval, immediately demanding that you return your hands to where they were by moving away from your aching core and biting at your thighs.

You wanted so badly to take his throbbing and dripping cock into your mouth. You salivated at the utter thought of it and it sent another stream of arousal down your thighs and into Yoongi’s mouth. Two fingers slowly stretched you out, pumping deliciously into your tight heat in sync with the flick and suckle of his tongue as it produced a high-pitched gasp from you.

His free hand came up to knead your breast, pinching and twisting your sensitive nipple agonizingly slow. He gazed into you with jet black pupils, a carnal aura surrounding his every breath, leaving you with no choice but to surrender to him willingly. He continued sucking at your clit while curling and pumping his long fingers into your heat at the perfect pace, earning a drawled-out moan from you each time. His dick twitched against the straining fabric of his boxers, begging for some kind of attention, but Yoongi ignored it.

Tonight, it was all about you and he was going to make sure you knew that.

The obscene sounds of his tongue working relentlessly against your drenched and throbbing pussy made you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood in a feeble attempt to drown out your moans. As he pinned your hips down with his forearm, his fingers suddenly changed pace, moving faster and curling deliciously against your tight walls. His mouth wrapped over your clit and fingers began pumping furiously, the bursting pressure of your peak shattering like glass with one last suck.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you exclaimed, grinding into his mouth during the first few moments of your high to ride it out as long as possible. Feeling like a boneless pile of jelly from your staggering orgasm, you felt him smile against your dripping center, lapping up your flowing juices like an oasis in a desert. Your clit throbbed from the remnants of the overwhelming pleasure gifted to you by his talented tongue. By the time he was done, the only evidence that you had just had the best orgasm of your life was only visible on his face, his chin completely drenched in your essence.

Yoongi licked over his lips and swiped over his chin with his thumb to collect the remnants, popping his finger into his mouth to savor the taste he could never get enough of. His forehead glistened with a light sheen of sweat, chest rising and falling visibly from the effort he had just spent. How did he still have the stamina for more?

Lost in the blissed-out haze that came from your high, you chuckled lazily, still swimming an orgasm-induced trance. You’d never came like that before and you were more than sure you’d never be able to without the help of Yoongi. Smiling drunkenly as your post-orgasm blush dispersed along your face, a soft giggle left your lips when Yoongi hovered over you before flipping you over.

Lying on top of him, your hands ran down the svelte muscles of his chest and abs as you tasted yourself on his lips, the remaining wetness that spread over his chin coating yours in an act that was too sinful for you not to relive in the years to come. Literally.

Your mouths tangled in a fervent kiss full of desperation and need, running your hands over his toned body without any logical thought. The faintly metallic but not too bitter taste of yourself on his tongue made another pool of arousal stream down your folds. The pleasure was all yours now.

Before you scooted down to his desperately throbbing member, you made sure to appreciate the beauty that was Yoongi. You captured the delicate flesh of his vascular neck between your teeth and sucked blooming marks into the delicate skin, grinning in satisfaction when they mirrored yours but were half the size.

Nosing at the skin beneath his ear where his pulse pounded like the delicate wings of a hummingbird, your exhaling breath tickled the shell of his ear, making him let out the barest hint of a giggle. Tugging on the small hoop earring that decorated his ear lobe with your teeth for a sweet moment, you moved back to his torso.

Tracing across the picturesque sketch of his abs and the V-line that led down his pelvis, his skin felt hot beneath your lips, evidence that his blood was rushing just as much as yours had been not too long ago.

You forced out a grunt from him when you palmed his hard length through his unbuckled jeans, wasting no time and pulling the thick fabric down along with this cotton briefs. His immaculate length sprung up against his stomach with a soft slap, the head of his cock red and oozing precum. Rubbing over the dripping slit with your fingertip, his knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets so hard. He couldn’t think straight.

“_____,” he begged, Adam’s apple bobbing to expose his dewy neck. The glossy sheen that glossed over his entire upper body made your body hum with pure desire. He was so perfect…

You rubbed over the head of his cock a few more times just for the sheer satisfaction of watching a bead of precum form at his tip and pool around your index finger. Placing your now-glistening fingertip in your mouth, you hummed at the musky taste that coated your tongue. Without teasing any longer, you finally pumped his throbbing cock, licking down the length for more lubrication while trying to focus on his head.

“Fucking–God, _____,” he choked out through a guttural moan. With clenched teeth and hands now tangled in your hair, he didn’t have to guide you as you went to work pleasuring him. “Fuck.” He was like putty in your hands, melting into a pool of boiling hot magma with one single touch.

Stroking the base of his cock while you bobbed up and down the upper half, he jolted with the pace at which you were going. Your tongue swirled around his sensitive head and into his slit every few seconds, making him writhe in absolute ecstasy.

Yoongi let out a carnal growl, pulling you up by your arms up and up to his body. He cupped his hands your ass while his mouth locked onto yours in another deep kiss, exploring your mouth with a hunger he only possessed when he was with you; one that no matter how much time passed, would never be satiated.

Massaging your pillow-like cheeks with his firm grasp, you both moaned into each other’s mouths when your dripping wet slit found his dick. With the feeling of your slick pussy grinding over his bare length and your hands raking through his disheveled head of hair, Yoongi almost came right there.

This was completely different than the first night you two had spent together. The first time was entirely filled with sinful lust, primal hunger, and frantic passion. It resulted in a battle of teeth clashing against tongues, bruising grips, and hasty eagerness, allowing neither of you to feel the full extent of your deepest desires. 

However, the deeper you fell in love with each other and the greater time you spent in each other’s company, sex became less about the physically pleasurable aspect and more about the raw emotional and near-spiritual bond you felt while connected.

Legs and arms entwined in a mess of tangled limbs; sticky bodies glistening with sweat; his hair sticking to his forehead and yours strung across his damp chest; the soft puffs of faint panting and the warmth of your bodies wound tightly against each other that lulled you into the best slumber you could possibly ask for. That was what you loved more than anything. The total submission of your barest state exposed in all its vulnerability and your mutual ability to look after one other unconditionally was more than you could ever ask for. He was yours, and you were his.

Yoongi’s hands ran over your shoulders and the small of your back, reuniting them with the plush pillows of your ass, admiring your rosy flushed face with awe.

“You’re so beautiful…” he said in a quiet voice, afraid that if he spoke with valor that you’d vanish like an illusion conjured by his deepest desires.

Calming down your heavy breathing, you placed a hand against his beating heart, the pronounced thumping of it underneath your fingertips causing goosebumps to scatter down the back of your neck. He placed one of his hands over yours while the other found your free one, cupping it against one of his cheeks tenderly. Nosing the delicate skin where your wrist met its socket, he inhaled gently, drinking in the feel of your soft skin against his.

Your fingers traced over the hollows of his cheekbones, marveling at how he appeared more beautiful than a millennium-old sculpture. You always took the time to admire and cherish every part of his body and his eyes were no exception. The deep-set and piercing gaze you had first feared was now a sight you hated to part with. Running alongside the hairs that stuck to his forehead, your focus settled on his lips, smiling heartily before pressing a slow and patient kiss to them.

“I love you so much, Yoongi,” you whispered against his mouth, earning you a smile back.

He clasped your hands tightly, pressing fluttery kisses to the tops of your knuckles before locking his gaze onto you. “I love you, _____...” He spoke in a hush like he was keeping a secret, you name rolling off of his tongue like a sacred hymn he held closest to his heart. 

Studying the darkened gaze that cast over his eyes, your instincts clawed at you. “I need you inside me now, Yoongi.” Your voice came out in a whining sob, begging him to take you. 

Slowly sitting down to guide his member into your aching heat, he kissed you with even more urgency and passion than you thought was possible, basking in the feeling of you consuming each other through the linking of your bodies as he buried himself hilt deep. 

“Fuck, you’re always so tight for me,” he hissed. Dirty talk wasn’t really something you two prided yourselves in, preferring to voice your desires through physical actions alone, but you sure as hell didn’t have any complaints about it. It always seemed to come naturally for both of you and ended up sounding like praise rather than command. 

Your velvety walls wrapped around his thick length and made him twitch inside of you. Grinding into his hips from your dominant position, Yoongi nestled his head into your chest as he began pounding into you mercilessly, all while paying equal attention to your sensitive bundles of nerves on your breasts. 

Words weren’t needed to direct each other when you knew one other like clockwork; every kink, erogenous zones, sensitive spots—especially pace. 

He leaned back onto the wall and lifted you by your hips, allowing you to hover over him at an angle that made him drive into a spot deep inside of you and gasp. “Oh my God, Yoongi, right there!” Your moans turned into pants and sobs of overwhelming delight at the deeper angle at which he was filling you.

A drop of sweat beaded at Yoongi’s furrowed brows, his tense expression a result of him also feeling the torturously delicious feeling of you encasing him. He couldn’t hold back for much longer and neither could you.

“Yoongi,” you warned, feeling your walls tense with each additional thrust he managed to power through his growing exhaustion, not from the physical act of relentless thrusting, but from the pure willpower he was exerting from holding his orgasm back. Your nails dug deep crescent half-moons into the ridges of his shoulders while his fingers pressed blossoming bruises into your hips, reminding you to gawk at them later.

Feeling your tense body, Yoongi used up the last remaining bits of his energy to pound into you furiously, exerting as much force as he had left. A sharp intake of breath came from deep inside his chest when you came around him without further warning, your unbelievably tight and utterly drenched cunt clenching around his cock and making him finish not a second later. 

Bottoming out completely before sliding out and back in, it was almost too much when he continued hammering into you at a slower pace, his pulsating member shooting continuous spurts of hot cum deep into your heat. With his teeth bared in a silent snarl and your mouth parted in euphoria, you rolled your hips over his a few more times before collapsing on top of him, his spent cock still somehow twitching and filling your heat with thick spurts.

Yoongi’s eyes were half-lidded and dazed from his equally powerful orgasm. Staying inside of you for a few more seconds to ensure that as much of his cum remained inside of you as possible, you yelped when he slid out and replaced his cock with his hand, cupping your cunt to prevent any from seeping out. You giggled lightly at his concentrated face when he flipped you onto your back.

He also took great pleasure in scissoring your mixed fluids together between his fingers and bringing them up to his lips for a taste; another one of his post-sex habits. Curling into your drenched lips to scoop out more of the unholy mixture, you didn’t need to ask as he slid his coated fingers into your mouth, swiping over your readily cupped tongue as the evidence of your releases slicked down your throat.

“Kinky...” you giggled, running his fingertips along your lips before pecking them.

Yoongi gave you a half-parted gummy grin and chuckled. “You love me more for it.”

Completely spent, he kissed you deeply before he climbed into the covers, comfortably nestling his head into the valley of your breasts and nosing the soft skin. You cradled his head and pressed a delicate kiss to the top of his frizzy hair, raking through the messy knots with your fingertips. His exhaling breaths grew soft, indicating that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Even though he mumbled the words into your chest, you broke into a heartwarming smile at his entirely too pure personality and held him in the security of your embrace. “I love you, _____.” 

There it was again: your name. 

It never sounded as good as it did unless it flowed from his lips. 

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you whispered, your soft whisper lulling him into a deep slumber as his eyes drooped shut while his steady breaths coaxed you into the darkness of sleep as well.

It was real. 

Some time in the near future...

You woke up to an empty bed, frowning in confusion instantly at the cold sheets that greeted you. Where was Yoongi? Almost as soon as you had asked the question, the smell of bacon and fried eggs filled your nostrils, making your mouth water.

Throwing your legs over the bed and climbing out of the disheveled bundle of sheets, you threw on one of Yoongi’s wrinkled shirts over your bare body, smiling sheepishly at how it draped over your thighs and stopped right above your knees. Brushing your teeth and rinsing your face in a record amount of time, you made your way to the kitchen and were greeted by the amusing sight of Yoongi dancing to the playlist you used when cleaning your room.

Jumping around like a maniac, he was too absorbed in his dancing and oil-spattering bacon to notice you leaning on the counter. With a cheeky grin gracing your face, Yoongi’s eyes bulged out of their sockets when he saw you. Clearing his throat harshly, you broke into a bright fit of laughter at how bashful he was. Was that what you looked like when he caught you dancing in your room?

“Good morning,” you giggled, nibbling the corner of your lip to hold back a snort.

Yoongi turned off the stovetop with the click of a knob, plating the hot food onto your dishes. “Good morning,” he played off cooly. Carrying the two plates to the small dining table, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before setting them down.

“Happy Anniversary,” he exclaimed, returning to you to give you a proper kiss. Smiling onto his lips, you laced your arms around him as he wrapped his around your waist.

You scowled playfully but broke into a smile. “A little birdy told me a while ago that anniversaries were stupid…” you hummed jokingly, referring to the surprise you gifted him a year after you started dating. It was just a handwritten card and matching set of hoodies, but Yoongi let it slip that he thought regular anniversaries were cheesy and a little cringeworthy. 

But he wholeheartedly appreciated your gift though, refusing to wear anything other than that exact hoodie for the majority of his classes. Often times, he asked you with puppy eyes and a pout to wear yours—even on some days when it was 80 degrees outside.

“Must have been a really drunk bird then,” he shrugged. You weren’t terribly hurt by his statement that night because you truly did understanding where he was coming from. Those couples who had hebdomadal anniversaries did, in fact, make you want to gag. Anniversaries in your mind were supposed to be reserved for monumental occasions and milestones, not as petty excuses to receive stupidly expensive gifts from each other.

You beamed, pecking his lips once more. “Mhm, not a very cute peeper either.” Your comment made Yoongi raise an eyebrow, nuzzling his mouth into your neck and blowing raspberries against your skin until you surrendered.

“Okay, okay, okay!” you gave up, choking your submission through joyous laughter. “Let’s eat, Yoongi!” Eyes lighting up in victory, he pulled out your chair for you before sitting down himself.

“Happy Anniversary, Yoongi,” you chuckled, lips forming into a loving grin at the gummy smile that blessed his sparkling eyes.

Reaching over the table to hold your hands and rub comforting circles into them, he blinked slowly, imprinting a picture-perfect snapshot of this moment in his long-term memory for years to come. “Happy Anniversary, _____,” he beamed.

“Are you sure about this, Yoongi?” you asked cautiously, rubbing his hands in the hopes of soothing his buzzing nerves. “We don’t have to do this today…”

He pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded, keeping his eyes glued on the black and white keys that lie before him. “I’m ready.”

Releasing his hands from your grasp, you patted them softly before letting them hover over the keys. Not having touched a piano since before the accident, the unfamiliar cold feeling of the wood made Yoongi’s breath hitch in his throat.

His fingers suddenly started to shake as bile rose in his throat and his face went pale, turning colorless enough to make the piano keys look off-white in comparison. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like epoxy glue and felt heavier than a cement block. With his pupils dilated dangerously wide and beads of sweat forming along his hairline, his throat closed up, restricting his airflow.

Your eyes widened immediately, alarmed at his visceral reaction as he snatched his hands away from the keys and couldn’t bear to face the instrument for another second.

“I ca—I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it,” he choked, shaking his head vigorously while hiccuping, trying to take in breaths of air as he began drowning in the memories that suddenly poured in.

You cupped the sides of his face and smoothed your fingers over his tear-stained cheeks gently. “Yoongi—look at me.” Shutting his eyes tightly, more droplets of his painful memories trailed down as his hands shook, the pads of his fingers squeezing coin-sized bruises into your forearms.

“Look at me,” you said more firmly the second time. Opening his eyes slowly with shaky eyelids, he swallowed the lump in his throat before making direct eye contact with you. “I’m here, okay? I’m right here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m right here with you, Yoongi.”

Relaxing his grip, his fingers that were pressing into your skin moments ago slowly began rubbing small circles into your forearms, soothing the numbing pressure as your blood began to circulate again.

“I’m so—,” he sobs choking on his tears, your lulling shushes helping his breathing calm down and slow. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” His repetitive please continued into mumbled whispers. 

As he continued to mutter his robotic sayings, you soon realized that he wasn’t apologizing only to you—he was apologizing to himself.

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you whispered, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your neck as his tears left trailed down your chest, leaving a glistening trail of wetness that made your eyes sting with your own tears. Your heart shattered seeing him in such a state of distress, but all you could do was murmur softly into his hair while his shoulders continued to shake. 

This too was real. 

“Bach Invention No. 8 already?” you gawked. “Yoongi, how?”

He shrugged, shoulders rising up to his ears in humble yet clearly visible accomplishment.

“You were playing Hanon a few weeks ago, what are you putting in your cereal?” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief and awe at his consistently growing skills.

“I had a pretty great teacher,” he smiled warmly, patting the seat beside him and inviting you to sit down. Shaking your head at his lively and glowing image, you set down your two cups and made yourself comfortable.

It had been nine steady months since Yoongi had composed himself to start playing again and it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been a time-consuming process. Slowly but surely through tears, overwhelming breakdowns, neverending hours, long nights, and emotional outpours, Yoongi’s natural instinct and eagle-eye muscle memory kicked in, aiding his subconscious breaking down the mental barrier he had formed since the accident.

The first few months were a struggle as he was stuck in his own head and high expectations. He stayed up constantly trying to master the most basic warm-up exercises, refusing to give up until he knew it by heart. Even during the deepest pitfalls of exhaustion, you stuck by him, likewise refusing to leave his side until he was half-asleep and drooling on the keys.

You, on the other hand, had finally gotten around to accepting physical therapy, regular check-ups, and after four years of putting it off, had your prescription officially signed off by your doctor. 

The short-span of your potential professional career was inevitable, but you processed and accepted the outlook better than you did when you were first diagnosed. You had grown up since then. You weren’t a young, naïve, immature, want-it-all child anymore; you were just you, and that was more than enough. Life wasn’t about doing as much as you could for the quantity in hopes of happiness, but rather for the quality of happiness that you were living with what you could accomplish to your heart’s extent. 

“Why not 13?” you asked curiously, referring to the piece that was in the solemn and dark minor key. Yoongi’s lips curled into a sheepish grin, sensing where you were going with your question.

“Major keys are nicer to listen to,” he mumbled. Fumbling with your fingers in his lap as he usually did when he felt the need for a distraction. “Minor scales are too depressing.”

Nodding your head in agreeance with his response, a soft chuckle reverberated from deep inside his chest. You gave him a comical eyebrow raise. He brought your hands to his cheek for what felt like the millionth time in the span of your relationship, leaning into your easing and tranquilizing touch as he melted in your hands. 

After years of ignoring the adverse effect of your struggling circulation, the effort you dedicated last year in looking after your health had paid off; your hands were finally warm. All the more inviting for Yoongi to cup them around his plush cheeks. A healthy diet, consistent sleeping schedule, and regular hikes up to the viewpoint with Yoongi really went a long way in terms of lifestyle. 

Thinking over his words, he shook his head rightfully so. “There are too many good things in life to do instead of drowning in that kind of ocean…” His kissed the top of your hand as his eyes met yours in a stare that radiated unconditional affection, complete fondness, and total selfless love.

Life was, in fact, too good to spend it wasting away in the shadows.

Some time further in the future...

Shuffling through the array of papers that littered the desk, you were seconds away from ripping your hair out. How were you going to do this? You started with the syllabus. That was probably the first step in starting a lecture, right? Then the expectations for the class? Goals? Learning outcomes?

God, were you even speaking English at this point? The abrupt buzz of your phone alarm snapped you out of your thoughts instantly. As crowds of students in what seemed like the hundreds flooded the lecture hall within seconds, you started to panic. Anxiety flooded your throat like thick smoke, forcing you to gulp a hiccup down. A gentle nudge on your shoulder caused you to turn around, coming into the view of none other than Yoongi.

“You okay?” His eyes voiced concern, eyebrows turned downwards as he studied your face with flowing sympathy.

You nodded, pressing your lips into a tight line. “Fine. Fine. All fine. Everything’s great.” Your speech flowed out like dreaded word vomit.

Yoongi rubbed your shoulder to ease your rippling waves of uneasiness, trying to relieve your bubbling apprehension. “Powell asked us to sub his class for a reason, _____. “Don’t doubt yourself. You’ll be amazing and I’ll be right by your side to help,” he convinced. “Okay?”

Swallowing down the sheet of sandpaper that lined your throat, you nodded.

The students were now fully seated and quiet, the soft hums of a few sorting through their bags and pulling out their laptops. The sea of L.E.D. apples and brightly lit block print logos made you nauseous. Once they were all settled, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you all for coming to today’s class,” you greeted with as much authority in your voice you could muster. “My name is _____, and this is Yoongi.” Pausing to direct your attention to him, he tipped his chin up lazily, reminding you of the first day you’d encountered him in a setting much like this one. Your eyes softened at the reminiscent memories. Time flies... 

“We will be substituting for Professor Powell, as he is out sick for the week,” you explained. 

A few scattered hollers and applause were heard from parts of the hall, making Yoongi shoot you a smug grin. You frowned quizzically for a brief moment before shrugging it off. “As former graduates ourselves, we are very aware of the immense pressure Professor Powell puts on you as first years in the graduate division. Trust me.” You turned your body to Yoongi, signaling him with a small nod. “We’ve both been there.”

He chuckled, taking the reins of the conversation smoothly while you began handing out the syllabus for the final project. “Powell might have discussed this project with you last semester or you might have heard legends about it from your upper classmates while you were freshmen.”

Yoongi didn’t bother using the title of “Professor” before he spoke, making some students gasp audibly. His voice was the epitome of confidence, self-assurance and clarity coating his voice like velvet as he articulated his words with consistency.

“The syllabus that is being handed out to you explains the details of your final project. Your partners have been chosen for you and will not, under any circumstance, be altered to fit your personal preference.”

Whispers spread across the entire room like a swarm of bees, students gasping and mumbling, appalled as they analyzed each detail written on the page. Your echoing clap silenced into their incessant grumbles. That seemed to grab their attention.  

“As Professor Powell has said multiple times prior to the start of this semester and I’m sure as far back as your undergraduate days.” A grin formed on your lips and you glanced over at Yoongi, who was already smirking and staring back at you with his lip in between his teeth. “The audience needs to see who you are through the music; experience your deepest memories, feel your deepest pain, and live through your life up until this point.”

“You’ll laugh, cry, scream, and want to rip each other apart with your bare hands,” Yoongi added on with conviction in his voice, standing up straight and no longer leaning against the wall. “But above all the setbacks and obstacles, you’ll come out as stronger musicians and even better artists.”

“Complain and fail. Choose to work independently from each other and that implies that you are working against one other,” you noted. “You are there to help each other through difficult times, not leave the other person hanging when things get tough.”

Yoongi sighed. “It sucks, we know.” He glanced at you thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. “But we promise it’ll be worth it.”

At this, a student in the front row raised her hand, a wide-eyed curiosity glinting from her eyes. You smiled and gave her the cue to speak. “By chance, you guys aren’t the seniors who passed this same assignment with a full grade four years ago, are you?” Her naïve and self-answering question made you and Yoongi look to each other knowingly, embarrassed and honored that the rumor was still flying about, alive and well as ever. “You two are like living legends!”

The class erupted into another wave of applause and gasps, sounding like a sound effect out of a comedy club’s built-in soundboard. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled, leaning his head to one side and side-eyeing you lightheartedly. You also found yourself blushing and chuckling awkwardly, sighing as you avert your eyes to anywhere but the crowd of eyes glued onto you and him.

“It’s kind of a funny story…” you hummed. 

“Why did you start liking me?” you asked. Lying down on the blanket that was strewn on top of the grass, Yoongi shifted beside you, admiring the spot on the viewpoint he picked out. The view of the campus never ceased to take your breath away. 

The longest three seconds of your life passed before you turned on your side and he peeled his eyes away from the dim sky, redirecting his gaze to you. Taking your hands into his, the edges of his lips curled into the tiniest smile, staring thoughtfully at the sight he had never imagined in his wildest dreams would be here right in front of him. 

“Because you gave me everything I could ever ask for without wanting anything in return, and I don’t deserve it.” His words flowed like ink from a fountain pen, soaking through the pages that bound your love for him. 

Pausing before continuing, you couldn’t prepare yourself for what he had to say next.

“It’s like you’re too good to be real. Here. In front of me.” he clasped your hands tighter. “I still feel like don’t deserve you.” At this sudden confession, his tense expression softened. “Like I’m not enough for you...”

The dark and piercing stare you used to cower in fear at had now revealed itself to be the only one you knew that was full of vulnerability and as delicate as a glass menagerie. They were eyes you had grown fond of, admired, and more than anything—wholeheartedly and unequivocally loved.

Running his thumb over your cheek, you cupped over his hand in response, making your heart flutter at the delicate flush that spread across his face. 

“Min Yoongi...” you sighed as your eyes began to form budding tears. Shaking your head while trying to hold back the painful smile that threatened to escape, you took a deep breath. 

The lump in your throat returned tenfold when you looked up and saw that his eyes were glued onto yours, his deep brown orbs watering with glassy tears and lip quivering with the infinite ocean of amour he felt for you. You had already fallen in too deep to drown.

All these years later and you still made each other’s hearts race like a soaring kite. 

Whether it was from the cold or the bursting dam of repressed emotions, it didn’t matter. You cupped both sides of his face and brought his forehead to yours, pressing lightly and maintaining contact so that you were trapped directly in-line of each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but smile and allow a tear to trail down your cheek when his hands cupped over yours.

“You’re right. You aren’t just anything to me,” you whispered, your voice near barely audible to anyone except Yoongi. “You are absolutely everything I could ever ask for and more. 

Yoongi swallowed the rush of nostalgia that flooded his mind and closed up his throat. “I have never in my entire life met someone who comes close to how you understand me, wait for me, and push me through my bad days,” he croaked through blurry eyes. 

You sniffled, brimming tears finally spilling like the puddles of your youth you once basked in. “You make me the happiest and the best person I can be, and I love you more than anything else in this entire world...”

“And I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he finally spoke, completing your words like the last piece of a puzzle fitting perfectly in its place. 

His words and soft lips sealed a kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering softly at the ardor you felt only while in his warmth. You kissed him back, the saltiness of your mingled tears leaving watercolor thin streaks down both of your cheeks.

Words would never be enough to express the bond you and him shared. He could only pray to whoever was listening that you felt it as strongly as he did, and you for him. 

A song composed with no more than the painful memories of your past, tender youth of the present, and limitlessly unbound fate of your future, your paths entwined with the string of fate and aria had brought you together to this exact moment in time.

Passionless pursuit in the chase for perfection; a journey filled with sorrows in the hopes of leading to the smallest sliver of happiness; an outcome neither of you had expected to come to fruition in your wildest and most distant dreams.

Everything else is arbitrary. Happiness through the darkest of times stemming from the willingness to fight and determination to be happy—that is what you made your lives out to be. 

The faint glint of the rings you both bore reflected against the lamp post bulbs, an even brighter light emitting from both of your smiles. Had it already been a year since he’d asked for your hand? Yoongi’s fingers ran over the engraved metal, tracing the near-microscopic words that were etched into the band. You did the same with his, the loop of silver feeling cool against your fingertips.

It was real.

This was real.

[eirlyssa]

Whumptober day 23 - Bleeding Out

For my 23rd fill for @whumptober2019, I wrote this pre-WinterIron story in an AU with supernatural creatures. It’s also available on Ao3.

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It had happened so quickly that Tony honestly couldn’t quite recall what happened. One moment he was calmly walking down the street; the next, he found himself lying in an alley, bleeding out from multiple stab wounds.

Weakly, he tried to sit up, only to fall back down the one inch he’d managed when the pain hit him.

“Help?” he tried, but he couldn’t quite manage to speak any louder than a whisper.

Closing his eyes, he wondered if he should just resign himself to his fate. His attacker had taken his phone, though there was no way the guy would manage to hack his way in - JARVIS himself kept Tony’s phone safe and inaccessible to anyone but him.

At least it meant that JARVIS would be able to find the person who’d done this to him.

He wasn’t sure why, either. It had occurred to him that it might be a mugging, but his wallet was still safe in his pocket. Only his phone had been taken, making sure he wouldn’t be able to call for help.

Maybe it was because of who he was. An actual assassination attempt for being Tony Stark. He had no illusions about being perfect, but… He’d been helping, right? His weapons kept American soldiers safe, and his multitude of other inventions made lives easier and more comfortable. More and more, he’d been moving to the fields that had truly interested him when he’d been learning about engineering and programming.

He thought he’d been doing better.

No words had been exchanged, not as far as he could recall. Just gloved hands and a sharp knife, before he was left alone to die.

No reason had been given at all.

Cold was creeping up on him, but he couldn’t even shiver. Instead, all he could do was look up at the dark sky.

Weirdly enough, the thought hit him that he would’ve preferred to die under the light of the stars, however difficult they might be to see in the middle of New York City - instead, there were clouds obscuring them, making the sky look empty and dreary.

He tried to swallow, failing and coughing instead. It made pain rush through him once again, and he couldn’t help his stifled moan. Damn, but he didn’t want to die. Not yet. There was so much he still wanted to do, so much he still thought he could improve. Now that he was finally old and settled enough that the board listened to him when he suggested avenues other than weapons, he’d been getting to where he’d wanted to take Stark Industries since he’d been young.

He didn’t want to die yet.

Focusing on the clouds, however dreary they were, he tried to keep on breathing. The longer he could manage to keep surviving, the more time there was for someone to perhaps find him and get him to a hospital.

There wasn’t a lot he could move, but he did still have his expensive leather wallet and a somewhat functioning right arm. So, trying to keep his breathing steady, he slowly reached for his wallet, letting his arm fall back down once he’d gotten a hold of it. Victory. Then, slowly, he started slapping it onto the ground.

It didn’t make much of a sound, but at least it was more than his voice could produce.

Damn, Pepper would be so pissed at him. Not to mention Rhodey. And Obie, too.

He just hoped Happy wouldn’t feel too bad for suddenly falling ill. That wasn’t something he could help, after all, and there was no way Tony was forcing the man to keep acting as a bodyguard when he should be home and resting.

As he grew increasingly cold, he just found himself wishing he could get a message to them somehow. Not even to save him anymore - he wasn’t sure that was even possible, not with his injuries and the amount of blood he’d lost, though he was still determined to keep trying. But just to let them know that he cared, and that he knew how incredibly lucky he had been to have them in his life and caring for him.

Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad anymore. The pain was starting to fade out of awareness, and instead he mostly felt tired. It was becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open, and his slow tapping with the wallet was tapering off into a silence filled only with his increasingly strained breathing.

Until a shadow appeared above him.

It wasn’t much of a shadow, not with the lack of light, but it woke Tony up just a little. Not enough to speak, not with the way every breath was a struggle by now, but enough to look at the man that had appeared.

He was attractive - shoulder-length brown hair, intense light eyes, and a highly attractive stubble adorning a jawline that had Tony envious. His broad build and dark clothes should probably have felt threatening, but he was honestly beyond that. Instead, he found himself wondering if it would be possible to experience one last touch, one last confirmation. If it would be possible not to die on his own.

“Oh, sweetheart… That don’t look good,” he said softly, and Tony managed the slightest shiver at the sound of his voice. It was like a warm blanket surrounding him, leaving him feeling peaceful and comforted.

Even more than before, he struggled to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t alone anymore, and he wanted to savor every moment of it.

Which was why he could observe the contemplative look on the man’s face as he looked down at Tony, as well as the exact moment he appeared to come to a decision. As well as the exact moment fangs descended from the sides of his mouth.

Rather than feeling afraid, or threatened, Tony just gave into it. The touch of lips on the wound that appeared to have just missed his heart was more gentle than he thought anyone but Rhodey had touched him in years. It didn’t take long, not with how much he’d bled already, and for a brief moment he wondered if the vampire had decided to simply take advantage of the situation and drain him completely.

Then there was a wrist in front of his mouth, the tiniest slice releasing a clear liquid. The moment the taste hit him, Tony couldn’t help but latch on, drinking as deeply as he could in his weakened state.

Vaguely, he was aware of a large hand cradling his head as he sucked, stroking his hair just a little. He leaned into it just a little, aware he was probably acting like a cat desperate for attention, but he couldn’t help himself. Already, it felt like coming home.

Still incredibly gently, the vampire pulled his wrist away. It was tempting to follow, to taste some more of that ambrosia, but that would mean pulling away from the hand still stroking his hair. So he leaned into it, into the vampire’s body. He knew it shouldn’t be, but to him, it felt warm and safe.

As the Change set in, he could feel the way he was picked up gently in a bridal carry, allowing his head to fall against that strong chest. In response, the arms tightened just a little to pull him even closer.

There was a soft whisper, barely audible. “I’ll take care of you now, sweetheart.”

Then, everything went black.