#okay i confess: he's rotating in my mind i have to draw him

[omgafhsfanin2024]

Friendly reminder: Deuz

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 16 - Madness

Summary: after the fight, Gojo tries to forget what happened while you can’t seem to let go. 

A/N: (18+ / minors and ageless blogs dni) // hi everyone, here is an update! I don’t know why writing this hurt my brain lol but this chapter was inspired by the song Madness by Muse - shout out to J, and her amazing playlist, yet again! ❤️ I’m hoping that I’ll be able to update more frequently. I have the story outlined until the end now. Buckle up, kids, and prepare for the feels!

“…I’ve had to watch you pine after a man that I couldn’t stand for years. One more night isn’t going to make a difference to me…”

Your eyes fluttered open, daylight greeting you along with a pounding headache that throbbed across your temples. The nausea rolled in your stomach as you replayed Satoru’s words, your fingers clenching around the duvet as your heart raced.

You gently sat upright, still holding the blanket close to your chest as if it was protecting you from your own memories. The events of last night trickled through your exhausted state of mind, from the disappointing kiss with the stranger to your regrettable decision of wanting to stop your arrangement with Gojo. Caught in your own wave of emotions you acted impulsively only to have it blow up in your face.

Then there was Satoru’s confession which only left you in a bubble of confusion - if he disliked Haru after all this time, why didn’t he say anything about it?

If Satoru really couldn’t stand Haru, then there was no way he would have been complacent about your relationship. Your friend argued with you over the smallest things that made him uncomfortable, a great instance of that fact is the pillow debacle.

About a year ago, you went through a week of waking up every single morning with a kink in your neck. The situation was bad enough that you wound up walking in a funny position from how stiff you were.

Satoru came up with a suggestion - truthfully, he nagged you into submission - of changing your pillows, while agreeing to help pick out one that would assist with your neck situation.

“You should get this, it’s the one I use,” he said, pointing his finger at one of the more luxurious options.

The white pillows were still in their boxes, nestled on top of fancy silver stands. Blue criss-cross patterns imprinted the fabric, the sign next to the products indicating all the benefits that they provided from maintaining the contours of the body, to relieving any pressure from the neck, back and shoulders as well as having “self-cooling” capabilities…

“Ha! You must be joking, do you see how much it costs?” you replied, ready to turn on your heel and walk in the opposite direction of the department store. “That’s a good chunk of my paycheck and I am sure we can find something better…”

You didn’t even take your first step when you felt Gojo grab you by the elbow and turn you back around.

“You’re getting this one. It’s the best choice.”

“No, I am not. I can’t afford this one. Besides, I can’t justify spending that kind of money on some pillows…”

“I can if it will help you,” he said, picking one of the boxes off the display and nestling it underneath his arm before reaching out for a second one. “Come on, let’s cash out.”

Your furrowed your brows at him, following his long strides as you tried to stop him.

“Put them back!”

“This isn’t up for discussion, as your friend it’s my moral obligation to take care of you. I don’t want to be fit when I’m eighty years old and your standing besides me with a crooked neck. What am I supposed to do with you then? It’ll be a total buzzkill for my retirement plan…”

You rolled your eyes at him, “okay, but this is not worth the pri-“

You bumped into him when he stopped walking. He hunched down to meet your eye level before flashing you a cheeky grin. “If you can rotate your head in a full circle, I’ll put the pillows back.”

“W-what…”

“You heard me,” he pressed, swirling his free index finger around to draw a sphere, “one full circle and I’ll put them back.”

You pouted, your arrogance getting the better of you and you adjusted your stance before slowly moving your neck to the right. You inhaled when you felt the muscle tighten, a shooting pain following the curve down to your shoulder. You snagged your bottom lip between your teeth as you found yourself struggling to motion your chin any further.

“F-fuck…” you stuttered.

“Mhmm, that’s what I thought,” Gojo replied, a look of amusement manifesting across his face. “Do you think I can go around fighting curses all night long and not have the right products to support this body of mine?“

“I’m serious. I can’t afford them. Please, put them back,” you rebutted, returning to a position that was comfortable.

“You can’t afford them but I can!” the sorcerer chirped.

“Oh, no! No, no, no…there is no chance that I will allow you to buy me these! They are overpriced…”

“Beneficial…” Satoru emphasized.

“Overpriced bedroom accessories!”

Your friend casually made his way towards the cash counter, disregarding you buzzing around him like a bee.

“I told you I have a moral obligation…” he argued back, before fishing out his wallet but you quickly circled his wrist to stop him from pulling out his credit card.

“You are not buying these for me. If you do, I promise I’ll be that friend who ignored you for the next fifty years, crooked neck and all!”

Gojo rolled his eyes, resting both his elbows on the counter. “Okay, okay, let’s compromise…you try out these pillows tonight and if you feel even one percent better, then you admit that I’m right and keep them. But, if I’m wrong and they are just ‘overpriced accessories’, ” he gestured air quotes with his slender fingers, “…then I’ll happily take them back. Deal?”

“Or you could just put them back, and we forget the whole thing!”

He smirked, “take the deal or suffer the wrath of me building an entire pillow fort in that tiny ass apartment of yours…”

You eased your grip on his wrist, knowing full well that he would kick up a fuss rather than back down from this fight.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Keep the receipts, I want to make sure you get your money back.”

He flashed you his pearly whites, “mhmm, will see about that when you thank me in the morning!”

You hated that you had the best sleep of your life that night.

When you admitted to Gojo that he was right, he wrote out a message of praise to himself which he made you read out loud to him the next time you both hung out together.

Your friend may be an idiot, but he was your idiot who was always looking out for you.

If he went through all that trouble over a set of pillows, it made absolutely no sense that he would keep any negative opinions about your relationship to himself.

After you managed to roll out of bed, you proceeded to fulfill the extremely daunting task of taking a shower. You washed and conditioned your hair, eliminating any traces of your terrible night from seeping into your day. You lathered yourself with body wash, brushed your teeth and massaged your face with your favorite cleanser, all the while trying to erase the pain on Satoru’s face when you admitted that he deserved to be punished.

You turned off the faucet, a deep sigh escaping you as water droplets dripped down from the shower head to your feet.

You and Gojo argued all the time but never had a serious fight where you couldn’t talk it out within minutes of it happening.

You covered your face with your hands, embarrassment flooding through you when you thought about your attitude towards him in the alley. You were so detached from that moment that you couldn’t even justify your own petty behavior. Just as you remembered how hard you were trying to make him jealous for sleeping with somebody else, you remembered the line that he had let slip:

“…I couldn’t stop thinking of you the entire time we were together. I always end up thinking about you…”

You shivered, unsure of where to begin to dissect that comment. Knowing Gojo was attracted to you is one thing but there was no chance that he regarded you as anything other than a friend.

Then…why would he say that?, you thought.

You never considered that he would ever take a serious interest in you and if he decided to ever commit to a relationship, then Satoru deserved to be with somebody who was on his level. He needed to be with someone who he viewed as his equal, who was powerful and strong as the greatest sorcerer alive. You wanted him to be happy with somebody beautiful, who could match that charismatic energy and would cherish him for who he is, while acknowledging that there is so much more to him than meets the eye.

Not you.

You were just so…average…

He would lose any interest eventually because you would probably bore him to death with your silly romanticism and conformist ideas about love.

No matter how close you were, you both were just too different when it came to the things that mattered regarding the complexities of intimate relationships.

Why would he waste his time with you?

The thought made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach and you were unable to understand why you were aching in places that you didn’t even know could hurt.

***

You were a bit more productive by the afternoon. You finally called Rina back, promising that you would give her the full update detailing your night when you both made plans, insisting that this was not a conversation that you could merely have over the phone. You then proceeded to make your bed, wash the dishes and catch up on a few work emails. You prepped lunch for yourself, cooking a simple rice bowl with salmon while simultaneously reciting an apology to Satoru.

You knew you needed to clear the air with him and decided that you wanted an explanation regarding the statements he made last night, but the first thing you had to do is say sorry for how you treated him.

Your friend didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the pain that Haru had inflicted, nor was it fair of you to use him to bury the loneliness that your ex-boyfriend left in his wake. No matter what the circumstances are, your friendship came first and you weren’t exactly living up to that title very well.

You’ve been going through it over and over again, finally coming to the conclusion that you were just going to lay out the entire truth. You were going to tell him the real reason why you and Haru broke up, putting your pride aside to admit that your prince wasn’t as charming as you’ve praised him to be. You needed Satoru to understand where your hurt was coming from and why you acted so irrationally. Then you were going to say sorry until he could find it in himself to forgive you.

Just as you were about to say your apology out loud for a third time, your phone started to vibrate.

Speak of the devil.

“Hello?”

“Hey!”

Your heart started to race, “H-Hi!…”

“So, listen…remember that night we stayed up watching those two terrible movies back to back? The ones about those cows and chickens that turned into zombies?”

You paused, your words catching in your throat as you were caught off guard by Satoru’s energetic tone on the receiving line.

“Uhm, yeah…I-I remember the CGI was terrible, it was called…”The Farm” or something?”

“ ‘The Cursed Farm’! Yes, you remember! Well, today I was scrolling through my phone when I noticed this trailer pop up on my Instagram page, it turns out there’s a third movie called “The Cursed Farm: Bad Harvest”! Can you believe that? They actually took the time to make another movie! Anyway, I couldn’t resist and I got two tickets for one of the showings tonight. Would you like to tag along?”

You blinked a couple of times, “tag along?”

“Yeah, it starts at seven. I figured since it’s the weekend you’re free to join, unless you had something else planned?“

Again there was a long pause, your brain unable to process Satoru’s request because he is behaving like everything is normal.

Except things weren’t normal and the blisters around your ankles is physical proof that the events from last night did, in fact, happen.

Unless Gojo somehow bumped his head which triggered some type of short term amnesia, you couldn’t comprehend how he transitioned to his usual warm and fuzzy self overnight.

“Hellooo?” he sang again, “are you there?”

“Y-Yes, I’m here! Sorry! I’m a bit spaced out this morning after what happened last-“

“Don’t worry about it!” Satoru cut you off, “So, you’re in for the movie tonight?”

You nodded your head, swallowing the hard lump in your throat. “Sure, I’m not busy.”

“Great! I’ll text you which theatre to meet me at. See you then!”

Before you could even say goodbye, he hung up the phone.

You stared at the device in your hands, bypassing the seconds until you came to your senses.

Is Satoru really choosing to avoid the confrontation entirely?

You knew that settling the matter would smooth things over instead of ignoring how they transpired - but if your friend is giving you the opportunity to see him, it means that the two of you might actually have the chance to talk about it.

Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you’ve made it out to be in your head…

Maybe if you approached the problem with a cool and collected mind, then things might turn out...fine…

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

Maybe, just maybe, you haven’t completely screwed things up with your friend…

Your moment of bliss only managed to last for a few minutes because you wound up being a wreck by the evening.

You spent the rest of your afternoon distracting yourself with menial tasks but your anxiety was through the roof with how nervous you were about tonight. Even picking out your outfit was flustering and you worked up a sweat trying to determine whether or not your clothes were too dressy or if they were sending the wrong kind of message. In the end you settled for comfort, wearing your favorite pair of high waisted jeans and a tank top with an oversized cardigan. By the time you managed to put on your make up, you realized you were running late.

The street outside the movie theatre was packed with people. Blinding, bright lights flashed above thanks to the giant screens on the building, all of which were promoting the latest must-see films. You stepped outside your uber, thanking the driver before proceeding to approach the crowd. You looked around for your tall friend, whose above average height made it possible for you to spot him from a mile away.

You gave yourself three seconds to let the nerves settle before approaching him, your hands gripping onto the strap of your crossbody purse. You were relieved to see that he also dressed down, wearing a simple grey hoodie with darker jeans and white sneakers. His black sunglasses were resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose, and he was tapping away at his phone with a pensive look on his face.

It really is unfair that somebody could look that good with such minimal effort.

“Hey, you…” you spoke, your voice coming out quieter than anticipated and you waved your hand awkwardly to draw his attention.

“Hey!” he replied, his face lighting up when he saw you and he quickly shoved his phone in his pocket. “You made it!”

“Yeah, sorry if I’m a little late…I was having a wardrobe malfunction…”

“It’s okay, we’ve still got a few minutes before the movie starts,” he continued, opening the entrance door and tilting his head to direct you inside. “You hungry? I can get us some popcorn…”

“No, thanks. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach any food with the violence that these animals are about to ensue on those poor farmers…”

A chuckle escaped him, “fair enough!”

You made your way inside but you were feeling uneasy with his cordial behavior.

You refused to believe that your friend is this detached by the fact that he interrupted your sad attempt of hooking up with a stranger only to then walk you back to your place with his hand protectively intertwined in your own.

The two of you found your seats in the last row of the empty theater, being the only ones who were interested in attending the low budget horror film.

Satoru wasn’t engaging in his usual chatter with you, instead he was filling any awkward silences with random statements, such as “oh, it’s kind of cold in here…” or “I think the movie is about to start, we made it in time!” - in other words, speaking to the non existent general audience around him rather than directing a focused conversation towards you.

You couldn’t blame him really, especially since you had absolutely no idea what to say in return. You were so distracted by the scent of his intoxicating cologne that you were resisting the urge to compliment how good he smells.

Cedar and spice wafted across your nose, warming your entire soul and making you wish that you could bury yourself in his chest for a hug. If circumstances were different, that’s what you would do because being wrapped up comfortably in those arms is exactly what you needed at this very moment.

You were tense when the movie began, your frigid body contrasting Satoru’s who is leisurely lounging against the chair. His right arm was extended out to the free seat beside him, his legs spread wide but you noticed that he was making a conscious effort not to bump his knee into yours.

You have no idea how you managed to get through the next hour and thirty minutes, spacing out the entire time the movie flashed before your eyes. You kept glancing over towards Gojo, in the hopes that he would make eye contact with you. Instead your friend remained transfixed on the horrific plague brought on by the zombified barn animals, bursting into a fit of laughter whenever the main character let a cheesy line slip or dramatically gasping watching a hilarious death scene at play.

You didn’t realize how much it would hurt seeing him switch to his regular self while you were left dealing with the emotional turmoil on your own.

By the time the movie ended, your stomach was left twisted in knots and you were fighting the urge to break down in tears.

***

“…I definitely think the first installment is better, they basically took all the good bits from the last two movies and repeated them! Meh, how disappointing…I guess that’s what you get with these shitty films, they lose their initial thrill because the writers just can’t come up with anymore good ideas. I mean, they even reused the same footage from the other movies, like the scene with the zombie chickens gouging the eyes out of the family next door…”

You pressed your lips together, giving Satoru a small smile as you hummed along his words. He had been talking incessantly since you left the movie theatre, giving you a full review on his exact thoughts about the cinematic experience. Usually you would be bantering with him in return, but you were still trying to figure out how to cut the topic short and slide in your apology.

“Man, I’m starving! We should go back to my place and order take out...uhhh, if you want to…otherwise, I’ll just walk you home…”

For the first time tonight you perked up at his suggestion, “that sounds like a great idea!” you blurted out, doing little to hide your relief.

Satoru flashed you a heart melting grin, one that was quick to make the muscle in your chest to skip a beat.

You noticed that he was walking faster than you could keep up, always two steps ahead or behind and never in line with your own. Despite the persona he was putting on, you could see that he was acting strange. Everything he was doing felt forced but whenever you tried to point it out, he would immediately deflect your statements. The awkwardness that lingered was blatantly obvious but while you were fully aware of that fact, you noticed that your friend was just shrugging it off.

The anticipation was building, the weight of it growing heavier with every step you took closer to his apartment. You were afraid that he might brush off your words as casually as he was treating this entire situation, nervously wondering that he is actually serious with how little he seemed to care about the whole situation.

Since you’ve started your entanglement, you’ve grown accustomed to his incessant touches. You found it comforting when would wrap his arm around your waist or shoulder, pulling you into his lean frame for you to nestle against him. You felt strange being this close him and feeling the divide, hating just how much he was keeping his hands to himself.

You were thankful when the two of you made it back to his place, figuring that this was the perfect time to say something. You would rather get everything out of the way now than drag anymore uneasy tension over dinner. You were watching him nonchalantly whistle as he pulled his key card out of his wallet, reassuring yourself that this was the right thing to do before speaking.

“Satoru, wait, before we go in, there’s something I-“

“You want to get sushi tonight? There’s this new place I’m dying to try out…”

“Yeah, sure, uhm…we can get whatever you want, but before we go, I really need to talk to you about something…”

“Oh, how about dumplings! You know what, I think we should treat ourselves and do both…”

“Wait, there’s something I’m trying tell you…”

“Or we could just keep it easy and do pizza, I think that’ll be the better option…”

“Satoru, stop talking!” you announced, reaching your hand out to grab him but stopped when you noticed that you were met with the force of his infinity.

You winced, drawing both your attentions to your hand that couldn’t touch him. You slowly retracted away while Satoru fidgeted with the key card between his fingers, subconsciously sliding it back in his wallet, and shoving it in his hoodie. He cleared his throat, before dragging his shades up to thread them through his white locks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on a rant,” he said, a tint of pink blushing his cheeks.

“It’s…it’s not that,” you stammered, trying to hide the hurt knowing that he was physically keeping himself from you. “I just want to talk about what happened last night…”

“Oh?”

You nodded your head, “It’s been sitting on my head and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up…”

He laughed, scratching the back of his ear nervously, “Hey, it’s okay, let’s not dwell on it! What happened…happened, right? We can’t change it. I know you probably regret hooking up with me in the first place but it really isn’t a big deal. I knew I fucked things up the minute I hooked up with somebody else. I should have respected your boundaries, this is my fault…”

“That’s not true!” you exclaimed, your quick response prompting Satoru to raise both his brows as the smile fell from his face.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you closed your eyes to steady your shaking voice.

“Satoru,” you sighed, “I don’t know how to switch off like you. I can’t just sweep this under the rug and have dinner with you like everything is perfectly fine between us. I’ve spent the entire day spiraling down a circle of guilt thinking of the way I treated you last night, just wondering how I could apologize for my behavior. You say that it doesn’t matter but I know that I hurt you, and you deserve an apology. Last night was inexcusable and I…”

You covered your face with your hands, “…I need to be honest with you. When you told me about Ami, it brought up some really painful memories, memories that have nothing to do with you. None of this is your fault, because you don’t know the full story…you don’t know that Haru fucked me over or why we broke up, you-you don’t know how hard I am still trying to work through it…”

Gojo froze watching you crumble in front of him. He’s no stranger to seeing you in all forms and moods, but never this vulnerable.

“…I didn’t know how to tell you that I-I’m the idiot for falling in love with somebody who ended up cheating on me…”

“Stop…” he interrupted, taking a step closer towards you but maintaining his distance. He brought his knuckle to wipe away another tear that trailed down your cheek, but hesitated before dropping his hand to his side. “You’re not…you’re not an idiot…”

“Oh, come on, if anybody has the right to say it it’s you,” you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest as you stared down at your feet, “I constantly rubbed it in your face about how perfect my relationship was, like I was trying to prove something to you. Turns out you were right, huh? Love brings nothing but unnecessary drama into someone’s life. What’s the point committing yourself to somebody who is just going to hurt you in the end?”

He placed both his hands flat against the door by your face, shaking his head as he clenched his jaw, “That’s…that’s not what I wanted for you…I don’t want you to believe that….”

“You’re smart not creating any attachments, you really are. I thought I could move past this, I thought I could…have something meaningless but last night proved that I’m still stuck in this loop. That’s why I asked if we could stop, because I didn’t want to drag you in my mess. You’re not at fault here and I will not blame you for the bullshit that I’m going through. But then…then you said all those things…” you finally looked at him from under your lashes with hopeful eyes, making him hold his breath as his chest tightened, “…god, I don’t even know if it means anything…but if…if there is anything that I regret about last night, it’s how things ended between us…”

Satoru furrowed his brows, focusing on the way you scrunched your face in frustration. He exhaled before slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, your apology pouring out of you. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth in the first place. I’m sorry for deliberately trying to hurt you. I’m sorry for complicating what was really good between us. I would…I would take it all back if I could.”

The silence hung in the air but you felt lighter allowing the words to flow through you. Your sparkling eyes met those of your friend, whose blue irises swirled like a warm flame. He wasn’t laughing or making jokes, just looking at you sheer intensity that you lightly knocked your head back against the frame of his door just to break away from his hold. He leaned forward, closing the gap as he finally dropped his infinity to invade your personal space. He relaxed his stance before placing his forehead on your shoulder.

“Why are you always such an open book with how you feel? You’re making this so difficult for me. I’m trying to go back to normal, to go back to the way things were just like you asked of me last night. I’m doing everything in my power to stop myself from kissing you, to stop myself from fucking touching you…” he exhaled, his breath hot against your neck as he slowly dragged his lips up the curve and across your jaw to hover just above your own. “I meant everything I said last night. I’ve had to watch that little shit put his hands all over the one person I cared about the most, and all I could do was smile about it, but I can’t…”

His fists clenched into tight balls, his nails digging into the palms of his hand but you were lost in a daze upon hearing his confession. “I can’t keep doing this anymore…”

You swallowed hard, your lids growing heavy watching him shift his gaze towards your heaving chest before returning to your parted lips.

“Can’t keep doing what…exactly?” you asked breathlessly.

“Pretending…” he stated through gritted teeth, his tone laced with desire as he finally released his grip to cup your face.

“…pretending like I haven’t wanted you, like I haven’t wanted this, from the moment I laid my eyes on you…” he feverishly replied, before silencing you with a passionate kiss.

***

CHAPTER 17: FEVER

***

TAG: @ekaterinatepes @pensivespecter @jelly-jellx

[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.3K

notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi.  this guy has it all.  looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.  

i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day.  you guys make my day.

i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

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

Yoongi had fucked up.

He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another.  That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face. 

It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch.  It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb. 

That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.  

That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.

That’s the night he met you.

“Rough evening, Mister Yun?” 

Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand.  That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.

“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face.  Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.  

But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.  

Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck.  He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.  

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”  

Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves.  “I’m a resident.  And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back.  Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”

“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled.  “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Good call.”

You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side.  You’d smelled fucking amazing.  The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.

“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly.  “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”

Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air.  But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.

“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye.  “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”

You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.

Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away. 

He liked that you’d played along anyway.

“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.  

“I know, right?”

That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine.  That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.  

He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.

“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds.  You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back.  “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”

“Well, that is good news.”

There was that smile again.  

It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated.  Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.

“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”

Then you were gone.

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

Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.

It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits.  He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.

Rotate hospitals.  Use fake names.  Pay in cash.

All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention.  Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone.  That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.

Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.  

An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city.  Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.

Sometimes they play ball.  Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy.  Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.

After that, everything was a blur.

At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.  

Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city.  He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.

But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.

Hoping to see you. 

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

Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.

Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.

“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ”  you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand.  You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.

“ -- Mister Woo.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually.  “It’s no problem.”

You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.

It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.

You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts.  You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain.  The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night. 

Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions.  But you don’t.  

You play along.  

Again.

“Right.  Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves.  “What happened to your hand?”

“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”  

His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.  

“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand.  I think I might have broken something.”

“Hmm,” you murmur.  “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”

Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot.  You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.

“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.  

You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.  

“That you are.”

You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm.  He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.

“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me.  I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”

“Yeah, okay.  It hurts like hell.”

“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet.  “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready.  I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.

You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.  

You could be off to flag a security guard.  Or leaving to call the police.

He really should have just followed protocol.

Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes.  Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.  

It’s the X-ray technician.

Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.

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

It takes hours for you to come back.

“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return.  “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain.  Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”

Yoongi nods.  “Got it.”

“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages.  “Just a suggestion.”

“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles.  “Safety first.”

You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand.  But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.

“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”

“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly.  You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles. 

“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”

“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue.  “They just can’t tolerate them.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears.  You seem to relax after that.  He does, too.

“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city.  Ever been there?”

“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.  

“It’s not far from here.  Open twenty-four hours.  I hang out there sometimes.”

“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely.  “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Not really.  That about covers it.”

You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.

“All done.  How does it feel?”

“Better,” Yoongi admits.  “Thanks.”

You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern.  Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.

This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.  

This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.

“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.

You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.

But you don’t.

“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thanks, Doc.”

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

YOU

Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.

The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one.  Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.  

A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night.  You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending.  Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.

“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.

“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.

Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line.  You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.  

No chance you’ll get that back.

Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what.  He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.

“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.

“A few times, actually,” you mutter.  “I’m getting killed out here.”

“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone.  “We’ll get it done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee.  He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person.  You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.

“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction.  “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”

Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

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

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.

You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen.  Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.

You freeze.  

The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat.  You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

It’s not him.  

It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.  

You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.

But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.

He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.

So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy. 

Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.

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

Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.

It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really. 

It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.

Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.  

This week has been the worst, by far.  You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted.  If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.

The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?”  Nurse Ko asks with a grin.  “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”

“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe. 

“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs.  “Here, I brought you something.”  

She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.  

“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open.  You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.

“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”

“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats.  “I just needed five minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you.  Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused.  She waits for you to collect yourself.

“Is he -- ”

“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.  

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.

“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.

“That, too.  Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before.  You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”

You flush.

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

“Good evening, Mister Kim.”

You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.  

Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest.  You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.

Get it together, girl.

“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly.  “Sword-swallowing accident?  Lose a fist fight with a bear?”

Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.  

“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”

You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face.  You force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“I dislocated my shoulder.  Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”

You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.

“Crazy night.  One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”

“Did you save it?”

“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”

“Bravo, Mister Kim.” 

“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.  

You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.

“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”

“I did,” he admits.  “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”

You cock your head to the side as you look at him.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, yeah.  Right,” he chuckles.  

“You need some help getting undressed?”

“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket.  You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.

“It’s strawberry.”

You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell.  Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.  

“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.

“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher.  You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder.  “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

“Mission accomplished, Doc.”

He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes --  and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.  

You remind yourself to get back to work. 

He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.

“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses.  “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“So this happens to you from time to time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again.  “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”

Your eyes flick back to his.  

Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now.  Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.

“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies.  The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.  

“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “

Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans.  The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.  

Textbook.  

The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.  

But you feel it anyway.

“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”

“What -- ”

“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply.  “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine.  The hard way.”

The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens.  Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.

“It’s out.”

Neither of you says another word.

The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes.  The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place.  Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.

In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.

“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash.   You grab your tablet to make notes.

“You mad at me, Doc?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen.  “I don’t even know you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.  

There’s no teasing or humor there anymore.  He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.

“No more stories, no more bullshit.  Tell me who you are.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence.  Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.

“I can’t,” he breathes quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head in disgust.

“Are you dangerous?”

Before he even speaks, you get your answer.  You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.  The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.

“I’m asking you,” you fire back.

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story.  But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.

“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.

You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.

“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly.  “And don’t come back.”

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

Glossary:

Dijeoteu: dessert

Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart

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

Tag List!

@heroesfan101 @kpop-saved-ruinedme @mono-kookie @ctvrty @bluewhale52 @thenopekid @uhgood-dooghu @youwannabelostandnotbefound @yiyi4657 @daydreambrliever @mstbeautifulmmt @darktsuki0 @mademysongtakeflight @fireflyinsummer @paperpurple @btseditsworld @outrofenty @taestannie​ @yeojaa​ @sahmfanficbts​ @snackhobi​

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

[anon-rebel-writes]

Late Night Talks

Hello everyone! I hope you are having a wonderful day!

So this is a new story (yay!), and I wrote this for my girlfriend! She asked me not to tag her for privacy reasons, but I hope she loves this because this is actually based on a real event!

A quick background, we confessed through the phone and this story is heavily based on that. A lot of the feelings Luka feels are things that I actually felt! The dialogue is pretty similar too (obviously some things are cut out or edited to fit Luka and Mari lol)

My “just-a-friend” got me into MLB and we both love Lukanette, so I thought it’d be fitting to write her a story about Lukanette, based on us, for one of her gifts! Happy birthday, my love! I hope you (and everyone else reading this XD) enjoy it!

The story begins under the cut! <3 Ao3 Link

Soft light from his phone covered his face, forcing his eyes to squint in order to see clearly. His thumb unconsciously moved across the screen, opening up random apps before quickly closing them just to open them again.

The boat was fairly quiet. During the day, he could hear the different movements and various noises from his mother and sister, but this late at night merely left the sounds of waves from the Seine below him. The natural creaking of the boat usually left him relaxed and helped him fall asleep.

Although lately his nights had been occupied by other things, especially one girl.

Luka shifted in his bed, trying to engulf himself in more warmth from his blankets. Did his mattress always feel this stiff and uncomfortable? He never paid it much attention before, it never mattered before. Maybe it was just his mind trying to find something to think about.

He glanced at the time near the top of his screen and saw it was ten after midnight. Well at least it’s not too late yet, or maybe it wasn’t too early yet? She never texted him extremely late (or extremely early). Was it late? When did he care about time so much?

The only reason he thought about the time lately was because of her.

Luka shifted again, pulling up the blanket to cover the blush creeping up his cheeks. He continued to open apps just to close them again. He sighed and turned off the phone, letting the room dim and his eyes rest. Why did this feel so desperate? He used to see himself as a ‘go with the flow’ guy, but she had found a way into his heart and made him question his entire life.

When had he ever checked his phone this much? If she decided to text him tonight (as she had been doing for the past couple of nights), would immediately replying make him seem obsessed? He didn’t want to come off as overbearing. Didn't girls like when guys text fast? She hasn’t seemed to mind it so far. Then again, his only source of reference was his sister, and getting her to reply to him took years off his life.

His phone beeped and the screen lit up, showing a new text message. Luka quickly sat up and hurried to read the message.

‘SOS Can’t sleep again :( Think I might need a ~Luka~ to help (^-^)’

He covered his mouth with his palm, trying to hide the smile consuming his face. When did his nights become like this? Maybe it was desperate to wait for a text, but when the text came from Marinette, he couldn’t find a reason to be upset.

This girl seemed to bring him a whole new type of happiness, even if he was too nervous to text her first. He wanted to give her space and be comfortable around him, so waiting until midnight for a text never bothered him.

While seeing her throughout the day was always amazing, there was a different feeling that came with their late night talks. The fact that she needed to sleep and came to him for help gave him a warmth in his chest he never knew before. Although sometimes it made him feel selfish, seeing as she tended to talk to him when she was tired.

‘Luckily this Luka is always able to help :)’

And he really was always able to help, at least he tried to be. Luka helped everyone. Whether it was his family, friends, strangers, co-workers, he always lended a hand. But when it came to Marinette, he’d drop everything to run to her.

‘Yesss! Call me! Mama needs some Luka time!’

He tried to stifle a laugh and rolled his eyes at his phone. His body was hunched over the edge of the bed, watching his phone with intense eyes, as if the messages would disappear if he looked away.

In the mornings, he always found himself worried about that, as if the night before only existed in his mind. He’d hurry back to his phone to re-read the messages, making sure that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl who chased off his nightmares and reinvented his dreams, really spent her night with him. Even if it was through a screen, even if it was for an hour, the messages were there to remind him that for a moment, she was his and he was hers. He was always hers, if she wanted him to be.

Luka slowly leaned back onto his bed, trying to get into a comfortable position. He put one hand behind his head and took a deep breath. His calm personality wasn’t an act, Luka was definitely a level-headed person, but he was still human. And as a human, a pretty girl talking to him late at night gave him lots of nerves.

He quickly shook off any tension he felt and pressed the call button. The phone only rang once before the sweetest voice he’d ever heard took over. “Hi Luka! Sorry, I know it’s late and everything, but I couldn’t sleep and… Oh wait, you told me I shouldn’t apologize, sorry! Or- wait, I just said sorry. Wow, I’m sorry- Shoot! I said it again-”

She was rambling, rotating between apologizing to him and trying to explain why she called him. As much as he loved (was that too serious of a word?) her, he also knew that if he didn’t reel her in, she’d spiral out of control.

“Don’t worry, Mari, you’re fine. But I gotta be honest, I didn’t expect this. I mean, calling a boy so late at night… not once, but multiple times in a row? How scandalous of you, Mel’.”

He heard a scoff through the phone and a lot of rustling. “Oh Luka, you should know I am the most scandalous of girls. In case you haven’t heard, I call lots of boys and girls at night.” Her voice took on a fake sounding ‘tough guy’ accent. He rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. “Wow boys andgirls? I didn’t know I was talking to a criminal.”

Honestly at this point he wouldn’t put it past her to be a criminal, she seemed to have a habit of stealing people’s hearts. He’d never tell her that though. One, she seemed to have a strange distaste for bad jokes, two, that meant he’d have to admit that he liked her (but the word ‘like’ didn’t seem strong enough).

“What?! I wouldn’t take it that far! I’m a total supporter of the law!”

Luka moved the phone from his ear to his chest. His face pinched tightly, trying to hold back any laughter that formed. His body tensed up from holding it in, as much as Juleka definitely deserved some payback for the loud laughing she tended to do so late at night, he really didn’t want to deal with a cranky sister. He quickly moved the phone back to his ear and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s kinda funny how different we are, not that I don’t support the law. It’s just when you have a mom like mine, it’s kinda hard to keep it in mind.” Marinette laughed through the phone and his chest felt like it was on fire.

Everything about her was so sweet, her laugh, her personality, she was amazing. Even when the mornings came and his head throbbed from the lack of sleep, he would never change these moments with her for anything in the world.

Sounds of fabric and movement came through the speaker along with a small hum of agreement. “Yeah I am pretty amazing at following the law. It’s kinda like a job at this point… Not that I have a job with the law! I don’t do that. That would be weird. Uh- anyways! Your job! Wait, that's not exciting. Oh man I’m so nervous tonight, I’m sorry.”

“Melody, it’s fine. My job isn’t very exciting, but I’m sure your day was, right? Mind telling me about it? You know I love listening to you.”

A gasp came through the other end of the phone and then a very thorough retelling of the events from the day. He slowly closed his eyes and imagined everything she told him. She left the bakery this morning to hang out with Alya, she probably wore that new beret she made, along with some cute, pink shoes to match.

He imagined her sitting under a tree at the park to draw, it was sunny and hot today, so she probably took her jacket off to get comfortable. She told him how she went out to get orange juice with Kagami, he could practically hear her smile through the phone as she told him about it.

Everything with Marinette was simple, by no means easy, but simple. He knew her well enough to understand how she felt, and she was the same way with him. They just got each other. She didn’t need to tell him the details because she knew he would already know. When he tried to explain a decision he made in a new song, she didn’t have to know what he was saying to understand him. Luka found it easy to just ignore the details, because Marinette was talented enough to fill them in herself.

Luka stayed quiet as he processed her words, filling in the details himself. He loved spending his nights like this, he didn’t mind messing with his sleeping schedule (or lack thereof). He loved to replay every moment of sincerity and kindness she showed throughout her day. He loved to hear about new projects she worked on, because her talent went beyond anything he’d ever seen.

She was miraculous.

“-But yeah, I guess that was my day! Not super exciting, but I think it was okay? I hope it was, at least.” Exciting? That was just one of the many adjectives he could use to describe her. Talented, exciting, clumsy, but so intelligent. Even on her dull days, he got excited just hearing her about random thoughts she had throughout the day. “Marinette… you’re extraordinary, honestly. Your day sounds wonderful. You’re wonderful. I don't know- You make me feel wonderful.”

Was he oversharing? Probably. He was definitely bad with words, but he wasn’t lying. His hands fisted his shirt as he waited for a response. The other end of the phone call went strangely silent. He could faintly hear the hum of the phone and the waves of the water outside his window. Why did the phone get quiet?

The last thing he’d ever want to do was make her uncomfortable, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. What if he told her too much? A soft squeal pulled him out of his thoughts and he focused back on the phone. “Um-! That’s...really sweet, Luka! You’re wonderful too… Or- Extraordinary I mean! You make me feel extraordinary, all the time. So- I don’t know, thank you?” His chest tightened. How much longer could he keep up with this act?

Pretending to be ‘just a friend’ might be easier for some people, but it was torture for him. Did she have these late night talks with other people? Did she ever hold anyone else’s hands when hers feels cold? Did she ever kiss them on the cheek to say goodbye? Luka was never one to push his luck, despite protests from his sister and mom, but nights like tonight made it hard.

“Don’t thank me, it’s just the truth, Mari. I should be thanking you, for making my nights a lot better, y’know?”

It was the truth. But there was so much more he could say. All of her quirks and amazing qualities always left his head feeling dizzy. He could write symphonies merely based on the person she was, let alone his feelings for her.

Yet he always kept those melodies to himself, even if he wanted to share them with the world, or share them with her. Nights like these make him feel like he could take on anything life throws at him. For Marinette, he probably could.

Another squeal came through the phone and a loud thud. He quickly sat up in a panic and pressed the phone even closer to his ear. “Marinette? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Loud thumping came through the receiver and more panicked sounds.

“S-sorry! That was just- I just- Ugh… I dropped my phone, sorry. You just- you should know that… This is gonna sound lame, but you make my nights better too… Heck, I even listen to your cover songs throughout the day, so I guess you make my days better too? Wait, that sounds weird, sorry! I don’t mean to say it in a weird way...”

Luka’s eyes widened and his heart felt as if it was trying to beat out of his chest. His hand unconsciously moved to his chest and grabbed tightly onto his shirt. The breath leaving him was shaky and weak. It felt like the world stopped spinning for a moment.

All at once, the feelings he tried to hide came boiling over and any sensible thought that told him to conceal his affections raced out of his mind. Before he could stop himself, Luka’s mouth moved on its own.

“Can we facetime? Or anything similar to that, please?”

Without getting an answer, his phone started ringing. He turned the phone to his face and saw himself staring back. As soon as Luka answered the call his eyes wandered across his screen, taking in Marinette’s face.

Her hair was still in pigtails, but different strands stuck out in an adorable way. The camera showed her snuggled into her bed as she laid on her side, with her pink comforter pulled over her lower face, covering her cheeks and nose. A large cat pillow rested just behind her head, unnervingly staring at him. Because most of her face was hidden, Luka noticed her eyes, and suddenly he felt very self aware of his position.

Quickly laying back down on his bed, Luka awkwardly raised one arm to lay behind his head, trying to feign an relaxed appearance. He tried to give her the closest thing to an easygoing smile as he could manage at the moment, which definitely felt a little forced seeing as how he was now (sort of) face to face with Marinette. Trying to hide any tension he was feeling, he cleared his throat, inwardly hoping she couldn’t read how nervous he was.

“Uh- Hey, Mar- Melody. Love the cat pillow. Totally don’t feel like it’s about to jump into your phone and attack me.”

She raised a hand to her mouth, attempting to cover her laughter. Her eyes scrunched, smile widened, and Luka’s heart soared. Marinette managed to roll onto her back letting the beautiful sound ring throughout the room. The blanket dropped and uncovered the entirety of her face.

After a moment of joy, she tried to quickly recollect herself. She turned her head back to the phone and stuck out her tongue. “Silly. Just so you know I’m banning you from making me laugh this late again. You’re gonna make my stomach hurt!”

Luka started laughing too, loosely covering his mouth, not caring about waking anyone up anymore. “That’s gonna be a problem, you should know that I’m kinda hilarious, so you should fully expect me to break that rule. Very quickly.”

They both joined in quiet giggling before Marinette covered her mouth with her hand again and gasped. “I just told you that you’re banned from making me laugh!”

“Hey, I warned you! You can’t be mad when I literally just warned you!”

The two teens burst into laughter once more. Luka calmed down quicker than Marinette did, so he saw her laughing face a second time. She was beautiful. Every time he saw her, he swore she wasn’t real. No real person could be as stunning as she was.

Whenever she worked on a new project and her hair flopped over her face, she was gorgeous. The times when she helps their friends out, her eyes are always so gentle, she’s divine. Even when she’s stressed out, the moments when she feels at her lowest, Luka can’t help but notice how angelic she looks.

She’s breathtaking without even trying.

Once Marinette collected herself, her eyes turned soft and precious as she looked back at the phone. Even through a screen, her stare set his soul on fire. His mind went blank for a second before he lost all sense of reason.

“Did you really mean it when you said I make your days and nights better?”

Her eyes widened slightly at his question, and he finally realized what just came out of his mouth. ‘Great job, Couffaine. You just made it weird!’Luka shook his head and moved the camera slightly away from his face, moving his gaze from the phone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up again-”

“I mean it.”

His eyes shot back to her and saw how she snuggled back into her bed again. Her eyes were looking away, but the redness in her face showed him exactly where her mind was. “I meant what I said… Did- Well, did you mean it too? When you said I made your nights better?”

There it was again. The shaky breath, the longing look in his eyes, the fuzziness in his chest. With a simple answer, she turned him into putty and without even realizing it.

Luka moved his arm to rest on his eyes, attempting to hide any sign that would show how he felt, just in case she didn’t mean her words the way he wanted her to mean them. He’d never blame her for not being too clear, even if it hurt him. Any affection, whether friendly or romantic, should’ve been fine with him.

“This is gonna sound bad, but my phone is full of screenshots from our FaceTime calls.” Luka lifted his arm up slightly to gauge a reaction from her. But her eyes were glued on him, he couldn’t pick up on a clear response, so he covered his eyes again and continued.

“I… this is so creepy- sometimes I look at pictures of you and… it makes my day better too? That sounds so weird. It sounded a lot cuter in my head-” A loud cackle interrupted him and his arm shot away from his eyes. He saw Marinette digging herself even deeper into her massive blanket (and creepy cat pillow), trying to hide her laughter.

She must’ve noticed his silence because her eyes popped out of the blanket to look back at her screen. “Sorry, that’s just… that’s so cute! You take screenshots from our facetime calls?”

Her lopsided smile made his cheeks burn. He tried to gain back his level-headedness by rolling his eyes at her. He brought the phone closer to stick his tongue out at her. “I wouldn’t call me ‘cute’ if you don’t want me to call you ‘adorable’ for listening to those covers.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation and hid her face back into the blanket. He took a quick, deep breath, silently thanking himself for being able to play his awkwardness off.

“I can’t believe I actually admitted that to you- That’s cold-blooded, Luka! Teasing a girl’s love is mean!”

They both paused for a second, taking in her words. The cabin suddenly felt a lot smaller than it was. His blood felt boiling hot yet icy cold all at once. His face slacked and yet tensed in different places. Looking at her and seeing her eyes expand let him know she was probably feeling the same way.

“Love?”

It sounded so easy. When she said it, it felt right. Full of affection without being overbearing. But then Marinette’s gaze moved off screen. She sunk into herself, yet not playfully like before. The energy of the call changed into something else, something new. “I… shouldn’t say anymore. I’m… sorry, Luka. I’m so sorry; I feel so selfish. I call you so late just to ruin your night by making things weird, and I’m so sorry.”

He watched as she shifted in her bed; he saw the edge of her thumb on the screen, hovering over it, as if she was about to end the call. “That’s not-! Marinette, that’s not true. If you’re selfish… If you’re selfish, then I must be the most greedy guy in the world.”

Marinette swiftly stared at the screen, her mouth opened as if she was going to rebuttal his statement. Before she could, he spoke first.

“I’ve been staying up every night, hoping and begging that you’d text me, or call me, or give me any attention at all. And I do it, knowing that you message me when you’re tired and need to rest. I know that spending time with me only takes away time you need to sleep. So yes, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy,”

Luka slowly sat up as he stared into the screen, clutching it as if it was the most important thing in the world, and at this moment, it was. Marinette moved the blanket off her face slightly and he saw her face flush with color. His voice felt raw as his throat tightened and his face burned. He couldn’t even register the tear that raced down his cheek. When did he get so emotional?

“But Melody, Mari, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I want your attention so bad. I want your affection and anything else you give me. I’ve been trying so hard to bite my tongue around you, to pretend like I think of you as my friend. But I love…”

He shut his mouth fast. What was he doing? He was destroying everything for these feelings. Why would she like him? She gives everyone affection. Marinette loved everyone, it was just who she was. What was he doing? He looked around his room and realized the situation he put himself in. He quickly put his phone on the bed next to him and pulled his knees to his chest.

Did he ruin their relationship? Would she stop having these late night talks with him? Would she still hold his hands when hers felt cold? Would she ever kiss his cheek to say goodbye again? What was he doing?

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. It all happened so fast. He reached for his phone to apologize and to hopefully scavenge whatever was left of their friendship.

“I love you too, Luka.”

His hand stopped just above his phone and he waited. He listened to the small buzzing sound from his phone, the waves moving against the boat, gentle breathing coming from Marinette.

“I love you… and I wanna be selfish. I wanna be greedy and I wanna be with you.”

Luka found the courage to lift the phone to his face and stare back at her. Marinette now sat up, her face was bright red with tear stains down her cheeks. Her eyes were slightly puffy and he was sure his were too. The only light on her face was her phone and even with everything, she looked beautiful.

“I wanna be with you too, Marinette. Always, for as long as you’ll have me. Wake me up at three A.M. everynight for the rest of my life, I don’t care. I just wanna be with you too. I love you.”

It felt so right. It wasn’t too much when he said it. He meant it to be heavy and weighted. But it didn’t feel forced or extreme. It was just right. They stared at each other for a moment more. His eyes raced across every centimeter of the screen, taking in every aspect of her, her eyes doing the same. Smiles spread across her face as they both chuckled, their laughter laced with happy tears.

Luka wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself down (despite his teenage hormones telling him that he should continue to cry and sob from the utter euphoria he was feeling). Marinette tugged at her pigtails with one hand, seeking to find comfort.

“This wasn’t the way I thought we’d confess, y’know. I always thought you’d write me a song, or I’d make you a new jacket. Some big gesture instead of us sobbing,” she chuckled.

He stopped wiping his eyes to laugh again. His smile grew, even as he tasted his tears. “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise I have plenty of songs for you, and about you and everything. I can grab my guitar if you want, but you might hear Juleka complaining in the background.”

They shared one final laugh before the exhaustion of crying kicked in and they both laid back down. Marinette wrapped herself in blankets one final time, holding the dubious cat pillow tight against her. Luka found himself in a similar position, he laid on his side, his face squished against his pillow and the blanket pulled under his chin.

They stared at each other, making small conversation about their feelings. Luka could hardly remember all that happened after that, he felt such relief and happiness from everything that the rest of the night felt fuzzy.

He glanced at the time at the top of his screen and noticed it was now closer to three-thirty. Luka took a deep breath before sighing. He saw Marinette’s eyes getting smaller and smaller with each second.

He knew that they should hang up soon, but he really wanted to be selfish and keep her on the phone. “Luka…”

Marinette slowly opened an eye to look back at him. Their smiles grew once again. “Are you gonna take another screenshot of me?” Her smile turned sly and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s cold-blooded, Mel’. Teasing a guy’s love is mean,” he stuck out his tongue, just for good measure. But then he sneakily took one screenshot, to remind himself that tonight was real and not just a dream. Tonight, Marinette was his and he was hers, and hopefully it’ll stay like that for a long time.

Her eyes drifted back closed, but her smile never left. “...Love you… Luka….”

Warmth engulfed his chest, leaving him feeling light and airy. The mattress underneath him felt soft and perfect. The dryness on his cheeks from earlier tears didn’t bother him at all. He was content and full of love.

While the confession was unexpected, he wouldn’t change it for the world. As much as he loved her clothing and as many songs as he had for her, he knew nothing would’ve compared to tonight. As he looked back at her sleeping face, he had a feeling she felt the same.

“I love you too, Marinette.”

[eggtoasties]

Chapter 2: II. Adagio

Read Chapter 1: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

They were both called to the music room during study hall. As Kuroo walked towards Jouda-sensei, he watched as their teacher tried to cajole her into something, unable to catch their words at a distance. Arms crossed, she sent Kuroo an unimpressed stare making him respond with a nervous grin as he came to a stop.

“I was hoping to set you two up for lessons during study hall,” Jouda-sensei said, nodding between the two of them.

“No offense,” she said, quickly glancing at Kuroo, “but I’m paid to do this outside of school. Also, I don’t really have time to meet every single day—shouldn’t Daisuke be doing this? I’m sure he,” she jutted her chin towards Kuroo, “and I will both get called to other teachers and clubs during study hall so I don’t know if this’ll work out,” she huffed.

Eyebrows raised high, Kuroo said, “Wow, didn’t realize I was dead meat to you already, first chair,” resulting in a pout from Jouda-sensei and a glare from her which made him nervously snicker. He put his hands in his pockets, subtly wiping away at the clamminess of his palms.

“Aw, come on now, you know Daisuke-kun isn’t…” Jouda-sensei trailed off, trying to find the words, “the best at teaching. But,” she said brightly, “you’re the leader for a reason! And it doesn’t have to be every day—just coordinate with each other and other people to set up a rotation. I just want Kuroo-kun to be set up with good habits from the start.”

Sighing wearily and nodding, she faced Kuroo as Jouda-sensei left them.

Slouching in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose, he flashed a grin.

“So, are you gonna charge me by the minute?” Kuroo arched his brow. “Because I don’t really have the funds for that. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to sell anything on school grounds.” Readjusting his backpack straps and slightly loosening his tie, his eyes met hers quickly before finding a place over her shoulder. “But, if you don’t have time or whatever that’s--” he stumbled over his words, “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Rolling her eyes, she loosened her school tie. “Yeah, I’m going to charge a thousand yen a minute and if you don’t pay up, I’ll have my goons knock your kneecaps in.”

“Didn’t realize being captain,” she shot him an amused grin and he bookmarked it for later, “of the orchestra came with your own henchmen. Maybe I should’ve started way earlier,” he drawled.

“Yup,” she said cheerily, popping the ‘p.’ “They do all my coursework and bully people out of their lunch money so I can add it to my secret treasury in the cave underneath the school,” she said conspiratorially. “Also,” she began, facing fully towards him. “It’s nice to meet you—I really don’t mind helping you out, it’s just that with my last year of high school things are hectic with exams and applications and I really can’t commit to everyday,” she explained.

His shoulders relaxed with a breath he didn’t know he was holding, previous tension dissipating with her explanation. Kuroo nodded and held out his hand. As she grasped it, he raised a brow at the strength of her small grip and brightly painted nails.

“I get it.” Kuroo finally said. “I’m a third year too and it’s hard enough as it is without having to teach a newbie every day,” he said, semi-fondly thinking of Lev, “—all good.”

“Alright, well,” she said, swaying on the balls of her feet, “let’s get started.”

She had him play open strings so she could assess his posture and Kuroo was not accustomed to being the center of such intense concentration. Sure, he’s served a million times in games where he knew every eye was on him, but she seemed to scrutinize every aspect of his body. The distribution of his weight on his legs, the angle of his shoulders, the slope of his wrists, finger placement, and even his face—there was something to adjust. To be fair, she did say his face looked like he was constipated, but he figured it was because one should always look serene during such a cultured activity.

A gentle tap to the shoulder, a tap to his left inner wrist, her hands guided his body as he became accustomed to the instrument. She stood slightly behind him to his side at one point and gently held his right arm and set another hand on his shoulder to show him how the bow should move. He’s used to his body—Kuroo would say he has a better understanding of what his body is capable of than most people but, gentle movements to work with a foreign object was completely new territory. She’s not teaching him how to read a volleyball midair and figure out what the best millisecond worth of contact is. She’s not grabbing his lanky arms to show him how to position for a block—this is completely different.

He figured it’s one thing to adjust to new innovative plays mid-game and another to feel so entirely helpless and clunky. Although she’s only been patient and gentle, he can’t help but feel unsure and awkward in his body as he tried to follow her instruction. Maybe, Kuroo thought to himself, I should cut Lev some slack.

“Can you feel how your arm hinges at the elbow, but the elbow itself stays still?” she asked, lightly grasping his elbow and guiding his forearm. His skin tingled at the contact through his shirt and he repressed a shiver.

He’s used to physical contact—from his teammates. High fives, hugs, and fist bumps. But from a stranger…it’s different. He’s hyper aware of the calluses of her left hand when she taps the bare skin of his wrists and although each touch is light and fleeting, a part of him wished they’d linger for a little longer.

After a while, she grabbed her instrument and mirrored his movements, showing him the angles of her body in relation to the violin and bow. He stood in awe of the confidence of her actions, drawing a rich deep sound from the strings unlike the scratchy wobbly sounds he’d been producing.

She taught him two scales, explained basic music concepts he vaguely remembered from piano lessons and before he knew it, study hall was coming to a close. Head full with new information, shoulders a little tense, he absentmindedly fixed his tie while they packed up.

“Don’t feel discouraged during class,” she said. “Everyone around you has been playing for years longer. Just keep practicing and you’ll get there.” Adjusting the books in her hand she asked, “Why’d you decide to take orchestra?”

“I needed art credit. Can’t sing, can’t draw, didn’t want to do something on the computer and I didn’t know what band music was,” he shrugged. Immediately, he internally cringed at his explanation.

“Wait, actually--” Before he could try and amend his previous statement, he’s cut off by her laugh.

“You chose well,” she said. Then leaning towards him, she dropped to a faux whisper, “orchestra’s better than band.”

Kuroo felt heat creep up the back of his neck while she laughed so he tilted his head to the side and covered it with a smirk. “I don’t know about that,” he said cockily.

She snorted which did little to calm the confusing beating of his heart and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t take the bait. Oh well, he thought, better try harder.

“You’re the one who enrolled in or-ches-tra,” she said, over enunciating the syllables. “Unless,” she sing-songed, “you feed into the stereotype that athletes are,” she pouted and batted her lashes, “stupid.”

He guffawed at her boldness but revelled in the glint in her eyes and the smug way she held her head.

“It wounds me that you would insult my intelligence without even knowing me,” he sniffed and wiped away a fake tear while she stifled a giggle. “I cannot believe my music teacher—my classmate—my captain has a bias against athletes,” he frowned and tilted his head. Pausing for a beat in contemplation, he sighed and continued lazily, “You must have been one of those kids in elementary school who always got picked last in gym.” He shrugged before delivering the final blow, “So you had no choice but to turn to music.”

He kept his face neutral as he studied her reaction. Her eyes narrowed at him and he broke out into a grin.

“It’s okay to admit it, I promise I won’t ask you to do something impossible like catch a ball or something,” he said, waving a hand placatingly. He caught the corner of her lip twitching despite the deadpan stare she tried to maintain.

“Give me your number,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“Woah, woah,” he said, dodging her attempts to force her phone in his hands. “If this was all an elaborate ruse to ask me out,” he dodged a jab to his side, “you didn’t have to get Jouda-sensei in on it too, who would’ve thought our little prodigy had it bad for the volleyball captain?”

“First of all, study hall is ending, but it seems that you were too preoccupied with trying to flirt with me to notice,” she said as Kuroo crossed his arms indignantly. Was he trying to flirt, he wondered. “Also, you’re forgetting that you’re the one who needs violin teachers,” she explained impatiently, finally getting him to accept her phone.

“Plus, if anything this just shows that you’ve been planning to confess to me for the past three years, but you were too nervous so you used your arts credit as an excuse to talk to me when everyone knows there are easier ways to get the credit,” she rambled as he punched his number in. “Also, you have a stand partner and a section leader—both of whom are not me, so I bet you,” she pointed an accusatory finger, “roped Jouda-sensei into this cozy little arrangement,” she said triumphantly.

Kuroo stuttered. “Maybe you should be a writer—what is up with your imagination?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No, no,” she said breezily, waving a hand absentmindedly, “I just figured you out, no need to feel embarrassed.”

Shifting his weight to one foot and running a hand through his hair, Kuroo’s lip quirked. “Guess you caught me,” he shrugged nonchalantly, extending their jest, “I’ve been in it for the long con, but,” he dropped a little lower to her height. “I never lose.”

Kuroo wanted to stab himself. It’s one thing, he mentally berated, to say those lines in the shower. Another thing entirely to say them to a human being? So used to provoking people just before they really got annoyed, he figured he got too comfortable. While his friends were used to his sarcastic quips and little agitations, not many people threw it right back at him. Should I apologize? Am I going to fail orchestra? Yamamoto was right, I should’ve taken sculpture I should’ve—

He was broken from his internal panic when she gently pushed his shoulder. “Well, seeing that the volleyball team has never won nationals, that seems to be a lie.”

Completely forgetting his previous anxieties, his mouth gaped open. “W-we’re definitely making it to nationals and we’re definitely going to win this year!” he nearly yelled. “A-and since when do you keep up with the volleyball team! This is more evidence that you’ve been trying to get my number for the past decade!”

“Who said anything about the past ten years!” she screeched. Kuroo watched his phone in her hand with concern as she waved her arms in disbelief. “And Yaku’s in my homeroom, idiot. He talks about the team constantly,” finally shoving his phone back to him.

Sighing a little in relief he checked his messages. “If I’m so wrong about you lusting,” she rolled her eyes so hard all he saw was white, “after me for all these years, what’s this!” he exclaimed, presenting his phone screen to her face.

It was a message from her that read: “Tetsu-chan, I think you’re so, so, so, so, sO cute!!” with several brightly colored heart emojis trailing after the message.

She immediately lunged for his phone to which he responded by smugly holding it above her head, pouting a little when she wouldn’t try and jump for it.

“Y-you planned this!” she yelled, making a move to grab at his sleeve.

“Nope,” he said languidly, smoothly side stepping her advances. “You just think I’m so, so, so, so, cute!” he said brightly as he placed his phone in his back pocket.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps in your sleep,” she grumbled.

As the bell rang and study hall ended, he sent her a little wave as he walked to his next class.

“Looking forward to it!”

.

Nearing his next class, he felt a short buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone he grinned at the texts. Nothing like riling people up on a Tuesday morning to get his blood pumping.

After he had left her standing in the music room, cheeks tinged pink and arms crossed, she sent him several texts. Many of them listed the ways she was going to abuse his kneecaps—he wasn’t quite sure why she was so fixated on them—poking fun at athlete stereotypes, and how he’d better practice every day.

They spent the day sending each other sporadic insults without heat which eventually devolved into actual questions about each other.

How did you start playing the violin? When did you start volleyball? Do you play in orchestras outside of school? What’s your position? How should I practice? What are sports practices like? What class are you in? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What do you mean you bought a chemistry set for fun?

Kuroo was in his history class when he realized he was barely paying attention to the lesson. Expecting his usual meticulous notes when he looked down at his notebook, he saw he had hardly filled half a page of information. Too preoccupied with the little thrill of excitement that came with each text, he couldn’t help but discreetly check his phone every few seconds. He tried paying closer attention to the lecture, but tapped his foot restlessly, itching to see how she responded.

.

The school day ended in a blur and he found himself in front of the club room door. Violin case in hand, he swung open the entrance and proudly stated, “I learned scales today.”

“Fukunaga and I took choir last year and learned scales too,” Yaku responded. “Stop looking so proud about it, it’s literally a basic,” he commented offhandedly as he put on his uniform.

Chest still puffed, Kuroo didn’t let it deter him. “I’m reading music!”

Kenma grimaced over his phone when Lev seemed impressed and Fukunaga tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

Pulling top from behind, Kuroo asked, “Yaku, do you know the concertmaster?”

“The, huh?”

“The first chair violinist. Our year, in class 3-B?” Kuroo clarified. “She’s about this tall,” indicating with his hand, “her favorite color’s blue and she really likes fruit tarts?”

Ignoring the questioning glances from his teammates, Kuroo waited expectedly. Yaku paused. Eyes widening in recognition he brightened.

“Yeah! She’s been in my homeroom for the past three years, she’s nice. Smart, big on music, does a bunch of music competition thingies!”

“Thingies?” Kuroo mocked. “How old are you?”

“Shut up you glorified bean pole! I don’t know what she does in her free time, why are you so interested all of a sudden?

“She’s my violin teacher! I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t a serial killer or something,” Kuroo mumbled, tying his shoes a little forcefully.

“Okay,” Yaku drawled out, not believing his teammate. “I know the theatre club always asks her to be in their pit orchestra, but man their funding really got cut over the years, I wonder how they’re going to build the set this year, I mean they’re really trying to out-do themselves and—”

He stopped when he noticed the rest of the team staring at him in varying states of confusion and disbelief.

Yaku sniffed. “I have other interests and friends outside of volleyball, thank you very much…” he said, turning his head.

“Wow,” Yamamoto said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Yaku-senpai doing Shakespeare or something, could you imagine?”

“Yaku-senpai would definitely play the jester or something,” Lev chimed in. “But he’s so small would the audience even be able to see him on stage?” He wondered out loud.

Facing away from his bickering teammates, Kuroo hid his flush in the collar of his warm up jacket and willed for the heat to subside. He thought about what Yaku said—not about him being secretly into theatre, which Kuroo would definitely use in the future—but about having other friends outside of volleyball.

He knew he wasn’t as shy as he used to be, thank god, but he realized he had always kept his inner circle small. Not entirely on purpose, but those he spent the most physical proximity to tended to also become close friends—thinking fondly of his parents forcing him to meet Kenma.

He remembered how he nearly threw a tantrum when his Tou-san told him they were visiting neighbors down the street and that they had a son his age that he could play with. The thought of leaving their home—which hardly felt like home at the time of their move—to meet some stranger had filled him with such trepidation he had promised he’d practice the piano harder if he could just stay home.

However, his Tou-san gently grasped him by the shoulder and made him carry the box of oranges to Kenma’s. Multiple hours of awkward stuttering and silent game playing finally bloomed into a tentative friendship with the introduction of a volleyball and Kuroo figured that now Kenma’s more of a brother than anything else.

Outside of his team and casual school acquaintances, Kuroo thinks of Bokuto. A pleasant surprise when they met at a Tokyo training camp. With Bokuto came Akaashi and with Kuroo came Kenma and Kuroo never felt the need to expand beyond his core group. But meeting her—is different.

Different in that she stumbled into his life outside the court and he’s not sure if his fingers had ever been this sweaty from texting all day. He wondered if she’s a sign that he should actively try and meet new people but he quickly discards that idea and chalks it up to serendipity.

“—hey cut it out!” Kai yelled at Yaku lunging for Lev who was holding a volleyball in one hand, “To be or not to be, will Yaku-senpai ever grow again?”

Snapped out of his musings, Kuroo raised two hands to the group, “Alright, alright,” he tried to placate while Kai held Yaku back and Yamamoto cried tears of laughter.

“Keep going, Lev!” Yamamoto egged on.

“Too sleep, perchance to dream,” Lev continued, “that Kuroo-san will finally fix that rooster’s head of his.”

Amidst the collective roar of laughter, Kuroo snatches the volleyball from Lev’s hand and throws it at him.

.

Head lolled back against the train window, grimacing at the pull of his worn muscles, Kuroo stretched in his seat. Next to him, Kenma absentmindedly scrolled on his phone, sporadically showing Kuroo funny tidbits to pass the time on their nightly commute back home.

“Kuroo,” Kenma said as quick fingers typed out a text, “why are you taking this orchestra credit so seriously?”

Pausing for a bit, not-so-subtly reading Kenma’s text, he responded.

“I had a lesson earlier today and it seems like,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, a disservice,” his voice rose up as a question while his brows drew together, “if I don’t give it my best shot when everyone else is so much better.”

Kuroo shrugged at Kenma’s contemplative nod.

“Anyways,” Kuroo continued, “she said thirty minutes of daily practice for a beginner will go a long way and she said we’d only really focus on the stuff for the concert so hopefully I can manage by then.”

Pausing his scrolling, Kenma looked up at Kuroo and blinked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at Kenma, having a growing suspicion of where his friend’s thoughts were, but ignored it in favor of watching him scroll through his phone.

Other passengers shuffled around them, coming and going onto their train and Kuroo looked out the window, frowning slightly at the last remnants of sunset fading away to cool indigos.

“Y’know, Kenma, I don’t think I want to just do volleyball for the rest of my life,” Kuroo said softly, breaking the stillness between them.

“No shit,” Kenma responded instantly over the animated beeping of his game. “Your joints definitely can’t take it for the rest of your life.”

Scoffing, Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Please--I mean, I’m going to go to college and still play, but,” he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling of the train car, “I want to learn more things.”

“Yes,” Kenma said slowly, “that makes a lot of sense.”

“I like learning new things, I always want to know more and I don’t know,” he pulled at his shirt collar. “With violin--it feels like I haven’t sucked at something for a while.”

With that Kenma snorted, thinking of when Kuroo tries to play video games with him or that horrendous volleyball club promotional poster Kuroo made that yes, he did take a picture of before crumpling and throwing it in the trash.

Kenma’s game pinged as Kuroo hugged his violin case between his legs.

“Plus,” Kuroo continued, “she said music is kind of like math with the rules and the counting, and when it all comes together like pieces of a puzzle it makes your hair rise and I feel like that’s kinda like volleyball too.”

“You get goosebumps when you solve a math problem,” Kenma repeated slowly.

“Missing the point there, but yes.” Contemplating a bit he added, “More when I balance a chemical reaction, but yeah, why?”

Kenma paused his game and set it on his lap, lips twitching.

“You’re not allowed to judge me,” Kuroo complained.

“I am,” Kenma responded quickly.

“Well quit it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma popped the knuckles of his fingers and unpaused his video game.

“No.”

They sat there for a beat, each thinking about the unknowns--the unknown power of this new boss guarding the princess in the tower and the unknown of the near future, where game plays are traded for textbooks and the hopeful future of featherlight, fleeting touches and sweet, sweet melodies.

[sweetwritertanya]

Dressed Up For Halloween (Yoongi)

Summary: You go out with your friends for Halloween dressed up as Cat Woman. When you come back home, Yoongi’s reaction to your leather suit takes you pleasantly by surprise.

Warnings: SMUT! Be prepared for: swearing, erotic body touching, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter than this, guys!), doggy-style position, multiple orgasms (female receiving), overstimulating (female receiving) (just a bit), kitten/master play, kind of a leather kink.

Word Count: 3662

You weren’t much for Halloween, you really weren’t. You weren’t much for parties either or dressing up, and yet here you were, currently struggling to fit your oversized body into a very difficult fabric to put on – leather. You were honestly second guessing your decision to go with your friends to this party, even if they begged you to go and complete their quintuplet of ‘female badass characters’ as they put it. As if turns out, you were assigned to go as Cat Woman.

It took a while, much too longer than you wanted to admit, but eventually you did manage to get the suit on your body and could now focus on your hair and make-up, as well as the accessories. Knee-high boots on and not forgetting to put on the cat ears, you take one last look in the mirror.

“Hum, not bad” you say to yourself with a proud smile.

You did look hot in the costume, more than you thought you would. In your head the outfit would only enhance your bumps, cling in to the crevices of your rolls, but instead it smoothed them all out and created this nice line of your silhouette you were not expecting. Pleasantly surprised, you take that bit of confidence out with you to your friend’s house, where all the girls were to meet before going together to the party.

Not only was your boyfriend busy anyway to go out with you and your friends, Yoongi wasn’t much of a party person either. Knowing that, you didn’t even ask him to go, you just told him not to wait up for you since you didn’t know at what time you would be back. You were half-expecting him to end up staying all night in the studio, working until morning. Instead, when you return home at barely one o’clock in the morning, you notice his sneakers by the doorway as you enter the house and the light from the bedroom illuminated the hallway.

“Yoongi?” you call out as you take your coat off and hang your purse alongside it.

Forgetting to take your heels off, they clatter on the hardwood floor as you make your way to the bright room of the house.

“I’m here” he answers back, and you can tell he is yelling from the bedroom’s private bathroom. “Home so early?”

“Yeah, I got tired” you confess, sighing with relief as you throw yourself to the middle of the bed and close your eyes for a minute. “Couldn’t keep up with them. I’m sure they went out for another club or something, but I just wanted to come home.”

“It’s understandable, pumpkin. I don’t know why you keep going out with… them…”

You slowly open your eyes as Yoongi’s voice grows closer and suddenly fades away as he seemingly loses his train of thought. Standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom, was Yoongi, wearing an old red stripped long sleeved tee and some loose black pajama trousers, one towel around his neck that he was probably using to dry his wet hair. His light brown sugar skin was a lot more pinkish from the hot shower, his small lips plump red, short hair dripping droplets of water to his hands and the fluffy towel. He stood with lips slightly open, sharp eyes wider than usual.

“Are you done, baby?” you ask, sitting up on the bed with effort. “I should go and take a shower too, get out of this outfit and into my pajamas.”

You force yourself to jump up to your feet and walk towards the bathroom, intending on kissing Yoongi on the cheek as you walk by. But as you lean in, he rotates his body your way, one arm coming to stop you in your tracks as it curves around your waist and your lips land instead on his. He presses his warm lips softly on yours in a sweet smooch.

“Changing so quick? I’ve barely even appreciated the costume you’re wearing” he complains, keeping his hand at your hips so you can’t move away.

“Hum? Oh, yeah, I went as Cat Woman. What do you think?”

You give him a twirl so he sees the full effect of the outfit, kitty tail and all. He smiles and bites his bottom lip as he looks up and down, a coy stare once his eyes reach yours again.

“I quite like it. You look sexy in it. Is this real leather?”

His hands busy themselves at your sides, rubbing the material up and down, creating unintentionally – or maybe not – a fiery trail underneath your skin.

“No, it’s faux leather. The whole costume was only about fifty bucks, if I recall.” You can’t help but notice how his fingers are resistant to drop from the material in question, eyes glued to where his hands were. It makes you wonder. “Why? Are you a fan of leather by any chance?”

“I didn’t think I was. Maybe it’s just the way it looks on you.”

He says the last sentence peering at your eyes, the ebony irises in his getting slightly swallowed by the dark pupil. Your heart flips at that suggestion and you smile bashfully at the ground for a moment, puling your hair behind your ear.

“I can keep it on for a while longer, if you’d like” you propose, clasping your hand behind your back innocently.

“I would like that very much so” he agrees, leaning in as his hands circle around your sides to pull your back towards him, bodies flushed together as he joins his lips on yours again.

As his mouth distracts you with heart-warming caresses and butterfly-inducing nibbling, he slowly guides you backwards to the bed and it takes your back coming in contact with the mattress to even notice it. Hoovering above you, Yoongi kisses at your lips and jaw and neck a few more times before settling besides you on his side, one arm folded under his head and the other hand magnetized to the curve of your covered hip, brushing up and down the leather material with contentment.

“Tell me about your night out. Had fun before you grew tired?” he asks, curious eyes set on yours as you roll to your side too to face him.

“Yeah, it was fun. I haven’t seen my friends in a while, so it’s always a blast when we get all together like this. They just have a lot more energy than me for partying and stuff.”

The greedy hand moves up from your waist to your protruding stomach, drawing lines across the fabric until his hand rests just beneath the swell of your breasts. You wonder if he can feel your racing heart even with the clothing and your skin in between.

“Looking like this, I bet a lot of guys had their eyes on you” he whispers darkly, a tone sounding like something in between anger and regret. “I should have gone with you.”

“Babe, I didn’t even ask because I know you don’t like this stuff. I don’t really either, but I went because they’re my friends. And if anyone was looking, I certainly didn’t notice. I only have eyes for you, Yoongi.” You place a reassuring hand cradling his cute round face, thumb brushing his puffy cheek. Gosh, this man was just as adorable as he was sexy.

“I know, kitten. Still, don’t be afraid of asking me to do something just because you know I won’t like it. I do stuff all the time for the members that I don’t particularly care about, but I do it for them. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I don’t do the same for my girlfriend?” he explains.

The teasing hand had brushed just barely over your left breast and moved down your back until it landed on your clothed butt cheek, apparently focusing on cupping the lower flesh, those wonderful fingers just inches away from your sensitive center. You gulped and tried to fight back the surge of heat creeping in your cheeks.

“Okay, babe. But what was that you called me? ‘Kitten’? That’s new” you notice, smirking.

“Sounds fitted right now” he declared, eyes looking up at your cat ears and the hand at your rump grabs the leather tail and pulls on it, making you gasp at the sudden tug. “Why? Do you not like it?”

Yoongi moves from his laying position to come and hoover above your body with his upper weight supported by his arms. Lips pulled into a conceited smirk, hair still damp framing around his face, eyes looking lovingly into yours.

“I actually don’t really mind it at all” you confess, rolling to your back and pulling him in by his neck for a much-awaited kiss.

The insides of your lower belly tightened and waves of arousal coursed down your spine as his lips engaged fervently with yours in a sensual encounter. He was reverent and passionate, moving his head further to the right in order to kiss you deeper, teeth scrapping your lips in the process. You moan into his mouth and your fingers pull the fabric of his t-shirt up until you can feel his smooth skin of his back against the palm of your hands. You are still wearing your leather gloves, with only the fingertips bare, and Yoongi shudders at your touch. He moves up just enough for him to remove his shirt the rest of the way out, leaving him in his naked torso in a captivating view. Coming down to reattach his lips with the skin of your jaw and neck, your nails claw down his spine and leave red stripes behind, making him grunt against your ear.

“My kitten has some sharp claws” he murmurs. “Careful now, you don’t want to hurt your Master, do you?”

Oh, that brings a swooping feeling in your stomach and you can almost feel the pooling happening between your legs. Your dark eyes with barely any colour left that hadn’t been eaten away by the enlarged pupil search for his, veiled with absolute lust.

“Never, Master. I’ll be good” you promise. You witness Yoongi’s lips smirk further and a renews tinkle in his sharp eyes.

“Is that so?” he nibbles at the exposed skin on your neck and you meowl. “You’ll be my good, obedient kitten?”

“Yes” you breath out, shakily.

He stops all of his doings and pinches your sides just enough to get your attention.

“Yes, what?” he demands, in an overbearing tone.

“Y-Yes, Master” you rectify, much to his pleasure.

“Better. Now, shall we remove this entrapping clothing from my sweet kitten?”

You couldn’t have been more eager to do so. Your skin was sweating with anticipation, body overheating due to his kisses, womb drenched and dripping. As much as Yoongi seemed to appreciate the leather costume, you wanted nothing more than to get rid of it since it stood between you and his skin.

It took a while and thankfully Yoongi helped you without you even having to ask for it, dragging the big zipper down and slowly revealing your bare skin underneath, kissing it as it showed up. You were only half-undressed, trying to pull the fabric out of your thick legs, when he undid the hooks of your bra. You gasped, followed by a moan, when you felt his hands come from behind and squeeze at your tits, palming your erect nipples at first before purposely pulling and tweaking at them between his fingers. Your back arches and breath hitch on your throat.

“M-Master…!” you whine, clutching your legs together in search of some relief.

“Be a good kitten and take off the rest of the clothes. But leave the ears” he orders, hot breath against your ear that he proceeds to lick before stepping back and letting you do as he asks.

Boots gone and tight fabric forced off your skin, you stand now in front of him in nothing but black silky panties and your cat ears. Like he had done before, Yoongi takes his time to look you up and down as he licks his lips hungrily. The dark pajamas pants were tenting at his crotch and your fingers itched to reach for him. But he had other plans.

“Take your underwear off” he commands.

Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs on the sides of the panties and push them down your legs, noticing the large stain they already had at the center. You look back at Yoongi with a mixture f nervousness and pure excitement.

“On all fours in the middle of the bed. And I want your pussy soundly presented to me.”

You gulp in dry, goosebumps originating at the back of your neck and up your arms. Obeying, you face the headboard and stand in all fours, curving your back enough so that your ass is up in the air and you feel the coldness against your singing core. Your heart hammers against your ribcage strongly as you await his next move.

Two rough hands suddenly come in contact with your ass cheeks, making you gasp, and the thumbs spread you open for his pleasuring view.

“My kitten has such a pretty wet pussy” he praises, to which you can’t really respond other than hiding your face in the pillows and moaning.

“That’s it. Don’t fight back those beautiful sounds you make, do you hear me, kitten?” he encourages you.

Before you can even nod, not trusting your voice at the moment, you feel Yoongi’s lips and tongue sucking and slurping at your fleshy rear, leaving out trails of saliva on your warm skin that rapidly grow cold at the room’s air. His hands are grabbing you by the spot where your botty meets your upper thighs, kneading at the malleable skin while his mouth remains attached to your meaty bum.

Of course, that only turns your already drenched cunt basically dripping between your thighs, his actions building a bonfire inside your womb so wild that you worry it will burn your mind permanently. And then his expert tongue slips in between your puffy lower lips abruptly. You are sure the sounds that left your mouth were never made before and if your mind wasn’t gone before, it would be completely shattered now.

He is avid and determined, tongue trashing up and down your slit, circling your throbbing entrance, finding your clit and sucking on it between his lips. Your face is buried against the mattress and you feel like you can’t breathe, something building up and up and up deep inside you. In a merciful move, that warm slick tongue slides easily in your aching tunnel and swirls at your lavish inner walls in the most delectable way.

Your juices runs down his chin as he slurps your essence, his tongue never resting as it fucks you and when he takes his thumb to wiggle at your hard nub at the same time his tongue continues the maddening work, your break down crying into the sheets, hips writhing against his face, legs twitching before almost giving out, only continuing on your knees due to his hands holding your waist.

“Good kitten, let me hear you” he says as he takes one hand to clean his face, watching you go through your orgasm. “Ready for the real thing?”

You gasp and almost choke as your feel his rock-hard cock suddenly rubbing against your still very much tender center, his hands on your waist bringing your pelvis back a bit as he kneels behind you to find his position.

“M-Master, it’s too soon! I-I’m too sensitive, Master!” you squeal, clawing at the sheets beneath you and looking back at your boyfriend in a plea.

“I know, kitten. I’ll use it as an advantage. Are you thinking of starting to disobey me now?”

“N-No, of course not, Master” you abide, pressing your lips together and closing your eyes as he continues rubbing himself between your legs.

“Good. Now be a good kitten and let me use this pussy of yours.”

With that he shoves himself in, out of nowhere entering your carnal tunnel and stretching your sensitive inner walls just right. Again, you meowl loudly as you take him all in, feeling him hot and stiff inside, your walls pulsating around him at the frenzied beating of your heart.

The strokes start out lazy, in and out slowly, Yoongi’s slim hips receding back until only the head was still inside only to plunge back in deep. Your head feels like it’s about to explode and yet it’s like you are not close enough to actually do so, not when he kept the pace like so. It was a different kind of torture you were not used to, being already on the bridge of another release so soon after the last and staying there without the necessary stimulation to reach it.

“Master, please!...” you beg, your hips starting to wiggle on their own, hoping to quicken the rhythm.

“Please what, kitten?” he asks, his torso bending down so he can start kissing up your spine, to your shoulder blades and the back of your neck.

“Fa… Ahh!” you were about to respond when his hands found your hanging tits and tease the erect nubs with rough pinches and pulls. You whimper before fighting to gather your thoughts. “F-Faster, Master. Please!”

“Anything for such a well behaves kitten” he whispers in your ear hotly.

His hands come to rest at your shoulders, hankering himself as he continued bend down with his torso against your back, but his hips moving faster now. He is also breathing raggedly against the skin of the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his hair tingling your skin, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the bedroom completely. His staff drags against the walls of your womb at a magnificent speed and they graze at that spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes, making you wetter than before.

“Fuck!” Yoongi curses when he slips out accidently, a frustrated whimper leaving your lips at the loss of him. But he just takes himself in hand and slams back in, continuing the pace as if nothing had ever happened.

Your face starts twisting and insides start throbbing as his cock continues his assault on your cunt, his thrusts now so short but powerful that not only is your inner g-spot being stimulated, his ball sack also starts hitting at your engorged little pearl repeatedly and a few more plunges after that is all it takes.

That delicious feeling at the bottom of your stomach erupts, the sparks of your second orgasm eradiating from your core, the languid relief of release making you lose your voice as you try to scream. All the muscles of your body start twitching at the spread of bliss, your womb fluttering around Yoongi’s cock like a vice.

Unable to control himself any longer, Yoongi’s thrusts grow sloppier and frenzied until his own abdomen contracted and his cock twitched, filling you with his hot white seed in stuttered strokes. He grunts almost painfully and he came, holding on to you for dear life and your were sure there would be imprints of his fingers around your shoulders the next day. You couldn’t really care less.

Both spent and sweaty, you fall into the bed, Yoongi on his side and you on your belly. Your cat ears were still on but barely hanging on your head. After catching his breath, he notices how they were pulling the hairs at the top of your head and, with immense care, slowly takes them out without pulling at one single strand.

“Good thing I dressed up for Halloween, don’t you think?” you ask drowsily with a lazy smile, your face barely visible from in between the pillows.

“Maybe you should dress up in leather more often. Not just for Halloween” he suggests, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay. I’m great” you assure, eyes falling closed.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, pumpkin. We still need to shower” he warns, and you feel him getting up from bed.

“We?” you repeat, eyes still shut.

“Yeah, I think I’m in need of another rinse” he states just before you hear the water starting to run in the bathroom. “C’mon baby, let me help you up.”

Yoongi helps you up the bed as well as cleaning your skin, washing your hair and even putting on your clothes. He snuggles with you until you fall asleep, already thinking of what other leather products you could buy that he would appreciate in the future.

[a-lil-perspective]

The Bad Batch X Sick Reader

A/N: This is my very first posted fic on here, I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to provide feedback, it’s much appreciated!

Although you didn’t bolt upright in dramatic fashion upon returning from a deep slumber, you nevertheless awoke with a start, eyes fluttering open and feeling vaguely aware of the dampness of a cold sweat permeating your hairline. Disorientation takes over as you lie rigid in the bed, only being able to process the physicality of how utterly terrible you feel- you didn’t think you could move in such quick succession if you tried- Every joint feels stiff and your muscles are resistant to comply, attempting to encompass and entrap your body deep within the mattress, refusing to give way to your motions.

Swiping at the remnants of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you become uncomfortably conscious of the fact that your face is burning up, despite the rest of your extremities freezing in stark contrast.

This was no good. Your heart rate quickens as panic rises in your throat, gripping tightly as your breath hitches. Your mind begins racing, conjuring up every angle of the current situation in an attempt to make some light of it. You eventually force the lump down, giving into the overwhelming realization.

You were sick. Big time.

Fearing you looked as bad as you felt, you promptly thrust yourself out of bed with great effort and a groan of pain before stumbling into the ‘fresher, examining your entirety and fervently hoping your initial concerns were just an exaggerated oversight.

One glance at your trembling, pale, and achy form confirmed your worst suspicions.

“Kriff,” is all you can manage, further worsening matters by the realization of your curse rolling out only as a mere croak. Gritting your teeth, you roll your puffy, exhausted eyes and shake your head in disappointment. Great. Sick AND losing your voice. This can’t get much worse, you think to yourself bitterly as you level your gaze back at the mirror.

With great effort you manage you pull yourself together enough to make it out to the common area of the ship, bracing yourself to face the others. You remain self-conscious of your movements, attempting to exert your stance, stride, and demeanor with purpose as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself and your condition.

Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair- they were no fools. Hunter especially, what with his enhanced senses and innate perceptions, will pick up on your illness lighting fast.

Realizing you’re up and starting your day much later than usual, it’s no surprise the guys are already up and in their respective places- although Hunter is nowhere to be found upon entering the common room.

Tech, lounging in a seat with his nose buried in his datapad, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, looks up to greet you first, his expression turning into that of perplexity.

“Good morning, Y/N. I am surprised you slept in. Stayed up late last night, I presume?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to forcefully exact your normal, chipper level of voice. “Hey, Tech. Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, returning sights to his work, facial expression evident that his curiosity is momentarily satiated. It’s clear that he didn’t pick up on the fact that your voice, despite your best attempts, came out in just above a whisper. For that, you were thankful.

You head over to the cupboard to pour yourself some caf, hoping a warm drink would do you some good.

“You look like hell.”

A terse statement from the jaded appearance of Crosshair standing in the corner, arms folded across his chest and eyes boring into you, caused you to jump and your already trembling fingers to drop the empty cup you had grabbed, clanging to the ground and reverberating with purpose as if some cruelly overly-dramatized joke.

Feeling frustration bubble to the surface, you sigh deeply and level a thinly-veiled unimpressed look in his direction, unable to muster the willpower to put up with his attitude today.

“Thanks.” You sneer. Before you even manage a step over in his direction to where the cup had predictably rolled, Crosshair moved in the blink of an eye to pick it up and appear alongside you, placing the now unusable cup to the side and in one solid motion, reaching up to grab a new one down for you.

You look at Crosshair quizzically. Out of all the other members on this ship with whom you’ve fallen into methodical and sequential step with, you two have still got some steps to learn to your dance, with you having never quite fully figured out the enigmatic sniper and all of his expressive layers.

“Thanks,” you mutter in just above a strained whisper, though pushing more sincerity and less of a sarcastic quip this time. Turning to pour the caf, you’re taken by mild surprise when Crosshair engages with you once again.

“You sick or somethin’?” His eyes narrow questioningly as he searches your face before reaching out tentatively to thumb at your cheek, gently cupping it.

You’re taken aback by the touch, distantly aware of your heart rate quickening it’s pace. You avoid his questioning gaze, instead focusing on the sensation of his cool fingertips meeting the increasing warmth radiating from your skin with ease. Despite the fact that the action further solidifies your current state of being fever-ridden. It’s oddly comforting.

You hesitantly turn away, but not before slightly leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine,” you manage weakly.

Crosshair’s not convinced in the slightest. But before he can voice his trepidation, Wrecker comes bounding into the room, his voice boisterous and projecting. Not exactly the sound volume you want to hear right now but, you can’t help but smile inwardly at his puppy-like energy. He means well.

“Hiya, Y/N!” Wrecker greets you with a less-than-gentle pat on the back, making you almost spill the cup of hot caf you had laced your cold fingers around just moments before.

You weren’t sure what facial expression you were wearing, but Wrecker falters nonetheless. “You okay?” He asks, voice coated with concern.

Kriff. You wish everyone would kindly stop asking you that. You just wanted to enjoy your kriffing cup of caf and TRY to recoup before your briefing in two standard rotations, with which you’d been tasked with compiling numerous works together in preparation for a large-scale mission forthcoming. The fact that you were in this state, so close to the arrival date of the meeting and your work not AT ALL in a state of completion, was seriously stressing.

“Yeah, Wrecker.” You once again smile up at the gentle giant looming over you. “All good.”

As if on cue in an effort for the universe to illuminate your lying streak with full bravado, your body is racked with increasing pain and you tremble, feeling a shiver go up your spine.

Nobody gets a word out before Hunter comes around. He looks as if he’s just awoke, blinking rapidly and rubbing at his temples. You consider him for a moment then, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

OH.

THAT’S why he hasn’t been around this morning.

Guilt suddenly pangs at your chest as you revert back to yesterday, recalling how Hunter had to turn in after the last mission due to a headache caused from a sensory overload. He had explained to you how it plagued him from time to time, and reassured you not to worry, but you couldn’t forget how much pain he was in- eyes glazed over, body doubled over, beads of sweat enveloping his face. It made you feel helpless.

Helpless, and embarrassed at your perceived selfishness.

Here you were, out here dropping cups from the cupboard and making general racket, all the while wallowing in your own self-misery today- having not even previously processed how Hunter could’ve been in the other room feeling just as miserable.

Now he stood before you, addressing everyone about something, something you couldn’t even hear over the sound of your own thoughts simultaneously drowning everyone out.

“-Feels like I heard commotion or somethin’ out here, just thought I’d check on y’all.” He grinned in amusement, feeling a spark of playfulness. “Wanted to make sure Y/N wasn’t acting up in here.”

Everyone cracked a grin but you, who all but blurted out your guilty admission, much to your chagrin. It’s your own guilt, coupled with illness, sporadic emotions due to the fact, and lack of coherent thoughts nagging at you all at once.

“Hunter... I’m sorry,” you croaked. All eyes were on you, each differing degrees of quizzical expressions.

“I-I’m the one who dropped the cup and made the racket. I didn’t consider that you could’ve still been feeling unwell. Sorry.” You sheepishly confess, before spilling into a coughing fit.

Kriff. Shouldn’t have said so much in one setting. Way to make your condition obvious.

Hunter, who holds the most mixed expressions you’ve ever seen- amusement, discomfort, confusion, laced with compassion- comes striding over to you.

“Y/N. You’re rambling. That’s not like you,” he chuckles. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, okay? You look like you could use a lot more help right now.” He reaches a hand to splay out across your forehead to check for a fever that you both already know is becoming, to which you gracefully duck and sidestep him, all while gripping your cup of caf.

Crosshair chuckles at your motion and Hunter just looks to you. He’s diving fully into empathetic, sensible parent mode- you can tell- as he sighs exasperatedly at your innate ability to prove difficult.

“Y/N... ya gotta let us figure out what’s going on with you, so that we can get ya well.”

You look down into the cup, weighing those words and considering what to say next. You’ve never been one to freely and openly allow someone to care for you, nor have you fully possessed the ability to convey your feelings in a refined way- especially when you’re unwell. Your tenacity, though admirable, doesn’t always make it easy for someone else to know how to help you. Likewise, deeming it challenging for you to even know how one can help you. It’s a tedious cycle that plagues you when you immerse yourself too deep.

“I... I think I’m just tired.” you manage weakly. “Besides,” you croak, “I’ve got to get all my works completed before the briefing.”

With that, collective silence falls as you stumble back towards your room, thankful for the closed doors that keep your vulnerabilities and current physical ailments tightly locked away.

You were thankful for the brief quiet time, and managed to clear your head just enough to work for what you estimated to be about a half hour that came and went. With your work sprawled on the floor, you alongside it, the caf mug well empty now and off to the side, there’s a wheezing that now accompanies your breaths and, it worries you. As you lie flat on the floor, fear swells in your chest and you wish you had the courage to call the guys in here to you. You wish you weren’t so conflicted.

As you finish that train of thought, there’s a loud bang on the door.

“Y/N?” It’s Wrecker, the realization coming unsurprisingly to you judging by the obvious choice gesture of greeting at the door.

“Come in,” you strain your voice to project.

In the doorframe you find all four members of The Bad Batch, all weighing mixed levels of concern at your small, sick frame curled up on the floor. They all collectively rush in, though in a way as to not alarm you. In the moment, you’re thankful for their company.

“Hey,” Hunter soothes as he kneels down beside you, running a hand through your hair. “You’re gonna be okay. Let us take care of you, like you take care of us.”

You nod weakly, coming to your senses and surrendering all complaining rights in that moment.

Hunter orders Tech to go and grab the small medkit kept on the ship, though they’re all well aware of the fact that it’s not on par with medical facilities. Being several parsecs away from the nearest, they want to at least get the ball rolling here onboard for now. They decide not to move you until you’re stable.

Wrecker comes behind you and sits down, straddling you back into his lap and letting you use him as a body pillow. He doesn’t mind, he loves your small frame in contrast with his own, much larger one. You love how warm he is in the moment. It’s a mutual feeling between you two of safety and security.

Tech promptly returns with the medkit and although Crosshair is the only one appearing rigid and most hesitant to be hands-on with you, The Bad Batch get to work, communicating amongst themselves with the same efficiency they project amidst all things. They give you some anti-inflammatories to take the edge off, and you vaguely remember a stimulant- an overwhelmingly pleasant aroma of something very herbal-like. You initially thought it to be reminiscent of Bacta, but it wasn’t.. What was that?

Almost instantly, your chest felt clear. Your breathing became even and despite still being in pain, you were no longer wheezing. You attempted to make a mental note to ask later what the miracle worker was, but you weren’t able to give it much more thought as you felt your eyes suddenly became heavy-lidded, succumbing to rest you know your body desperately needed.

You awoke much later, feeling immensely better, and no longer needing the medical facility services that were finally available to you. Four pairs of eyes were studying you and, upon seeing you wake, the expressions attached collectively sighed in relief. You couldn’t help but feel something soft swirl in your chest upon lovingly fixing your gaze on the crew of the Havoc Marauder. They truly were something special. They knew you the best, and were able to have the most profound effect on you, no matter how adamantly complex you could be. They deeply cared for you. It’s moments like these, you realize how intertwined and inseparable you are.

You hope it always stays that way.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Little Tinkerbell ~ Yin Zhi x Reader

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really waste your time in the library, studying, when outside is sunny and you could be playing with the princes and princesses? 

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be tinkering with weird widgets, when you could be learning how to apply make up?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be going riding through the forest, when you could be going shopping for fashionable clothes and accessories? 

He heard all the rumours, all the gossips, all the bad words...He saw all the judging eyes of all the close-minded and inapt people...He saw everything...And yet, Yin Zhi couldn't understand how come this little mockingjay would rather study and be by herself, despite all the reprimanding she gets, when she could solve it all by obeying, like all women do?

Why was she so stubborn? Why did she insist on doing literally everything that he was also interested in, and yet, he wasn't reprimanded, just because he was a man, and more, the Emperor's son? 

A man...Well, he's not a man yet, he's barely 12 years old, and yet, this girl keeps bugging his mind. 

It all started when he went to the library one day, and his way was through the garden, and there she was, a little maiden, her beautiful hair flying messily into the air, as she was hunched over a stone tabled, doing something, clearly focused enough to draw out anything outside of her area of work. She didn't even hear him approach, not even sitting in front of her, until he strategically stepped into her light, and she got too confused at the sudden darkness, until she looked up and realised who was eclipsing her.

"You...You are the 3rd Prince, aren't you? Yin Zhi, was it? What are you doing here?" she asked, her hands hanging awkwardly, still holding the delicate screws and gears from the machinery.  "Great, you know who I am. Should I be asking you the same now, for the sake of common courtesies? Or will you finally answer my question?" he asked impatiently, thinking he'd intimidate the girl...But she didn't sketch any of that. "A travelling merchant from the West came by recently, and I bought some musical boxes. They make beautiful music, and this rotating doll has interesting clothes. I wanted to take everything apart, learn how the engine works, how each and every little piece keeps the synergy going, and then attempt to recreate something similar, or maybe even better. Who knows." she shrugged, going back to her tinkering. "Don't tell me you actually understand what you're doing." he scoffed, and yet, leaned forward to pay attention to her dexterous fingers.  "I do...But, do you?" she smirked, provoking him. "Are you mocking me?!" the prince scoffed, shocked at her impertinence. "It's mocking only if you get offended. If not, you can shut up, listen, and understand." there was no malice or harshness in her words, and the prince realised that there was an unexpected maturity and wisdom about her, that seemed to calm him...Or tame him. "Fine, then. If you're so sure of yourself, then show me how you'd repair this music box to its original state." he challenged her, which oddly enough, made he grin brightly at him. "No problem!" she started humming a melody, which he guesses might be the one from the music box, and with an outstanding ingenuity, she played around with those tiny tools and even tinier gear pieces, using a magnifying glass to see better, and there it was, in its dull glory, a dancing doll and a pretty song. "Not bad...For someone like you. I must confess, I never expected a girl to be interested in machinery or studying like you are. I am...Impressed." he was just a child back then, still reckless and easily wearing his emotions on his sleeve, as he blushed...She quickly became his childhood crush, clearly. "Thank you, Yin Zhi! Nobody ever said anything nice about my...Out of the ordinary interests, so...Thank you." she gave him a sweet smile, before taking the music box, ready to leave. "It's getting late, I must go home and continue my studying. I hope to see you again soon, Prince." she gave him an innocent kiss on his cheek, waving goodbye, before leaving the place, her beautiful, flowy, pink dress flying behind her. 

  Since then, this little maiden was the only one that he accepted to study with, to learn with and to learn from, or listen to...And also, she was the only one who could get him to sneak out of the Palace to go on the top of the hill to watch the stars, identify constellations, to watch the fireflies, and she was the only one he enjoyed riding with.

She wasn't like all those princesses and ladies who'd rather waste her time doing needlework and baking cakes... Although he couldn't deny that her osmanthus cakes were amazing, the tea she was brewing was incredibly aromatic, and the costumes she was creating were making even the Western tailors jealous. 

However, he couldn't pin point whether she was she was really as great as she was making her out to be, or simply, that's how he was seeing her. That's weird, since he prides himself for being level-headed, rational and also, for seeing things exactly as they are, not veiled by the charms of emotions and...And that other forbidden word he canNOT allow himself to say, not out loud, nor to himself.

But years passed, and not even him, Yin Zhi, the 3rd Prince, was safe from the feminine charms, and Y/N was becoming more beautiful with each day passing.

As time went by, he always felt the need to invite her, under different pretexts, to hang out with him, mostly for the sole reason that he truly enjoys her company. She never speaks more than she has to, and when she does, her words are meaningful and leave a lingering feeling that tugs at his heartstrings, making him want to hear more of her voice.

Even his mother, Consort Qin, was feeling infinitely better whenever she would visit her, and it almost felt like a healing, bright aura, something incredibly refreshing, like the cold mint freeze, that was making her feel so great. She was a mother, clearly, she was well aware of her son’s feelings for this little maiden, and she was happy that her only child, that she loved so much, and in turn, cared so much for her, was able to find such a kind and brilliant woman to be by his side and match his wits and intellect just as he always dreamt of.

So one night, on one of the many occasions that they spent together, they found themselves riding through the forest, and arrived at a gorgeous waterfall, continued by a blue lagoon, surrounded by numerous flowers of variate, vibrant colours, tons of butterflies and choruses of birds singing like angels.

“I don’t know how we got here, but this looks like a true paradise. Wouldn’t it be so much more peaceful if we were to live closer to nature, and farther away from noisy people?” Y/N asked, yet her question wasn’t exactly addressed, as she took of her shoes and lifting up the hem of her long dress, she went to the shallow part of the lagoon, jumping on the stones to get closer to the waterfall. “I can’t deny that would be the ideal scenario...Although, I wouldn’t advise you to stay too long in the freezing water, or too close to the waterfall. You will get soaked and sick.” he shook his head, sitting on one of the big rocks guarding the lagoon. “Don’t tell me...Yin Zhi, have you never bathed into a lake? Or a spring? Or under a waterfall?” she giggled, teasing him, as she gracefully skipped next to him, taking off his hat, putting it on his horse, and then going behind him to braid his hair. “Did I give you permission to touch my hair? Do you want me to kill you that badly?” he let his head down so he could look at her, and despite his words, he bore no ill will. “If you kill me, who’s going to read with you, or help you with machinery?” she chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides, you know I can’t resist your hair. It’s the most beautiful and soft in the whole kingdom.” her smile was so playful and gentle that it seemed to relax him immediately. “I don’t need your help in repairing machinery, nor do I need the distraction you offer while reading. And, to reply to the other affirmation, I’m a Prince, after all. We get lucky since birth.” he smirked gracefully, making the girl hum, as she was pondering. “Well...Should I tell you a secret? Yeah, sure, I always tell you all the secret I know anyway. The only other princes with nice hair are Yin Zhen and the 14th prince, and not even they can compare with yours. I mean...Have you seen the Crown Prince? Or the 5th prince? It’s like they don’t care at all! It looks so...Course and greasy! I wouldn’t dare get my finger anywhere close to that!” she started laughing, faking a shudder, as she finished the braid. “Good, because if you did, I’d have cut your fingers off. Good luck touching my hair without fingers.” he grumbled, almost as if jealous. “Awww, but then, who’d braid your hair? You know you like it when I play with your hair, so don’t play the tough facade with me. Besides...I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill me regardless of what I do, so...” with a low giggle, she pushed herself into his back, sending both of them into the lagoon, shocking the poor prince who wasn’t expecting that. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” he yelled at her, glaring, as soon as he resurfaced to get some air. “YES!” she laughed so carefree, all that hair playing as a curtain draped all over her face. “Oh, spare me.” he scoffed, putting his hand on her head and pushing her underwater, long enough to get his revenge, but not long enough that she might have discomfort.  “Okay, but you have to admit, it was pretty fun! It’s always nice trying out new things, isn’t it?” she laughed, struggling to throw away all that hair from her face. “You, dummy...Get here, I’ll help.” he couldn’t help but show a half smile at the girl since, despite all the silliness and complete lack of mannerism, she always managed to warm his heart more and more. “Thank you. Perhaps I should have braided my hair too before, but, oh well, guess now I can look like one of those vengeful ghosts from the stories our mums would tell us to keep us behaving.” she grinned, letting her hair down to allow the man behind her to braid her hair properly. “Speaking of stories...I once heard one from my mother, and I almost think she was talking about you, especially as I met you when we were young...And you were so small compared to me, even then.” he teased her, making her widen her eyes in intrigue. “Ohh, tell me, tell me!” she turned around, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees, waiting for the story patiently...Or not so, rather. “It’s not much to say...It’s about a little fairy who was struggling to find out what her defining talent. Some had the power to make flowers bloom in a matter of seconds, others could speak to animals, other could bend water, storms or light to their will...And yet, this little fairy that everyone found so odd, couldn’t find her defining talent among all the other girls she knew. Do you want to know why?” he never admitted that, no matter how many times the girl told him, but he had the gift of story-telling and keeping the listener gripped completely. “Yes, tell me!” his heart was melting seeing her almost childlike enthusiasm and fascination on her face that simply his words could create. “She was special, that’s why. Special, even among her peers. Because she was incredibly inventive and handy, so she was sent to the tinkers to create intricate machinery that would aid all the other fairies on their jobs of keeping nature balanced and properly taken care of. And because her dress resembled a bell flower, she was given the name of...Tinkerbell.” he explained the story, which made her jolt to her feet in a second, running to the bed of flowers. “So, you’re saying I’m Tinkerbell, aren’t you? Then, I have to create a proper outfit for my talent! What do you say which flower should I take inspiration from?” she crouched down in front of the flowers, only to hear a scoff from the man. “You won’t find the one there, silly woman...But here.” he leaned to snatch a pink lotus flower from the lagoon, making his way in front of her, and carefully putting in her hair. “Because a lotus is unique. It’s the true symbol of a woman’s noble and pure personality. It represents the ability to remain pure and become enlightened, even through hardships...And I believe that suits you best.” he muttered the end, feeling shy, yet not turning his head away. “You always know what to say, don’t you? You’re so smart and cool...I bet if you were a fairy, you’d have been the king of them all, for you’d have all the talents the others have.” she chuckled softly, leaning her head down just slightly, feeling bashful, her cheeks resembling just a tiny bit the shade of the flower she now so proudly represented. “And you’d be the queen of the empire.” the ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

But things can’t always remain as ethereal as they are all the time, and he wasn't blind to the Crown Prince trying woo her, or at least gain her as an ally, as he realised her worth, intellect and shrewdness, and nor was he ignorant to how those obnoxious 5th, 7th and 11th princes were constantly on her tail. They don't deserve to be in her presence! They never appreciated her when she was a child, why should they now? But he was ar least relieved with the fact that he knew she has always been a smart girl and wouldn't fall in their web of lies.

That is...Until he started seeing less and less of her around he library, and more of her around the Princes and the Empress...Mainly the Crown Prince. But he could see she was beginning to lose her light, her glamour, her spark...There was something wrong, and he was worrying about her.  

How pathetic of him. 

Why does he even feel like that? Is that normal? 

Sure, it can be normal for those mundane plebs, but not to him! He had to find a way to talk to her, since clearly, she was afraid of something. 

Could she be...Blackmailed...? 

One day, he found her in the tea house, so he stole the key and bribing the matron there, he prowled in and locked them inside, staring at her with his piercing eyes, watching her prepare a chrysanthemum tea.

"I've never seen you so happy to make tea for everyone who asked you." he pointed out in his usual, cold manner. "...! 3rd Prince, I didn't see you walking in!" she gasped, almost letting the teapot fall from her hands. "Of course you didn't see me. You were much too absorbed in your own mind to see me. I wonder what is troubling you so these days, Y/N." he crossed his arms, analysing her unusual spazzic behaviour. "Oh, u-uhm...Nothing too out of the ordinary. Now, please, if you'd excuse me, I must serve Her Majesty, the Empress, and the Crown Prince with tea." she sighed, hanging her head, hoping he wouldn't see her dejected expression. "You've never been the best at lying or concealing your emotions. Now, tell me the truth. I've known you for years, you can't deceive me." his voice was sharper now, hoping the extra pressure would crack her. 

And it did. "I hate them...I hate them so much...I want to run away, but they are threatening me, and I can't find a way out. The Empress and that...That...That brat of hers are trying to marry me off to one of those horrible and uneducated rats that call themselves Princes...And I don't know what to do!" she slammed the tea tray on the table, and it was clear that she didn't crack - She outright shattered, just like those cups and teapots she placed so gingerly, just a few seconds prior. "So, that's it? They are threatening to marry you if you don't obey, and instead of coming to me for help, you dig a hole and hide in it. I thought you were smarter than that." he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I couldn't possibly get you involved in this mess. You're already on hot waters for being the next best contestant to being an Emperor, along with Yin Zhen, and the Crown Prince hates you. The Emperor wants you to compete as well. If you get involved, it may throw your peaceful life into a complete chaos." she looked away, hanging her head in disappointment. "So you were trying to be considerate with me, I understand. Next time, I'd suggest the smarter approach, which would be communication. I can easily solve all your problems with just a two words." his voice softened, as he chuckled at her reaction. "Two words...? What do you mean...?" she looked up at him, confusion obviously plastered on her face. "Marry me." those words were so simple, so easy to say out loud, and yet, it brought complete turmoil and shock in both of them. "Wh-What ?! I-I- ...Y-You-...?! Wha-...?! B-But...?! Y-You have t-to l-love the person you're marrying, w-we can't just....S-So sudden..." she kept stuttering and rambling, her cheeks as red as his were long ago, when she kissed his cheek. "I see no problem, then." with a mischievous smirk on his face, he stepped forward, kissing her cheek, making her freeze on the spot. "...?! Y-You...You really...?! Since when? Why didn't you say anything sooner?!" her bottom lip quivered softly, frowning at him accusatory. "A long time ago. We were doing fine the way we were before, I didn't see why we should mess with perfection. But others stomped on it, and made you upset, so I have to solve this. And what better way to have you happy, by my side, then to be my bride? Nobody would dare come between us, that much, I can assure you." he explained with clear confidence, knowing very well that she melted, realising her feelings were reciprocated. "...I love you." she threw her arms around him without any warning, which he wasn't surprised by in the least, as she'd always surprise him with kisses, hugs, pinches and little gifts. "...And I love you, Tinkerbell." he muttered, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. 

As soon as the 3rd Prince went to his father, while he was alone, for his blessings, he received what he wished for. The look of absolute dread and hatred on the faces of the Empress, the Crown prince, and the 5th, 7th and 11th princes, who realised they lost their potential bride and spy to the one everyone least expected to get married. 

The 3rd Prince was, by far, the one with the most tricks up his sleeves, and that will never change.

[an-unknown-writers-world]

First Pitch

Summary: Bucky’s been keeping the reader at a distance, but he needs an escort to the Yankees game which leads to some unexpected confessions. 

A/N: First attempt back at writing; this is absolute trash. Sorry, not sorry. 

Word Count: 3,335

You sat at the kitchen island reading a book while you at your breakfast. It had been a peaceful morning, by the grace of god Sam and Bucky both slept in leaving you to enjoy the peace. You’d think after living together for over a year they would get along better, but the jabs never seem to end; although it is getting hard to tell if they’re because they actually care for each other and don’t want to admit it or if they truly do still hate each other. You had just taken your last bite when Bucky emerged into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” He said in a still sleepy rough voice.

“Morning, Buck.” 

You went back to your book thinking that was the end of the conversation. It’d been a year since Pepper moved you into the compound. You were a Red Room survivor and long-time friend of Natasha, so when you showed up at the remnants of the compound looking for her Pepper offered her place in what remained of the Avengers Initiative to you. It was no secret that you’d never be able to fill those shoes, they were impossible to fill, but you looked forward to being a part of something bigger. Sam had welcomed you with open arms, Bucky, on the other hand, kept you at arm’s length. 

“Any plans for the day?” Bucky asked coming to stand across the counter from you. 

His coffee cup steamed on the counter in front of him, you looked it at rather than him, confused by his sudden concern in your plans. If there was no mission in the works or casual polite conversation involved, Bucky rarely spoke to you. He was never rude, but he certainly didn’t extend an olive branch or show any interest in being friends of any kind. In fact, every time you would take a step towards friendship, he would push you away. 

“Nothing really. I might go for a run later, but I haven’t decided.” You paused for a moment. “Why, did something happen? Fury calling us in?”

He shook his head, “No,” He hesitated, “just curious.”

You stood from the stool to clear your dishes confused by the exchange. Tension between the two of you wasn’t uncommon, but this felt far different. 

“(Y/N), have you ever been to a baseball game?”

Well, this just got weirder. You thought to yourself.

You closed the dishwasher door, “No, Buck. I’ve never really cared for any sport but football.”

He nodded smiling to himself, “I remember Nat talking about going to a game with you. She had a lot of fun that day. She did warn that anyone who goes to something like that would you should be prepared for the drunk you.” He chuckled softly, “She said it’s pretty entertaining.”

Your heart warmed at the topic of your old friend. “I miss her.” You confessed. 

He placed his flesh hand on your shoulder softly, “Me too.” 

Internally your mind was throwing all kinds of flags – red danger, orange caution signs. But you smiled at the gesture.

He turned his attention back to his coffee cup; you took the opportunity to put some distance between you; taking your own cup to the coffee maker to get a fresh cup. 

“Steve and I used to go to baseball games when we were kids.” He reminisced. “The Dodgers were in Brooklyn back then.” 

You laughed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I just don’t remember a time that they weren’t in Los Angeles.” 

He smiled. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.” 

“Age isn’t relative.” You replied automatically. 

“This is harder than it was back in the day.” He mumbled so low you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear. 

You came to stand across from him, coffee cups and island in between. “Bucky?” You said trying to get his attention.

He looked up at you, you could see the torture in his eyes. 

“Hey, whatever it is. Just spit it out.” 

Bucky took a deep breath, “Would you be willing to come to the Yankees game with me this afternoon? I have to throw out the first pitch for Stark Industries.”

“Oh,” You were shocked at the question.

You searched his expression, he seemed sincere in his request and you could see the anxiety eating away at him as you contemplated his request. Part of you wanted to decline the request because it seemed so far out of the left-field, but the bigger part of you wanted to say yes. You wanted to be friends with your housemates, and this was a good first step.  Besides you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t admit there was a part of you that had wanted more with Bucky.

“It’s okay if you can’t or don’t want to.”

“No, no.” You suddenly felt bad it took so long for you to answer. “I’d be happy to go with you. Two conditions, though.” You smiled.

“Name ‘em.” He replied with a confused smile.

“You have to answer all my ridiculous questions and beer is a requirement.”

He laughed; it was a musical sound that you didn’t often hear. “I think I can handle both.”

“When is the game?” You asked. 

“We need to leave in two hours.” He replied.

You scrunched your face in frustration as you rounded the counter to put your cup in the dishwasher. “You’re giving me a two-hour notice to figure out the game of baseball and figure out appropriate attire for a game.” 

Bucky smiled, “You don’t have to learn anything about the game, I’ll teach you.” He drank from his coffee cup, “And its September in New York, whatever you might wear to a picnic or to the park or something, that would be fine for a baseball game.”

You nodded, “I guess I’m going to go get dressed.”

As you turned to walk away Bucky’s hand casually caught your own, you turned back to look at him.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “You certainly don’t have to thank me.” You smiled back, “I should be the one thanking you for taking me to someplace new.” 

** Two Hours Later **

 The clock read 1:56 PM and you were startled by a soft knock on your bedroom door.

“(Y/N), the cars here,” Bucky said from the opposite side of the door. 

“Coming.” You said getting up from your vanity.

You heard the footsteps down the hall signaling that Bucky wasn’t waiting outside your door any longer.  Taking a deep breath, you tried to remind yourself this was just another day. You looked in the mirror one last time – sporting a red tank top, denim capris and black Nike’s; it didn’t feel right, but it would have to do. Opening the door, you made your way down the hall and the flight of stairs leading to the big open foyer. Bucky stood with his back to the stairs looking at his phone, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention to turn around. 

“Wow,” He said smiling. “You look amazing.” 

A blush crept up your cheeks, “Thanks, Buck.”

He held out his arm, “We should go, Pepper sent over a car. Apparently, she doesn’t trust me to get to the game myself.”

You laughed grabbing a hold of his arm. “I probably wouldn’t trust you either.” 

“I should probably be offended by that statement,” Bucky said as he led you out of the door.

“You probably would be, if you didn’t know there was some truth to it.”

He laughed as the driver opened the backdoor.

“Thank you,” You said as he waited for you to get in before closing it himself. 

The drive went by quickly despite being through heavy traffic, electricity seemed to fill the silent car as you both looked out your separate windows as the car. When you arrived at the stadium you were taken by a security team to a private box that overlooked the stadium while Bucky was led to the locker room where he would meet the team and prepare for the first pitch.

“Sergeant Barnes will be up after the ceremonial pitch, through those doors,” the man pointed, “is a full bar and eatery. If you need anything, Mrs. Barnes security will be right outside the door. Enjoy the game.”

The man didn’t wait for any response, he just left the box. You were shocked by the man’s assumption that you were married. You wondered if Pepper knew you would be in attendance, or was Bucky planning to bring someone else? Before you let your mind wander any further you walked through the door the attendant had pointed out and got two beers – one for you and one for Bucky.

You sat in the middle seat of the row and watched as the players of each team warmed up and Bucky appeared to chat up some executive looking people. You were impressed at how casual he made everything look, you knew the anxiety he was feeling about the situation only because you had known him so long. You imagined if Steve and Natasha were still here how different this situation would be, you may not even be here; but if you were you could imagine Steve cheering him on and Natasha telling him not to cheat with his metal arm. Cheers broke your thoughtful trance as the announcer introduced the ‘Avenger Sgt Bucky Barnes on behalf of Stark Industries’. You smiled and cheer from your seat as he threw out the first pitch. 

It was only a matter of minutes before the box door opened and Bucky appeared. 

“Looked good out there Barnes.” You said turning to look at him.

“Thanks, it’s been a long time since I’ve thrown a baseball.” He said coming to sit next to you.

“What a hundred years or so?” You smirked.

“Oh, you’ve got jokes now do you?” He laughed.

“I don’t know if they actually have any effect on you, but I got you a beer.” You gestured to the cup holder in front of him.

“Thank you,” He said reaching for the bottle.

You watched rotations of batters come up slowly piecing together the bits of the game, you’d probably be more focused on the game if Bucky’s arm wasn’t slung across the back of your seat. It was a simple gesture that shouldn’t be so distracting, but this was the closest proximity you’d ever been with each other.  Emptying your own beer bottle, you slipped it back in the cupholder.

“Would you like another?” Bucky asked as he emptied his own. “I believe that was part of the agreement.”

You smiled at him, “Yes please.”

He stood to grab both bottles, “I’ll be right back.”

The short time he was gone you found yourself paying closer attention to the game, it was seemingly straight forward – ball hit, run to base and try not to get out. It was clearly more complicated, but that was definitely the basic understanding. 

Bucky came to sit next to you again, holding out the beer to you with a smile grinning from ear to ear. 

“Thank you” You took it, “what’s got you so smiley?” You asked.

“Did you know they think we’re married?” He laughed.

“I assumed they probably did. The man who brought me up here referred to me as Mrs. Barnes.” 

“It does have a nice ring to it,” Bucky mumbled,

He had a good habit of mumbling; you often chose not to respond because you rarely thought you were actually supposed to hear them. A blush crept up your cheeks at his statement, nonetheless. A few more silent moments passed between you.

“I feel like I’m not keeping up my end of the bargain.” He said breaking the silence. 

“What do you mean?”

“I was under the impression that I would be answering ridiculous questions.” 

You laughed, “It seems straight forward enough, I haven’t thought of any.” 

“They don’t have to be just about the game.” He replied.

The answer surprised you. Bucky had never been very open with you and this seemed like an open invitation to be just that.

“Well, this could get interesting.” You smiled before taking a sip of your beer.

He flashed you a sincere Bucky smile, the kind that could melt even the thickest ice blocks.

“You never did answer the question about this?” You gestured towards the beer in his hand.

“It does affect me; it takes a lot more than the average person.”

You nodded, “Do you really hate Sam?”

He laughed, “I can’t answer that, you’ll tell him.”

You laughed and shook your head. “I would never.” 

He stuck out his flesh pinky towards you, “promise?”

You pink promised him.

“No I don’t; not since after the blip.”

“But you’re still mean to him?”

“That term is a little harsh.”

You laughed, “You moved all of his bedroom furniture out to the courtyard knowing he’d come home in the middle of the night from a mission.”

Bucky laughed. “Point taken.”

You paused thinking for a moment, “What is your favorite color?” 

He looked at you puzzled by the simple question, “Red.” He replied.

“Favorite musician from your era?”

“It would depend on what the occasion was; probably Louis Armstrong or Bing Crosby.”

“Two names I can actually recognize.” You laughed.

“I’ve seen the stacks of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald vinyl albums in your room.”

“You’ve been in there?” You questioned. 

“A few times.” He hesitated as he watched your expression, “Sometimes if you’re on a long mission or missed a check-in I will sit in there while I wait to hear.” He looked away and picked at the label on the bottle. “It makes me feel a little closer to you, the room smells like you too.”

You smiled at the sentiment of his statement. 

The two of you bantered back and forth, him answering any question you could think of; you attempted to keep them as lighthearted as possible. The game seemed to pass by quickly, the crowd being your indicator if something was good or bad. None of it seemed to matter much to the two of you. Bucky got up to get you both another round of drinks and came back with a pair of filled shot glasses. 

“To better friendships.” He said handing you one of the glasses. 

You smiled at him, “So you thought we were friends before this?” 

He looked at you confused, 

“I’m kidding Bucky.” You said setting your hand on his thigh. “Spre prietenie.”

Both of you downed your shots.

“I didn’t know you could speak Romanian.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” 

A light breeze kicked in causing you to shiver. You didn’t feel cold, but you were sure the alcohol had lowered your blood pressure causing your body temperature to decrease as well. 

“It’s cold, you should take my jacket,” Bucky said shimming out of the long sleeve black flannel he had on.

It left him in a short sleeve white t-shirt that sculpted to his body perfectly. He pulled the flannel over your shoulders wrapping you in the warmth and the sweet smell of him. 

“Thanks, Buck, guess I hadn’t realized it would get so chilly.”

He smiled back at you. 

“Alright folks, it’s time for the 7th inning stretch! Everybody on your feet!” The announcer called out. 

“Wait, it’s a real thing?” You asked with a laugh. 

“Come on doll,” Bucky said standing up. 

You had never seen him like this- childlike, innocent happiness. 

“Take me out to the ball game, Take me out with the crowd;” He sung out, swaying with the crowd. “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back.” He smiled at you as you watched in awe, “ Let me root, root, root for the home team, If they don't win, it's a shame. For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out, At the old ball game” Bucky counted three strikeouts on his fingers in your direction. 

The crowd cheered as the song ended with everyone taking their seats. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much at this new version of Bucky you witnessed. 

“What?” He said sitting down, his arm stretching behind your seat again. 

“Nothing,” 

“(Y/N), spit it out.” 

"This is a good look for you, Buck."

He looked at you confused.

"Happy." You stated, "I'm not even joking when I say that your smile could melt the polar ice caps."

The sun cast a shadow across his face, but you were pretty sure that you were witnessing him blush for the first time. You were beginning to think the alcohol was a bad idea, the line between the Bucky you knew, and the alcohol influenced Bucky was blurry and only got worse with each passing second. Picking up the bottle from the cup holder you finished what was left of it.

“I’m going to run to the little girl’s room.” You said standing up.

Bucky smiled up at you, “Do you want me to grab you another drink while you’re gone”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.”

You took the space as an opportunity to breathe and try and get your head back on straight. Something changed, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was no way that Bucky had ingested enough alcohol to make this kind of change. 

Smiling at him you sat back down. His arm quickly found its way around the back of your seat and you took it as an opportunity to make a move of your own, settling into your seat you rested your head on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture and he didn’t seem to pull away from it. Instead, his arm came to rest on your own pulling you closer to his side. Between the alcohol, the fall heat and the glorious smell that could only be described as Bucky you found yourself in a trance-like state.

The crowd cheered in the background as a fan caught a fly ball. 

“Hey, Buck,”

“Yeah doll?” 

“Thank you for today.” 

He squeezed you a little tighter, “I should be the one thanking you for coming with me.” You could feel the sigh he let out. “I also owe you an apology.”

With that, you pulled your head back to look at him.

“Please hear me out.”

“Okay.” 

“Ever since the day you moved in, I’ve kept you at a distance and I haven’t been fair to you. You can relate to so many things from my past and that terrified me; I would see you do amazing things and care so much about others around you. Every day I seem to fall more in love with you and I’m tired of fighting it.”

You smiled at his confession, pressure building in your chest. 

“I know that I haven’t given you any reason to feel the same, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to change that.”

Before he could say anymore you leaned forward to kiss him, your fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck. When you broke the kiss, you leaned your forehead against his neck trying to catch your breath, he placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m guessing that means you’ll let me try to make it up to you.”

You both laughed softly.

Looking up at him you smiled, “You don’t have anything to make up.”

You laid your head on his shoulder again. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” You said softly.  “I don’t want to deal with Sam yet.”

Bucky laughed at your truthful statement. “I know a few ways to shut him up.”

It was your turn to laugh at him. 

He leaned in kissing you again, the game in front of you completely forgotten. You weren’t sure what any of this meant, but you were more than willing to find out.

**********

Thanks for reading!! If like what you read, you can find more here.

Tag List:  if you’d like to be added. Shoot me an ask. Also if you want to be removed (no hard feelings if that’s the case, I know my topic of people has changed): @starrynite7114 @genius2050 @badasseddy @knowles-morgan @itsnethbellins

[jojoreadwhat]

The Ballad Of Me & My Brain • The City | Mini Series / m.h. of The 1975 x OC

a/n; I’m just uploading work from my Wattpad archives (user: sunphazed) this is a series I was working on and stopped and I kinda have hopes to start it up again. Who knows? Anyways, enjoy xx

WARNING; this story in includes triggering materials

Matty's POV.

The steel blue of the night sky collided with the amber gold that reflected from the lustered glass lamp on my night stand. I lied there, my hands behind my head as my body sunk into the chilled sheets beneath me. I sighed. Grabbing my menthols from between the box spring and the bed. My mind swarmed in a cloud of thoughts. I sat up a bit, bringing the flame of my zippo to fag rested on my lips. It's glistening exterior, warming the profile of my face as I held it close. The crumble of the paper disintegrating when I inhaled, exhaling slowly as I watched the swirls of slated smoke. Cut through the spring breeze of the cracked window, moving like the sleep I needed but couldn't grasp.

I looked on, tracing out the room I have began to call home in the little matter of weeks. Cream, dingy walls that held the thoughts of the past human once staying here. My handy work at it's lowest. Small snippets of the bands that played out while on a aimless route to nowhere, poorly hanging over my dresser. To a Polaroid of my baby brother that I selfishly left behind. Only to know it would be best cause he doesn't need a bloke like me around.

Back home my room was a shade of baby blue that was beginning to fade from it's age. Large posters of Sid Vicious, Morrissey. My shitty handwriting on spiral book paper, of my writings or of the writers that helped me to stay existent. Where I stayed up all hours like now, pondering. Thinking of my next move.

Beginning to think about the life I was familiar with before Handforth. My mum paying a visit today was a bit overwhelming. Feeling my mum's red dipped hands draping over mine, watching her smile, radiantly. I missed her and her home cooked meals. All reassuring that she was trying to comprehend this. Keeping it together as she was ready to unravel and question this stale institution.

Mike didn't tag along which I didn't want to see him anyways. Louis was at secondary and I was glad. It was warming to hear that he was doing well, picking up lacrosse and my mum called him out on playing my records. I would have loved to see him, but I wanted him to remember the goods back home. Not having to explain why I left home to begin with.

They haven't gotten the full extent on why I ran away, at least not like Ms. Palermo has heard. Being that if I stayed one more day in Cheshire. The door to my room would've been cold, metal bars. So it was safe covering it up with the story of the 'divorce' and that school wasn't cutting it. I didn't want to watch my mum's unsure sensitivity knotted into her smile, worsen by my dismay. Like the way it did when I told her I didn't want to go home.

I took another long drag, feeling my cheeks dent and the inhale sugar coat my lungs. Running my fingers through my jet black mane. I roused, taking a few steps to my window as the thoughts progressed. I followed the constellation of streetlights outside my room, remembering how on nights like this. I'd be sneaking out the window of my room. Venturing out to the city and sneaking into clubs my fake ID would allow. Ending up back in my bed before my family noticed, sometimes ending up in the beds of others. Women preferably of course. Which reminded me.

My vision derailing to the same amber luminous glow scattered in mine. Coming through the glass panes of the room in west hall. Emma's room. She was casually sitting on her sill, aimless looking up at the sky and all of it's beaded stars. Seeing that she was doing the same as me, pondering as the smoke left her lungs and into the night air. Emma has been a key entertainment since I've settled here. Finding her and I sneaking into each others rooms. To listening on low the beat up records the center supplied in the common hall. Discovering that had bit more in common than shagging about in the janitorial

I admired Emma. Her brazen tude, the denim short skirts she wore. The visionary mind above her shoulders, that bleed out on crisp thick paper. Watching as her silver covered fingers clasped around charcoal, pursued something bright. Noticing from time to time as her handwork slowed and a shade of rouge painted her porcelain cheeks. Today was no different than before, as I admired her. But earlier crossed my mind again. Remembering that I hadn't seen her wandering after her visitors stop by.

As my mother talked about the neighbourhood and the Spring festival coming up this Saturday. I surpassed her as I watched the other table near by. Emma with her visitors. One deeming as her mother. The same shade of honey dipped blonde, mirroring the same beam that I seen on Emma. Adorned in a pretty flowy top over white capris and sandals. Talking as I could word out simple things like 'I'm fine' and 'Okay'. Catching up and probably hearing the same lecture I was getting.

I glanced over a few more times, I was beginning to notice the dark hair figure that accompanied her mum. Broad shoulders, a dirty hippy as some would say in his Stones shirt. Old ripped jeans and beat up sneakers. Possibly her dad but there was no baring resemblance when sitting next to her mother.

Questioning why she never made eye contact with the man. Instead looking like she was going to hurl, on the verge of combustion as her lip became a chew toy. Following Emma turning in and disappearing into the depths of her room. I wondered why she acted in this manner. Why her blatant aura was flattened and defeated. Then it hit me. I placed the last of my cigarette into the cup with a drop of water. Looking down at my Docs that I had intentions to kick off, soon be double knotted. Throwing on my leather overlay and headed out to her room.

-----------------------------------

Emma's POV.

My mind was still trying to wrap around today. A visit that I awaited on Tuesdays. Once excited to see her. Now being replaced with a stab to my gut when she wasn't alone this time. Instead bringing the man that drove me away. Feeling myself in knots as he sat next to me, his eyes etching me out. Gazing at the clock for it to strike two so he could stop resting his viscous hand on my knee.

I thought she believed me. Specially when she told me that she made Frank leave after I confessed my reasoning for leaving. I thought I was noticing progress in myself, possibly even announcing that I wanted to come home. Something that I know she has been waiting to hear for months. Only to have that suggestion came to a immediate halt. I isolated myself in this room that was beginning to feel less safe as now my worst nightmare knew where I was.

Nothing being able to subside it, not even when I sat pretzel legged in front of the jimmied, handmade easel I built. With legs of a table I snuck in from Angry Andy flipping months earlier. Laces from my talking All Stars and nail polish that I remembered worked as an adhesive in my secondary Science course. I would've had half a portrait of a homeless man I seen on the street. Outlined and sketched, possibly shading in his evening shadow around his jaw. I never cried so much in the months I've been here like today. God, I was supposed to be making someone's life miserable than living in my own misery.

I grabbed the box of cloves in my shoes, misplaced under my bed. When the weakness of my limps felt like they had lifted. My feet met the carpet, suddenly rising again when I sat on my window sill. Gazing out at the night that had came upon rapidly than some before. Counting the cars that drove by when wishing on stars obviously didn't work for shit. I exhaled the sweet departure of the clove that lingered on my lips briefly. Cracking the pane a bit, as the smoke immediately evaporated within the gusts of Spring. I felt my shoulders slump as I sighed into another exhale.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow walking in front of the window. Of the room in south wing I found myself in from time to time. I had a feeling that Matty may have connected two and two together earlier on. Sometimes feeling his whiskey eyes on me as I began to feel small from the blue eyes stabbing at me like daggers. Matty knew a jist of my past, nothing extravagant but only enough to explain why I lied with him most nights.

He was learning though, just in the way his expression changed. When I met his gaze and all I wanted to do was cry. He knew this as that gaze trailed to my quivering lip that I was trying so hard to contain between my teeth. Or maybe he didn't? By this time, I would've heard the jiggle of my doorknob rotating. The boy with so many questions and seeking so many answers, seeing his figuration peering through the doorframe.

Eventually coming to conclusion that the casual fornication that Matty and I indulged in. Never amounted to anything past that line as he still looked out his window. Then again, that was my fault for wanting to feel different under the touch of someone else. I stood up from the window, with the clove still hanging from my lips.

Dragging my feet against the vomit colored gray carpet before towering over my dresser. Reaching into the top draw, pulling out the coral oversized shirt that could set out as a nightgown. Placing it on the top of it as I looked up at the mirror hanging on the wall. Taking my hair between my hands as I worked an upward motion to place it in a band.

That's when I heard the usual jiggle of the knob. My eyes meeting the boy dressed in black, head to toe as he entered my room lightly.

"Hey" He greeted little ways above a whisper. Holding up the door, there was something about this dark mass that crept up on me at night. His jet black hair, pushed back on top the center of his head. His leather jacket hanging steady over his broad shoulders, how his tee shirt and jeans hug properly over his build. Only wanting to tear each article off like the night before, because he looked so good and I was sick of it. But tonight, I wasn't much for it.

I looked away after I perfected a messy bun, shaking my head as I went to grab my shirt off the dresser. "I'm not in the mood." I remarked, a bit annoyed that he probably came here with those intuitions. I was wrong, profoundly.

"I'm not either." He replied, then.

My eyes meeting him again, following him as he trailed over to my closet. Noticing that he was bringing out my jean jacket. I placed my hands onto my dresser, my brow rising a bit. Watching as he stepped a bit closer, with a smirk paired with intentions I was oblivious to. "We're getting out of here." He stated, placing the jacket over my shoulders. Feeling the heat of his hands as they lingered above the fabric.

A rush of shock came over me, almost obliterated in the rush that consumed me. I wasn't sure if it was from the plan or the way it left his lips. My mouth went haywire, "W-what?" I questioned, then.

"There's cameras everywhere.... What if they notice us missing?" I began, then. My mind flooding because what if we couldn't come back after they had found us gone. Being taken out of my own thoughts when Matty placed his hands on mine that were moved in exaggeration with my talk.

Obviously the worry not consuming him like it did me. Matty's chuckled rippled softly through the amber lit room. I followed as he backed up, "You're worried about being caught?" He raised his brow at me. Feeling my cheeks warm from the slight memory of what he was talking about. I shook my head, prying my hands away, walking towards my bed.

"What about Ms. Astrich?" I spoke once more, before I spun to face him again. She was the supervisor at night, sitting at the front desk. Waiting for some sort of trouble made by the kids here. "Did you think about how fast I got here?" He mentioned, explaining that she was either asleep or off in another wing. Matty just happened to get by in good time.

"Why would I think that?" I exclaimed, folding my arms across my chest. "I seen you watching me." He noted, only to roll my eyes at how cocky he could be sometimes. Even if it was partially true, but I wasn't the only accomplice.

"You're a jerk." I remarked, my brows furrowing at him as he chuckled. "You were watching me too." Catching him off for a split second before he shrugged, "What's your point?" He questioned back. We were silent for a moment, looking everywhere else but each other as our thoughts spoke among us. Matty just sighed, breaking my train of thoughts when I noticed his dark silhouette heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my hands dropping to my sides. "I'm going out, like I said." He replied once more. Feeling this sudden sting near my chest when he said that, still not understanding why. Only thinking about how this might be the last bit of conversation I'd have with him.

I peered out the window near us, biting my lip in the same moment. I hadn't stepped into Wilmslow in months. I felt that I had lost all direction that made me street smart. A part of me was my adrenaline overflowing. I wanted to do this, bathe myself under the moonlit sky and do anything that made me feel sane again. The other was the fear of what to actually expect, and the stress I felt earlier holding me back like a strap on a bed.

When I turned back to Matty, he was inches away from me now. The light of outside glistening against his face, watching it dance as he moved his hand near my cheek. Moving some of my hair behind my ear that had freed itself from my bun. "Do you trust me, Em?" Falling nonchalantly. I chuckled a bit at how loosely it did too. Only to be dumbfounded by my return of an answer.

"Yes." I replied, then. Meeting his eyes that swirled in rich golds and browns around his dark pupils. Finding a sincerity in them, something I never found in my lifetime. Knowing that I caught a grasp of it. "Come with me then." He said again.

I gazed at him as he watched me sit on the bed, grabbing my shoes from underneath. Admiring his expression as it relaxed, only displaying that he was nervous too. Not having much of an idea of what we were getting ourselves into.

"So," I said, jumping to my feet after I laced up chucks. Properly placing the jacket he rested on my shoulders, around my arms. "Where are we actually going?" I asked, as silence filled in the gaps between us. Waiting for some type of shrug to play off his toned upper body. I draped my crossbody over my chest. Looking back up at a smiling Matty, a smile that only implied that he knew exactly where we were heading now.

"The City."

[kanasmusings]

[Translation] VAZZROCK bi-Color Series Vol. 8 - Sapphire - Drama Track 1 - Part 3

And, here’s the last part of Haruto’s drama tracks~! It runs from minute 24:05 until the last minute XD

Again, thank you to @ryuukia for sharing the files!

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

Under the cut, enjoy~

[24:05]

REIJI: Then, here’s the next one. This is from Micchi-san.

HARUTO: “I can’t cry no matter how much I watch sad movies.”

REIJI: Oh~ It feels like it’s connected to the one a while ago.

HARUTO: “Does this make me a cold person?”

HARUTO: I don’t think so.

REIJI: Oh~ That was a quick answer.

HARUTO: I mean, it’s true, isn’t it? Each person has different things that can make them cry.

HARUTO: There are people who don’t cry during a sad movie even if the people around them are crying.

HARUTO: I think it’s common.

REIJI: Yep, I agree with Haruto. Whether they cry or not during a movie is different for each person, right?

REIJI: If there are people who can freely show their tears, there are people who can hide them, too.

REIJI: I don’t think that it’s cold at all.

HARUTO: Plus, being cold is only a personal impression.

REIJI: Yeah, that too. What others think is important too but, I think it’s what you think that’s even more valuable.

HARUTO: It feels convincing when Reiji-san says it.

REIJI: What do you mean by that?

HARUTO: The next one is

REIJI: Don’t avoid the question!

HARUTO: This is from Reiji-Love-san from the Kanagawa Prefecture.

REIJI: Oh~! Thank you~

HARUTO: “I can’t eat peppers. Is that bad for an adult like me?”

REIJI: Awesome. The pen-name sounds amazing but the question’s got nothing to do with me at all.

HARUTO: That just means it’s a very urgent problem.

REIJI: Then, I’ll answer properly.

REIJI: It’s not bad. There’s one of our members who hates tomatoes even though he’s an adult so it’s okay~!

HARUTO: He said that he eats eat sometimes if he has to though.

REIJI: If he doesn’t want to eat it then he doesn’t have to! He’s an adult after all.

HARUTO: What about if it’s a kid?

REIJI: If it’s something that he really can’t eat then, how about exchanging it for something else?

HARUTO: So that’s necessary, too, huh?

REIJI: I think that’s just taking care of your nutrition, you know?

HARUTO: Really? So it’s what you call an adult’s special privilege that we couldn’t have when we were children, right?

REIJI: Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s okay, Reiji-Love-san.

REIJI: Even if you can’t eat peppers, it’s not that bad for your nutrition so don’t worry.

REIJI: Then, here’s the next one.

REIJI: It’s from Yuki-san in the Kyoto District.

REIJI: “I’m always busy with work that all I do when I get home is sleep. I want to feel healed. Will you please praise me?”

HARUTO: I think it’s admirable that you do your best every day. It’s very taxing going to work all the time after all.

REIJI: Haruto can just say that smoothly, huh?

HARUTO: You think so too, don’t you, Reiji-san?

REIJI: Of course I do!

REIJI: Doing your work until late at night is wonderful. But, don’t overdo it, okay?

HARUTO: Yes, you’re already doing enough so it’s good if you spoil yourself a little bit.

REIJI: Like, going out for food sometimes.

HARUTO: Or just lazing around at home for a while.

REIJI: Exactly~

  ***

 REIJI: And, that’s all for our advice corner!

HARUTO: We answered quite a lot…

REIJI: Yeah, we did our best.

HARUTO: But, it’s still not all of them, right?

REIJI: Unfortunately, yeah. It would be great if we could have answered them all though.

HARUTO: Should we maybe do the broadcast all day?

REIJI: Heh~ Should I ask?

HARUTO: If we rotate with different pairs, it could be possible.

REIJI: You’re too realistic, huh…

REIJI: Welp, let’s do the last segment first.

HARUTO: You’re right.

REIJI: The last part is where we’ll choose what you want us to do so be ready to raise your hands.

REIJI: Ah, but be careful not to hit the person beside you, okay?

HARUTO: Is there no button that they could push? Like the hat where something comes out?

REIJI: There’s no one wearing one no matter how much you look at it!

REIJI: Plus that’s so old-fashioned! How old are you?!

HARUTO: That’s unfortunate. So, what will we be choosing?

REIJI: We can choose up to four but… (Reiji pulls out a box) This… It’s my first time seeing it~

REIJI: First one is… (Reiji pulls out a paper)

HARUTO: “Please say your number one most embarrassing story.”

HARUTO: I don’t like this one.

REIJI: Don’t say that so honestly like that. It would be difficult to choose, won’t it?

HARUTO: Ah, I’m so sorry. Please ignore my opinion. I’ll keep quiet.

REIJI: That’s so difficult to do now. Alright, I’m choosing the next one.

(Reiji pulls out another paper)

[28:41]

  REIJI: “Please do to each other a gesture that you think is the coolest.”

HARUTO: That’s… Does that mean that if it’s picked, I have to do it to Reiji-san?

REIJI: You do know that I would too if it was picked, right?

HARUTO: If it’s only you I think I can manage,

REIJI: Why?!

REIJI: Anyway, here’s the third one.

REIJI: “Any one of them is fine so please imitate a member (from ROCK DOWN)!”

HARUTO: That’s another difficult challenge…

REIJI: It’s easy for the people who are watching us here but it’d be difficult for the ones who are only listening to the broadcast.

HARUTO: You’re right. I feel like it would be too complicated that it won’t get across.

REIJI: It needs deeper understanding.

HARUTO: The last one is… (Haruto draws a paper from the box)

HARUTO: “Please say how you would confess to the person you like?!”

REIJI: How we would confess? That’s kinda hard to think of on the spot.

HARUTO: (sighs) What should I do…? What I want Reiji-san to do…?

REIJI: Hey, hey! You don’t have the right to decide that!

HARUTO: Ah…! Oh, you’re right…!

REIJI: (chuckles) Don’t sound so disappointed.

REIJI: Alright, then I’m starting the survey.

REIJI: (to the audience) Those who prefer No. 1?

HARUTO: Ah… I’m so relieved. There’s not much (who are in favor).

REIJI: You don’t have to be considerate of Haruto, y’know~?

HARUTO: Please don’t stir them up…

REIJI: Those who prefer No. 2?

HARUTO: Oh…! There’s quite a lot. About 1/3, I’d say.

REIJI: No. 3?

HARUTO: I see…

REIJI: Welp, I felt like it would turn out this way.

REIJI: Then, those who like No. 4?

HARUTO: Ah, it’s decided then.

REIJI: No need for us to count, huh.

HARUTO: I sort of feel bad for the staff who were on stand-by (for counting).

REIJI: Since there was really no need to. Well, number 4 is decided so it’s~

HARUTO: A love confession, huh…

[30:37]

  REIJI: Who do you want to go first?

HARUTO: Don’t tell me… You’ve already decided what to say…?!

REIJI: More or less.

REIJI: Do you want to think a little bit longer~?

HARUTO: It’s a deciding line, isn’t it?

HARUTO: Ah…

REIJI: Hm? Ah, they said we should write it on the whiteboard.

REIJI: Here, Haruto. (Reiji hands him a whiteboard)

HARUTO: Oh, yes.

REIJI: (starts writing) I feel like the atmosphere will change if I write it down…

HARUTO: I’m done.

REIJI: That was fast. I thought you were hesitating.

HARUTO: It’s short so…

REIJI: Hm~

(Reiji continues writing)

REIJI: Alright, I’m done with mine, too!

HARUTO: Ah… Reiji-san… It seems like I have to say this line to you afterwards, too…

REIJI: Uwah, there it is!! Tell us about that beforehand!

REIJI: Eh!! Saying this to Haruto is a little…

HARUTO: What in the world did you write?

REIJI: Ah… Well, anyway, let’s open our panels first. Ready, and…!

(they flip their whiteboards)

REIJI: Ah… I—I felt like I knew what you were going to say before you showed me yours…

HARUTO: You have sixth sense?!

REIJI: No, I don’t. You said it was short but… You really…

REIJI: Saying, “I like you.” is too textbook, don’t you think?

HARUTO: I couldn’t think of anything else…

HARUTO: But yours is really… The writing’s so small… (2)

REIJI: Do your best and read it! The situation’s all written so it should be easy to tell, right?

HARUTO: Hm…

HARUTO: “I hug the person before they leave and say, ‘I need you. You feel the same way about me too, don’t you?’ and then I kiss them.”

REIJI: (with a flirty voice) It’s dramatic, isn’t it?

HARUTO: Although the scene is all set up, I don’t think that you’re this honest of a person.

REIJI: I’m quite honest, you know? So, we have to say these?

HARUTO: A confession to Reiji-san…?

REIJI: This is as tragic to me as it is to you so do your best, man.

HARUTO: I understand. Then…

HARUTO: (in a dejected tone) To Reiji-san…?

REIJI: Your energy’s getting lower!

HARUTO: (inhales)

HARUTO: I like you!

REIJI: Heh~ Isn’t that kinda nice~ It’s so you and so gentlemanly.

REIJI: If only you weren’t saying it to me~

HARUTO: I’m the one thinking that the most.

REIJI: Same here. So, what should we do about mine? It doesn’t seem like it’ll go well.

HARUTO: Let’s look for a stand-in.

REIJI: Don’t take it so seriously! Anyway, saying the line should be fine!

REIJI: (to the audience) Alright, everyone~ Please stop saying “Kiss~!”

REIJI: (chuckles) I won’t do it~

HARUTO: Give me ten minutes to…

REIJI: Stop making such an “I want to kill myself.” face! It’s hurting my feelings.

REIJI: I said I’d just say the lines. Don’t make it weird!

HARUTO: You’re imagining things.

REIJI: Never mind then.

REIJI: Then… (Reiji clears his throat)

REIJI: (in a sweet tone) I need you. You feel the same way about me too, don’t you?

HARUTO: …

REIJI: What’s your reaction?

HARUTO: Ah… It’s a real lie…

REIJI: Eh?

HARUTO: It made me realize that you really are an actor.

REIJI: A-ah… Yeah, that’s right.

REIJI: Hm? A-ah, the time. Unfortunately, the time is almost up.

HARUTO: It’s already ending?

REIJI: Man, it ended faster than I thought.

REIJI: Then, to those who are listening to the broadcast, see ya~ Bye-bye~

HARUTO: Let’s meet again somewhere.

REIJI: Thank you to all those who came here to watch the broadcast, too!

REIJI: Be careful on your way home, okay?

HARUTO: Thank you very much.

REIJI: Haruto, don’t bow. Wave your hand.

HARUTO: Is that how it’s done?

REIJI: It’s written on those girls’ fans, too.

HARUTO: Eh? “Haruto, wave your hand.” Ah… (Haruto waves his hand)

REIJI: That’s it~ Then, everyone, bye-bye~!

HARUTO: Let’s meet again somewhere.

[35:32]

  REIJI: Ah~! Good work!

HARUTO: Thank you for the hard work.

(Reiji drinks water)

REIJI: Hey.

HARUTO: Ah, yes?

REIJI: That thing you said during the last segment… That “real lie” thing. What did you mean by that?

HARUTO: Ah… That—It’s not Reiji-san but I could see Reiji-san (in it).

REIJI: What’s with that?

HARUTO: It wasn’t how you would act in real life but the way you said it was something that fit you so well.

HARUTO: That’s why.

REIJI: Oh-ho~ (chuckles)

REIJI: (softly, to himself) He really saw through me, huh.

HARUTO: Did you say something?

REIJI: Mm-mm. I just said that it was fun~! I wanna do it again.

HARUTO: Yes, let’s do it someday again.

  ==END==

Translator’s Notes:

(2) Haruto was probably referring to the fact that Reiji had so much written that the letters are so small and cramped XD

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

※ If you like this, please consider buying me a coffee here. It’ll really help me out a lot.(o^▽^o) Thank you!!

[thelittlegirlinwonderland]

Teach Me Something New

Fandom: Young Justice

Couple: Traught, Dick and Artemis

Word Count: 2,507

Summary: The only way Robin can win his crush's heart is by learning archery. He just needs a teacher. 

I wrote this for Valentine’s day and realized that I never posted it on tumblr. Oops.

“You want me to what?” The question fell past Artemis’ lips in slight confusion as she worked on one of her arrows.

“I want you to teach me archery,” Robin repeated his request, bouncing from one foot to the other. She looked up at him, eyebrows scrunching together.

“Why?” She asked. Simple question, really. Why does the boy wonder want her skill?

“It is a skill I don’t have and I want to correct that.” She almost believed him, if it weren’t for the fact that she knew this kid. Robin was her best friend after all, and she could just tell that wasn’t the truth. Not the full truth, anyways.

“Mhm.” She looked at him pointedly, raising an eyebrow. The boy’s shoulders slumped down as he turned his head to the side.

“Fine. I want to impress this girl who goes to my school,” Robin admitted almost shyly causing Artemis to squeal with delight.

“Oooh! You have a crush! That’s adorable, but learning archery just to impress her? Why don’t you just tell her that you like her?” Placing her arrow on the ground next to her, Artemis stood up. Her friend liked someone, she couldn’t help but think that was adorable.

“Trust me, I have tried everything. She just sees me as a little kid.” Eyes downcast as he sighed, upset with the revelation.

“Well, you kinda are, dork.” Artemis gave a smile, ruffling his hair like she always does.

“I am going to be 15 next month!” He snapped, swatting her hand away from his head.

“Wait, seriously? When did you start growing up?” Robin groaned, clearly annoyed and used to those words. Artemis stared at the boy in front of her in shock. How had she not noticed how much he was growing? Hell, he was an inch taller than her. When had that happened?

“Well, it has been slowly happening since the day I was born. That’s how life works, Mis.” She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not with his snippy response, but she assumes he is pretty exasperated with people treating him like a child.

“Right, sorry. Rob, just tell the girl how you feel. Tomorrow is Valentine’s day, you might be surprised.” Her apology was a bit half-hearted as she focused back on the matter of Robin’s crush. Today was the 13th of February, which meant he could confess his affections just in time for Valentine’s. That would be super cute and romantic.

“I don’t know.” The kid was hesitant, poor guy was so nervous. He must really like this girl, Artemis surmised. A metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head, giving her an idea.

“Why don’t you practise on me? Say to me what you would say to her.” It was a good plan, she had seen it work before. It gave Wally the courage to finally ask Zatanna out, and get a yes in return. It worked with Megan back when she had a crush on Conner. It will definitely work for Robin, the kid was braver than anyone else she knew.

“Alright,” he agreed, looking up to meet her eyes. She couldn’t see his baby blues from behind his mask, but she knew they were there. He reached up, placing a hand on her shoulder and took a deep breath. “I really like you. A lot, actually, and I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” His entire face flushed red, even the tips of his ears, as he spoke. So cute, so nervous.

“See how easy that was? Now just go tell her.” Artemis didn’t catch the way Robin’s face fell in defeat. She did, however, see how disappointed he looked. Briefly, she wondered why.

“No, that won’t work. Can we do it my way?” The black haired boy set a look of determination to cover up how upset he was. Artemis gave a nod.

“Alright, fine. I’ll teach you archery. It is just for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. A Valentine’s gift of sorts.” Scratching the back of his neck, Robin nodded. Artemis became curious as to what kind of Valentine’s gift/confession the boy was planning. She’d find out later, though, after hounding the teenage vigilante for every little detail of what happened.

“Let’s go then.” Artemis motioned the boy to follow as she lead them to a practise area before walking away. He stood awkwardly where she left him, several feet from the targets, waiting. She came back with a spare bow(she wasn’t just going to let him borrow hers) and regular old arrows. Perfect for learning.

Robin took the bow from Artemis’ offering hand and balanced it lightly in his left hand. He was ambidextrous, so it didn’t matter which hand her shot with. Both were his dominant hand. Artemis watched the teen get used to the feel of the new tool. He drew the string back a couple times, trying to not look so uncomfortable.

“I think I’m ready.” He announced after several minutes of testing. Artemis handed him an arrow and stepped up behind him.

“Grip the bow here,” guiding his left hand to the proper placement, her right hand helped him load the arrow. “Like that. Once have the arrow in place, your right hand will go here.”

Still helping him hold the bow with one hand, her other grabbed his right hand. She maneuvered his fingers around the string and the end of the arrow. Once in the right place, the two drew back in perfect harmony. As though they were one person, they released the arrow and let it fly towards the target. It missed the bullseye by a couple inches.

“That was a good first try. Let’s fix your posture before we go again, though.” Artemis grabbed his waist, gently twisting it, ignoring the small squeak that emitted from her partner. She adjusted his stance, moving one leg back. Facing the other leg towards the target. Rotating his back and shoulders. As soon as she positioned him properly, she resumed her place behind him.

“Try to relax, Robin. You are way too tense.” Her lips whispered into his ear softly. Her left hand was no longer needed to help him hold the bow, so she rested it on his bicep. The muscles underneath her fingers were so stiff. In fact, his entire body was. His back, which pressed up against her front, was so rigid she couldn’t believe he was an acrobat. Aren’t they supposed to be looser? “It’s like you are a rock. Just let go.”

His body relaxed against hers, at her words. She released his bicep, settling for resting her hand on his hip as the tips of his ears flushed a bright red. Once again, she helped him draw back the bow and release the arrow. This time, it hit the center of the target. Together, they shot a few more arrows, moving together in complete sync.

“You are doing great. Why don’t I go get those arrows, and you try it by yourself?” As soon as she stepped away from him, she found herself missing the heat. That, and the way his body felt against her own. Pausing in her walk to the target, Artemis blinked a couple times and shook her head, trying to remove the thought. She grabbed the arrows and returned them to Robin.

Her eyes traced over his form, for posture obviously. No other reason. She certainly wasn’t ogling the way his muscles flexed as he pulled back the string. That was not the case at all, she was just making sure he was doing it properly without her guiding him through it. And, maybe, the way his nose scrunched up in concentration was cute. Okay, it was totally adorable how focused he was. Who was she kidding? She was definitely checking him out. The way he moved, how absorbed he was in what he was doing, it was all so beautiful. She was almost jealous of whoever he was learning her craft for.

Wait, no. Bad Artemis. Shaking her head once again to clear her mind of those thoughts. Sure she always admired Robin. Who didn’t? The kid was younger than everyone else(spare Captain Marvel) and was easily one of the most talented people to exist. But she was not jealous of his crush. That would mean that she liked him in a less than platonic way and that was not okay. Not okay at all.

She watched him for hours, even though it only felt like several minutes. She gave a comment here and a correction there. She was his teacher, after all, she couldn’t just stare at him. Which she wasn’t, to begin with. That would be ridiculous. Eventually, he decided he was good enough for whatever he had planned and thanked her for the lessons. She really didn’t feel like she did any work, but she took it anyways. It felt like the polite thing to do, and she wasn’t entirely paying attention. In fact, she probably couldn’t have left the room faster once he said he was done.

xXx

The next day at school, Artemis made it all the way to lunch without running into Dick and whoever his valentine was. She wasn’t jealous or anything. She really wasn’t. In fact, she was more than a little curious as to who in their school had caught her friend’s attention. He never seemed interested in pursuing a romantic relationship.

She sat outside under her favourite tree, enjoying the chill February air of Gotham while everyone else was inside. Artemis found that she could be outside no matter the weather. Rain, snow, hot, cold. As long as it wasn’t a life-threatening storm, she spent her lunch period beneath the tree.

Her phone buzzed with various valentine’s texts from her friends as she unwrapped her sandwich. Everyone inside the school was probably comparing gifts and bragging about all the expensive things they received. It was the same every year, and every year she avoided all of it. Except for the candy grams. She couldn’t hide from those, they came right into the classroom and handed them out. She always got one from Barbara and one from Dick. No more, no less. This holiday was predictable as always.

Picking apart her sandwich, instead of actually eating it, Artemis sighed. The temperature outside was just cold enough to allow her to see her own breath. She placed her lunch on top of the wrapper and leaned her head against the tree. She closed her eyes for a second, just relaxing. A stream of air passed her cheek and a dull thud snapped her attention back from the peaceful place her mind was headed. She turned her head to the side to see what made the noise.

A couple inches from her nose, an arrow was lodged in the tree. She blinked twice, staring at the object before reaching forward and yanking it out of the bark. Wrapped around the shaft was a piece of paper and a single red rose. A white ribbon was tied around both, holding the note and flower in place. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Artemis tugged on the ribbon, releasing the flower. She placed it on her lap and unrolled the piece of paper and began to read.

Artemis,

I have thought long and hard about what I want to write in this letter. For everything I’ve come up with, nothing was right. You are my best friend and I am terrified that what I feel for you will be the end of this amazing relationship we share. If I am lucky, you care for me the way I care for you. If I am not . . . well, sometimes you just have to take the jump without thinking of the fall. You know I am quite good at that.

I have tried many times to get you to become aware of these feelings I cater for you, though I have been unsuccessful every time. I hope that by telling you outright how I feel, there will be no confusion.

I am aware that you will find it difficult to believe me, but I am in love with you. That is right. I, Dick Grayson, am in love with you, Artemis Crock. You make me feel like an ordinary person despite the world telling me that I am not. You keep me grounded while allowing me to fly. You are my best friend and I am glad that you are in my life.

I have never felt like this before. You know me, I am not good at letting people in. I don’t know how to just pour my feelings out for you. I want to tell you exactly how I feel; how you make me feel. I want to find the perfect words to make you realise how important you are and how much I need you. Words that are heartfelt and amazing. When I look at you, the only words that come to mind are the same; I love you.

Dick

Artemis stared in shock at the letter in her hands as tears pooled in her eyes. She was his crush! He was in love with her! She couldn’t believe it. How had she missed the signs? She twirled the rose stem between two fingers as she looked up to see Dick walking up to her. She pulled herself to her feet and met him halfway.

“I shot the arrow from the roof. I may have been learning archery for a little longer than one day.” He pointed to the area of the school where he had come from. He smiled shyly as he pulled out a gift bag with his spare hand.

“I’m the girl you wanted to impress?” She whispered, taking the bag from him and placing it to the side on the ground.

“Yeah. I thought I was being obvious, but. . .” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I ran out of ideas on how to tell you and I didn’t know how you were going to respond. I still don’t know how you are going to respond. It’s totally cool if you don’t feel the same, I wou-”

Artemis cut his rambling off, grabbing each side of his school blazer and pulling him into a kiss. He froze for a second before kissing back. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her body closer as her arms wrapped around his neck. They stayed in each other’s embrace though their lips parted. He gently rested his forehead against hers and smiled, going in for another kiss.

“Does this mean you like me back?” He murmured against her lips.

“I like you back, dork.” She responded, capturing his mouth a third time.

So maybe she was in love with her best friend. It was by far the greatest thing she had ever decided on. He loved her back and she could taste it in the smile on his lips.

[ironidemic]

Killing Time: Part II

It had become a routine for Friday nights. Wendy would climb out of her bedroom window and jump down from the roof as soon as her parents were asleep, making her quiet getaway along the side streets where cars would pass her only on occasion, speeding by in streaks of red and white light, too quickly to see if their drivers even thought twice about seeing a girl her age walking alone in the night. The suburban landscape was wrapped in a calm loneliness, a comforting kind of isolation that put Wendy at ease. Everything was going to plan, and after the initial rush of sneaking out of the house, her pulse had slowed to normal. She savored the quiet, feeling safe in the darkness, invulnerable in the way it concealed her. During these late hours, the world seemed to stand still, allowing everything to be alright if only for a moment.

She met Rachel fifteen minutes later in front of her family’s worn-down ranch house, situated on the outskirts of town where only stray cats and food stamp benefactors laid down their roots. Wendy observed for perhaps the hundredth time that Rachel herself, with her pristine smile and carefully filed nails, surely didn’t belong in a place like this, with all of the grit and tragedy. It was just the hand she had been dealt in life, and she seemed to have come to a grim kind of acceptance with that fact. The pair walked together from there, with Rachel confessing school drama in between drags on a cigarette and Wendy listening for the most part, save for a few intermittent scoffs or nods of agreement. It was strange, she had every reason to hate hearing Rachel gossip like this, but for some reason, she could never seem to bring herself to mind. Nothing Rachel said ever struck her as shallow; she saw everything so analytically that it seemed glamorous, and as much as Wendy might deny it, she liked to feel what it might be like to be part of that world, one of cliques that she could never enter and parties she would never attend. It was nice to see the world in that limited view every once in awhile.

“Wendy, you okay?” Rachel playfully bumped her shoulder. “You’re zoning out on me here.”

“I’m listening! Believe me, I don’t want to miss any of the details about Lauren McNairy’s surprise pregnancy. I’ve hated that bitch since the fourth grade”

“When she denied you entry to her lunch table? Stalin himself never committed a worse crime.”

“Shut up! If it wasn’t for her, I may not have ended up looking like disheveled Morticia Addams.”

Rachel shook her head in mock disbelief. “If you say so…”

Steve was already there when they arrived at the waterfront, and had somehow managed to get himself drunk ahead of time, as was apparent by the light slurring in his speech. He waved when he saw them, holding a bottle in one hand and using the other to amplify his voice. “Look who it is! The degenerates! I knew shouldn’t go walking alone at night.”

“The only degenerate here is you, asshat! The rest of us have managed to maintain some type of dignity,” Wendy shouted back, rolling her eyes. “You hit the bar before coming here?” She asked, though the answer was obvious. Steve was always hanging around in bars, drinking and getting into fights to pass the time, anything to escape the confines of his family’s two bedroom apartment.

“Don’t question my lifestyle choices,” he retorted. “I just go with the flow, and that just so happened to be where it took me. What else is a guy supposed to do on a Friday night?”

“I don’t know, homework? Or are you illiterate in addition to being a drunkard?” Rachel cut in laughing.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s someone working on your’s as we speak. Who is it, some poor honors kid who’s just as madly in love with you as everyone else?” Wendy teased, her tone exaggerated and dramatic.

“Cry me a river, sweetheart.” Rachel countered, easily shrugging off the comment. Steve, meanwhile, had begun whistling impatiently, making a show of rotating a silver ring that pierced his nose. Wendy cleared her throat.

“Steven, is that new hardware I see on the septum?”

Steve grinned, a wide, toothy smile of a giddy child. “Like it? I found a guy who does piercings cheap. I can hook you up if you still want one on your lip, Wen.”

Wendy shrugged, picking up a stone from the bank and turning it over in her palm. “Hard pass. I think I’ve pissed off my dad enough for this week. I got an office referral for ‘insubordinate behavior’ again. The old bastard lost his shit.” She pulled her arm back, pitching the stone as hard as she could at the water’s surface. It skipped twice before sinking into the inky depths. Rachel waved a pair of imaginary pom-poms and kicked her leg high in the air.

“Things are tough all over, kid,” she laughed. “Hey Steve, pass the booze.”

The next half hour flew by, blurred by vodka from a worn glass bottle and anchored by the rhythm of stones being thrown into the water and the sounds of laughter echoing in the dark. At some point a fire was lit, a pire of driftwood and dry leaves set ablaze with cigarette lighters that illuminated the beach in a soft orange glow, its rosy fingers clawing at the water’s edge and reflecting off of their faces. Wendy felt like she belonged here, young and tragic but alive, her stony defenses lowered with the two people she cared about most. In moments like this, it felt as if the world belonged to them, a sensation as fleeting as it was glorious, flickering and then dying out when Wendy spotted a pair of headlights shining down the gravel road. A dented ‘77 Camaro pulled up and parked in a patch of weeds that ran along the beach, and out stepped Rourke, looking like a criminal with his crew-cut hair that accentuated the bony structure of his face. A military school dropout and a war vet’s son, marks of stern discipline showed themselves subtly in the hardness of his expression, the stiff jumpiness of his movements. Wendy shrank back, kicking at the sand and gazing absently at the treeline across the water.

Rachel ran to embrace her boyfriend the moment she saw him, her eyes lighting up feverishly as she wrapped her thin arms around him, a small smile forming on her lips. The couple kissed, and Rachel melted into his arms, hanging from his frame as if she desperately needed it for support. Rourke’s cold blue eyes remained wide open, staring somewhere off in the distance, but his grip was firm, wanting her but not loving her. Wendy hated him more than ever then, but swallowed it for the time being. Whether she liked it or not, everyone had to be present in order for the ritual to take place.

“Hey man, what took you so long?” Steve greeted, slapping Rourke on the back in a friendly manner.

“Let’s just call it an errand,” he laughed dryly, pulling a weighted burlap sack out of the trunk of his car and saying nothing more of it. “I’m sure you didn’t miss me too much.”

“We managed,” Wendy deadpanned. She looked up, and the pair made brief eye contact, giving half nods of acknowledgement. They didn’t have to pretend to like each other.

Rourke leaned in to kiss Rachel again then pulled back suddenly, jerking his hand up as if in pain and then slowly running his fingers through her hair. A smile formed on his face that looked twisted and contrived.

“Let’s start, shall we?” he said, gently lifting her chin so that she met his gaze. Rachel cracked a red-lipped smile and nodded in agreement, her expression showing nothing but complete trust. Steve and Wendy reacted quickly, assuming their respective positions around the bonfire: Wendy standing to the East and Steve facing the North. Rourke carried the burlap sack to his place in the South, cracking his neck after it hit the ground with a dull thud. Rachel drew a tarot deck from the pocket of her jeans before finally joining them, filling the fourth place in the West and completing the circle. She knelt down and shuffled the deck once, placing the top card face down in the dirt before revealing the image. Even from a distance Wendy could make it out in the traces of firelight: a horned creature with the head of a goat and the body of a man, gray wings extending from its back, and a man and woman fettered at its clawed feet: The Devil. Rachel stood, her eyes shimmering a clouded white.

Rourke’s smile had become more twisted than ever, curling upwards at the edges in a narrow line that pulled his lips thin over his teeth. He pulled a knife from his front pocket and held it up over his head, the metal shining red and gold in the firelight. In one quick motion he drew the blade across the palm of his hand, not once flinching or hesitating, and simply stared down at the blood welling up in the cut as if he felt nothing. Rachel slit her palm next, gasping slightly and clutching her wrist to combat the pain. She passed the knife on to Steve, who contorted his face and uttered a string of curses under his breath after accidentally cutting his hand too deep. He then outstretched his uninjured arm, offering the knife to Wendy, the blade  now stained a deep crimson. She clenched the handle and cautiously took it, glancing at the pale, ill-lit faces surrounding her. The blade was cold on her skin as she made the incision, cutting just deep enough into her skin to draw blood. For a split second she felt nothing, just a vague tingling sensation in her wrist, until pain crept gradually into its place, pulsing through her nerves and forcing her to bite her lip in order to fight back the tears as she handed the knife back to Rourke.

    “Ready?” Rourke asked. They nodded solemnly in response and extended their arms over the fire, allowing the drops of blood from their palms to feed the flames, each drop sizzling on impact. The wind shifted, blowing hard from the east, and the fire turned a pale blue color, radiating vibrant heat as the rest of the world faded dim and cold. Rachel threw her face upwards towards darkened sky, and began to chant, her voice coming from somewhere deep inside her chest, producing a low, guttural sound that seemed entirely foreign on her lips. Sweat covered her brow when she finally fell silent, her chest rising and falling rapidly in exhaustion. The preparations were complete; they had channeled the spirit. It’s invisible darkness engulfed them, wanting, waiting.

Rourke reached into the burlap sack sitting behind him and dragged out a skinny hound by it’s back legs. Wendy’s stomach lurched, her mind reeling in temporary shock. A faint glimmer of emotion surfaced in her conscience, one of many that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. Pity. It disgusted her, tugging at the back of her throat and pooling in the pit of her stomach, but as she saw the mutt hanging there, beaten unconscious with dried blood and dark bruises covering its protruding rib cage and patchy coat, the feeling only grew. Suddenly, she felt everything at once: the shame, the fear, the despair, all culminating in the crushing realization that she was in far over her head. She wanted it to stop; she couldn’t bear feeling this here, now, not after she had worked so hard to contain it. Just as Rourke had positioned the knife on the dog’s neck, ready to make the sacrifice, Wendy stumbled back, taking one foot out of the circle.

“Stop it!” She screamed, holding her face in her hands to hide the anguish betrayed there. “I want out! I can’t do this anymore!” She had lost control, on the verge of a panicked breakdown that had been lurking in her psyche since the day she first sensed that something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re going to get us all killed!” Rourke’s eyes were wild, but there was fear lingering in his voice. “You can’t just opt out, you stupid bitch! There is no out, not for you or me or anyone. This is what you signed up for!”

There had been other rituals like this one. It started with small offerings to the dark spirit: trinkets, valuables, personal items, locks of hair from family members; things that seemed to have little significance until they realized that a connection had been forming all along. Threads of the darkness had wormed their way into each of their lives, twisting and tying around their limbs until they were rendered nearly immobile. They needed to conduct the rituals; their strength depended on it, a neverending pull that was futile to resist. It was only a matter of time before the sacrificing began, when they were already too weak to protest and all morals had faded into indistinguishable shades of gray. It started with rodents and birds caught in the woods, stray cats found in alleyways and roads sides, but the spirit’s appetite for blood only grew, an unsatisfiable thirst for weakness and pain that always demanded more. Through it all, Rourke promised that in the end, this would all be worth it. The power of the darkness was limitless, and to have the ability to tap into it at will, well, that could make any problem disappear. Money, freedom, happiness, control; it all would rest at their fingertips.

Wendy shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” It was a command as well as a plea, but it was too late for either of those. She had made up her mind, and stepped out of the circle.

A blinding flash of light erupted from the fire, and Wendy felt her body being thrown backwards into the rocky bank, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. She grasped at the sandy ground, trying to find her feet to stand, but something held her there, rendering her immobile. Wendy yelped, struggling against her invisible restraints, when pain hit her chest with the force of a bullet tearing through her insides. The sensation spread beneath her skin, hot like acid coursing through her veins. She doubled over, desperately screaming for it to stop, but the pain was persistent, coming in white-capped waves that pounded beneath her skull in sickening rhythm with the sounds of the other’s cries of pain somewhere in the distance. In the moment, she would have wished for death if it guaranteed relief; anything to make the pain end. Just when Wendy thought she could bear it no longer, her chest heaving and lip quivering in submissive defeat, a voice filled her head, flooding the cavity like water.

“Rachel. Give her to me and you will be spared.” It spoke in layers of deep groaning and shrill hissing, the result something dry and sinister that seemed to shake the ground. Wendy’s stomach lurched in protest-- not Rachel, anyone but Rachel, but before she could think further of refusing, the pain multiplied in one white hot flash, leaving her gasping and shaking in aftershock.

“Do what it says,” Rourke called out weakly. “It’s no use resisting it.”

Wendy knew he was right. Their course was set in stone; they no longer had a choice in the matter.

They dragged her thrashing and screaming into the cold rapids, wading out until the water was waist deep. Steve and Wendy each held one of her legs, struggling to stop her from kicking the while Rourke carried her further into the water, one arm around her chest and the other covering her mouth. She was crying now, her eyes darting wildly to each of their faces, pleading helplessly for any sign of compassion. Wendy had to look away, staring down at the soft ripples on the water’s surface. One could be sacrificed to save the lives of three. It was only logical, and fear prevented her from thinking otherwise.

A full moon shone between scattered clouds in, sending beams of blue light over the landscape. Rachel’s skin glowed pale and unblemished in the water’s reflection, a perfect offering. They pushed her under and held her there, fighting to control the violent thrashing of her limbs. Wendy could feel her weakening, the resistance becoming less and less until she surrendered, her body going limp and floating up to the surface. Her face was soft, eyes resting open and vacant.

They dug a shallow grave in the woods offshore, scratching away at the rocky earth with bare hands, dirt caking beneath their fingernails. Rachel's body was still warm when they lowered it into the ground, but her muscles had already begun to stiffen, as if she were bracing herself against their touch, paralyzed in a state of unending revulsion. Wendy’s hands felt numb, operating outside of her conscious as they covered the corpse, piling soil over it until a soft mound formed. She rose in staggering unison with Rourke and Steve, saying nothing, her eyes plastered to the pebbles and sand clinging to her damp knees. Everything was still, the air humid and chilly, the bonfire reduced to nothing but a pile of ash scattering in the breeze. Rourke produced a roll of gauze from the pocket of his ripped acid wash jeans, bandaging his own hand before offering it to Wendy and Steve.

“We aren’t going to tell anyone about this; we won’t even talk about it to each other,” he said, words rolling quickly and smoothly off his tongue. “It would be better if we weren’t seen together for a couple of days. I doubt anyone will find the body, but if they do, we’ll need to come up with separate alibis... ”

“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” Steve interjected, laughing nervously. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his skin had turned a slickly shade of ashen gray. The fact stood clear: Steve, the unshakable force of delinquent's confidence, was terrified.

“Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t,” Rourke answered flatly, lighting a cigarette as he spoke. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke slowly from his mouth and watching as it rose up into the air, clouding his face from view. Wendy grimaced, inhaling sharply and pulling the gauze so tightly over her wound that pain shot through her entire arm.

    “How the hell can you say that after what you… what we did?” she hissed between gritted teeth. “Rachel is dead because of us, because we were a bunch of weak fucking cowards!” Wendy stood, fuming, watching and waiting for her words to sink in. Rourke tensed up, his jaw clenched tight with rage as he grabbed her arm, jerking her towards him. His nails dug into her skin, and she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.

“Rachel is dead because you didn’t follow the rules,” he growled. “We did what we had to do, but her blood is on your hands.” He had the air of a loaded gun, and Wendy noticed for the first time that his irises were completely black. She didn’t dare move.

    “Let go of her, Rourke!” Steve said, stepping defensively between them. “She’s just tired.” Steve turned to Wendy with a look dead seriousness. He loomed nearly six inches over Rourke’s height, but that didn’t hide the glint of fear reflecting in his eyes. “Go home, Wendy.” Rourke’s hand slid away, falling at his side in a tight fist. Wendy nodded to Steve before turning away and running into the darkness. Her skin was numb, her mind filled by Rourke’s echoing voice.

Her blood is on your hands. She knew that it was true. Rachel was gone because of her. No more blond hair, no more of coy smiles or understated laughs. She was gone now. Rachel was dead, and her last thoughts had been of fear and betrayal. Wendy was sure she could have stopped it if only she had been stronger, if only she had kept her mouth shut in the first place. Guilt overwhelmed her, pressing down like a weight on chest, making it hard to breathe. Yet the fact stood, impossible to forget or deny.

Her blood is on your hands.