#yes scarys top does just say no in polish

[koszmarnybudyn]

Its their first day as official investigation crew :D

This is them as 17-18 year old probablly? Taylor, Scary and Normal have been internts/parttimers since highschool, and this is them once they actually join the institute.

And the no text version:

[monstersinthecosmos]

I have no confidence writing smut, so, smut writing advice?

HELLO yes of course, writing smut is my favorite hobby lol. 🥹🥹

I’m gonna break this into two sections, because what I’m about to say up top is more important (to me LOL) so I wanna lead with it, and if you’re still with me by the end I’ll discuss a couple technical things that help me a lot personally.

But first thing I wanna say, and I’m a broken record because I say this literally every time anyone asks me about writing, my 100% absolute Number One Rule is :

Write what you want to read. 

And when it comes to writing smut, what that means is: DO YOU THINK IT’S HOT? IS THIS A DYNAMIC YOU WANT TO SEE EXPLORED? DO YOU WANT THE CHARACTER TO GET OFF IN THIS SPECIFIC WAY????

Because something that I think a lot of fic writers struggle with, especially breaking into smut, is we have shyness about it. And like, it doesn’t matter how polished your fic is, it doesn’t matter if it’s the most gorgeous prose and most satisfying character arc—when you’re writing smut, you have to ask: Does this make me horny? Is this an idea that I find horny? Can I approach it both bravely (by admitting I thought of it in the first place) and sincerely (knowing that people might jerk off to it without judging them)? You absolutely cannot be afraid to share this idea that you had, and I think that’s baked into a lot of us. I think it’s pretty common in our varying cultures and it can feel taboo and vulnerable to talk about. And honestly like, no matter what else you worry about in the writing itself, that first hurdle really is just being brave enough to write it down at all, and if it’s something you want to share or post you have to build on that, as well.

A lot of writing advice out there focuses on like technical things and language and prose and tbh, that stuff doesn’t really matter to me. (I do have a few things I’ll share at the end though!) Like, I think we can all learn and there’s no harm in thinking about our technical style, but I also think that we can’t hold ourselves back just because we don’t feel ready. You have to practice, and no one peaks on the first try. And I think there’s a lot of elitism (even ableism, classism, & racism/xenophobia) in snobby writing circles about skill and language, when I really think that storytelling is so much about being able to communicate. If you can communicate your idea, it doesn’t matter how polished it is. It’s not a contest. 

I’ve read some incredible smut fics that were the SLOPPIEST writing I’ve ever seen in my life and I still admired the IDEAS so much. The writer communicated ideas to me and the filthiest kinks I ever saw in my life, so I didn’t care that they weren’t doing line breaks for new speakers, I didn’t care about the run-on sentences, I didn’t care about the constant tense switches. 

So I say all this to say that like, all writing takes some confidence, some bravery, SHARING IT CAN BE SCARY, but like, YOU GOTTA LOL. The way out is through, babe!!! And it will get easier with practice and repetition, but I really do believe that it takes bravery at ANY level. And I think if we all didn’t have some little voice inside telling us that we could get better, we would have no interest in getting better, and the moment you become OVER confident is when your work stagnates. Like, I’ve been writing & sharing fanfic since I was like 13 years old and I still get really anxious every time I post something! I still find flaws in my writing and I still have goals I’m trying to meet! So you gotta start somewhere, and it doesn’t matter if you’re not polished and perfect. What matters is that you start. And I don’t think it makes a difference if it’s a smut fic or not, like all writing needs this bravery, but I think sometimes there’s that extra barrier with smut because people get squeamish about it.

But like your writing, and your VOICE, is not just the words you’re using and your prose and your sense of style; it’s your IDEAS. It’s your sensibility! It’s the lens you have! Your worldview! Things about characters that you might notice because of your background, that someone else might not notice! So like, marinate in your IDEAS and think again “What would I want to read?” because that’s your TASTE, and that’s your voice. And when it’s time to write smut, you don’t need to make it formulaic to some fandom trope if it’s not sincere. If you don’t like reading about prep and foreplay — DON’T WRITE IT. That’s your take, it’s your taste! That’s your voice !!! 

At every point of your story keep asking “Is this what I would want to read?” And if it’s not, don’t do it!!!! 

So I mean. I think that’s very wishy washy and it’s sort of a non-answer, but I don’t think anything else matters until you conquer that part. At least, that’s how it was for me!!!! And since you asked ME, and this is *my* experience, aka my voice, my take, etc, that’s the answer. If you asked other smut writers they’d likely say something different!

But I do have a few technical things I can advise on, so that’s the second half of this. 

And ALSO in between these two things I also want to mention some GENERAL STUFF that I have written about, because aside from blah blah YER VOICE (qotd!movie tough cookie quote), my other biggest writing advice is like, having the discipline to actually write LOL. And if you’re neurodivergent like I am it kinda helps to like figure out what works personally for you; I listed a bunch of stuff that works for ME in these posts but if one size fit all we wouldn’t be neurodivergent LOL. So like before you can even WRITE you have to like allow yourself time and space to write or it’s never gonna get done in the first place. So here's some other posts I've written in the past and I apologize if I've repeated myself lol --

On burnout & writer's block ADHD Writing Tips!

On Editing! (but really on outlining bc if you outline you won't have to edit so hard!)

OKAY OKAY OKAY sorry for the preamble, here’s some more points:

1. READ SMUT! TAKE NOTES!

“Write what you want to read!” I said, but ! What do you like to read? Read some smut, figure out what you like! Figure out what you don’t like! I have a laundry list of stuff I don’t like, so I try to avoid repeating it in my fics. Learning what not to do is just as important. 

Literally I started doing a thing when I was hitting some walls with smut writing where I copy & pasted some of my fav smut fics into a new document and I just started like, highlighting things that I found effective while I was reading, so that I could kinda study it and see what it had in common. And it helped me figure out what I like! Because sometimes reading it kinda like nebulous or you’re just trying to nut or whatever and don’t really think about stuff like that HAHA so it made me think more deeply about like “oh I enjoy when we mention our feelings” “I enjoy sensory details” etc. So that makes me think about the way I would want to write, ie: copious amounts of feelings and sensory details. 

2. INVISIBLE WORDS & FIRST DRAFT VOCAB

There’s certain words that become invisible in porn, the way people’s names do. It’s the same way people commonly get squeamish about saying a character’s name over and over and wind up using cheesy epithets for no narrative reason lol. Same for words like “cock” “hole” “nipple” “pussy” etc. I think there’s one or two words for the basic parts and it depends a lot on your own preference, like maybe you like the word “cunt” more than “pussy” or you prefer “dick” to “cock”. Make those decisions!

But do NOT get squeamish about using that word over and over. The reader does not care. I guarantee you have read smut fics where you didn’t even notice. It’s an invisible word.  (I s2g go ctrl+f on your fav smut fics to see how many times the author says “cock” you’ll be amazed lol) 

Because when you start overcomplicating it, and start using cheesy floral analogies or something, people notice that! If you’re getting desperate and squeamish to mix up your genital vocab, someone will notice you saying “tight ring of muscle” but won’t notice you saying “hole”. It’s the type of thing that makes the reader stop and go “oh no lol”. AT LEAST, IT DOES FOR ME, SO I DO NOT WRITE THAT WAY. 

Not to say that you can’t pick like, a handful of words you like! I usually rotate a handful of dick words but like, it’s just words I don’t mind, but I don’t go out of my way to say something unique about a fucking penis because the person reading is trying to jerk off and it’s just not necessary. 

On the other hand, I do believe it’s good to mix up sensory and action words. I try not to use the same verb more than once every few paragraphs, so I’ll mix up words like fuck/thrust/plunge/rail. Etc. Also words like heated/blistering/burning. Again, don't go so crazy that you sound bizarre because people WILL notice when it's becoming unnatural, but mixing up the rest of your vocab helps the cadence, I think, which I will always suggest in general for writing. Try not to be too repetitive. But I promise you can say "cock" as many times as you want, it's invisible, no one will care.

Don’t get too stressed about your vocabulary on your first draft, though. I really recommend just banging out the first draft as it comes to you and stay in the zone because you’ll notice stuff like that when you (or your beta if you use one) read it to edit. But thesaurus.com is your friend and you literally can google like “words for writing erotica” and you’ll find tons of lists!!! 

3. SEX POSITION BETA READ

I really really really suggest on your reread for edits to do a SPECIFIC run through JUST to check everyone’s positions and parts. Nothing takes me out of reading a scene faster than someone on their back and suddenly they’re on their knees, or someone’s limbs being somewhere that don’t make sense. After you’ve worried about all the other stuff you’re checking, just go back and look one more time for stuff like this, because it’s so easy to miss, especially when you’re worrying about hunting for typos lol. 

4. PLAN THE CHOREOGRAPHY AND WRITE AN OUTLINE

Do you think I don’t outline my smut scenes? YOU’RE WRONG! 

I have a certain way I like to outline, and like, I know outlining isn’t for everyone!, (and I linked a post talking about it above). Anyway, your fic outline might look like 

-beginning -middle -smut scene -end

Even if you don't outline the whole fic, I find that it really helps to just sketch out what you want the scene to be like so that you have a reference to work from. 

For example, maybe you get to "smut scene" and expand it to:

- they make out on the couch - “I really wanna fuck you right now” - oral  - move to the bedroom - start in missionary - flip the bottom over to do from behind

Etc !!! Do whatever you want. But I think planning those steps out kinda helps to visualize what you want the scene to be, and when you start writing you can take it a point at a time.

And BE PATIENT!!!! 

There’s no reason to rush through. And again you gotta ask like, what would you want to read? Do you like when there’s a lot of attention given on prep? On foreplay? DO YOU HATE WHEN THERE’S TOO MUCH PREP? This is all very subjective and you have to make those decisions. Don’t feel like you need to squash in a sex ed lesson to your porn scene if you don’t want to. OR DO IT, IF YOU DO WANT TO! Personally, I don’t really like ~sexposition~ where I feel like the author is ticking off a bunch of boxes so that Tumblr won’t get mad at them. I don’t want to feel like I’m in a sex ed class. I don’t care if they’re not wearing condoms, I don’t care whether or not you tell me if they showered, I don’t care if anyone douches first. Look, it’s porn lol. 

And for some folks, those details are hot! It’s part of the RITUAL, baby! So INCLUDE THAT if it’s what you like! But this is all so intuitive and subjective; just do whatever you want! It’s your story! You’re in charge!

But I think like doing that planning beforehand can be really helpful when it's time to get down to it because it gives you a guide, and it helps stretch the scene out. I don't rush through scenes when I have an outline, because it forces me to stop and think about each step and give each step its own space. I think sometimes people rush through their smut scenes, which especially gives me blue balls if it was a slow burn, like again thinking about what I would want to read—if I get slow burned I want it to be WORTH IT. I want them to FUCK for like EVER once the dam breaks. 

Another thing, regarding choreography LOL, and this isn’t for everyone!!!, but if you’re someone who isn’t repulsed by watching porn, check porn videos for reference!!! I do this frequently LOL especially bc most of my ships have size differences LOL so sometimes I need to know if certain positions work, like, can they still kiss in this position, etc. It helps me to look at real people. Artists use references, too, so writers are allowed to! 

Do NOT feel pressured to look up IRL porn if that grosses you out LOL but it’s a tool that’s available if you’re into that! I do it all the time. I even can tell you specific videos that I based fics on HAHA. And it can help when you get stuck, if you're not sure how you want to choreograph, literally just watch a video and describe what you're seeing.

5. DON’T FORGET SENSORY STUFF

Not just the sexy parts, but like. What does the blanket feel like? Are they cold? Is the position uncomfortable? Are they getting sweaty?

I like when people tell me stuff like this!!!! I wanna know!!!!! 

I don’t want to just read “They were fucked over the arm of the couch”, I wanna read “The cushion was scratchy on their knees as they were bent over the arm of the couch”.  Tell me that stuff!!! It’s immersive!!! 

6. MAKE IT WEIGH ENOUGH

This goes towards being patient, too, but, think about like, what’s the ratio you want in your story of plot:smut. And it’s okay to have any combination of this, it depends what you feel like writing and what’s the story you’re trying to tell. Because a story could be ALL SMUT, like a PWP, or it could be a sprawling epic with a teeny little smut scene as a treat. But make that decision and try to be intentional.

I don’t like to think about my work in terms of word counts, like I never aim to make the smut scene a certain numbers of k’s or whatever, because I think forcing myself into those boxes is going to make the work insincere, but if you wrote an outline or at least know all the points you want to hit, you can start working through those points and it’ll get said when it gets said. 

But for arguments sake, if you wanna write smut, but you wanna give it a little setup, think about it like, do you want it to be 3k of setup for a 500 word blowjob? Or is it a 500 word intro for a shameless smut PWP? Is it equal? Is the smut and plot intertwined??? Completely up to you, but I think you should decide stuff like that before you start the scene, just so that you have a roadmap of how you want it to go and what you want the reading experience to be. When you’re in the mood to read smut, do you need to bond with all the plot and feeling before you’re interested? Or do you like to just jump in? And once you get to the smut, do you want to spend time with it or should it burn out real fast? 

And don’t get me wrong, because you can like all of those things! We all contain multitudes. I’ve written all combinations !!! LOL. So it also has to serve the story you’re trying to tell. What’s the goal here? What’s the smut for? Is the smut the whole story? The main event? A subplot? Decide that, and be patient when you get to writing it, and don’t rush through it, and make sure you say everything you want to say. Make it weigh enough in your story! 

7. ADD SOME CHARACTER EMOTIONS AND 🔥THE SYMBOLISMS🔥 IF YOU WANT TO

This last bit is just me personally so like, take it or leave it LOL, but personally I REALLY love porn with feelings, and I love hurt/comfort especially when the comfort is SEX LOL. If that’s not you, PLEASE IGNORE, YOU’RE AT THE END OF THE ROAD, THANKS FOR STOPPING BY.

If this IS you, think about stuff like this, too:

Are there kinks in your story? Do they align in some way with the character arc in the story? Is your main character feeling vulnerable and needs to be comforted in a specific way? Are they overwhelmed with making decisions so they want to be dominated so that they can turn off? 

Does the smut dynamic mirror the plot of the story in some way? 

Are the characters using sex to resolve an interpersonal problem? Will this bring them closer? Will it create confusion?

Does the character use sex to deflect from their actual feelings, and are they not completely present emotionally??? 

I like to think about stuff like this!! I think it can really add an extra layer to smut fics that make them SO DELIGHTFUL to me, so personally I always try to infuse this into my own writing. :) I want it to hurt! I want us to think about their feelings! I want to ask what does sex do for the character, how does it move the story, how does it change them??????? 

And stuff like this doesn’t have to be confusing and nebulous, you know? Like you’re the one writing it LOL, just make that decision!!! 

AND IF YOU’RE WRITING AN OUTLINE YOU CAN LEAVE YOURSELF NOTES. Like 

- they make out on the couch (character A is nervous) - “I really wanna fuck you right now” - oral  (character B worries they’re gonna catch feelings)  - move to the bedroom - start in missionary - flip the bottom over to do from behind (character A doesn’t want to look into character B’s face anymore because it feels too intimate) 

And that way you can kind remember to mention stuff like that and keep reminding us of everyone’s feelings.

Anyway okay this is like 3k of fucking RAMBLING, I hope something in here was useful! I think all writing advice is so subjective, it might be so catered to me personally that it doesn’t apply to anybody else LOL, so take what helps and leave the rest!! :D

[hauntedpearl]

Book asks!! 3, 8, 11, and 16 please!

hiii!! <33

3.What were your top five books of the year?

honestly it's so fucking hard to pick i had a very good reading year! so I'm just picking 5 of my favourites from different parts of the year. In no particular order:

- White Is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

This book is just. phenomenal. Creepy and Scary and writing so fucking gripping that it does not let up! it's a fairly short book but i literally could not put it down even tho I had things to do. and i just. I spent like a whole week entirely down in the dumps because I didn't even realise I'd gotten so absorbed into the book and Couldn't Get Out. like i wouldn't recommend if you're Going Through It bc it'll make you worse but it's really such an amazing book and it's soooo worth reading!

- In The Dreamhouse by Carmen Maria Machado

This one's a memoir about domestic abuse and Machado's voice is stunning! I don't really have much I can say other than GO READ ITTT!

- Our Wives Under The Sea by Julia Armfield

i think this might be my most favourite read of the year. it was just such an incredible reading experience for me, is the thing. like. goddddd. the way this book aches. the way when you read the scenes set in the submarine, it's almost like you can HEAR the sea in your head. the way she writes this love story and it feels like, almost not like a love story but then you finish it and you realise oh it was. because you fell in love too. just. AAAAHHHHH.

- Dig by A S King

i feel like A S King writes books for me specifically. i feel like she's sitting in my head like bet you wish you could be 17 and reading this huh!!! bet you knew about me before!! it's okay i still got you! and it's so nice. anyway. this is kind of a mystery/thriller type book. it's like the better more polished version of we were liars by e lockhart, tbh. TO ME anyway. very similar vibes but also absolutely not.

- Discworld (yes I'm cheating and putting the whole series here) by Terry Prattchet

Mort is my favourite so far but this series is everything and I cannot wait to continue reading it!!!

8. Did you meet any of your reading goals? Which ones?

Yes! I only wanted to read more physical books (bc i had a ton unread and I kept buying more lol.) and I did that in the first half of the year! i also stopped buying books so I'm not expanding my collection until I'm satisfied with the % of books I've read. and I also had a GR goal which I hit last month so wooooooo 🥳🥳🥳

11. What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

AGAIN! THERE'S SOOOOO MANY!! like none of my favourites from the question above came out this year!! I guess I'll pick one of the oldest ones. So!

Princess Bride by William Goldman.

idk why i held off on reading this book and watching this movie until this year but I did. but then I did both of those things and my life was changed and I am soooooooo glad for it.

16. What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?

oh this is actually easy!

Verity by Colleen Hoover. GARBAGE BOOK! ABSOLUTELY IDIOTIC!! I HATED IT SO MUCH!! (yes picked it as a hateread and mission was accomplished!)

end of year book asks!

[favoniuscodex]

miscommunication. [ childe x reader ]

prompt: “ok, don’t hate me, but i kind of told them we were dating.” w/ childe from my 2.5k event prompt list! pairing: childe x gn!reader warnings: reader is a harbinger with a cryo delusion. reader is scary/intense in a typical way you'd expect a harbinger to be word count: 1.1k words

a/n: good luck to those of you rolling for childe! or rosaria this is absolutely 100% a crack fic im sorry to whoever requested this. i just wanted to write a fic where childe was lowkey scared of the reader but in like... a Good Way.

"hey! tartaglia!" you yell upon seeing a familiar head of ginger hair weaving in-and-out amongst the fatui's ranks. childe wasn't hard to spot due to his distinct uniform, but his height was what made him stick out from the rest of the crowd. amongst the fatui, the eleventh harbinger was your closest friend and the only one you even spoke to outside of work-related events, but now, he's at the top of your list of people that you wanted to fight.

blue eyes glance back at you before quickly tearing themselves away. upon recognizing who exactly was yelling his name, childe quickens his pace as he rushes away from you. he nearly trips over some startled subordinates in the process, but they only mutter apologies for childe's own mistake in an attempt to get away from one of his fellow harbingers: you.

"get back here, tartaglia!" you order, briskly walking forward and rudely shoving past your underlings in an attempt to get closer to childe. childe, however, does not listen, and as he fearfully looks back behind him to see you rapidly gaining on him, he lets out a nervous bark of a laugh in shock.

then, he does the most irksome thing possible. childe breaks out into a sprint.

you yell multiple expletives as you chase after him and the lower-ranking fatui agents around you watch you two in absolute terror. as you chase him down the hallways of northland bank, finally breaking out of the throng of fatui soldiers, childe begins to laugh like the utterly annoying man he is.

the chase finally stops when he dives into a meeting room and you hear the click of a lock, forcing you to stay outside. this was your bank. the eleventh harbinger was just here on a little vacation assignment. but you? you were in liyue full time. how dare he lock you out of a part of your own building? but hey, you decide to give him a chance.

you knock gently on the door. three nice, completely calm raps of the knuckles against the polished wood. no more, no less.

"ajax," you call sweetly, hoping that it'll weaken his defenses. "could you be a dear and open the door?"

you hear an astonished laugh come from within the room.

"fuck no," you hear childe say. "you're just going to kill m-"

you don't wait for him to finish. instead, you use your cryo delusion, gifted to you by the tsarista herself, to freeze the lock off the door of your own building. it falls to ground, shattered from the intensity of the cryo energy coursing through it. from within, you can hear frantic shuffling around and you decide to toy with your friend a bit by standing outside the door for a few minutes. when the shuffling finally dies down, you enter the meeting room.

crouched underneath the meeting table, hydro daggers in hand, rests childe, who looks up at you with wild eyes and a crazed grin on his face. of course he looked excited at your threatening stance, especially as you unsheathed your own sword, slamming it down into the ground in front of him, ripping through the rug and splintering the wood flooring. pure anger coursed through your veins as you crouched down to your fellow harbinger's eye level, hand still resting on the hilt of your sword.

"tartaglia," you say, coldly. "why did signora congratulate me for getting in a relationship with you?"

childe lets out a nervous laugh, yet his eyes are unreadable as he smiles at you. the eleventh harbinger is as insufferable as he is adorable, especially when you are one of the few things that can make him actually fearful. you had never really understood why, but always used it to your advantage -- even now.

"i'm losing my patience," you say, hand slackening on the hilt of your sword and falling lazily to your side.

"you haven't already lost it?" childe asks and you stick your tongue out at him. he lets out a soft laugh in return. "alright, alright, but you're not allowed to get mad at me."

"me? mad?" you laugh, placing a hand on your chest. "never. i always control my temper."

childe stares at you blankly and the two of you fall into silence as he slowly comes to terms with the fact that you weren't going to agree to his terms. he clears his throat and speaks nonetheless.

"okay, okay, don't hate me, but i kind of told them we were dating," childe says, holding up his hands in faux-surrender. you tilt your head slightly and stare at him.

"why?" you ask. childe clears his throat yet again, a flustered red hue appearing on his face.

"well, scaramouche and dottore were going on and on about how everyone around them is too weak to fall in love with a harbinger and i thought it was lame of them to say, so i said that we were dating to spite th-" childe begins, but you cut him off.

"no. why didn't you just ask me out?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him and leaning in just a bit closer. at your words, childe falters, eyes widening and blush darkening to a deep red hue. as if his brain had to reboot, it takes him a whole several seconds to even think of a response.

"w... what?" he breathes and you roll your eyes.

"i mean, i would have said yes," you respond, not bothering to repeat your question. childe stares at you dumbfoundedly, unsure of what to make of your words. his blue eyes scan your features for any hint that you're joking, but he can't seem to find one.

"would you like to g-?" he begins, but you cut him off once more.

"yes. there's this cute traditional snezhnayan food vendor stall that just opened near the port. i would like to try it." you say and you propel yourself upwards, standing tall. with a slight jerk, you manage to rip your sword out of the floorboards and sheath it again. the harbinger doesn't make any moves to chase after you and you smirk down at the table, which now obscures him from your vision.

"i am free this friday night. my shift ends at six, so pick me up at seven. it'll give me time to get ready. does that work for you?" you ask, turning away from him and walking over to the doorway. childe shuffles around, crawling awkwardly out of his defensive spot under the table, hydro daggers long since gone.

"y... yeah. yes! friday at seven. i'll pick you up. that sounds great!" childe says, stumbling over his words as he speaks earnestly. you turn and flash him a smile over your shoulder.

"see you then," you giggle. "ajax."

[aggressivelyclueless]

ouija board

in which it gets out of hand. . . but only a little

warnings: v spooky

(heads up this one’s kinda long, whoops lol)

(@qoinq-qhost u were looking for more danny being a lil shit? vvvv)

Sam was just about ready to get the seance rolling.  Thundery and weeping outside, candlelight inside - it seemed like a good night for it.  This time around, there were four of them: her, of course; Felicity, from third-hour, had brought the board; her bestie Star (who Sam had almost uninvited, as she hadn't been deemed goth enough, but she owed Felicity a favour and letting this slip was it); and Star's boyfriend-of-the-week, Jake (also not goth, and very much on thin ice).

They sat clustered together on the full-moon rug in Sam's room, a jumbo bag of Chex Mix forgotten on the floor by Jake's backpack.  Only the little brown bits were left.  "You're host," Felicity was saying, scooting up into a proper cross-legged sitting position and centering the board on the carpet between them.  She produced the most important piece - the polished wooden planchet - and dropped it into Sam's waiting palm.  "You start."

Star opened her mouth, almost thought better of it, and then asked, "Are we going to get a demon?"

"That's not how this works," said Felicity, shooting Sam a look to keep her quiet.  Felicity had the tolerance for questions like those, and the patience not to be cross.  "We're not summoning demons.  We're communing with the dead.  There's a difference."

"Is it still going to be scary?"

Sam bit her tongue.  With luck, it would be, and she wouldn't have to deal with Star's antics next time, whether they were at her house or not.

"I don't know," said Felicity, "Maybe.  We've never done one at this house before.  We might not get a ghost at all."

Sam shrugged, setting the puck down in the center of the board and keeping her first two fingers on it.  The others scooted closer, getting comfortable, and followed suit.  The candleflames throughout the room were perfectly still.

"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"

For a moment: nothing.  She glanced up into the empty air, as if she could spot a slinking shadow on the wall or a flickering shape hovering by the ceiling.  She couldn't, even though she wanted to.

Then the slight pull of the token under their collective fingers, and the drawn scraping sound as it crawled slowly across the board: YES.

So they weren't going to come up empty tonight.  She glanced over at Star, wondering how intense things would get before she'd bail.  Sam was certain that, at some point, she would, or maybe she was getting her hopes up.  Star didn't exactly look like goth material.  All things considered, this was probably the wrong scene for her.

But she had owed Felicity that favour.

"Why are you here, spirit?" Felicity asked, shifting a little in place.  Right to the point.

The planchet under their fingers was still.  Sam knew the rules better than anyone: if the ghost chose to answer, it would have to tell the truth.

The ghost chose not to.

Star's eyes darted to Felicity, but there was a hesitation before she spoke.  When she did, the words were wrung-out and barely there.  "Ask him if he's friendly."

"You ask him," said Jake, nudging her with an elbow.  Between the four of them, he was the least invested in the endeavor, seeming more bored than anything.  He shrugged, trying to scoot his letter jacket a little higher on his shoulders without having to take his fingers off the puck.  The jacket refused.

"Okay."  Star took a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the board.  The planchet, for the time being, rested on YES.  "Ghost," she said, somewhat uncomfortable at directly addressing the dead, "Do you mean us harm?"

Immediately, she could feel the wooden puck go cold under her touch.  It slid off YES, veered partway across the board, and went still again.  The chill at her fingertips vanished.

"Don't like the looks of that," muttered Felicity.  "Sam, you think we should call this one off?"

Sam gave it a moment of consideration.  "I don't know.  Maybe, but not yet.  Let me try once."  She cleared her throat.  "Spirit - will you tell us your name?"

The planchet didn't have to think about it this time.  Star could feel the cold tingling in her fingers again as it moved, slowly but deliberately, and spelled out: JAMES.  She frowned.

"What's your purpose here, James?" Felicity ventured, but the ghost revealed nothing.  The silence stretched on; finally, she sighed.  "Doesn't like me much, does he?"

"I don't know," said Star, which she thought sounded better than a flat-out no.  It didn't do any good; Felicity was already looking a little put-out, and Star reached up with her free hand and patted her on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  We still like you plenty, even if that silly ghost doesn't."

Sam fought back a groan of distaste.  Whatever Felicity saw in Star, Sam was seeing none of it.  She wanted to tune Star out, didn't want to see her so distracted as if communing with the dead was a mere game.

If things started to hit the fan, Sam was sure she'd never want to come again.  In fact, she was starting to count on it.

But would provoking the ghost be worth it?  "James," she said, still contemplating it, "Why are you here?  What is it you're seeking?"

The puck meandered for a moment, as if conflicted.  It rested on the empty part of the board between F and S, turned around, and aimed mostly toward H.

That was when Star jerked her hand back, as if the planchet had burned her.  All of a sudden she seemed to be paying attention; Sam wondered if she had finally realized what, exactly, they were dealing with.  Whether she did or not, it was too late.  She'd disrupted the connection.

Sam had never seen it, but she'd heard the stories of what happened at sessions when someone did that.

Every single candle around the room went out at once.

"Star, what the hell," said Felicity, "Remember how earlier I said you couldn't do that - "

Star's already-high-pitched voice was pinched.  "Sorry, sorry!  It's just it got cold all of a sudden, I thought he wanted me to - "

Sam scowled in the dark.  "What are you talking about, no it didn't - "

"It did so!  Just now!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I knew we shouldn't have invited you - "

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

The flash of lightning through the window made the ghost into a spindly and angular silhouette, floating in the air by the glass and jolting Star and Sam both out of their argument.  The planchet on the board, still under six fingers but by now forgotten, shot out from under them and flew across the room, bouncing off the side of the desk and skittering somewhere under the bed.

Oh, it was hitting the fan now, all right.  "This is your fault," Sam hissed through her teeth, glowering in Star's direction, but already her mind was racing to find a way to appease the disturbed spirit.  She'd held plenty of seances before, but generally found audience with lesser or fragmented dead.  Only twice had she been forced to close a session early.

Never had she met such an angry spirit before - and not only was it angry, it was in her room.

"Ideas," Felicity snapped, in an effort to keep Sam from boiling over, and in the same effort to keep Star from tears, "What do we do?"

"Run, maybe?" said Jake, but the sharp and thunderous BANG from the walls around them cut him off.  His eyes darted to the door, but it slammed itself shut before he could get up to his feet and make his escape.

"Hold on a sec, guys," said Sam, "Jake, sit down, we're not done yet - hang on, I said!  I got a flashlight."  She groped for her backpack, brushed over one of eight plushy spider feet, and yanked it unceremoniously into her lap.  Half-unzipping it, she produced the promised flashlight and clicked it once, twice, a handful of times in quick succession as nothing happened.  "Shit.  Shit shit shit - "

"There," Star whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadowy side of the room behind the bed.  She pointed with one manicured finger, making the rest of them turn to look.

The ghost was only there for an instant, hanging in the air as a smoky and ill-defined shadow against the hazy grey light from the window, but flickered away an instant later.  The pounding rain outside almost masked the haunt's staticky and echoing laughter.

Felicity put a hand over Sam's and tried not to squeeze it too hard.  Her fingernails dug in a little anyhow.  "Do you think we can still close this out?"  She didn't sound too hopeful.

"No," said Star, with a sudden and bone-chilling certainty.  "He's staying."

Sam looked over at her, agape.  How can you know that? she wanted to say, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't force it to move.  Star's eyes were on her; just for a moment, Sam swore there was a glint of something behind their usual blue-grey, but it was there and gone before she could be sure.

"We're staying," she said again, and this time Sam heard the echo in it, and this time the glint of green in her eyes lingered.  The ghost had her, appearing as a dark and swaying wisp in the air behind her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her still and calm.  Her eyes - the ghost's seyes - were on Sam, and a sudden, absurd thought struck her:

Isn't James his middle name?

The knot of rising terror in Sam's gut broke, and cold tingling relief poured over her.  For a moment she let it, willing the adrenaline to fade and the pounding heartbeat in her ears to settle, and then shifted gears.

That sonofabitch, I'll kill him for this one.

"No, you're not."

Star's head and the shadow's head cocked to one side in unison.  "No?"

Sam was locked on the spirit but her voice was directed at Felicity (and Jake, but to a lesser extent).  "Come here."

Felicity hesitated.  "What, are you serious - ?"

"Come here," Sam snapped, setting her first two fingers on the center of the board, ignoring the fact that the planchet was still misplaced somewhere under the bed.

"I don't like this," Felicity whispered, but followed Sam's lead regardless.

Star's fingers came out and rested gingerly on top, and Sam was certain that, underneath the veneer of shadows, the ghost was smiling.

"You listen to me, James," Sam commanded, with a seriousness that made Felicity and Jake both flinch, "You'd better get out of here."

Star's mouth turned up in a smile.  "And why's that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll banish you into next week."

"Sam," Felicity breathed, "I don't think that's such a good idea - "

"I'll do it," Sam reiterated, cutting Felicity off.

The smils on Star's face widened.  "Promise?"

Then the fingers on the board were moving, overcome by a pins-and-needles sensation that turned the board to static beneath them, and came to rest solidly over GOOD-BYE.

"See you then. . . "

Sam looked over and Star looked back at her with those big blue eyes.  She didn't seem distraught but Sam had to wonder how much of what had happened she'd remember.  She'd heard on several occasions that those puppeteered by the dead didn't tend to recall the influence, and Star wasn't horribly upset.

Still - she felt that ghost had crossed a line somewhere.  Crashing a seance, fine.  Overshadowing at said seance, even if he'd picked the least-favourite attendee?

That didn't sit right.

"You okay, Star?"

Star blinked once, twice, then cocked her head to one side and smiled.  "Of course I'm okay," she said, as if she hadn't been overshadowed at all, but the next thing out of her mouth, spoken with the utmost certainty, sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"He wasn't really going to hurt me, you know.  He let you win."

- - - -

Sam shut the door as the others left and then rounded on the ghost.  "I know you're still here.  There's no way you'd dip after a stunt like that."

(Damn right I wouldn't) said the shadowy thing under the bed, hauling himself out of the darkness a moment later.  In the light from the ceiling fixture overhead, the shadows fell apart, relenting to his more human texture and shape, and he shook the dustbunnies off once he got up to his feet.  In his hand was the forgotten token that went with Felicity's board, and he held it out to her.  "This is yours?"

Sam grabbed it from him, and only then did he get the impression that she wasn't entirely happy with him.  "You could have given me a heads-up, y'know."

"Hey, I was in the area, thought you could use a hand.  For goth cool points, or whatever."  Danny shrugged, leaning back and half-sitting on the side of the bed.  "I mean they do think you can scare off a real ghost now."

"And what the hell was with you overshadowing Star?" Sam went on, and at last the dopish grin at the corner of Danny's mouth vanished.  "So, okay, maybe I didn't want her to come.  But that doesn't mean you get to - "

"Wait, wait, hold on," Danny put a hand up in concession, "I didn't - well, I mean I did, but.  Listen for a sec, okay?  You don't like her, fine.  But I think something's up."

"Something's up," said Sam, nonplussed.  She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in the desk chair and making it creak.  "You overshadowing people as a joke is what.  And whatever you were telling her in there, guess what  She remembers it now."

"That's what's up," said Danny impatiently, "I didn't tell her anything."

That made Sam pause.  "What?"

"You heard me.  But that's not it, let me say something else too.  I swear I'm not making this up: she saw me the second I drifted in the window.  I'm invisible and she's looking right at me.  The whole time.  It was like she was watching me."

"Bullshit," said Sam, wanting to believe it was.

Danny shook his head.  "You heard what she said.  After you banished me into next week."

"That you let me win," Sam recalled slowly.  In the moment, it had struck her as dumb-chills naivety on Star's part, but the way that Danny talked made it sound like she was serious.  Perhaps she'd just wanted to think that Star was that stupid.

"She knew it, and I didn't tell her.  I'm dead serious, Sam, she practically invited me to overshadow her.  I didn't even have to go all the way in her.  You saw it."

Sam had most definitely seen it.  "And what does this mean for the rest of us?  Or for you?  You're gonna tell me - what, she's going to miraculously guess you're half-ghost too?"

"I don't know - but you saw her the same as I did.  She wasn't scared of me.  Hell, I gave you guys a name and she was the one that didn't call me by it.  Like she knew it wasn't quite right."

"I get it," said Sam, thinking that maybe she would have been just as well off not calling him that either, "But what are we supposed to do about it?  Are you saying we should invite her onto the team?  Or what?"

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting it come to rest on the back of his neck.  He shrugged helplessly, his gaze picking out dustbunnies and imperfections in the floorboards at his feet.  "I don't know yet.  Keep an eye on her, maybe.  See if she starts saying things.  She's not as stupid as she looks, Sam.  Low bar, I know, but the last thing I need right now is somebody else to have to watch out for.  I know you don't like her.  I'm not asking you to."

He met her eyes then,  and the earnestness in them struck her.

"Just, don't let that put her in the way, okay?"

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Blacksmith Chpt. 2

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon.

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters! So this one’s short but stay tuned for part 3! 

----------------------------------------------------------------

When you adjust yourself, you fall off the chair you fell asleep on. Falling off the chair makes you fully awake however, a headache surges through your head as you gain your bearings.

“You’re awake,” Cassandra says, from the other side of the room

“Lady Cassandra,” You groan in pain, trying to gain your eyesight again, “When did you get here?”

“For awhile now,” She says, “You looked real peaceful sleeping, so I decided to not wake you.” 

“Oh, well- thank you,” You say standing up, “I was in the middle of the sheath for this sword but I guess I passed out on it. This is what I’ve been burning the midnight oil on.”

You sigh as the metal lining for the top and bottom of the sheath barely holding onto the base form you have made. 

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” You talk to yourself, “We just have to clamp them down more...”

You find some clamps and clamped down the design and leave it. However, while you were waiting for the sheath to finish up, you turn to another table and there was the sword you had finally finished. 

“Ahhh,” You sigh in relief

When you picked it up you began to do some practice swings. However, when you stopped swinging it, you noticed how the blade began glowing. It began creating some kind of engraving you clearly had not made. 

“What-What’s going on?” Cassandra asks you

“Do you think I know?!” You ask back

The room began glowing slightly brighter than earlier. When you looked at the blade itself, you somehow began reading the engraving.

“Whomever shall wield this blade, shall be worthy of all,” You read aloud

As sudden as it came, the brightness went back into the blade and your surroundings go back to the way it was before. 

“’Whomever wields this blade shall be worthy.’?” Cassandra repeats your words, “What is that supposed to mean? And how were you able to read the engraving? It looked to be in some ancient language.” 

“Do you think I have the answer to that?” You ask her, “’Whomever wields this blade’... Lady Cassandra, try to lift the blade.”

“Why would I-”

“Just do it,” You say, not being able to put up with her arguing as well as wanting to end the arguing with her

She finally decides to not question you any further and grabs the handle of the sword. However, when she was able to move it however, she wasn’t even able to lift it off of the ground. She quickly puts the sword down and straightens herself out. 

“Won’t Uncle Karl be here tonight for it?” Cassandra asks

“Yes...” You say, “But, if he finds out about that whole ‘you are worthy, you get to wield this longsword’ and the moment he will realize he ‘isn’t worthy’, he will have my head...”

“I won’t let that happen,” A familiar voice says

Both you and Cassandra turn your heads to see Daniela walking towards you. However she does not look very happy.

“This is my cue to make my leave, I will see you around y/l/n,” Cassandra says as she leaves

“Before you even go off on her and I, she was in here by the time I woke up,” You explain, “I do need your help my lady.”

Daniela’s scary demeanor drops once you explained the issue.

“I was going to pester mother today,” Daniela says, “But for you my dear, I will.”

You smile in relief. You begin guiding her through sword making. Although you only had so many hours before Heisenberg would come for his long sword. However, you didn’t realize how much time went by because You look at the door and notice Alcina in the doorway.

“My lady,” you gasp, dropping the newly crafted blade

“my daughter, I have been calling for you in the last hour,” Alcina states to her daughter, completely ignoring you

“Sorry mother,” Daniela says sorrowfully

“It’s not her fault my lady,” You interrupt, “I asked for her help.” 

“And with what did you need help with?” Alcina asks, clearly frustrated

“Something happened with the blade that I had made earlier,” You started, “You may not believe me, but Cassandra had also witnessed it happen. The blade was engraved with ‘whomever wields this blade shall be worthy’... I’m worried that blade is only meant for me... And I have never seen combat.... But, I’ve asked Lady Daniela for her help to make the exact same blade before Heisenberg gets here. I believe I can take care of everything else at this point. You really have to give your daughter credit my lady. She’s a real help. Maybe yo should have her come down here more often.”

Daniela blushes at your compliment however, Alcina only gives an “hmm.” Before taking her daughter out of the armory. You and Daniela make eye contact and she blows you a kiss. You catch it and gently place it over your scar that Daniela had made the day before. You turn back to your sword and begin the leather work on it, making sure it’s pristine however done as quickly as possible.

As you finish the sheath, you hear the door open. You quickly place the blade into its sheath and turn to greet whomever had come through the door. 

“Sir Heisenberg,” You greet him, “My Ladies.

“My gosh you look tired y/n,” He sighs, “Perhaps I had made you do too much...”

“You’re such a fool Heisenberg,” Alcina ridicules her younger brother, “If you had given y/n more time she-”

“Not at all sir and my lady,” you lie, “You’ve given me things to do and I’d much rather be doing my blacksmithing work.”

You hold the blade up to him as he takes it. You watch him draw the blade and do some practice swings with it.

“Perfectly weighted,” He mumbles, “Exquisite designing... Now we have to test its durability.”

Shit..

Whenever you’d make a new blade, you’d always test the blade’s durability first however you didn’t get the chance to yet because they all came in at the same time. 

Heisenberg walks up to one of the armored stands and raises the blade. You hoped that no one else could see  the sweat running down your temples as Heisenberg walks up to a set of armor and slashes it. The blade is bent.

I’m dead....

“What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Heisenberg walks up to you, “You are one of the best blacksmith’s in the region! How could you let this happen?! I shall feed you to my lycans!!” 

No words were formed out of your mouth, however, being a protective mother of her castle, Alcina takes Heisenberg by the wrist as Daniela stands in front of you, all protective like.

“You do not make the rules in this castle Heisenberg!” Alcina snarls, “I say what’s to say with her.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” Heisenberg growls

He takes you by the collar and begins to practically drag you out of the castle.

“y/n!” Daniela yell, “Don’t take her away from us Uncle Heisenberg!!”

“You can find another plaything to eat,” He continues dragging you

Daniela yanks on your ankle in an attempt to get a grasp on you, Heisenberg yanks harder, making Daniela fall forward.

“Heisenberg you let go of y/n this instant!” Alcina scream as soon as she sees her daughter fall 

“Then why don’t you try and make me?!” He taunts his older sister

As Heisenberg enters the main entrance to drag you out of the castle, all five of you begin hearing an explosion.

“Intruders?!” Alcina calls out, “I’ll have their head! Daniela, make sure they don’t lay a finger on y/n.”

“I’ll make sure she won’t be touched mother,” Daniela says, slightly angered

She yanks you form Heisenberg’s grasp and carries you over her shoulder.

“Daniela I can help,” You say, “I just need to get back to the armory and-”

“You are not to help us!” Daniela yells

“Why not?!” You ask

Daniela puts you back onto your feet as she looks at you.

“Daniela answer me.” You say, more firmly this time, “Why wont you let me help?!”

“You’re human and you need to be protected!” Daniela states

“I may be a human, but I’m also a blacksmith!” You yell this time, “I can for sure as hell handle myself out there!”

“You’re still not going to help!” Daniela yells back

“Why the absolute hell do you want to lock me away knowing you might die?! Do you want to leave me here?! Why is it so important to you that you keep me safe?!” You ask all of these questions

In a quick motion, Daniela cups your face in her hands, lips crashing onto yours.

Chapter 3

[wrenhyperfixates]

Stay the Night

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Your fear of thunderstorms leads you to invite Loki to stay the night at your place. Warnings: none A/N: Happy reading :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

It was raining. No, that was an understatement. It was pouring; torrents of water attacked your house. You thanked the powers that may be for letting you get your leak fixed last month. You didn’t mind the rain, not really, but this was just depressing. And the strength of the storm was a little scary, too. The claps of thunder seemed to rattle the very foundation of your house, and you jumped a little every time. There was only one thing making the relentless downpour bearable. Loki.

“Darling?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “Is there something wrong?”

You tried to relax your visibly tense body. “Yeah, I’m ok. Totally fine.”

He looked unconvinced, but kept his skepticism to himself. No need to pry, he supposed. He took your hand in his and used his thumb to rub circles on the back of it. He hoped it would help calm you. There was a time he never would have been so bold as to initiate contact, but you changed that. You’d shown him it was ok to do. With you it was, anyway.

As another boom of thunder filled the air, you squeezed Loki’s hand tighter. He gave you another concerned look. He wasn’t very fond of thunderstorms himself, and he wondered if the same thing was plaguing you. The thought reminded him of his brother, and then the Tower. He really should be getting back home, but how he so hated to leave you, his precious mortal.

You’d met him one day in the Tower. You were the receptionist on the first floor, and more often than not, Loki chose just to teleport in and out. At that time, it had only been a month since you’d gotten the job, and you’d yet to see the god. For whatever reason, he decided to use the front door that day. You stopped him as he tried to walk through the security measures without checking in.

“Excuse me, sir,” you’d said. “I’m going to need to see your Tower ID.”

“Oh, darling,” he’d said. “I do not think I need any verification. Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Loki of Asgard.” He’d bowed and placed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“And I’m in charge of this reception desk,” you’d replied, puffing up your chest and blocking his way. He laughed a little. “And I need some ID.”

“Very well,” he’d sighed. As he searched for the little card, you let out a breath of relief. You’d never had this trouble with any of the other Avengers. He finally found it and presented it with a charming smile. “Aha! Here we are, darling. Are we all good here then?”

“Yup,” you said, swiping him through. “Have a nice day, Loki of Asgard.”

“And to you too, but I do not think I caught your name.” You gave it to him, and he’d repeated it with yet another smile. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

“Me too,” you responded with a shy grin back at him.

He made sure to always use the door after that, usually waiting until he got to the desk to pull out his ID, giving him a chance to chat with you. Your friendship quickly blossomed, and you both developed feelings for each other. Not that either of you would admit it out of fear the other wouldn’t feel the same.

Right now, he would just teleport home, since your friendly face wouldn’t be there to greet him with a smile. He didn’t really want to go, but he also didn’t want to overstay his welcome. You hadn’t given him any reason to think he had, it was just his nature to believe that was so.

“I had better take my leave before it gets too late,” he told you, making to stand up.

“No!” you shouted with an unexpected urgency. “Uh, what I mean is that you shouldn’t go out in this storm. Why don’t you stay the night here? If that’s not weird, of course.”

His heart beat a little faster as you desperately clung to his hand. Of course he could tell you that it was no trouble; with his magic, he wouldn’t have to set foot outside. But he could tell this was about something more than you were saying. Besides, who was he to turn down some more time with you?

“It is not weird at all, darling,” he replied, getting comfortable on the couch once more. “It sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you for the offer.”

“You’re welcome.”

He brought his arms around you and hugged you to his chest, gently running his hand up and down your arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. From the way you relaxed against him, he supposed that it was. As the episode you were watching finished, you flipped through the channels and landed on the Food Network. The food on the screen caused an embarrassingly loud grumble in your stomach, but Loki just beamed at you.

“Are you hungry, darling?” he asked. “Perhaps I could make us a snack?”

“I’m the host,” you replied, with a shake of your head. “I should be providing the food.”

“How about we make it together then?” he suggested. “What would you like?”

“I’m craving nachos right now, if that’s fine with you.” You were met with a blank stare. “Do you not know what nachos are?” you exclaimed in disbelief.

“I am afraid I do not,” he chuckled. It never ceases to amaze you how there was always some other new Midgardian food to introduce him to. “I will gladly try them, though. You will have to take the lead on the cooking, of course.”

You nodded your head and led him to your kitchen, pulling out the ingredients you’d need. You cooked the chicken while Loki cut up the tomatoes and lettuce. You instructed Loki on how to prepare the rest of the toppings while you melted the cheese on the chips. All the delicious aromas filling the kitchen only served to make your stomach growl louder. You sheepishly giggled as the both of you loaded up the plate with everything you’d made.

“Are they ready, then?” Loki asked. “Should I try it?”

You excitedly nodded yes. He picked up a chip with all the toppings on it. He sniffed at it before closing his eyes and taking a delicate bite. His eyes shot open in excitement as the flavors exploded on his tongue. He quickly polished off the rest of the chip.

“It is delicious, darling! You are quite the talented chef, you know.”

You shifted your weight, never sure how to react to a compliment. “Thanks, Loki. You are too.”

He gestured to the plate, and you took your first bite. As you stood at the counter, chatting and eating, you almost forgot about the storm raging on outside. Well, that was until you finished the dish, and thunder sounded once more, the rain attacking with a revived fury.

“Do you wish to go to bed now?” he inquired, mistaking your masked fear as exhaustion. “I hope I have not kept you up.”

“No, not at all,” you were quick to reassure him. “Actually, I want to stay up a while longer. We could even make a pillow fort! That is if, uh, if you wanted to.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea, darling.”

You’d introduced him to the notion the first time the two of you were up late together, and he’d taken to it immediately. You’d suggested he should be the prince of the fort, but he’d insisted that you take on the role of monarch. He did the same now as you gathered the pillows, blankets, and cushions, setting to work building your haven on the floor and couch.

“Well, darling,” he said, leaning back and pulling you with him, “I think we did a pretty good job.”

“Even better than last time,” you agreed.

As you turned the TV back on, you found you were more interested in studying Loki’s face than watching the movie he’d picked. He was so beautiful, down to every last detail. Realizing the sheer number of times his perfect, pink lips had formed the word darling made your heart skip a beat or two. He’d been saying it since he first met you, but it was different now; softer, more caring. He thought what was actually a thrill induced shiver was a sign that you were cold, and carefully draped a blanket around your shoulders, holding you even closer than before.

“Are you truly feeling alright?” he fretted. “You are not feeling ill, are you?”

“No, Loki. Don’t worry. I’m totally and completely fi-”

Thunder cut off your sentence once more, and you whimpered, confirming his suspicions from earlier. Before you could explain the involuntary reaction away, Loki cupped your cheeks and looked deep into your eyes.

“Darling!” he exclaimed. “You are afraid of the thunder.”

“I am,” you wailed, burying your head in your hands as his arms wrapped around you. He held your head to his chest, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. “I am. This is so embarrassing.”

“Nonsense. I am rather terrified of it, too. Far too many unpleasant memories of Thor’s temper tantrums and combat training,” he grimaced. “Does it carry the same kind of horrid association for you?”

“Mhm. When I was a kid,” you said, taking a deep breath, “a bolt of lightning struck the tree in my front yard. It fell over, and the entire house was soon engulfed with flames. My family and I were all ok, but it was scary.”

“And understandably so!” he comforted you. “I am so sorry you went through something so horrid. I promise you are safe here with me, though. I will never let anything harm you.”

You lifted your head and looked into his eyes, only to bury it back in the crook of his neck at another clap of thunder. He rubbed your back again and comfortingly shushed you as you whimpered more, reassuring you that you would be alright. That he would make sure of it. All of a sudden, that was the only noise you were hearing. Well, that and the TV. Everything else went quiet. You dared to peek up, and saw Loki smiling at you, but with concern in his eyes.

“What happened?” you asked, perplexed by the sudden silence of the storm outside.

“I have cast a spell. A bubble of silence of sorts,” he replied. “It is a talent I developed for when things get really bad.”

“Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“You are welcome,” he whispered as you snuggled closer to him. He placed a kiss to your head and immediately feared he’d overstepped. “I am sorry, darling. I hope I have not made you uncomfortable.”

“On the contrary,” you said, pecking him on the lips, “I wouldn’t mind more.”

He recovered quickly from his shock and moved to kiss you again. It was sweet and gentle, yet you were drowning. Drowning in his scent, his taste, his everything. But you didn’t mind. If the air was taken from your lungs, this was a good way to go.

“I love you, Loki,” you said, a radiant smile gracing your face.

“And I you, my darling.”

As you kissed again, you thought that thunderstorms might not be that bad, after all.

[dracoladon]

oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric. 

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him. 

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands. 

“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it. 

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing. 

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place. 

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?” 

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.” 

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums. 

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.” 

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling. 

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.  

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.” 

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night. 

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child. 

“You’re so nice,” Harry says. 

Draco frowns. “Take it back.” 

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass. 

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips. 

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway. 

“No dress code, at the new firm.” 

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.  

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says. 

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again. 

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple. 

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch. 

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue. 

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times. 

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)    

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs. 

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

[jimlingss]

Kitchen Romance

➜ Words: 11.1k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Chef!AU

➜ Summary: You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors' ancestors were matchmakers and it's all because of a special, inborn gift. A gift that allows you to see each person's fated ones above their heads. But it's not so much a gift when one day, your boss walks in with YOU above him.

cr.

The kitchen is in chaos.

The heat swelters in the still air, stifling with the summer warmth that’s forced most people indoors with air conditioning. But here, there’s no such privilege. Not when open fires on frying pans were at every stovetop and grease was splattering everyone like a water fountain show. You feel yourself being roasted alive, a layer of oil sitting on top of your skin, and there’s barely a moment to wipe away the sweat rolling from your hairline.   Your hands are wrinkled as you scrub down the nth dish from the pile that’s stacked above your head, but before you can finish, Taehyung’s desperately calling out for you. You shout back at him that you’re coming and then you’re helping him peel the potatoes.   There’s no room to complain. Especially not when—   “What is this?!”    For a moment, time itself stops.   The pandemonium halts, fire flickering, knives held mid-air. Everyone’s head has swiveled over to the dark-haired man standing at the end of the island. Kim Seokjin holds up a plate of baked salmon with methi prawns. His plump lips are pulled downwards. That’s never a good sign.   “The presentation is sloppy!” he yells and you flinch from the sheer volume of his booming voice. “Are you people blind?! We can’t serve this! It’s an embarrassment! Do it again!”   “Yes, chef!”    Everyone apologizes, including you, and Seokjin huffs, moving out of the kitchen.   Namjoon, sous-chef, shakes his head. “Focus! Dinner service hasn't even begun yet!”   Luckily, everyone’s on edge and meticulous enough with Seokjin walking around and scrutinizing every action that the rest of the night goes off without another hitch. By the end, you’re finishing up on cleaning and washing the dishes.   “Good night, Y/N.” Jihyo waves, bag strap slung on her shoulder.   “See you.” You muster a smile while you keep scrubbing. “Bye.”    “Night,” Yoongi says while Taehyung fixes you a grin. You watch them leave and then focus on completing the rest of your tasks. It’s not long before you’re switching all the lights off and changing from your uniform.    The walk back to your apartment proves to be excruciating. You’re beyond exhausted, lugging your legs along to carry the rest of your body while forcing your eyes to remain open, so you can at least see where you’re going.    When the door opens, you immediately jump into the shower to wash off the grime, nearly falling asleep in the process. By the time you flop onto your bed, your hair is still dripping wet, but as your muscles ease into the mattress, you’re knocked out into a deep slumber.   Rest is merely a blink of time.   The alarm on your phone is blaring before you can dream or feel even remotely refreshed. It’s deafening to your ears and you reach over to shut it off. Finding the sun already up in the sky, you force yourself to sit up, get ready, grab breakfast and eat on your way to work.   “If it’s too hard, you should come home,” the voice on the other side of the line coaxes. “Your dad and I are so worried about you sometimes.”   “I’m fine, mom.” You’re chewing in your cheek, phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder as you parade down the block. “Trust me.”   “Have you at least been eating well?”   You glance at the granola bar in hand. “Yeah. Sort of.”   “The city is scary. There’s no shame in coming home, dear. Your grandma misses you a lot. She always asks about you.”   “I’m fine, mom,” you reassure her for the second time. “I really am. And tell grandma—”   Accidentally, your shoulder collides with a businessman’s. Apologies spring from you, but rather than looking at the stranger like you should be, your eyes unintentionally wander above his head. To the cloud of fog. And a woman’s smiling face you see emerge from it.   The man’s brows lift at how you’re staring into space and he moves out of the way.   You’re forced out of your trance and you continue to apologize until he’s completely gone from sight. You damn yourself for not being more careful.   You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors’ ancestors were matchmakers.    Your mother once told you that back in the day, some peasants in your family couldn’t sew, sell or do any labour, so they begged heavens and out of pity, they were granted a small gift. A gift that’s been passed down to every generation since. While you’re not sure if the story is true or not, what’s certain is that from the moment you were born, you could see a cloud of fog above everyone’s head. It’s like speech bubbles or thought bubbles in comic strips. But instead of words, the fog comes with another person’s face. It’s the one who they’re meant to be with.   Ironically enough, you’ve never seen one above your own head. Though you’ve come to accept that. Romance will never be a major aspect of your life, so you’ve switched gears into focusing on your career and finding fulfillment elsewhere. You also knew early on that you didn’t want to be a matchmaker like the rest of your family.   You want to be a—   “Good morning, chef.”   “Good morning.” Namjoon nods with a smile. “Things weren’t too bad yesterday, but let’s try to be less sloppy for dinner service tonight. Hoseok, what time is the shipment of seafood coming in?”   Namjoon continues going through the daily routine, updating each person on the schedule and the shipments. But it’s not long during the morning meeting in the kitchen that the back door creaking can be heard.    Instantly, everything comes to a halt. Everyone turns themselves and greets the head chef simultaneously.    Seokjin rounds the corner. “We have a lot to do today, people. Tonight’s special is going to be watermelon with smoked salmon mousse—”   You gasp.   Automatically, your hands lift to cover your mouth, yet too late to muffle the loud noise. Your eyes are as large as saucers. Your heart stutters in your chest, nearly giving out.   Instead of the polished brunette woman above Seokjin’s head that was always there, you see someone else. Someone very familiar that you’ve seen in the mirror a thousand times. You.   You’re frozen — palms clammy, knees weak. And everyone’s turned around to stare, even Kim Seokjin himself. His brow is cocked and he eyes you intensely for daring to interrupt him.   “Are you okay?” Jihyo whispers, leaning in and nudging you with her elbow.   You start to breathe again, frantically. Yet no matter how much you gasp for air, you can’t feel the oxygen entering your lungs. But you force yourself to bow your head anyway, retaining an exterior that’s not oozing of sheer panic. “S-S-Sor..ry. I…. have something in my throat.” You clear it and Seokjin sighs, continuing with what he was saying.   The first task is to wash the salad and it’s easy enough, but your eyes continue to wander up to the dark-haired, doe-eyed man from across the kitchen. Black shirt with a white apron around his waist, he emanates intimidation from his god-like looks alone and constant frown.   Your eyes connect and you instantaneously whip yourself around.   You start to sweat when Seokjin beelines to you.   “Do you have an issue with me?”   You shake your head furiously.   “Then focus!” the man spits. “You’re drowning the salad!”   You wince as he slams the faucet down.   This can’t be. This can’t be it. It doesn’t make sense whatsoever.   On your break, you’re crouched over by the bathrooms and much to your dismay, your mom is hysterically laughing at you. “Just because you never saw your match, doesn’t mean you’re alone, Y/N! Poor soul, where did you ever get that idea from? No one can see their own. I didn’t and neither did your aunt or grandma.”   “Why didn’t you tell me that?” The syllables hiss out of you and you spare a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s coming.    You’ve come to accept that you would never be romantically involved with anyone. To find out that Seokjin, your boss, is your match out of everyone, it’s taking you for a hysteric spin.   “I thought you already knew!” she exclaims on the other line. “Plus, nothing comes from knowing your own. But who is it? Are you going to bring them home? I would love to know what sort of person is going to end up with my dear daughter. Oh, your grandma will be so excited to hear the news!” “Now’s not the time, mom,” you grieve, palm pressed to your forehead. There’s an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m never going to end up with him.”   “You can’t change fate, Y/N.”   “Fate changes all the time.”   “Are you okay?” There’s a lower voice behind you and you flinch, turning around to see Hoseok’s alarmed expression.    You stand up, apologizing internally as you hang up on your mom. “Sorry. It...was a family emergency. But everything’s fine.”   “Okay. Well, Namjoon wants you to grab some more flour from the storage room.”   “I’ll be right on it.”    You swiftly return back to work before you risk losing your job any more than you have today. But all the while, you damn yourself. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened.    You ending up with Kim Seokjin, the scary boss that notoriously fires people in your position, is the last thing you wanted to occur. It’s like you’re living in a nightmare where you’re the only one who’s aware of your own dire circumstances and inevitable doom.   //   “Would it be that bad if he fell in love with you?” Hyoyeon eyes you lazily from across the table as she stirs her drink with her straw. She’s one of your oldest friends who happen to live in the city and one of the few who knows about your gift.   “Yes. It would be that bad!” You’re exasperated. You thought she would be up and arms about it like you are. “How could I ever look at my boss like that?!”   “You never know,” Hyoyeon sing-songs much to your chagrin.   “Don’t give me that. How would you like it if your boss fell in love with you?”   “My boss is a Karen going into her sixties.”   “Exactly.”   Her lips pop off her straw, wearing a visage of distaste. “This and that aren’t the same, Y/N. I didn’t think Soobin would be with me and when you told me, I was mad. But look at us now! He’s not half bad.”   “You’re married.”   “Precisely.” She laughs, practically glowing from happiness. “And you know, Seokjin isn’t bad either. He’s like what? Only a few years older than you. Ambitious. Wealthy. Handsome. He did that one photoshoot for that magazine and he was so goddamn handsome. Like holy fuck, I almost got pregnant from just—”   “Alright. I get it.”   “—and he’s like one of the top chefs of the country. Imagine having that kind of food for the rest of your life.”   “That’s not going to happen,” you mumble. If it changed once, it can change again.   The more you think about it, the more assured you become. You’ll do everything in your power to change it.   //   The kitchen has fallen into a lull.    Jihyo, the pantry chef, works on tossing salads while the butcher chef, Yoongi, is filleting fresh tuna. Sauté chef Hoseok is preparing his piccata sauce while you help Taehyung, the entremetier, with ingredients for the soup. Everyone has their designated roles here, most of which are fancier than yours. As a kitchen assistant, if you aren’t helping Taehyung then you’re washing dishes. But everyone needed to start from somewhere, so you aren’t going to complain. Working for Kim Seokjin is a privilege, albeit, he’s fearsome and hard to please.   You clear your throat. “Has...anyone seen that woman lately?”   Taehyung turns his head. “Who?”   “That woman came to the restaurant a few times and was with Chef Kim....”    A petite and dainty physique. Long, dark hair. Her eyes glimmered in the light and her pinked lips pulled softly when she greeted you all. She was poised, oozed of grace, sophistication, money. And she was the one who you saw above Seokjin’s head since you met him. Hell, you saw him above her head, and while you were surprised that in spite of his scariness, he actually had someone, they strangely suited each other well.   They were supposed to be together.    Until recently.   You wonder what happened. What the change was. Why you’re suddenly his match now.   Jihyo turns around, ears perked from the conversation. “Right! I haven’t seen her around lately either! I wondered if something happened.”   “You mean Kim Jisoo?” Yoongi lolls his head to the side and when Taehyung gives a curious expression as to how he knows, he says, “Hoseok and I were sent to her flower shop to pick up an order once.”   “Were they even dating?” Taehyung asks, looking up from where he’s chopping cucumbers.   “They were,” Namjoon pipes up and you look towards him, having expected him to shut down the conversation around the head chef, but he merely smiles. “But I haven’t seen her recently either.”   Jihyo hums. “I wonder if something happened.”   “Maybe they broke up,” Yoongi offers absentmindedly.   “Well, that wouldn’t be surprising.” Taehyung pauses and looks over to you, lifting a brow as if trying to find an ally. “He seems like he can be pretty hard to get along with.” But the opinion isn’t unpopular and there are several snickers throughout the kitchen.   “Seokjin’s just serious about his work,” Hoseok says with a smile. “But they were pretty serious.”   “Really?” You turn to Namjoon directly. It’s not often that you’d be so straightforward, but you want answers. You want explanations. “Did he ever say anything to you? On what could’ve happened?”   He shakes his head and then there’s a loud boom of the backdoor. Your blood runs cold. Everyone’s eyes widen, but there’s no time to react or to take back what he could’ve heard. Seokjin walks in with his eyes narrowed in on you specifically. “If all of you have enough time to talk about my personal life, then you can work twice as hard and twice as fast tonight.”   Everyone holds in their sighs.    With your downcast head, your eyes search the floor. “I’m sorry, chef.”    But the apology falls onto deaf ears.   //   It’s a busy shift.   With your tail caught in between your legs, it’s either a cutting board in front of you with a knife in hand or plates and a rough sponge by the sink. Oil from the fryer nearby splashes onto you, the grease coating bowls staining your apron, the heat sticking your tied back hair to your scalp.    Yet you wish you could do more.    Not just chop bell peppers, finely mince garlic or prepare starches. Not just rinsing bowls to stack into the dishwasher and wash large pots and plates by hand. While you’ve become accustomed to knives, keeping a rapid and constant beat as you slice whatever is in front of you, you wish you could cook. Not just be an accessory to the kitchen. Or an extra member to assist the chefs.    But for now, you count your blessings. Humming to yourself late at night while you finish.   “What are you still doing here?”   The crystal clear voice has you flinching, startled to death and you turn around to see Kim Seokjin in the flesh. White shirt rolled to his elbows, black trousers, expensive Rolex on his wrist that could pay the rest of your student loans with. You gawk at him. Speechless. Scared.   He doesn’t wait for you to find your tongue, dismissing your silence. “Where are the others? They should be cleaning up too. Just because dinner service is over, doesn’t mean they can leave.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, no longer speaking to you but himself. “I won’t have anyone slacking in my kitchen.”   “I-It’s fine, chef.” Your voice is barely a squeak, but you muster the courage, not wanting them to get yelled at tomorrow. You turn around, quickening up your scrubbing until your nails start to hurt. “I’m supposed to be washing the dishes anyway.”   “It shouldn’t be taking you this long.”   You wonder if he’s scolding you.   It goes silent.   “Finish up and go change,” Seokjin says shortly and you nod. It takes another ten minutes for the task to be completed and then you’re wiping down the counters before heading to the lockers to change out of your apron and uniform.   Usually, you’d come out, turn off all the lights and begin the final trek home. But today, your blood runs cold. Your mouth fills with cotton when you step out. Against your own assumption, the head chef has not in fact left. Instead, Seokjin is leaning against the counter with his coat on, furiously tapping on his phone with his thick brows furrowed like they usually are.   You swallow hard and bow your head as you pass him. “Good night, chef.”   “Wait.”   Immediately, you halt. He pockets his device. “Are you walking?” The absence of an answer is enough of an indication for him. “I’ll drive you. It’s dangerous to walk home at this time of night.”   It isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t an offer either. It’s a command.    And soon, you discover yourself in his expensive Mercedes. The vehicle is black, sleek and you’re afraid of touching the leather seats more than you have to in case you stain it with poverty and have him sue you for damages. Or fire you.    “Turn left,” his fancy navigation system deadpans and it startles you.    Yet Seokjin is undeterred and with one hand on the wheel, he turns at the light, allowing the car to roll smoothly over the pavement. The passing lamp posts’ glow also illuminate his features, his plump lips and the slope of his nose. If Hyoyeon was here she would be salivating at the sight, how his chin is lifted, head slightly cocked. You would be too, if you weren’t so afraid. Kim Seokjin exudes confidence and intimidation, rightfully so too. He’s worlds out of your league.   And as your eyes stray from his profile to focus on the cloud above his head, your smiling expression still emerges.   You don’t understand how someone like you can be with someone like him.   “Is there something on my face?”   His question leaking with annoyance shakes you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from him frantically to look out the window. “N-No.”   The tense quietness that follows is enough that you want to bang your head against the dashboard and hope you get knocked out to spare you from this awkwardness. Then again, you might just end up with a bruise and his car repair bill which would be even wors—   “You won’t be seeing Jisoo anymore,” Seokjin suddenly says and your head swivels to him. “She decided to cheat on me and that was a deal breaker, so I broke it off.”   “Oh.”   “I didn’t know you were one for gossip, but go ahead and tell the others if you’d like.”   “I..I’m sorry.” Your downcast head faces your lap and you swallow hard. “It’s personal and I shouldn’t have intruded or asked. It was wrong and unprofessional of me for bringing it up.”   “No.” There’s a moment of silence as he looks straight ahead. “It was wrong of me to act the way I did.” You blink wide-eyed and Seokjin parks at the curb. “My reaction was a bit uncalled for — it’s something I’m still working on.”   You stare at him and finally, the man meets your gaze. “You can get out now.”   “O-Oh.” You scramble out the car. “T-Thank you.”   The moment the door shuts, he drives off.   Fate can be changed. It’s rare, but choices influence futures and who someone ends up with can change depending on the actions they take. You just never expected Seokjin’s reason for the change to be so heartbreaking. Even if he stated it factually and his expression never wavered, you could sense it in his voice. The sadness you didn’t know he could possess.   //   “What made you think I would like him?” Jihyo is exasperated as she wipes down the counter and Taehyung grins as he sweeps the floor. “The guy literally kept on going about rock climbing, bungee jumping and skydiving. Do I look like an adrenaline junkie to you, Kim Taehyung?”   “Hey, hey. Yeonjun is nice, okay? I just thought you would be into the rough look.”   “Not at all. This is the last time I’m letting you set me up.”   Yoongi smirks as he passes by. “I’ll take it that your blind date didn’t go well?”   Jihyo glares at him.    Hoseok turns around with an amused smile. “It was your fault with trusting Taehyung with this sort of thing. What kind of guy are you into? Maybe I could set you up with someone better.”   She sighs wistfully. “I don’t even know anymore. I just want someone reliable and half decent.”   In the meanwhile, your eyes flicker up to the cloud above her head. There’s a bright eyed young man there and you smile, unloading the dishwasher as you continue listening to their conversation.    “See? It wasn’t my fault!” Taehyung pipes up to defend himself. “How am I supposed to know what kind of person you’d be into if you don’t know yourself?”   “Oh, so you know?”   “Of course I do!” He scoffs and becomes dreamy as he muses, “I want someone with long hair and dresses fashionably, someone who’s sweet and gentle, like a puppy.”   But based on the person above him, they appear rougher around the edges with shorter hair and a frown. But you let Taehyung have it, not commenting a single word. You’ve learnt from experience that it doesn’t work well if you come out of nowhere and try to involve yourself.    They continue talking about ideals, even Namjoon that pinches in he’s been seeing someone lately — an old friend who he went to school with that he never thought of romantically until recently. You’re having fun just listening in until the question is directed at you.   “Me?” You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know either. I haven’t really thought about it before.”   “Oh, don’t give me that.” Taehyung nudges you. “Everyone has some idea.”   But you’ve sincerely never considered it before. You always thought you would live in solitude without another companion and even came to terms with it. But things have changed. “I guess….someone kind and considerate. Thoughtful. I don’t care what they do, except that they have to be a good person.”   It might be a generic answer, but as you think about Seokjin, you know you don’t want someone domineering and frightening. Yet from last night, Seokjin didn’t seem so daunting in the car.   “Yeah, I can see that.” Jihyo nods.   “What about Chef Kim?” you ask, eyes glistening in the light, curious beyond belief. “What do you think his ideal is?”   The people around the kitchen hum, speculating over the boss’ preferences. They’re equally intrigued by the question.   “Anyone who won’t shit their pants when he’s around,” Taehyung laughs as he finishes sweeping and pours the grime from the dustpan into the trash.   As Yoongi wraps a bowl, he mindlessly offers, “He seems to like the serious type,”    “What was Jisoo like?” Jihyo asks, tapping her chin with a frown.   “Sophisticated,” Hoseok suggests and you look at him, breathing a sigh of relief. Out of all things, you were definitely not sophisticated. “Gentle.”   “Sweet,” Namjoon says with confidence, having known the man the most after years of working together, “He likes the hard-working and earnest ones who prove themselves to be more than he expects.”   As if summoning the devil himself, Kim Seokjin comes from the back area and walks straight through the kitchen. “Stop slacking,” he states in a monotone and everyone returns to their tasks with a simultaneous ‘yes, chef’.    But as he passes by you, he pauses for a moment. “Everyone needs to leave on time today. If there’s anything that isn’t clean, you need to work together so that it is.”   “Yes, chef,” sounds throughout the kitchen once more.   You know being passive won’t solve anything. You need to actively do something that will repulse him, make it so he’ll vow never to get involved with you. If he makes the decision, fate itself will change and you won’t have to end up together.    The only plausible strategy to repulse you have at the moment is to embody the reverse of what Seokjin’s ideals are. The opposite of what appeals to him — sophisticated, sweet and gentle.   //   It takes you a while to pinpoint what the exact opposite is. But you find it.    Loud. Obnoxious. Aggressive.    You need to be these things in a way that doesn’t get you fired, but just enough that it alters who his match is. Part of you isn't sure you have it in you to be this way, but it’s worth a shot. You’ll do anything to change fate.   “What the hell are you still doing in my kitchen?”   Seokjin is standing meters away, half shrouded in the darkness. Your eyes flicker up at him but you resume dicing the carrots into one inch lengths. Only half the blade is lifted off the wooden cutting board and it descends at a rapid rhythm, rather therapeutic to listen to.   There’s an urge to cower down, but you channel your aggression, pretending it’s Taehyung and not Kim Seokjin — head chef with two Michelin stars — enough money to assassinate you and cover up the crime.   “Everyone went out to have dinner together, but I came back to get a head start on prepping ingredients for tomorrow. I need the practice anyway. Why? Is it a problem?”   The man’s brow is lifted at your upfront behaviour. “Get out. I’ll drive you back.”   “I’m going to finish this first,” you retort without a breath to waste.   Seokjin scoffs and puts down the keys he just grabbed. He sighs exhaustingly and you feel his stare burning into you. It’s hard to ignore it. You even start sweating until he moves towards the fridge, and that’s when you finally steal the chance to peek at him. “Are you going to eat? I can make you something.”   “It’s fine.”   He grabs two eggs, some shredded cabbage, a handful of spinach and a stick of butter. You don’t question it, solely focusing on your task until there’s sizzling on the pan and he leaves the stove to look over you.   “Your technique is poor.”   “What?!” Your voice is loud unintentionally, but you’re wholly shocked. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your knife skills. You’ve spent countless time on refining it and getting it to meet standards.   “You could go faster,” he deadpans. “Your grip is too tense and you’re holding the knife too high up. You want to hold it at that balance point, so you have the most control over it and the weight is properly distributed.” Seokjin smoothly grabs a knife off the rack and holds it in front of you. You copy him. “It's easier to push the blade through when you're holding it there.”   “Like this?” You begin chopping again and he hums.    Against your will, a smile finds your features. It’s the first time he praised you— well...it’s less of a praise and more of a half-hearted noise of approval, but it still counts.   Seokjin takes the pan from the heat and switches it off. He grabs a fork from the drawer to start eating and you look over, finishing the job. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your blatant ogling. “Do you have an issue?”   You smile at him, stepping forward. “Can I have a bite?”   Seokjin scoffs. But you lean over and he steps aside, allowing you to nab a fork from the drawer to take some. It’s not like you’re particularly hungry, but you’re curious as to what he’s made. It’s been a long time since you’ve had food from the head chef himself and asking him for his dinner might just be off-putting enough that he’ll hate you forever. It wouldn’t be impossible considering he’s so picky. You swear, one mistake is all it takes for him to hold a grudge till the day he dies.   Yet, what you don’t expect is for the scrambled eggs to melt on your tongue. He’s sautéd the spinach, left the cabbage undercooked to add a crunch, and the eggs are fluffy in your mouth, a vivid gold that adds to the haphazard presentation. “This...this is delicious!”   He chews in his cheek. “It’s something I eat when there’s nothing in the fridge.”   You’re amazed. The fact that Kim Seokjin can’t recognize his own ingenuity is painful. “You should add this to the menu.”   He scoffs. “You think I would add scrambled eggs next to the caviar and truffle? I think you forgot this is a fine dining restaurant.”   “It’s fine,” you mumble. “I mean if it tastes good, it tastes good, right, chef?”   A tiny smile fixes at his visage, tugging his plump lip upwards. “You sure have a lot more opinions tonight.”   “Well, I’ve decided to speak my thoughts more,” you hum, scooping up another spoonful of his meal. Your eyes flicker up as you chew with your mouth wide open. “Why? Is it unattractive?”   “It’s interesting,” he says with a smile that’s more visible until he barks, “Hurry up eating so I can drive you home.”   You scoff at him as he walks away and you finish his dinner off.   //   Everyone’s on edge.   “It’s more akin to pretentious artwork without any real flavour than real food,” Hoseok reads from his phone to the entire kitchen. “Head chef, Kim Seokjin, is not far from what his cooking lacks too. A pretentious and egotistical nature, it’s no wonder his personal life is in shambles.”   Your fist tightens. Not only did the published article criticize his dishes, claiming it lost its touch and that he’s lost his roots, but they attacked his personality. His personal life. Going into detail of how his relationship was broken off unexpectedly.    “Oh shit,” Taehyung exhales.   “Was that really posted online for everyone to see?” Jihyo asks in a pitched voice, equally horrified and panicked.   Hoseok nods and before anyone can say anything, the backdoor is heard. Without prompting, everyone swiftly moves to their station, not uttering a single peep. Seokjin comes in, his expression unchanged and he deadpans the usual greeting as he moves past the kitchen.   Your face above his head hasn’t changed. But you know it’s not the time to dwell on it.   For the rest of the shift, Taehyung’s on his best behaviour and neither Jihyo nor Yoongi make snarky comments. It’s come at a cost — the morale is lower than usual. The atmosphere is tense and even Namjoon’s earnest encouragement can’t help.   Out of the corner of your eye, you can’t help but watch Seokjin. He doesn’t make mention to the article, yet by the deep furrow of his brow, you can tell he’s in a grumpy mood. It’s understandable. But you wonder why it seems like he’s less angry and more hurt.   If it were you, you’d be furious. The personal details of your life outed publicly and not only were your skills scrutinized, but your personality too.    Seokjin was cheated on and now chastised. Even if he’s resilient, it’s too much for anyone to take. It doesn’t look like he has friends to rely on either.   “Are you coming, Y/N?” Jihyo asks, turning around as you linger behind her. The restaurant’s lights are turned off, the kitchen long cleaned and your clothes changed into a fresh pair that doesn’t reek of dish soap and fish. But you feel unsettled. Like there’s still one more thing you haven’t finished doing.   “No, it’s alright. I forgot something. You can go right ahead.”   She nods, joining the others and you walk to the back, pushing the doors of the kitchen open.   There’s still a light on and you find Seokjin sitting on a stool by a counter. He looks up at you, visage in a neutral state. Neither a frown nor a smile. “What are you still doing here?”   Your hand tightens on your bag strap and you approach him. “Are you okay?”   Seokjin smiles at you. For the first time, it isn’t mocking — it’s gentle and tinged with sadness. The corner of his plump lips quirk ever so subtly and his arm extends, hand plopping on top of your head before it slides off. “I’m fine. It’s still early enough that I don’t need to drive you. You should go home before the sun completely sets.”   Wordlessly, you begin to walk away.   But then a sharp inhale is stolen through your parted lips. Before you can second guess yourself, you grab Kim Seokjin. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he glares at you.    “We should go out for a drink.” You don’t waver even with the incredulous look on his face. “What’s wrong? Never had a drink with an employee before? It looks like you need one and I’ll only offer once. I’m pretty busy myself, you know.”    It’s aggressive, obnoxious, a bit loud. It’s all the things you suppose he dislikes in a person, yet somehow the two of you have never been closer.   You end up in some hole in the wall, drinking shots of soju that burn its way down your throat. Seokjin sits across from you with an amused smile on his face that’s so irritating you want to slap it off, and you damn yourself for letting it slip your mind that you’re a lightweight.   “Aren’t you hurt, Kim?” The words slightly slur on your tongue. “‘s ridiculous! To criticize your food is one thing, but to criticize your personality and talk about your personal life ‘s just crossing the line!”    His lips pull, his eyes flicker down to the empty bottle beside you. “Yeah. It is.”   “Then why aren’t you mad?!” Your fist pounds the wooden table. “Getting cheated on is sad enough! Why do they gotta rub it in, huh?” His brow lifts, but you continue, “should sue them!”   Seokjin exhales on a sip. “It’s part of the business.”   “No, ’s not!”   “It was my ex who told them anyway. She’s upset that I kicked her out of the apartment.”   “Then that’s more reason to be mad!” You press your face into your hands, angry at how he’s not angry. “How can you be so nice? How can you be so nice and no one knows it?!”   Seokjin smiles to himself.   “This freaking sucks,” you moan.   He sighs at your drunken state and orders water for you. The old lady tottles by with a big smile and you get a chance to see the cloud of fog and the face above her head. “I brought the bean sprouts back,” her husband calls from the entrance at the same time with a grocery bag.   “I’ll be right there.” She places the glass down in front of you. “Here you go.”   Jealousy colours you pink inside. “You met your soulmate,” you exhale at her quietly.   The woman’s eyes twinkle. “That old man? He gives me more headaches than anything. I’d rather this handsome man be my soulmate,” she quips, casting a glance at an embarrassed Seokjin who thanks her for her compliment.   Her husband calls her again and she hurries back.    Seokjin leans forward with a skeptical look. “Are you okay?”   “I’m envious,” you sigh wistfully, looking on at the married couple at the back with your chin rested in your palm. After a moment, you shift towards the man across from you. Seokjin really is handsome. “I come from a long line of matchmakers, you know, and I have this ability.”   He plays along. “What ability?”   “I see the faces of who people are gonna end up with.” You drink the water, cooling your throat, but above the rim of the glass, you recognize his scoff and amusement. The glass slams down on the table in your protest. “It’s true! It’s been like that since I was a baby!”    “Okay, okay. I believe you.”   He clearly doesn’t believe you.   Irritated, you straighten your spine. “A long, long time ago back in High School, I really, really, really liked this guy.”    Seokjin’s brows raise, not sure where you’re going with this. “Alright…?” He nudges the glass of water back to you.    “I knew he wasn’t gonna end up with me, but he asked me out. And like a total idiot, I-I went out with him anyway. Then guess what happened?”   He has no idea.    A thick lump forms in your throat and makes it hard to speak. “He met the girl he‘s supposed to end up with, so I broke it off. They got married a year after high school. So I was right. I was...right.” Tears flood your vision, clouding the dark-haired man in front of you. You forgo the water for the shot Seokjin poured himself and you down it.    You were right. But it hurt.   Seokjin’s voice is soft, though it does little to console you. “So….because of your ‘ability’, you haven’t gone out with anyone else?”   You nod. “I’d be setting myself up for a failure anyway.” Your head lifts and your tired gaze connects with his. “My family wanted me to be a matchmaker like them. But I love, love, love cooking and I wanna be a chef. Like you.”   The corner of his mouth quirks. You’re honest — in a way he wouldn’t have expected from sober you. But he doesn’t mind it whatsoever.   “I know you don’t believe me. But look.” You reach over, tapping him relentlessly on the shoulder and your hand barely comes to cover your mouth as if you’re children exchanging secrets across the table. “See those two women over there? They’re gonna end up together.”   Your whispers are all too loud and Seokjin glares, not sure if you’re hysterical or delusional. Or both.   You turn to the window and he follows your line of sight. At the same time, a couple holding hands passes by and you shake your head. “They don’t end up together.”   “How do you know?”   “I already said! I see it. Above their heads.” Then you turn your head, looking at him. Seokjin’s startled, having not realized that you’ve leaned in so close, that your faces are mere inches away. But before he can shift back, your lip pulls and you murmur, “We’re supposed to end up together.”   His brow raises.   “It was gonna be someone else. Then one day, you came into work and poof! It was my face! Just like that. I almost got a heart attack, you know!” Giggles start to spill out of you. “It was a huge shock cause I always thought I was gonna be alone since I can’t see my own. Well, sometimes fate changes, so it might change again! Don’t worry!”   He exhales, squeezing out the air from his lungs. He stands, grabbing his coat and then tugging your arm up. “You’ve had too much to drink. C’mon. Let’s go.”   “Aye, aye, captain— I mean chef!”   His smile is small, but all too evident. He should smile more, even if it ruins the cold and aloof exterior he’s got going on. It’s cute and makes him look younger. So you express the idea and he chops your head lightly with his hand and gives you a rather gentle ‘shut up’ that has you grinning more.    //   The sunlight burns your vision and there’s a pounding headache at your temples.   There’s an overwhelming urge to pull the covers over your head, but as the slits of your eyes open and you realize there’s a strange floral scent to the sheets, you bolt upwards.   It hurts all the senses in your body, but your eyes register the neat recipe books lined on the shelf, trophies and certificates on the walls, a poster of the planets, a telescope and Kim Seokjin’s family picture by his nightstand. And then you scream.   “Christ. Relax!” He appears at the doorway, eyeing you with his arms crossed. “You were drunk, so I took you home.”   Absentmindedly, you tug the covers up to your chest in spite of still wearing the same clothes from last night. Your dry voice croaks out. “We...we didn’t do anything scandalous did—”   “No!” He shuts the thought down before it runs wild in your head and Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do anything to you, jesus christ, woman! Just get up. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll make you some breakfast and a hangover drink.”   You follow his instructions, cleaning yourself up to the best of your abilities with the limited supplies, but it’s surreal to be in Seokjin’s penthouse. It’s clean and organized, like you expected, though a lot more cozy and warm. You didn’t know he traveled so frequently and that he had an interest in astronomy — if there’s anything the telescope and posters tells you.   “Stop snooping,” he calls out from the kitchen, looking up to where you’re investigating his movie collection. You come over with a half-hearted apology and he sets down a bowl of oatmeal and a mysterious concoction in a tall glass. Both taste heavenly, enough to work up your appetite ten folds.   But then he says, “Eat fast. It’s a special day today.”   You’re not sure what he means by it, but you simply nod and nurse your headache.   You remember what you told him last night, how you revealed all your secrets in one long tangent and you cringe at yourself. Seokjin probably thinks you’re a complete nut.   But strangely enough, when you look at the cloud above his head, your face hasn���t changed.   “Why are you staring?”   “I’m not,” you mutter and tear your eyes away, unsuspecting to his smile.   But in spite of how close and upfront you might’ve gotten with Seokjin, he still tells you to walk to work yourself — that it’s close enough and too much of a hassle if he drives you. So you cuss him out as you’re striding down the block as he zooms past you in his expensive vehicle.   You hope he notices your glare from across the kitchen, but if he does, he doesn’t comment.   “Today, we have some special guests for dinner service. A few of my friends will be coming and one of them will be proposing, so let’s make sure we give them a good dinner and memory.”   “Yes, chef.”   The news is exciting and even puts a buzz in the kitchen. “Finally, we’re doing something cool,” Taehyung says to you with a swollen smile. “I love a good proposal story.”   “Always the one watching the proposal, never the one getting proposed to,” Yoongi quips as he brushes past and Hoseok snickers.   “Hey, I’m working on it!”   “I’m surprised Seokjin actually has friends though,” Jihyo comments and right when Yoongi turns to add something, they both pale as Seokjin strides past. He glares at them and is even more frightening in his silence. They immediately apologize and he hums, moving out the kitchen.   You, Hoseok, and Namjoon laugh.   Evening eventually comes and Seokjin temporarily calls a halt to the kitchen in favour of his old friends meeting his staff. It’s unusual to see him in such a good mood, smiling and being sociable. It’s strange in general to see this side of him, but it’s not unwelcome whatsoever.   There’s seven of them, a mix of females and males, and you follow Hoseok’s lead in greeting and shaking their hands. Quickly, you recognize who's going to be proposing to who tonight. It’s not hard to miss considering the man is visibly nervous and the close female by his side keeps glancing at him in worry.   “Are you alright, Jimin?”   “Huh? Yeah.” The blonde with full cheeks and soft features smiles timidly, scratching the back of his neck. He’s dressed too nicely for this to merely be a dinner. “I’m fine. Just not feeling well.”   “Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the clinic?” The short-haired female asks, concern evident in the faint knot between her brows. “There’s one down the street. I can go with you.”   “I’ll keep an eye on him, Yuri,” the man who introduced himself as Jungkook reassures her, “If anything I’ll take him.”   “Jimin’s just excited to try out the food.” Seokjin grins, drawing attention away from his friend. “Rest assured, everyone will feel better after eating and if you get sick tonight, it’s not food poisoning, alright?”   There’s laughter in the group and another says, “You’ve been bragging about your restaurant for so long, I thought you were never going to invite us to eat here.”   “Well, we’re usually booked full house, but it’s a slower season so I thought why not.”   Yet the conversations drown away from your ears as your eyes unintentionally flicker upwards. You don’t mean to — it’s still a habit you’re trying to break. But you feel blood drain from your face as you discern the image that emerges from the fog above Jimin’s head and above Yuri’s.   “Y/N?” Taehyung waves his hand in front of your eyes and you snap out of your trance. “Why are you staring into space? We’re going back.”   “O-Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something.”   You return to the kitchen, forcing yourself to focus and getting back to your task.    It’s none of your business. You know better than to involve yourself and it’s not like anyone would believe you in the first place. People’s lives have nothing to do with you. You have to turn a blind eye. It’s none of your business, it’s none of your business—   But as you leave to the back area to grab ingredients, you catch the man leaving the bathroom. “Oh, you’re one of Seokjin’s chefs right?” Jimin stops and smiles at you, inhibiting your escape.   You shake your head. “I-I’m only a kitchen assistant.”   “But you’re still part of his staff.” His eyes are rounded and bright. “Is he mean at all? We’ve been trying to squeeze it out of him, but he won’t give us any details. I heard a bit of shouting, so I was curious.”   “Oh, he’s always shouting.” The corner of your mouth quirks and Jimin grins. “He’s a bit mean, but Chef Kim’s just serious about his work and we respect him for it.”   “It seems like you understand him better than I do. Anyway, the soup was amazing. I already told Jin, but I thought I should let you know since you’re the one who brought it out to us.”   “Thank you.” Your eyes travel above his head and then you notice the way he’s fiddling with a box inside his pants pocket. You swallow hard. “Are you proposing tonight?”   Jimin’s head whips up. “How’d you know?”   “Chef Kim let all of us know, so we can make sure it’s a memorable dinner service.”   His expression softens and he bobs his head. Jimin takes out the ring box and studies it carefully. “I am. I hope it wasn’t too obvious. I know she’ll say yes, but I’m still nervous. She’s the love of my life and these things only happen once,.”   “Well….” You give an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes it happens more than once for people.”   “Not for us,” Jimin declares in such self-assurance that it’s uncomfortable. His smile filled with affection doesn’t help either. “She’s the one. I don’t think I’ll love anyone more than her.”   Your pupils flicker up to the cloud above his head that says otherwise. It gnaws at you, mocking you, and you’re uncertain if you can sleep tonight if you don’t say at least something. So you take the leap. “Are….you...sure?”   “What?”   “Never mind.” You turn around, having regretted it the moment it spilled. “Please enjoy dinner!”   “Wait!” The man unexpectedly grabs you out of sheer instinct, halting you in your spot. He searches your face while his own crumples into a frown. “Did Yuri say something to you?”   “No!” you frantically spit before taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m just….I just….” The philosophy you’ve forced yourself to take collapses at his earnest visage. You were never good at being unattached. “D-Do you think this is a good idea? Are you absolutely sure about this?”   “What’s going on here?” There’s a lower voice, a husky timbre. Seokjin stands at the end of the dark corridor and all traces of his outgoing personality are gone. It’s replaced with the serious demeanour you’re used to. He beckons you. “Can I speak to you for a moment, Y/N?”   Jimin returns back to the table, even more unnerved than before while you’re pulled outside.   You feel small with your back against the brick and Seokjin looming over you. “What the hell are you doing?”   You flinch from his tone.    You’ve never seen him so angry. He isn’t shouting, screaming or imposing. But the irritation seethes out of him, simmering underneath his skin. You swallow hard, downcast eyes searching the gravel. You think about how dark it’s getting with the sun setting over the horizon. “I…”   “Are you seriously trying to talk him out of it?! What gives you the right—”   You snap. There’s no reason he should be upset, no reason you should be treated this way. So with your teeth gritted, you give him the truth that’s hard to hear. The truth that you alone must bear. “They’re not going to end up together!”    “What?”   Seokjin wears the same incredulous look from last night. It’s futile.   Still, your mouth runs off into mumbles, “I can see it above their faces. That woman, Yuri, she’s…..paired with that other man. Jungkook.”   You give up. Waving the white flag. In the silence that follows, you expect Seokjin to fire you, or call the nearest hospital. Either you’re a nut or unsuitable to work in his kitchen. Maybe both.   What you don’t anticipate is his startled expression, horrified as if you just told him there’s a ghost behind him. “How….how’d you know that?” The syllables unusually stutter out of him. It’s not like Seokjin to be inarticulate. “Jungkook hasn’t told anyone he loves her except for me.”   It’s your turn to be surprised. The quietness lingers. Then, he sighs.   “Don’t get involved,” he scolds, gentler than before. At the same moment, there are cheers from inside that leak out — clapping and hollering — you know Jimin’s proposed.   Seokjin turns away, returning to the restaurant floor and you resume your position in the kitchen. Jihyo asks if there’s anything wrong, but you brush her off. For the rest of the night, you concentrate on your job and Seokjin’s friends bid farewell after their stomachs are full from dessert and there’s a diamond on Yuri’s finger.   “Job well done everyone.” Seokjin has a satisfied look when he returns and Namjoon shares a smile with everyone. Clean up finishes soon after, but before you can leave, he calls you specifically. “Y/N, come here.”   Taehyung looks at you with widened eyes, but you don’t utter a word, staying behind. The kitchen filters out and even Yoongi sends a sympathetic look your way before departing. It’s never a good thing to be called back.   You brace yourself. If Seokjin didn’t make a scene firing you earlier than certainly will now. There’s no reason not to — you tried to stop an engagement between his close friends and he probably thinks you’re psychotic.   You stand there in silence for a good minute as he fills out some paperwork. It feels like you’re in the principal’s office. Then, the corner of his mouth moves as he casts a glance at you. “Sometimes you borrow the kitchen to practice, right? You can practice tonight.”   Confusion renders you immobile, filling your mouth with cotton, but you manage a slight nod.   You start to chop vegetables into bowls, dicing and mincing ingredients that will be needed for tomorrow. All the while, Seokjin sits meters away from you with a bunch of papers. Either doing his taxes or filing a report to admit you into the hospital. You’re not sure which one it is.   But halfway through, he pipes up again. “You should make something for the two of us to eat.”   “Yes, chef.” On any other night, you would be bursting with excitement, knowing it was a chance to impress him. But now you wonder if this will be your last chance to cook.    Within minutes, you have a pot on the stove, boiling for ten minutes.   “Sit down,” he commands, motioning to the other stool and you oblige.   Seokjin makes drinks in the meanwhile, asking what you want. When you mumble anything’s fine, he pulls out a few bottles from the back cabinet and starts mixing. You didn’t know he can bartend, but it’s almost expected that Kim Seokjin can do anything at this point.   The atmosphere is terribly awkward, so you exhale from your nose and speak up, “I’m sorry. I...I know I stepped out of line. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I’m really so—”   “I believe you,” Seokjin interjects, gaze meeting yours across the counter. Your breath hitches. “I didn’t believe you at first. About the whole ability thing. But when you told me that Jimin and Yuri won’t make it, I knew there was no other possible way.” He pours the drink into two glasses. “Jungkook and Yuri grew up together. He told me a long time ago he was in love with her and I was sworn to secrecy. No one else knows. Not his brother, his mom, or Jimin.”   He passes it to you and sighs, taking a sip. “But there’s nothing I can do to stop Jimin or to help Jungkook. It’s something they have to figure out on their own.”   You nod, gripping the stem of the glass. “I know.”   There’s a pregnant pause.    You lift your eyes and it connects with Seokjin’s. Instantly, you feel yourself breaking into a sweat at how intense he looks at you. “Is it true then?” he asks in the quaintness of the kitchen, his voice thick and low. “Are we going to end up together?”   “It might change!” The words come out all too frantically in fear he’ll freak out like you did. You know it’s a lot to take in. “Things change all the time. You were supposed to end up with Jisoo, but then, but then things happened so….nothing’s ever certain. It all depends on our actions and choices. I know you don’t like people like me. I don’t have anything to offer you anyway—”   “You need to have more confidence in yourself.”   Your voice dies on your tongue. Seokjin’s staring at you again in a way that makes your palms clammy, so intense that you wonder if he’s scrutinizing your pores. You swallow hard, tearing your own gawking away until you hear sizzling. The two of you turn to where the pot is almost over boiling and you run over, grabbing it off the stove. “I-It’s done.”   He grabs bowls as you set it down and uncover the lid.    “What do we have here?”   You’re embarrassed. It’s nothing like his fine dining dishes, or even his comfort food that somehow tastes like heaven. “It’s just carrot and potato curry stew. It’s actually something my family cooks…..so it’s nothing fancy.”   Seokjin’s spoon dips into the liquid and it’s your turn to watch intently.   He smells it, sips and his expression is kept blank.   You stand. “I can throw it out if you want—!”   “Why are you so jumpy today?” The corner of his plump lips curls. “And why would I want to throw out something so delicious?”   Your heart stutters in your chest and tears fill your vision. He might not fire you after all and on top of that, both your inborn ability and cooking skills have been validated. You feel overwhelmed. Especially when he finishes his first bowl and goes for seconds.    “This is what I’ve been missing in my cooking,” Seokjin murmurs with a tiny smile. “When they said I was missing my roots, I think I know what they mean now. Thank you, Y/N.”   You’re not sure who’s filled with more gratitude.   He smiles and you nod at him earnestly, speechless on what to say.   At the end of the night, Seokjin drives you home in his black Mercedes. A kind of lull fills that car and it isn’t frightening like it usually would be. Rather, it’s comfortable. A little too short lasting. He parks the car at the curb in front of your apartment and you get out.   “Thank you.”   Yet after you shut the door, he rolls down the window and stops you. “Y/N.”   You look at him and he smiles again. A phenomenon that used to be so rare that seems to happen frequently now. “I hope it doesn’t change.”   Kim Seokjin gazes at you, eyes connected across the distance that feels like it’s closing. He never wavers and a lump forms into your throat. “Are we going to end up together?” — Your own words echo in the recesses of your mind— “It might change! Things change all the time.”   But here he is. Going against all your efforts of trying to change fate itself. “I hope it doesn’t change. And I hope you don’t want it to change either.”   Seokjin drives off, leaving you absolutely stunned.   You wonder if he knows what he’s saying. But as you watch his car fade into the distance, somehow you’re not appalled or scared at the idea of being with him anymore.

The kitchen is an organized pandemonium.   A place where everyone knows exactly what they’re supposed to do and moves in fluid motions by one another, like a busy crosswalk in the downtown area. It’s a kind of silent teamwork and while you’re merely helping Taehyung chop vegetables or washing the accumulated dishes, you know your role is still an important one. You just wish you could a little more.   The moment the back door creaking can be heard, everything comes to a halt. Seokjin rounds the corner as everyone simultaneously greets him. “Good afternoon, chef.”   “Afternoon.” There’s a smile on his features, one that surprises a few and makes the others unsettled. “There’s going to be a special menu item today, so I want that prepared as soon as possible.”   He hands the new recipe to Namjoon who frowns upon the sprawled notes. “Carrot...and potato soup with chickpea crumble?”   “If you need details, ask Y/N,” Seokjin says with a tiny smile. “It’s her recipe.”   At once, everyone turns to you with shocked expressions. It’s one thing for Seokjin to suddenly introduce something new, but to introduce yours, it’s both unprecedented and a privilege.   You stare at him and his smile widens slightly. “I hope you don’t mind.”   “N-Not at all.”   The daily tasks commence, but not without a pat on the back from Yoongi, a congratulations from Jihyo and a smile sent your way by Taehyung. Namjoon and Hoseok ask for your help and it’s the first time you’re not just mincing garlic in the corner or washing a stack of dishes. Pride bursts through you and you look across the kitchen to Kim Seokjin. He scoffs at how big your smile is, feigns a glare and tells you to get back to work.   The rest of the dinner service goes smoothly. Your appetizer gets compliments from several and you couldn’t be any happier, even when everyone’s left and you’re still scrubbing dishes.   There’s a click of a tongue beside you. Seokjin stands with his arms crossed. “You always find ways to make me pay you overtime. Move over.” He rolls up his sleeves and helps you wash the last pots and pans.   “Thank you for today. It was a good surprise.”   He hums and the pair of you finish up before he tells you to unload the dishwasher tomorrow. “Go change and grab your coat. It’s getting late.”   “Are you going to drive me home?”   “No. We’re going to scope out some competition.”   “Competition?”   “We’re going to eat at a restaurant called Dog World,” Seokjin brushes off quickly, but when you continue to blink at him, he sighs and waves you off. “Don’t ask too many questions, alright? This is my excuse for asking you out on a date.”   If you weren’t caught off guard before, you’re wholly stunned speechless now. A deer in headlights. And it makes the older bastard grin widely.   “Don’t worry.” His voice knocks down into a gentler tone. “You can reject me if you want. I don’t want you to be pressured because I’m your boss, even though I don’t think that matters to you. But you should also know I’m not doing this because of what you see.” He gestures above his head, unknowingly batting the cloud of fog you can perceive. “I’m doing this because I want to.”   It sinks into you and your head tilts to your shoulder. “You….want to go out on a date with me?”   The corner of Seokjin’s lip pulls and he diverts his vision elsewhere. You notice how his ears are turning red. “Ever since you sat down with me and told me that getting cheated on was sad enough and that they shouldn’t rub it in.”   There’s silence. The first stretch of it is because you genuinely don’t know what to say to him. But the second stretch that follows is when you realize just how nervous he is and there’s a ruthless urge to keep him on the edge. You make him simmer in fear, a similar kind to the countless ones he’s given you during stressful shifts in the kitchen.   There’s something powerful yet endearing about how Kim Seokjin anticipates your answer.   You never thought he could be this way. He just keeps surprising you.   When you can’t contain it anymore, you burst out laughing.   “I’ll accept on the condition that if you take my recipe permanently, you’ll need to pay me royalties appropriately. Don’t think I won’t take you out to court, Kim.”   Seokjin grins and for the first time, certainty sews into you. You have a feeling fate isn’t going to change and you hope it doesn’t either.

[Epilogue]   The kitchen is your home.   You’re sure Jin would adamantly argue that the house was perfectly fine to be considered your home, but there’s still a charm to the busy kitchen that has drawn you in since childhood. Even if the heat swelters in the still air and is stifling, even when grease and oil splatter and stains your clothes, the effort in cooking makes the food that comes from it even more delicious.   “What is this?”    All heads turn at your voice and you motion to the plate about to be brought out. “The rice is on the wrong side of the plate! Re-do this, and watch the plating people! I know it’s easy to forget but it’s important to be consistent with the presentation!”   “Yes, chef!”   It’s strenuous and difficult to be here. It took years to get to where you are, but you wouldn’t trade it in for anything. The reward is worth it. You love your job — maybe even more than Jin, and while you’re sure he wouldn’t be surprised, he’d still playfully whine about being casted aside.   The rest of the night goes off without a hitch and once the kitchen is all clean, you switch off the lights and lock the doors. And like magic, the person you’ve been thinking about all day is leaning against the car parked on the curb, arms crossed as he stares out into the starry sky.   “About time. I’ve been waiting for the past twenty minutes.”   You scoff with a smile and discern the cold cloud emitting from his lips each time he exhales.   This is the exact opposite of what you intended to happen. Sometimes you wonder if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy — by knowing he was going to be with you and trying to avoid it, you inadvertently made him closer to you. But whatever the case may be, you’re glad for the outcome.   You close the distance and slap your hands against his frozen cheeks, trying to warm them up. A smile tugs on your features. “Sorry. You’re cold, aren’t you? You should’ve just waited in the car.”   “But I wanted to see you right away,” he mutters, putting his hands on top of yours to keep you there, then he adds, “and it gives me reason to do this.” Seokjin grins and leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips, one that you smile into.   If any of his old kitchen staff or even the current group saw him now, they’d faint with how grossly affectionate he was being. Then again, they might just be used to it considering Jin hasn’t ever paid mind to other people. He’s never been one to opt out of public displays of affection either.   “You know I’ve been thinking lately.”   “About?”   “How hard I tried to get rid of you and how I couldn’t. You’re kind of like a pest.”   Your husband of two years straightens his spine, wholly offended. “Pest?”   Laughter bubbles out of your chest and you press another chaste kiss to his lips before you’re pushing him aside to get into the car. Seokjin chuckles, rounding the vehicle to get into the driver’s seat.   “Are you hungry?”   “Not really.”   “Namjoon and Taehyung want us to go to the opening of their restaurant.”   “Their opening event lasts for three days right? We can always go tomorrow.” You turn to him as he pulls off, driving down the street. “I’m kind of craving your comfort food tonight.”   Jin grins, easily obliging while your eyes flicker up to the cloud of fog above his head. You see yourself smiling as widely as you are now, and you’re thankful you have your ability.

[kuroos-moon]

E-girl S/o 

☾ pairings: ushijima x reader, oikawa x reader, kuroo x reader 

☾ request: headcanons for Ushijima, Oikawa and Kuroo reacting to or being interested in/dating a girl that is kinda goth/e-girl/edgy? Like they wear a lot of black, like scary movies and video games, have a very sarcastic personality?

☾ warning/s: none

☾ a/note: not rlly sure if i did e-girls justice on this one im sorry 

Ushijima Wakatoshi 

• Doesn’t get the “oh, I didn’t expect girls like y/n are your type” 

• Like?? Uhm, wdym it’s self-explanatory you’re just so eye-catching 

• Yes, you caught the Ushiwaka’s eye 

• You’re not dating or anything, let alone have started a conversation 

• But there’s an impressive number of people who know he likes you a lot

• Wakatoshi’s blunt and genuinely honest for most times if not all of his life 

• “You like anyone?” “Yes.” “Really? Is it that cute girl from your cl-

• “Y/n L/n.”  

• Knows how much you love black bc it’s not rlly hard to miss, you wear it on you every chance you get

• And now you’ve cursed him with remembering you every time he sees the color 

• You heard of the rumors that one of the nation’s top three aces likes you and you don’t believe them ofc 

• Not that you don’t know you’re pretty, you love your reflection but you just reckon you’re not his type yk? 

• He’s more of an admire and fall for you more from afar type of dude

• Totally stops and stare when you walk in the gym wearing a short black skirt and a black top, with boots and chains and all 

• Doesn’t know a thing about fashion but damn, you’re so hot?? 

• Cannot hear even his own coach

• Hopes you’re not going on a date 

• “Geez, y/n, is it someone’s funeral?” “Ah, Satori-chan, why are you even out of your cascket?” 

• Kinda thinks you’re mean bc you’re sarcastic and his humor rlly isn’t up to your level lmao sorry but he wants to know what’s it like to actually talk to you 

• So he does, once he bumps into you on his way out of the gym and you just awkwardly stare at each other 

• “I like your style. Your outfit.” He says, and he is not even shy on the outside at least

• “uh thanks?” you just kinda smile at him bc ydk what youre supposed to do this is wakafreakingtoshi we’re talkin bout 

• “you like black a lot.” “yeah, I do, what of it?” 

• “you really look good in it. You own the color,” he says that like it’s no big deal before he walks away 

• You totally crush on him after that encounter 

• Basically, he doesn’t have a type. he cannot distinguish cute girls, e-girls, or any ‘type’ of girls

• What he could so naturally distinguish though, is you—his lovely darling in black—and the rest of the female population he couldn’t care less for 

Oikawa Tōru 

• You’re his most treasured babygirl and no he doesn’t take any criticism 

• Your taste in fashion? 💯/💯

• Is maybe a tad bit too in love with your pretty boy and e-girl dynamic in pics bc his Instagram is flooded with them 

• Hypes you up in your socials, in his, and in real life 

• Goes for captions like: “choke me like you hate me, y/n-chan” and “step on me and I’ll apologize instead” 

• He’s so cheesy but you love it :>

• Lets you pick out his clothes once in a while though you have different tastes and preferences 

• You return the favor too sometimes and it’s not even a compromise on either of your parts 

• You just have fun with your own things and you’re having fun in trying out things the other likes too yk? 

• One thing that shortens his lifespan is when you watch horror movies together 

• HOW ARE YOU NOT SCARED? Loves spending nights like this with you nonetheless though

• “y/n-chan is the ghost gone?” “yup, you could open your eyes now.” “thank g- hey!” 

• Is the rare male teenager who’s kinda knowledgeable in make-up products bc of u

• He knows what kind of eyeliner you use and if he sees something kinda cool when he’s out, he’ll buy it for you

• Or tell you about it: “y/n-chan do you know this eyeliner called ***? I don’t know if it was the lady’s sales talk but I think you’ll like it”—wholesome and thoughtful

• Flexes you a lot and will not tolerate all the “Tōru and y/n don’t really look good together” 

• “Right? She just doesn’t complement him right.”

• He’s childish and more so when agitated, not even Iwaizumi could hold him back

• “Oh yeah? THEN LOOK AT MY FABULOUS NAILS” flexes all ten of his fingers which you painted black just last night on your bedroom floor 

• You just flip your hair in their direction and drag Toru away bc you’re too unbothered <33 

• “y/n-chan back me up here, you have the bitchiest attitude towards me so let’s work together and unleash our sass on them so they shut up, okay?” 

• It’s really rare for him to be that way with his fans but he’s the numero uno y/n-stanner ofc he won’t take that crap 

• “your makeup and taste in clothes aren’t even half as good as y/n’s.” sticks his tongue out ✨maturely✨

• Hates when he has to play Karasuno bc you once mentioned you could imagine Tobio having the same aesthetic as you 

• You also might’ve jokingly told him that “Toru I should’ve gotten a boyfriend from Karasuno, it’d be cool to tie their jacket around my waist and cheer for him at the same time.” 

• Was so mad at you about it and refused to talk to you for days because he’s just so not childish at all 

• “Ugh, why don’t they just change their team color to pure orange. Chibi-chan domination.” 

Kuroo Tetsuro

• Already took an interest in you from what he observes is an interestingly snarky character 

• Has been seeing you in only your uniform at first though but then he finds himself thinking a bit too much about you one night

• Stalks your Instagram <33 

• Jaw drops, heart beats a tad bit faster, his yearning grows 

• You’re so pretty. So good in black. Your poses? The whole vibe of your feed? He doesn’t know what to do with his admiration you’re just so freaking meant for him

• He gets it’s not the usual style for most girls in school, and tbh he didn’t know he’d like it so much, he just does now

• Knows there was no saving him once he starts imagining scenarios about you before he goes to bed

• This dork starts to know more things about you—it’s really cool that you play the same games as him 

• Is up to date on your posts, your ig story, and your tweets but why in the world are you still not in bed at 3 in the morning? 

• You just love gaming, huh? Should he start a conversation with you about it? He played that often too with Kenma

• He just can’t seem to though bc he’s nervous and lowkey intimidated 

• Once witnessed you jokingly exchange snarky comments with your friends and you even flipped them off 

• It’s settled then, he’ll graduate without talking to you sad kuroo noises 

• You once posted a pic flexing your matte black nails on a weekend and when the weekday came, he was so excited to see them in person 

• But your nails are no longer painted, and he was so disappointed bc they looked rlly attractive to him 

• Voices out his thoughts mindlessly. “You removed your nail polish.” 

• Everyone—including you—is surprised. Your desks aren’t even next to each other but his body was facing you 

• Cringes internally once he realizes he had said it but is so surprised when you smile at him. 

• “It’s not allowed in school, it’s a shame, you think they were pretty too, right?” 

• He cannot function, he totally did not prepare for this—and to think he had so many nights imagining different scenarios about you. 

• He was rlly popular and you thought you acted too confident; you just curse yourself for it. “Oh, uh sorry I thought you saw my post.” 

• You look away, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he chuckles a bit. You cringe. 

• “Black really suits you, and your nails were pretty, wish I could’ve seen them today, that’s all.”

• And who would’ve thought your relationship would bloom since then 

• All because he’s so interested and mesmerized with everything about you <3 

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @astrealia @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle   @franko-pop @moonlightaangel @throughtheinterstices @micasaessakusa @dixonsbugaboo @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @ultzuko

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Six

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 6.1k

Chapter Six

It was approaching a week later, when someone unexpected entered the shop. You stopped polishing a blaster, looking up at him and trying to keep your cool.

“Karga,” You said plainly. You forced on a small smile. “What brings you here?”

Karga strode around your shop curiously, taking in the décor, the storage boxes, and you. He still made your skin crawl whenever you thought back to saving Mando’s skin. Stars, it meant he thought of you in that way—vulnerable, tearful, a pitiful little girl, cowering in fear next to the Mandalorian.

“Miss, good day to you,” He said in greeting. “I... bring conversation,”

Conversation. That was just another way of saying he was about to threaten you.

But about what? You didn’t know.

“Now, I’m sure you know that Nevarro is small. Operations here are left to a select few, and members of the Guild are trusted,”

“Of course. The Guild code remains law,” You agreed, unsure of where he was going with this. You tried to stand your ground, while also adopting that same character you’d played in the bar. You couldn’t immediately change your personality; it would simply hint at how it had been a plan.

“Yes, indeed,” He approached your work desk, raising his hands to his hips. “Which is why, I make it my job to make sure no one steps out of line,”

Out of line... what did he know?

“A noble position, Karga,” You said, rising yourself up to meet him face to face, as much as it made you nauseous.

“And one I take seriously,” He sent you a knowing look. You kept your stare as plain as possible, trying to convey that you had done nothing wrong, nothing to betray him or the Guild. You weren’t even a Guild member, but respecting their rules is what kept you safe on this planet; it was suicide to go against the hunters here.

Karga moved his hand to his blaster slowly. You could see it in your peripheral, sensing a rising anxiety and adrenaline coursing through your gut. If he wanted a fight, you’d win. But if you won?

You’d have to leave. You’d be a wanted woman, once again.

“There’s been word that the Mandalorian comes in here often,” Oh, stars. You stopped yourself from swallowing down your nerves, dropping your face into something resembling fear as quick as you could.

“Yes, he does,” You said honestly. There was no use in lying if he’d got a tip. “That man—so many damaged weapons, all covered in blood and dirt,” You looked at your hands, as if in thought of how disgusting it was. “I’m thankful for his business in these trying times, but stars, he scares me half to death,”

If Mando were here, he would have scoffed. What a blatant lie, from a woman who had kissed his lips five days prior. His actual lips.

“It’s taken the Guild time to trust in him again,” Karga replied, taking his hand away from his blaster. It worked—stars, it fucking worked. He believed every word your lying mouth said. “He had a lapse of judgement a while back, but without him, quarries simply wouldn’t get collected as quickly or efficiently,”

You nodded severely, coating your gaze with a subtle sadness and trying desperately not to break. You hated acting like this—weak, spineless, like you didn’t know the ways of the Guild or hunters or killers, but sometimes it was the only thing that kept you safe.

“So, I was wondering, since times are tough,” Karga continued, moving his hand to his pocket slyly. “If you and I could strike a deal?”

He laid out five hundred credits on the work desk, letting you look at them, before looking back up to him. Fuck. Not another deal.

“Information on the Mandalorian, in exchange for Guild gratitude, and some credits to make these times easier to manage,” This was a fucking sham. You knew Guild contacts weren’t allowed to keep tabs on their members like this; it was heavily frowned upon and betrayed the initial trust.

But Karga had always been a snake. He was worse than the hunters, in some aspect. He expected honesty, respect, decorum; yet he often didn’t return the favour. He’d underpay his hunters, shoot them on site for being late without hearing their story, and evidently, spy on them behind their backs.

Oh, you would certainly be telling Mando about this.

“Karga, that’s so kind of you,” You began, shooting him a graceful smile and trying not to imagine what your fist round his jaw would look like. “But I’m afraid I have nothing to give. The Mandalorian doesn’t say two words to me when he comes in. He hands me a weapon, pays me, and waits in silence while I repair it,” Lies. All lies. He did more than sit there, and he certainly didn’t stay silent.

Stars, not now.

“Well—why don’t you try—,”

“Talking to him?” You interrupted. “Tried it, he never replies. It’s like I’m just talking to myself, most of the time. Stars, he’s a scary man,”

Karga’s face dropped into a frown.

“I’m grateful for the proposition, Karga,” You said, before silently pushing his credits back towards him on the desk. “But I think it would simply be a waste of your credits,”

Karga regraded you slyly, squinting slightly at the innocent expression you were plastering all over your face. “Well,” He sighed, taking back his credits. “That you for the honesty, Miss,” He nodded at you and you nodded back. “Good day to you,”

You held your breath as he walked out of the shop, not moving until you were sure he was around the corner of the street outside. And then you exhaled heavily, clutching your heart as the waves of anxiety and adrenaline finally caused you grief. That snake; that fucking snake.

You had no way of contacting Mando before he arrived back, so you’d simply have to hope that your lies would hold up during his next visit. If Karga was wary about this enough to ask you to strike a deal with him, then this wouldn’t go away quickly—

He was after something; something to incriminate Mando in the Guild.

You kept your communicator charged and strapped to your wrist at all times, just waiting for his modulated drawl to come through over the next few days. The man was on your mind at all times; while you worked, when you ate, shot, showered and before you went to sleep. His kiss had seeped into your very being, often reappearing in your mind randomly and making you jump. Your fingers brushed your lips whenever you thought of him. Soft, prickling pecks littered your entire body in anticipation of when he’d kiss you all over—

Your skin, your chest, your collarbones and between your thighs. Stars, you’d give up every part of yourself for him—not that you’d ever admit that to the bastard; it would only serve to fuel his ego and his over-the-top confidence when he finally broke you down, made you blush, made you whimper.

A week after waking in his ship, you turned your light out and crawled into bed. He was due back tomorrow and as much as you craved his touch and his voice, you were afraid of what Karga was plotting. You’d have to tell him immediately, to at least try and halt something from happening to him without his prior knowledge.

Eventually, you fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of sweet things. Blurs of greys and browns met you behind your eyelids, mimicking the subtle reflections of the moonlight off of Mando’s Beskar helmet. In your dream, he stood over you in your room, visor peering down at your sleeping body as he quietly began taking off portions of his armour and laying them on the floor in a neat pile.

He started with his shoulder pads, moving to his chest plate and pulling it from his front and back. His leg plates came off the easiest, with subtle tugs one by one until he wore only his under clothes and helmet. It was dark, but you smiled up at where you sensed his body to be, mumbling greetings at him before he moved round to other side of the bed.

Only when he slipped off his shoes and lifted the covers, did you realise you weren’t fucking dreaming—

Stars, you were awake, barely, and Mando was slipping into bed next to you. He’d picked the lock on the door, slotted off his Beskar and crawled in right next to you, all under the cover of Nevarro darkness and with no hesitation at all.

He rested his head on the pillow next to your own, softly wrapping his arms around you as you fought against the deep sleep weighing you down. You were incoherent, utterly confused but also blisteringly hot at what was going on. Inside, a voice screamed at you to wake up, to focus on what was happening, to tell him about Karga; but the other was simply letting out pleased moans and mumbles, hooking yourself into his embrace and feeling the immediate comfort of his warm body next to yours.

You would kick yourself for this in the morning, but as you fell asleep in each other’s arms, you almost didn’t care.

Almost.

Mando stirred awake first, but he didn’t move from your side. You felt his movements as he stretched his muscles and his joints under the duvet next to you, only to shove himself back into your embrace while he moaned sleepily. You fluttered your eyes open, feeling his beating heart on your back as he hugged you from behind.

“You picked my lock again,” You croaked out, sleep still present within your voice.

A small, modulated chuckle trickled over you. “Didn’t want to wake you,” He spoke, his voice just as raw and utterly delicious as it had been waking up to him last week.

You fluttered your fingers over his own, wrapped around your torso and dangling comfortably in front of your face. His hands twitched when you first touched them, but as he got used to the sensation, he squeezed your fingers back, swiping his thumb over your knuckles rhythmically.

“I have some news,” You let out gravely, swallowing down a sudden bout of nerves. Karga—you had to tell him about Karga. You shuffled in bed, rolling over to face him head on. That didn’t stop him from repositioning himself, allowing you to lay upon his forearm. “Karga came in here two days ago, asking about you,”

You half expected Mando to tense, to sit up immediately, to go straight into hunter mode, but he didn’t. He stayed put, almost mesmerised by your face looking directly at his own. Slowly, gently, he raised a hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the morning blush that they possessed. He swiped his fingers over your jaw, slotting some stray hairs behind your ear and utterly ignoring the fact that you definitely had bed hair.

Exhaling, you closed your eyes. His fingers never lost their touch, never lost their softness. You happily melted whenever he touched you, igniting your senses while simultaneously making you feel as safe as he possibly could. You wondered if your touches, your stares, your movements, made him feel the same way?

You swallowed, forcing yourself to drift back to reality, opening up your eyes. “This is serious, Mando,” You persisted. “He offered me a deal. I had to make up an excuse to deny him. Someone’s spotted you coming here and they’re suspicious,” Mando continued traversing his fingers over your face.

“Did they see you leaving the Razor Crest?” He asked gently.

“If they did, Karga didn’t mention it,”

Mando was silent for a beat, indulging in you. Then he nodded once, sternly, seeming content with that answer.

“Good. Karga believed you?”

“He took back his credits and walked out. There were no threats, so that’s a win in my book,”

“Good,”

Good. You ignored the way your heart swelled at his words. He was worried about you in this situation, not about himself. You expected Mando had been through his fair share of hiccups with the Guild, especially after he told you about the shit with the kid. His ability to brush these things off frustrated you though; maybe he was careless, or maybe he was just used to it. Either way, you still had anxiety in your gut about the encounter.

“Do you want some caf?” You asked in a whisper, still relishing in the way his fingers were floating over your skin.

“Wait,” He said in reply, which prompted you to go completely still. His fingers wound up your forehead, touching you so lightly that you could barely feel them skimming your skin. You let out a pent-up breath, relaxing ever so slightly into his grasp and sinking further into his arm. You closed your eyes once more, trying to expel the stress you felt about Karga, the constant fears of messing up these meetings with Mando, and the incessant urge to kiss every portion of his bare skin until he whimpered.

This intimacy; you craved it. Him; you missed him.

As much as it pained you, you couldn’t stop the internal clock within you from counting down every second you were with him, knowing that eventually it would run out and he’d have to leave again. With every week that passed, you missed him more, and with every time he arrived at your doorstep, you wanted him to stay for longer and longer each time.

Stars. You’d become a wetwipe over a man whose face you’d never seen.

“You made yourself very comfortable here last night,” You said, keeping your eyes closed but shooting him an amused smile. You loved that he felt at home here, loved that after so many months he finally felt open to be this soft, this gentle. There was always another side to people, and with Mando it was something you’d never expected—

He was a hunter, a killer, so ingrained in his work that it was all he did between these brief visits of comfort and affection. Maybe you were helping; helping him to return to himself after tracking and capturing quarries. It made you feel worth something, for once in your life, without that worth being down to the amount of blood you spilled in your prior life.

“It’s easy to, when you fit perfectly in my grasp,” He uttered coarsely. You perked an eyebrow at him, which he tentatively fluttered his fingers over.

“Are you saying I’m small?” You joked.

“I’m saying, you’re more cooperative when you’re half asleep,” He joked back, letting out a breathy chuckle. Stars, what you’d do to feel his breath when he did that. The subtlety of his breath hitting your skin was another craving that you’d never known you’d wanted, until the prospect of falling for a man in a helmet arose.

You shot your eyes open, slowly bringing a hand up to his neck. You wrapped your fingers around his throat gently, slowly, relishing in the touch of his warm skin. His neck was something you’d agonised over. It was so long, so tempting to bite into that you’d had to stop yourself from doing so, when you’d plastered kisses all over his chest before. His Adam’s apple protruded attractively, bobbing up and down when he spoke to you ruggedly.

You applied a slight pressure against this blood vessels, avoiding pressing into his throat.

“Are you saying I’m uncooperative?” You spoke sensually, allowing your words to trickle all over him, until you’d got what you’d wanted; the feeling of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your hand—as he gulped.

Bingo.

At light speed, Mando grabbed your wrist, moving his body in the same motion to peer over you. He straddled you elegantly, pushing your wrist down into the pillow above your head. Stars, he looked good like this, and the feeling was even better. A warmth spiralled from your gut, spreading through your body as arousal began to take over all of your senses.

You squirmed slightly, prompting Mando to grab your other wrist and place it up top with your other hand, using only one of his to hold you in place. His hands were huge compared to yours, yet he was so skilful with the way he moved them. They weren’t clunky; they were stealthy, they were soft, but you also didn’t doubt his ability to snap you in two at any given moment, if he wanted to.

“Smart mouth, when will you learn to keep it shut?” He growled slowly, using his knees to pry open your legs, while he dug his free hand into your upper thigh. You obeyed, wrapping your legs around his hips and trying not to completely unfold at the feeling of your bare legs upon his clothes. Night clothes weren’t the sexist of attire to wear in a situation like this, but Mando didn’t fucking care—he had you right where he wanted you.

“I was raised never to be belittled by a man,” You replied, beginning to fight back against his grasp on your hands. Mando grunted, pressing on your wrists with increased ferocity.

“I was raised never to break a promise,” Mando let out, coming in closer, closer, closer, until his hips were pressed agonisingly between your legs. It was different this time, without the confines of cargo trousers keeping him separate from you, only a pair of thin shorts lay between you and his blissfully throbbing crotch. “The wound is healed,”

Oh, fuck. Stars, he—he didn’t mean—

Before you could widen your eyes, he was already jumping off the bed. You scrambled up to sitting, watching the intense way he strode to the blinds on your window and blacked them out completely. He scanned your floor quickly, bending down and picking up the closest item of clothing he could find, before standing over you, coiling the fabric in his hands anxiously.

You knew what he wanted; he wanted assurance that you wouldn’t see his face, not while his helmet was off and on your floor. Stars, off and on your floor. Your expression softened as you shuffled towards him, draping your legs off the bed and leaning back to look up at him.

Mando wasted no time tying the shirt over your eyes. He was gentle when he tightened it, making sure not to make it uncomfortable for you. He was sweet like that, but what he did next, was the furthest thing from sweet.

Before you could react, an arm had hooked around your back, the other under your legs, as Mando all but threw you back upon the bed. Your head hit the pillow, sprawling you out in front of him while you struggled against the pitch blackness of your vision. You let out a whimper as you sensed him over you, as his hands started trailing over every part of your body; your legs, your arms, teasing his fingers up and under your night shirt and fiddling temptingly at the waistband of your shorts.

Stars, you ceased to breath.

When he stopped, it was only to take off his helmet. You heard the way it ruffled his hair beneath as he tugged it off with a grunt. That voice; you couldn’t wait to hear his voice. Without the modulator, without the immediate lowering of his tone and monotonous ways Mando spoke while he wore it.

You were practically shaking in anticipation, not being able to see where he was, or know when he’d appear between your legs. You squirmed, letting out an incredibly nervous whimper, and Mando folded—he chuckled to himself, floating his delicious voice over the room, before you felt fingers curl around your waist snuggly.

He crawled his fingers up your shirt slowly, making sure to touch as much of you as he could. Electricity wound its way up your arms, your legs, your torso, heightening your remaining senses and making everything utterly blissful—you were in heaven, stars, you knew that he was going to be good. There was no doubting it, not after the display of his skills previously.

Mando curled the fabric of your shirt up and over your tender breasts, taking his time as he slalomed his fingers between them, circling back round to skim your nipples, causing the breath to hitch in the back of your throat—

“Smart mouth,” Mando growled. His face, his bare face, was just above you, relishing in the look of you utterly helpless, melting at his touches upon new areas of your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, loving the nickname he’d adopted for you—but fuck—that’s when he let out the most painful of moans. “Fuck—,” He forced out, and in an instant, his lips were upon yours—

You wasted no time wrapping your arms around his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pure feeling of him being this close once more. You could barely talk after he’d kissed you last, and you didn’t doubt the same thing would fucking happen this time, but stars, you didn’t care. If it gave Mando the confidence to go further, to touch you all over, to know that he made you weak, then that’s all you cared about.

Fuck your dignity. Fuck your blush. If Mando wanted it, you’d just about give him anything.

His tongue fell into your mouth, deliciously inhaling you and enjoying every second of being this close. He nipped at your lower lip, groaning into your mouth with strained pleasure, while his hands slowly—delicately, agonisingly—made their way further and further down your body, finding your waistband once more.

Without warning, Mando separated from you, breathing out heavily as you still felt him upon your lips—but his breath, you felt it. You felt him breathing, felt his puffs of air as he tried desperately to quench his thirst for you. Stars—it was fucking hot. You squirmed in pleasure as Mando’s hand trickled beneath your waistband, skimming the skin just before your warmth and making you blush brighter than ever before.

“You want me to stop?” He growled. He was hungry. And you’d be lying if you didn’t love it when he spoke to you like this. You shook your head feverishly, as Mando slowly began to pull down your shorts.

He started slow, making you whimper as the anticipation became too much, before ripping them off of you. You raised your legs to the sky as he pulled the fabric from each foot and threw them behind him, the same way he’d done with those tight trousers. You gasped when he stopped momentarily though, as his fingers brushed over the scarred skin on your right ankle—

You began to get up, to reach out and find his hand to stop him from looking at the mark, but all you got in return was Mando spreading your legs as wide as they could go. You collapsed back onto the bed, trying to stop your upper thighs from trembling, but it was far too late.

“You’re already drenched,” Mando breathed out, looking at your pussy head on; relishing in the way it glistened just for him. You whimpered, feeling the vulnerabilities of him staring at your slit and trying to close your legs as a reflex, but stars—Mando didn’t like that.

He didn’t like that one bit.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he opened your legs sternly, grunting in effort at the small fight you were putting up. “Don’t you dare,” He growled sternly, and stars, you all but froze in place. “Don’t hide,” He continued, softening his voice slightly as you continued to fucking die as the mere image of him descending upon your aching pussy. “Not from me, ever,”

Ever—when he said it, you flinched all over. Because you could feel his breath; you could feel it on your pussy. Right over your throbbing clit, right over your blistering warmth. Mando was biding his time, making you cry, making you whimper and whine, and he was loving it. The bastard, the fucking bastard.

“Mando—,” You stuttered out, but all too soon his mouth latched onto your pussy. You let out the longest groan you’d ever released as all of your muscles tensed at once. Your entire body was on fire, lit up from the subtle movements of Mando’s tongue slowly licking up and down over your sensitive slit.

His hands gripped your thighs hungrily, pulling you closer to his mouth with every breath and shudder that ran through your body. “Fuck—fuck—,” Was the only thing you could actually manage to get out, as his tongue began drawing circles around your clit, missing it intentionally as he riled you up intensely first.

There it was, that warmth—the warmth that signified the fucking want to burst was rising up faster than ever before while Mando ate you out sublimely, mixing up his movements to be both soft and incredibly fast. His tongue was perfection, his mouth was parted just for you, as his stubble caught on your lips and added to the pleasure tenfold.

You let out a moan when he came up for air, breathing shallowly while his hands settled upon your belly, pulling you closer than ever before. “You tell me when you’re close, and I won’t ever stop,” His voice was deep, slick, his lips covered in you and only you.

Before you could reply, he buried his face between your thighs. You fucking yelled, grabbing onto the closest thing you could for stability, which happened to be his hair. His hair, it was soft, matted, but just long enough for you to pull between your flinching fingers. Mando’s ferocity only increased as you scratched your nails over his scalp, making him moan into your opening and hazard a small nip upon your clit between his teeth—

You yelped, jumping up involuntarily at his reply to your hand placement. Mando pushed you back down by your belly, diving deep between your slit to continue those agonising circles, lapping up every last drop of you that he could. His speed was increasing slowly, agonisingly, as your gut continued to coil at the feel of his mouth upon your most sensitive area—an area that you’d dreamed he’d one day explore. Stars, he was fucking relentless, showing no mercy while you were on the brink of tears.

Oh, stars—you were going to cum.

You shuddered, going utterly silent while Mando continued lapping you up. You moved your hands to his face, placing them on either side of his cheeks and digging your fingers into his neck slightly. “M-Mando—,” You stuttered out, feeling the way your gut was contracting and knowing that it wouldn’t be long.

“Cum,” Was all he said in reply. “I can feel you. Let go,” He spoke into your slit, not removing himself from your pussy while you whimpered in pleasure, heartrate accelerating, breath hitching in the back of your throat constantly.

Stars, it was going to happen, you were so close—but that’s when Mando removed himself from your clit, pushing himself up quickly until you knew he was peering down at you, face to face. He got in close to your face, bringing a hand to gently curl around your neck. You whined intensely, smacking your hands on his chest in protest.

“Please—why the fuck did you—,” Mando cut you off by pressing his blistering lips against your own. That shut you up perfectly, as you tasted yourself upon his soft lips.

“Always so rude,” He moaned into your mouth. You bit his bottom lip suddenly, making him jump away from your face.

“Says the man who just edged me to oblivion,” You growled at him, letting out a snarl as you squirmed beneath him. Mando only chuckled, and stars, it just fucking turned on you more. You were still riding the coattails of almost coming into his mouth, but you had no idea what he was playing at by leaving your aching pussy to get lonely.

“I’m not finished yet,” He said slowly, gritting his teeth in pain. “So impatient—,” He stopped talking when you grabbed him by the neck and shoved his mouth onto your own once more. He pulled back after kissing you feverishly, tightening his grip on your neck slightly as you moaned in a new type of pleasure. “I wanted to see that blush, so I can notice the difference after you cum in my mouth,”

As fast as he’d stopped, Mando shoved his face into your slit once more, and stars—you had to stop yourself from screaming. His hand stayed plastered around your throat, relishing in the way he could feel every time the breath caught in the back of your throat at his movements. If he’d been somewhat gentle before, he’d now thrown all of that out of the fucking window, adopting a delicious, up-pace rhythm as you squirmed beneath him.

The feeling in your gut came back tenfold as you fought against the rising yells in your throat. Your entire body was buzzing with pleasure, as the tension in your muscles were begging for relief, for release, for Mando to tip you over the edge.

You fumbled as you wrapped your fingers around his arm, still holding your neck firmly and pressing down heavenly upon your blood vessels. With every subtle press, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, causing a new sensation to rise within you and only increase your overall pleasure. Stars, you knew he was going to be good—

But this good? This man must have learned this from somewhere, and stars, you wanted to fucking know what else he could do; how else he could make you unwind effortlessly.

You swallowed painfully, feeling a clear acceleration beneath your chest. You felt your hairs stand on end, as sweat started to pool on your chest and other parts of your bare skin. “I’m—,” You began, but had to stop and let out a back-arching moan, as Mando only sped up the motions of his tongue upon your quivering clit. “Gonna— cum,” You forced out sternly.

Mando kept to his promise—when you said the word, he didn’t fucking stop. He only kept going, increasing his speed, tightening his grip on your belly and your neck and making you see stars behind your eyelids. You squirmed, breathing shallowly, as if in panic, when in reality you were fucking seconds away from coming into the Mandalorian’s open mouth.

You let out a few static fucks, arching your back further and further, while Mando stayed latched onto you like a fucking leech, sucking you dry, making you moan and groan and sweat and ache, and then—in a wave of pleasure, you came.

You came hard, releasing a screaming groan hybrid and collapsing your legs to fall on Mando’s head. He didn’t mind though; he kept his lips glued to your pussy, occasionally licking along your slit to lap everything up neatly. He missed your clit though, not wanting you to feel overstimulated after orgasming the hardest you ever had in your life.

You tensed every few seconds, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm while Mando slowly, delicately, unlatched himself from you. He let out a small chuckle in approval, no doubt admiring his work, before he crawled back up to your face. He placed pecks on your neon red cheeks, bringing his mouth down to press upon your own softly, gently, directly juxtaposing to the way he’d eaten you out just moments before.

Mando was many things; terrifying, mysterious, silent. But he also had a different side; funny, soft, warming and incredibly gentle. Whichever side you got, you always felt blessed. Especially here, t-shirt tied around your eyes to stop you from seeing his face, naked from your breasts down and limbs utterly exhausted and unable to move—

You were in bliss.

Because he was next to you.

And because he’d just made you cum really fucking hard.

“Look at this,” He whispered, placing another peck upon your exhausted lips. “She’s finally lost for words,”

Stars, you would have punched him in the gut if you had the strength, but all of it was being sucked up from the colossal release you were still feeling. You simply kept silent, eyes closed behind the makeshift blindfold, relishing this feeling. Mando reached down to grab his helmet, and all too soon it was slotted back over his head. You frowned when he gently took your mask off, revealing his chrome visor that you knew so well.

You smiled at him smally as he straddled your waist softly, reaching up to place a hand against the cold Beskar of his helmet. There was something about looking at him when you did this, which of course you couldn’t do when he had his mask off. As much as you loved feeling the lines of his face, his facial hair, his lips—you loved looking at him like this.

Exposed, vulnerable, trying to show him everything that you wanted to scream at his face, but couldn’t because of the way you were inherently afraid of weakness. Was liking someone a weakness? Was wanting to be around them, make them feel good, miss them when they were gone, weak?

Or was it a strength?

Mando curled his fingers around your wrist gently, just holding them there while you kept an unwavering stare on his visor. “I can make some caf,” He said quietly, his voice utterly different to the way he’d spoken when he was face deep in your cunt.

You couldn’t help it—you let out a scoff, draping an arm over your blushing face to cover yourself up from even more humiliation. “You just ate my pussy, made me cum, and now you’re going to make me caf?” You let out, stuttering out some involuntary chuckles after speaking.

Stars, you knew he was grinning beneath that fucking helmet, just from the way he was silently looking at you. “Yeah,” He replied simply, before getting up and heading to the small kitchenette of the shop.

Mando stayed for coffee, though he didn’t have any, obviously. He did lie next to you as you drank your own, watching the way you went over your schedule and agenda for the working day, noting things down with a tiny, over-sharpened pencil in a notepad and sipping at your caf throughout.

He didn’t say much, just light conversation about the kid, about his upcoming meeting with Karga later that morning, about the way you needed to brush your hair, before he was combing his fingers through your scalp without being asked to. Mando, you realised, had a love language; something to show his affection, his desires, to show his care. It wasn’t speaking, he was a man of little to no words. It was touching—

However small. A hand on your back, fingers combing through your hair, thumb swiping over your lips. That was him saying “I’m here. I’m here right now, with you.”

When it was time for him to leave, you tried not to pout. He slotted his Beskar back on, mumbling to himself about checking on the kid before heading to the bar, and then he was slinging his satchel over his shoulder and following you to the door. You hugged your arms coldly, patting bare feet upon the shop floor before you unlocked the front door and creaked it open.

Mando lingered in the doorway. “Meet me at the Razor Crest tonight,” He stated. You widened your eyes in surprise.

“Why?” You questioned. His visor didn’t meet your eyes.

“I need to ask you something,” He said finally. You nodded slowly, despite him not looking towards you. That’s when he left. No “See you next week”, no flirtatious banter that both of you had become accustomed to over the past few months. No nothing.

You felt slightly anxious when you shut the door, trying not to overthink his incredibly blunt nature, after such a comfortable night and intense morning together. Mando was many things; a hunter, a killer, and you knew he was dangerous. But that didn’t stop you from feeling these things. It didn’t stop you from second guessing every silent stare, every absent touch, every blunt reply.

Stars—men.

Nevertheless, you had work to do. You readied yourself for the day, all too aware of the ticking clock, counting down to when you’d next see your Mandalorian—

To when you’d get to kiss those lips once more.

[somuchnonsense]

Idol AU Wangxian Drabbles

I wrote an idol trainee AU Wangxian drabble (of 900 or so words) last year and now I wrote another 700 words of post-debut Wangxian in the same universe so I’m going to post them both together here:

Moving

Lan Zhan is so perfect and Wei Ying is torn between being impressed and being jealous. He works hard—they all do or they won’t last long—but Lan Zhan has more talent in his pinky finger than a lot of the guys here, and a lot of experience too, making him much closer to the goal of being a polished idol than most of them. Wei Ying has talent too, but the mentors keep telling him that he lacks polish and discipline and that, essentially, if he doesn’t get his shit together, he won’t make it to the end—or if he does manage it on the power of his charm, he won’t be successful after.

The trouble is that Wei Ying has never in his life been good at discipline, at least not the kind Lan Zhan has, where you speak respectfully to your teachers and don’t interrupt practice to make jokes, even when everyone is stressed out and a joke will help diffuse the tension. He’s never been good at doing things the way he’s supposed to if he doesn’t think it’s the best way, if a different dance move would make it more interesting or a change in the lyrics would make them them flow better, or if goofing off will keep him sane during the long hours of practice.

When they get put in a group together for the next challenge, Wei Ying suspects it’ll be a disaster, but he also sees it as an opportunity. Lan Zhan is the top trainee, after all, and Wei Ying’s been up there too. They have a good song and good choreography. If they pull it off, it’ll get them a lot of attention, and with it a lot of votes. They just, you know, have to not kill each other in the process. Unfortunately, that’s asking a lot, because Lan Zhan is respectful to their teachers, but he has very little patience for Wei Ying, especially after hours and hours of draining practice.

“Why can’t you take anything seriously?” Lan Zhan roars when Wei Ying trips him, which was both funny at the time and, in retrospect, a really stupid idea when they can’t afford any injuries. “Do you even want to be an idol?” It’s some ungodly hour of the morning on their third night practicing until almost dawn and even Lan Zhan is too exhausted to manage himself in front of the cameras. If he’s lucky, they’ll edit this out or frame it in some way that doesn’t make him look too bad, but Wei Ying’s more likely to get the villain edit if he’s not careful.

The thing is, Wei Ying does want very badly to be an idol, and he also wants Lan Zhan to like him, or at least to respect him. He wants to work side by side with Lan Zhan and put out good songs, good performances. He wants Lan Zhan to understand what not enough people understand: that he’s very serious about this, even if he shows it differently. He’s exhausted too, and it’s too hard to explain himself and too revealing even for the middle of the night to show how much he wants this.

“Hey, let’s all calm down…” says Nie Huaisang, fluttering nervously between them.

“I want to be an idol,” Wei Ying says flatly, looking Lan Zhan right in the eye. He can’t say anything more—how this is his last chance, how hard it was to get here without support, how all the criticism doesn’t roll off his back as easily as he pretends it does. He only looks at Lan Zhan, who for a long moment looks back at him, really looks at him for the first time and finally sees him. It’s a scary thing, being seen, and scarier still realizing how much he’s wanted Lan Zhan to see him.

None of their groupmates say a word, a heavy silence persisting until Lan Zhan finally looks away and Wei Ying can breathe again. “Let’s continue,” Lan Zhan says gruffly.

As they move into formation, he catches Wei Ying’s eye one more time and there’s understanding there, at last. He gives a curt nod, and just that acknowledgment surprises a broad smile out of Wei Ying. “Let’s do this!” he yells—and they do.

Beyond

Debuting is everything and nothing that Wei Ying dreamed of. It's live performances that make his blood hum, but never enough of them. It's appearing on shows and having people all across China laugh at his jokes but also worrying that people will misunderstand and judge him. It's fans screaming his name in excitement and anti-fans screaming his name in anger, with posts all over the internet praising him and just as many insulting him.

And it's Lan Zhan in his group, at his side through long days and stressful nights being reminded of every flaw, through the happy moments and the painful ones. It's Lan Zhan always with him but never his, and not likely to be his any time soon, not with so much riding on these two years of their limited idol group's activity. (He doubts, really, that Lan Zhan would ever want to be his, as much as they've fallen into a strange but comfortable sort of friendship. It’s asking too much of life to fulfill his idol dreams and have someone as perfect as Lan Zhan love him.)

Some nights, Wei Ying can't believe how lucky he is to be finally living his dreams, to get to sing and dance and go on all the TV shows he grew up watching, to be surrounded by his fellow idols who understand how much he loves performing in a way so few people ever did growing up. But some nights, he just wants to let it all go, to move to a foreign country or a farm in the countryside where no one has ever heard his name or thinks they know anything about him and no one will see it if he fails. Everything is so extreme now, the highs blissfully high and the abrupt falls to the lows jarring and frightening.

It's on one of those difficult nights that Lan Zhan finds him half-heartedly fiddling with his phone and sits down beside him. He doesn't say anything at first, but Wei Ying is so aware of his presence, of the too-small-and-yet-too-big distance between them. He's aware of how he was all smiles at their late dinner and yet Lan Zhan knows that he's upset, knows that Wei Ying isn't as impervious to self-doubt as he pretends to be.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says at last, low and calm and steady. It makes Wei Ying feel steadier too, just hearing his voice. Lan Zhan is amazing like that, and Wei Ying wants to tell him that, but he's afraid of what Lan Zhan would think, of how he'd feel if he knew that Wei Ying deeply appreciates his friendship but wants so much more.

"I thought it would be easy," he says instead, though that's scary too. "I thought that once we debuted, I'd have to work hard, but I'd know what to do. But maybe it's never easy. Even if you're successful, you can always fall."

The silence stretches out long enough for Wei Ying to regret his words, to regret letting Lan Zhan see the depth of his fears, but then Lan Zhan says, "I'll catch you." His voice is still steady, but when he turns to Wei Ying, there's a fear in his eyes that's different but also similar, a fear that he's exposed too much.

"Lan Zhan." Wei Ying can't believe what he's hearing, or at least that it means what he thinks it does. But Lan Zhan's eyes hold his and he knows, because it's never taken many words for them to understand each other.

Wei Ying doesn't know who moves first, only that soon they're kissing, as soft and steady and full of promise as Lan Zhan's words. Then they break apart and he can't stop smiling; his fears haven’t disappeared, but they feel so much more manageable, more conquerable than they did before. Lan Zhan is smiling too, small but sure. "I thought..." Wei Ying starts, but none of that matters anymore. Instead, he says, "We'll get through this together. All of this, however long our careers last."

"And beyond," Lan Zhan says firmly.

Wei Ying's heart stutters and squeezes and he wonders how he could have misjudged Lan Zhan almost as badly as Lan Zhan misjudged him when they were training. "Yes," he agrees. "And beyond."

[irelandseyeonmythology]

Now, you might be saying to yourself "Surely, the bitch has learned the vital lesson from the Sentient Four Treasures book and has given up."

...unfortunately, all I learned is that I need to read more Irish mythology-inspired books, but I decided to take a break from romance and delve into the world of the occult, with the help of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

So, while I was searching for an old ff.net story where Bres is trying to bring back Balor and...I think he tries to sacrifice Buffy at some point (?) and definitely had a thing for the Lady of the Lake before he killed her, I came across THIS. An actual, licensed novel. Set in the world of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, shortly after Buffy's return from the dead.

And this novel has everything.

Implied Spuffy Bondage.

An evil leprechaun trying to fuck Willow.

Badly written out Cockney accents.

Bad written out Irish accents.

Human sacrifices.

Tuatha Dé VS Fomoire drama.

Jack the Ripper trying to bring back Balor.

Pseudo-AU-Bres BEING Jack the Ripper. (He's not called Bres, he's called the very Irish name of Thak...but he's totally Bres. If Bres was ugly and had mommy issues on top of his daddy issues.)

It's like someone read my mind close to twenty years ago and created a novel specifically geared to two of my niche interests (it's a relatively little known fact that I've been quietly doing research on the Whitechapel Murders since I was twelve -- never in large doses because it gets to be a little overwhelming.)

And...here's the thing....the writing style is GOOD. Or, at least, not as bad as what I'm used to. It's not, say, Toni Morrison, but it does its job. Everything flows together nicely, there's some genuine bits of haunting imagery in there, the characters are well-done. I found myself really feeling for the Slayer Elizabeth in the Victorian arc, even though we got to know her briefly. There are times when things are either not explained or under-explained, but I can still tell that this is a professional, polished work. It has almost NOTHING to do with the actual myths, but that's partially why I can forgive it a lot. Nemain is Balor's consort (poor Cethlenn), but....that's a normal amount of batshittery. It can't top "Tailtiu is a dragon" for me, I'm sorry.

The names are. Hm.

-Besides Thak, we have the Tuatha Dé king, Banshee. (It would have been. So easy. To NOT do this. Even in the early 2000s.)

- Flinn the leprechaun.

-MacNair. As a given name, not as a surname.

- The Season of Osiris being the scary time when the sacrifices must be made for Balor to re-enter the mortal world. (Yes. Osiris.) It would have been. So easy. To just do what every other dime store novelist does and use Samhain, but I have to appreciate the innovation.

-The following ancient Irish spell (Little known fact: All Celticists are required to take an extended study in Ancient Irish Curses. Not medieval. Ancient):

As you can see, it looks suspiciously Lovecraftian.

-Have I mentioned the accents?

...this.

I realized, when I nearly did a fist pump when King Banshee™ lost his hand, that working on CMT for as long as I have has kind of. Ruined me.

Oh my God....it's Bres the Ripper....and he has....VANTABLACK. (He is ultimately defeated by Anish Kapoor wielding a steel chair.)

The story is a little grimdark for my tastes -- Personally I enjoyed the psychological horror aspect of the Ripper's fog causing everyone to become terrified and paranoid more than the loving descriptions of disemboweled bodies, which were...a little distasteful, all things considered, and over the top given everything else. It felt like the author wanted to scale everything up so that it was MORE, MORE, MORE (the Ripper needs 12 victims, even though historically he "only" killed five, maybe six women.) I've actually never watched Buffy, so I don't know how dark it actually got, but this sometimes struck me as a little more slashery/15 year old on FF.net-esque with the gore than a 1990s TV show. King Banshee™ has a throne of human skin and bones and like...I'm not saying that the Tuatha Dé wouldn't for MORAL reasons (Never forget Midir demanding a sacrifice of puppies and kittens in Tochmarc Étaíne like WHAT THE FUCK MIDIR) but because..............it doesn't really suit their interior design. Like, that would clash with the whole "glorious halls fit for a king" vibe they have going. It strikes me as being extra just for the sake of being extra, to establish that ACTUALLY these guys are creepy, when there are subtler ways you could do that.

I feel like the thing that it actually does RIGHT when it comes to medieval literature, and that I'm fairly certain it did accidentally, is in the way that the Tuatha Dé are treated, where they're beautiful, described as being like Legolas from LOTR, but distinctly Off, and still harboring a deep hatred for humans. This is pretty much exactly what you generally see in medieval sources, with the Tuatha Dé being none too happy about losing Ireland to the sons of Míl. The druidical sacrifices are mentioned, early on, as being a way to placate the Tuatha Dé, which again...seems like a relatively decent explanation, given that one of the few examples of human sacrifice actually described in a medieval or early modern Irish text, Echtra Airt meic Cuinn, does feature a human sacrifice in response to a blight in the land. (That is to say, sacrifices were not necessarily for a positive result, but for undoing a negative, if that makes any sense, via placation. Though we do have some examples given by the Romans of seeking a positive result, such as curing an illness via human sacrifice in the hope of one life being restored via the sacrifice of another.) I feel like ultimately, the thing that this does REFRESHINGLY, and the thing that redeems it, is that the Tuatha Dé are very much presented as just as much a threat as the Fomoire.

I also thought that them living beneath a cemetery which, again, might have been accidental, is actually a really nice equivalent to the síde. Again, possibly (probably?) accidental, but it was enough to make me happy.

[yeojaa]

stages: comedown (with me).

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  pg-13.  tags.  alluded/referenced drug use (please be responsible).  wc.  1.6k.  author note.  i got the idea for this in the shower so it’s disjointed/weird.  this will likely be a three part thing.  soundtrack.  songs to comedown to:  hold me close (climax).

Perhaps he’d taken too much.  (No, not perhaps.  Definitely.)  He can feel it in his bones, threading through his limbs as a tidal wave that pulls him under and sweeps him from shore.  Leaves him unmoored under the flashing lights (strobes, not stars).  Has him floating somewhere high above his own body, weightless.  Makes everything move in slow motion.

“Don’t run!”  

It’s a voice from his right - he thinks? Maybe? - and it’s so pretty.  An angel, surely.

“I’m not,”  he says.  Or imagines he says, anyway.  The words don’t fit the way they should, brought together like mismatched puzzle pieces and catching on his mouth on the way out.  They cut over his gums and teeth, stick uncomfortably behind his molars.  Too heavy and too light all at once.

“You are, baby boy.”  

It’s you.  A friend of his friends.  The girl with the kind eyes and creeping laugh and glitter all over your cheeks.  You’re radiant - ethereal, iridescent, awe-inspiring.  There are a dozen stars caught in your hair, shining back at him beneath the dim street lights.  He wants to reach out - almost does, can feel the desire edging up his joints and unfurling his fingers - but stops short when you speak again.  It’s the nicest sound he’s ever heard.

“Are you feeling okay?”  You’re staring into his eyes just as hard as he is yours.  Except you’re a fair sight better, studying him curiously, with concern laced over your tongue in criss-cross patterns.  He’s vibrating - inside, outside, everywhere.  It’s hard for him to focus on you when there’s so much happening, when he feels like his heart’s beating a mile a minute.  (Was that a lot?  Even he doesn’t know right now.)

“I’m f-fine,”  he stutters out, not because he’s nervous but because otherwise his jaw won’t move.  It’s seizing even as he works to loosen it.  That’s scary.  

All at once, it’s all he can think about.  The grind of his teeth, the ridge of muscle, the tension laid beneath skin.  Then comes his breath.  It’s so loud, echoing against his eardrums.  (Was that normal?  It doesn’t feel like it.)  In, out.  In, out.  Has he always sounded like this?  Have his inhales suddenly turned to gasps?  Is he—

“Hey.  Hey.”  There’s a hand on his cheek now.  Your hand.  So soft, a small palm with delicate fingers.  You’ve got glow in the dark nail polish on and a million little jewels scattered over top.  Jungkook nearly goes cross-eyed trying to follow the path your hand weaves.  (At one point, he loses it.  Where’d it go—)  “Relax.”  

Your voice is so soothing.  Rain on a windowpane.  Warm sheets at midnight.  A summer breeze.

“I-I’m trying.”  He hiccups once, twice, tries to focus on the shimmer of your eyeshadow, all the stars caught within the dark of your stare.  You’ve caught him in your magnetic pull, hung him into your orbit with just one look.  He can’t tear his eyes away;  yours offer a fireworks show against the night sky, so pretty it skips his heart. 

“Breathe,”  you instruct, take his fingers between yours.  He wants to look down - does, for the briefest moment.  Then he stares longer, entranced by your nails and the silver around your wrists, how your hands look twined with his.  

You haven’t got a single tattoo.  Not that he can see, anyway.  His stand in stark contrast, wobble across his skin as you squeeze and release, squeeze and release.

It feels nice.  Helps with the tension that branches into every vertebrae and makes his jaw hurt.

“Just hold my hand, okay?”  As if to remind him, you gently knock your knuckles against his once more.  It’s so nice he returns the gesture, watches as his skin blows white beneath the tension.  You don’t even flinch, simply pull him along after your group.

Oh, he needs to walk now.  Right.  

(It’s hard when all he wants to do is look at you.  Hold you.  Listen to your voice.)

(Your voice.  It’s too quiet without it.  Too—)

“Is this your first time?”  It’s not a whisper but it feels just as far, filters into his ears seconds after he’s seen your mouth move.  That’s normal, he thinks.  No.  Wait.  It’s not.  It’s not norm—  “I’m guessing yes.”

Should he be embarrassed?  Ashamed?  Worried?  All the emotions blend together, bleed over his features and he thinks he’s biting into his lip.  It’s not how it normally feels, though.  He does it again, over and over and over.

Only stops when you’re speaking again, reminding him.  “Relax, baby.”

Jungkook repeats the word in his head.  Then out loud, because everything in his skull is going a little too slowly, sounds dragged out and strange.  As if he’s underwater.  (But he’s not.  He’s okay.  He’s here, with you.)  “Relax.  I’m relaxing.”  The more he says it, the less it seems true.  

By the time he’s said it six times - or maybe more, because he really doesn’t know - you’re squeezing his hand again.  Guiding him beneath glaringly bright lights, stroking the fingers of your other hand over the pulse of his wrist.  Where has everyone else gone?  They’d been right in front of you.  

Oh— they’re there!  Five, ten, fifteen feet away.  Filing into the elevator like sardines in a can.

Run, his brain tells him.  Insists.  But you’d told him to slow down.  Don’t run! had slipped past your lips.  He has to listen. 

“We’ll take the next one.”  You’re talking to him.  Obviously.  There’s no one else in the lobby.  Just the two of you, waiting for the lift.  It’s taking so long.  Why’s it taking so long?  He’s inhaled at least five times.  Ten times?  Was that too many?  Was he breathing too fast again?

“Relax,”  he says to himself.

“Relax,”  you follow, soothing the nerves that tickle his skin.  You’re still holding his hand, leaning so close.  He’s warm - burning up, he thinks, radiating heat through his clothes - but he wants to be closer.  Craves touch.  Craves your touch.

You hum when he falls against you, settles right into the open frame of your body.  You don’t even complain when you have to manoeuvre his jellied limbs to hit the right floor number, simply returning your arms around his waist when he whines a noise and hugs you tighter.  He’s certain he’s a little gross - can feel it along his nape, over his chest, down the cut of his spine - sweaty and sticky.

“Come on, baby boy.”  You mean him.  He likes that.  Loves it, in fact.  Wants to hear it again and noses into your shoulder, knees bent and back curved.  He’s folded up against you, packed so tightly as if he might disappear between your bones.  

“Tired,”  he returns.  He is.  He isn’t.  His mind is abuzz, adrift, alight.  

But he wants to rest - lay down and not move for as long as he can.  Would you stay with him?

He asks you, because he needs to know - needs you.  “Stay?”  It’s hardly a question, barely able to beg an answer as he means to.  

You’re leading him down a hallway, past doors with numbers he can’t read.  His feet are dragging - he stumbles too many times - and he’s still draped over you, a weight against your side where your hands interlace.  “Of course.”  He doesn’t think you mean it as a promise but he takes it as such.  Can’t help it.  Doesn’t want to, in any case.

(Jungkook’s a sucker for pretty girls and you’re beautiful.)  

It’s impossible for him to look away, even as you pull him over the threshold and out of your little bubble.

“Kook, you good?”  A deep voice, liquor-laden.  Taehyung.  

Then a laugh.  Windshield wipers.  Two sets.  Jin and his girlfriend.

“____’s got him.”  

That’s your name.  He remembers now.  Repeats it until it’s the only thing he hears.  It looks nice written, penned in cursive against his eyelids.  

“I’m gonna take him to lie down.”  It’s your voice again.  He could pick it out in a sea of thousands (or more realistically a sea of fourteen).  He’s moving again, dragging his socked feet as he goes.  You’re still there.  He recognises the heat of your body and how good you smell, honeysuckle and lavender concentrated the closer he gets.

(He’s so close.  Pressed against your back, tangled in your hair.  He doesn’t think you mind.  You’re so soft.  So good to him.)

“Tired.”  

“I know, baby.  Just lay down.”

Lay down?  Where?  

Oh!  It’s a bed.  Beneath his knees, then under his cheek.  The blankets feel like a cloud but he’s hot.  Too hot again.  Breathing too hard.  His face is smothered.  He can’t—

“Hey.”  You’re there.  Always there.  He’s on his back, delirious, gaze unfocused.  The light above your head acts as a halo.  You’re an angel.  His angel, he thinks.  Must be.  “One breath in.”  Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart.  You must be able to feel how it stutters, trips over its own feet any time he looks at you.  (Not that he’s looked away.)  He does as told.  Takes a deep breath in to make you happy.  “And one breath out.”  It whistles past his teeth.  

There’s something else on his face.  You again.  You’re pushing his hair back, scraping those magical nails over his scalp and making him purr.  

“Just rest, okay?  You’re safe.”

His lips are being touched.  Are you kissing him?  

His eyes snap open but he can’t see.  Not well, anyway.  It’s too dark, your hair a curtain around him.  (It isn’t your lips on his, he realises.  Deflates with the knowledge.)  It’s the tips of your fingers brushing over his mouth, across his chin, up his jaw.  

“Relax,”  you tell him yet again.  “No biting.  No clenching.  Focus on me.”

It’s an easy ask - the simplest task in the world.  

“Okay.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​ @snackhobi​​​ @codeinebelle​

[cozy-neko]

The Cherry On Top • 01 • 02 | The Cherry On Top • 03

“Kozume, are you even listening to me?” Akaashi sighs and closes his laptop. He was only halfway through his scheduled agenda for today’s meeting, but there was no point in continuing if his client was just going to ignore him for the whole hour.

“I am, I am,” Kenma mumbled, eyes fixated on something that was hidden under the table.

“What did I just talk about for the last ten minutes then?” Akaashi challenged.

“We’re changing my video uploads from Tuesdays to Fridays, and Black Sheep wants to do a sponsorship with me in my next stream,” Kenma replies without skipping a beat. His feline eyes are still glued to his phone, unblinking, as his fingers tapped away at one of his games.

Akaashi sighed once more. “And you’re fine with the upcoming changes and sponsorship then?”

Kenma nodded. “Akaashi. I trust you to make the best decisions for me.” He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head to look his friend in the eye. “I didn’t hire you as my manager for no reason.”

“If I knew working with you was going to be this difficult, I would’ve stuck with my previous job.” Akaashi flashed the male a wry smile.

“Hey, if you want to hand in your resignation letter right now and go back to your previous life of disgusting convenience store food and cigarettes for lunch, by all means.” Kenma smirked and extended a hand out, palm up as if waiting for an actual resignation letter to manifest from Akaashi.

Akaashi cleared his throat and reopened his laptop. “Moving on...”

“TOORU!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as soon as she spotted the fashion editor from across the courtyard. Lunchers nearby stared at the loud girl before turning their heads to look at the unfortunate boy on the receiving end of the shout.

Oikawa contemplated ignoring his friend and instead considered turning around to head back inside TK Mag’s office building. He would rather eat with his annoying suck-up intern than his embarrassing friend. Unfortunately for him, said friend yelled his name once more and beckoned for him to come over.

Oikawa’s eye twitched and he reluctantly trudged across the courtyard and towards Y/N.

“Don’t be so embarrassing, Y/N-chan,” Oikawa grumbled as he took a seat across from her.

“Oh please, as if that airplane tie you’re wearing isn’t embarrassing,” Y/N shot back, eyes flickering up once at the cartoon-printed tie before back down at her laptop screen.

“They’re UFOs, for your information,” Oikawa mumbled through gritted teeth, “and besides, Ayame-chan said it was cute, so your opinion is invalid and unnecessary.”

“Enough about your tie. I’m about to literally combust from nerves.” 

“What is it this time?” Oikawa rolled his eyes and lazily sipped his latte. 

“I’m about to schedule my first blog post for tomorrow.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Who’s the unlucky victim?” Oikawa scooted closer to Y/N, their elbows touching as he leaned in to read off her screen.

“You know, for someone who looks like she’s about to shit her pants from nerves, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Cherry’s online persona,” Oikawa hummed and nonchalantly commented. 

Y/N smacked his shoulder once in response. 

“That’s the whole point, Oinkawa. No one’s supposed to know that Cherry is me, and that I am Cherry.” Y/N sighed and brought the tip of her thumb to her mouth. She nibbled on her fingernail nervously as she clicked on the draft of her blog post. “Well? Can you tell who it is?”

“I would say Miya Atsumu, the MSBY setter, but I wouldn’t exactly call him beautiful, Y/N-chan.”

“It’s not Miya Atsumu and you take that back! He is beautiful, but that’s besides the point; it’s Kozume Kenma, the professional gaming streamer and content creator.”

“Well that’s subjective,” Oikawa sneered. Iwaizumi once had the opportunity to interview Miya Atsumu for an editorial, and Oikawa had tagged along much to Iwaizumi’s headache. Having played as a setter as well during his time in high school, Oikawa had some differences with Atsumu’s playing style, and the two did not get along too well that day.

“How’d you even get this dirt on Kozume Kenma anyways?” Oikawa made a face and smacked Y/N’s hand away from her mouth. “That’s disgusting, Y/N-chan, and you’re getting nail polish in your teeth.”

“I stalked his fan accounts on Twitter. It’s amazing what you can find with a little digging, to be honest.” Y/N scanned her draft. “And a little scary,” she added as an afterthought.

“Ugh, kami, I can’t do this, Tooru!” Y/N whined and shut her laptop, taking her head into her hands. “This is the most disgusting line of work I’ve ever imagined myself having to do.”

“You know no one is forcing you to take this promotion, right?” Oikawa leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is Y/N and TK Mag we’re talking about here.” Oikawa and Y/N turned around at the new voice. “If you were over $100k in student debt and a well-known and well-paying company offered you a promotion, wouldn’t you take it?” Iwaizumi and Hanamaki walked up to the duo and took a seat at their table.

“You’re literally talking about the girl who’s dream is to become a princess and find a rich prince charming to take care of her,” Hanamaki added.

“Hey!” Y/N interjected, but was ignored. 

“But she also didn’t graduate as a journalist with an emphasis in fashion from UTokyo to become a gossip blogger,” Oikawa pointed out.

“Okay can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Y/N pouted. “And you all have valid points.” 

She sighed. This was a tough decision. Y/N does have a lot of student debt to pay off, and the pay raise that came with the promotion was definitely enticing and worth drooling over. On the other hand, Oikawa was right in which Y/N didn’t graduate with over $100k in debt with a journalism degree to become a gossip blogger. But one thing that Y/N also had to think about was that this promotion would’ve been her opportunity to become a full-time employee at TK Mag, her dream company. And then there was Hanamaki, who was there just to out her (slightly) embarrassing and (very much so) unrealistic dream.

“Why’d you even take the promotion anyways? You could’ve just stayed an intern and wait for staff writer positions to open up.”

Y/N knocked twice before entering the Editor in Chief’s private office. “Good afternoon, Chief! You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes, Y/N, come in. Please, take a seat while I finish up this email.”

Y/N grinned and skipped over to the loveseat that occupied the middle of the office. She crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse. Y/N was buzzing, and it wasn’t just because of the three cups of coffee she had stomached throughout the day.

“Judging by how you can’t sit still, I’m assuming you know why I called you in here.” 

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today,” Y/N responded sheepishly. “But I hope you’re gonna tell me what I think it is you’re gonna tell me.” 

It was hard for Y/N to keep the smile on her face from growing as she watched her Chief pull out a folder and place it down on the coffee table in front of her. The smile on Y/N’s face grew bigger as the Chief pulled out a piece of paper and slid it towards her. It was exactly what Y/N was expecting: a contract for a full-time position at the company.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed these past few months you’ve been at TK Mag as an intern, and we’d like to extend our offer to you as a full-time employee.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I accept!” Y/N squealed and eagerly looked through her tote bag for a pen. “I don’t even care what staff writer position it’s for -- although my first choice would be for the fashion department since I did go to school for fashion journalism -- but I’m so excited!!” Y/N was already picturing herself attending fashion shows with Oikawa.

“Y/N, wait. Before you sign, I just want you to know that the full-time position isn’t to become a staff writer for the fashion department.”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped riffling through her bag. “...What is it for then?” 

“TK Mag is going to try something new. We’re going to branch out to a sister site and run a gossip blog called The Cherry on Top. I want you to take on the alias as Cherry and run the blog.”

“Gossip... blog...? The Cherry on Top? Me?” Y/N could hardly comprehend what the Chief was saying.

“Will you accept? I know it’s a brand new position and something we’ve never done before at TK Mag, but we have high hopes and I know you’ll do well as one of my best employees.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’m a fashion writer. I write about fashion week and the latest trends in the fashion industry. I don’t write gossip nor do I want to slander anyone. It’s not my cup of tea.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the Chief wanted her to do such dirty work.

“I had a feeling this might be the case.” The Chief sighed, and all signs of pleasantries disappeared. “Listen, Y/N, if you don’t want this promotion, I’ll give it to the next intern in line. But just know that if you don’t take this position, you’re going to have to clear out your desk by end of day and find a new company to work for.”

Y/N was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her career was getting threatened. Her grip on her pen tightened as she stared at the document in front of her. The words Full-time Employee Contract for: Cherry, The Cherry on Top seemed to glare at her. 

“There will also be a hefty raise included in your promotion,” the Chief added after witnessing Y/N’s hesitation. “You did just graduate from UTokyo, did you not? Surely you don’t want to be riddled with student debt.”

Y/N was torn. What was she going to do? TK Mag was her dream company, and if she refused the promotion and got let go, she would drown in debt. Surely being a gossip blogger wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Y/N swallowed her pride and uncapped her pen. With a quick flourish, she signed her signature on the contract and forlornly shook hands with a now-smiling Chief. 

I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision...

“You made the right decision, Y/N. Welcome to the team.”

Y/N gulped. She couldn’t tell her friends that her job security had been threatened if she didn’t take the promotion.

“Well maybe it was time for me to grow up. I don’t need a rich prince charming to take care of me. I’ll take care of myself with my new pay raise.” Y/N grimaced on the inside. She hoped that was convincing, but judging by the silent stares she received from her three male friends, even she knew they weren’t too believing of her.

“Anyways, Cherry promised her 500 followers the first post will be up tomorrow, and she isn’t one to break promises, so... let’s queue this baby up.” With a swift click of her trackpad, Y/N’s first gossip post as Cherry was scheduled.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki shared a look.

Kenma was unfazed. He really was. Even when his Twitter notifications blew up with mentions, he simply ignored them. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to them in the first place anyways. And when he was in the middle of streaming and his Twitch chat started spamming the link to the blog post, he simply told his mods to delete comments that had anything to do with it.

Kenma was unfazed. Simply because it just wasn’t true. And even though the readers didn’t know if it was true or not and the article was currently trending in the Esports vertical and being repurposed for other articles, Kenma knew it wasn’t true and therefore did not care.

Except Akaashi was getting on his nerves as his manager continued to try to bring it up in conversations. 

“Kozume, you have to say something.”

“Why?” Kenma sighed. He really didn’t see the need to say anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kenma had been the subject of a rumor. It was all going to die down soon anyways.

“It’s been three days already and people are still commenting on it. Your fans are upset, and I think you owe it to them to explain your side.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Akaashi. If fans are that upset about a rumor of me boosting League accounts as a side business, they probably should get a job and hop off Twitter once in a while,” Kenma mumbled and continued to click away on his game controller.

“Well it’s not just your fans that are upset, Kozume. Your sponsorship with Black Sheep is also on rocks right now because of the rumor.” 

At that, Kenma’s fingers slowed, and he watched his character get headshot by the enemy on the TV.

“You’re telling me that they believe some stupid rumor that was probably written by a jealous 13-year-old?” Kenma scowled, and Akaashi finally felt his friend getting serious about the situation. It wasn’t often that Kenma showed his emotions other than his usual aloof self, but when his projects started to get affected, Kenma took things really serious.

“It’s not that they believe it, but they haven’t been as responsive to my emails as they usually are ever since the post was published. It seems they might be taking your silence as the truth.”

Kenma sighed and tossed his controller to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to game anymore. Instead, he stood up and trekked down the hallway towards his game room. Looks like he had a fire to diffuse if he wanted to keep his sponsorship alive.

end notes:

→ student debt and job security is no joke 😢

→ mattsun did not join y/n, oikawa, iwa-chan, and hanamaki during lunch because he was away on a photoshoot assignment

→ kenma did boost league accounts back when he was still in college and barely starting out as a streamer... except the accounts he boosted was kuroo’s and hinata’s because they wouldn’t stop begging him to until he did

TAG LIST:

if you’re interested in being notified when a new chapter gets published, please interact with the series overview post to be added to my tag list for this series!

also, please make sure your tag notification settings are turned on, or else I won’t be able to tag you!!

@howcanyoubreathewithnozaire @stupid-mimi @hiraeth-z @elianetsantana @onwnonly @purplelimess @random-stufff1 @winterstudent @akabiscuit @arttzume @ianieworld @sunnout @meemsx @dushsies @umiilikesmilk @lcmecobain @tsukkiyuuji @basilton485 @0grenntea0 @kiss-my-cheek @hugscore @thatfunnysprout @soynomnom @ittsvias @multi-fandom-fanfic​ @ms1015​ @restinpeace-minusone​ @lailaaparkerr @icantsleepcauseoffandoms​ @minhocatboy @its-the-aerieljeane​ @tiltedmint​ @thoughtfullydelightfulgiver @vivalasvegasbaby​ @miyayane​ @kiiayashi​ @china-yana​ @normalisthenewnorm​ @mer-majesty @kac-chowsballs​ @kodzuken-blog​ @dksfl920​ @zaras-warudo @infantwomanjen​ @tabipleats​ @lowqualityline @blondealpaca @kenmas1mp​ @rae-k-018 @gushinim @sunarinsbb​ @dksfl920​ @realityisabitch-blr​ @solarpanellol @nerdynstoned​ @keikluvv​ @kozutenshi​ @bakasbitch18 @manypreferences @divarooni812​ 

[omiscurls]

and behind us, a white sail

So! the link to this song is — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9un0ZU8HZO8

Let me explain first, though. It's a very old polish song that inspired me to write this fic (and thank my polish heritage, that as well)

Another note: I know Ushi played in Schweiden Adlers before he transfered to Orzeł Warszawa, but I changed that around for the polish team to come in first and Adlers second, so the timeline of this fic wouldn't get too long. Sorry!

the songs used later on in this are — "Stacja Warszawa" and "A wszystko to, bo ciebie kocham" I don't recommend the second one, but the first is really beautiful!

the ship for today is ushiten (ushijima wakatoshi x tendou satori) and it's going to be a little angsty this time.

word count: 14 519

summary quote: "hearing you say dumb shit like that really makes me hope you'll be looking at the same moon as me every evening"

and let's go!

**

Ever since he was little, Ushijima Wakatoshi had a bright future just waiting for him to explore it and become great. Since that moment his dad tossed a volleyball at him for the first time, his path was already going up a hill, up to greatness.

But, like they say, with every blessing there comes a curse. Due to his parents' early divorce, and his father, and only friend, moving overseas, he became very closed off and silent, keeping all his emotions to himself, often explaining that "Mother doesn't like him crying", or "Mother would be angry if he were to jump around in excitement". He often came across as intimidating and scary to his peers, causing him to never have an actual friend to talk to, besides his volleyball, and a father who seemed to be forgetting about him more and more every passing month.

He moved to the US, found another wife, had another son. Had a life without Wakatoshi, who felt left behind and alone, but what could he do, other than become the best he could and remind him that he still existed, or more importantly, still lived.

So he took his father's advice to heart, and searched the best teams he could, to measure up to the best players around, and beat them all, crush them, end them, until there was only him on the podium, weighing the golden medal down in his hand.

His early life was succesful, and all, but most of all, it was lonely. The stage of life where the child should be playing around with his friends and laugh, cry, scream, and be overall dumb, he spent with an emotionless expression.

Looking back, maybe that was what caused all of this...

Of course it wasn't easy for a little kid like him to hold it all in, even though he was naturally a reserved and composed person. Countless times had he came to his mother, tears rolling down his face, but she'd just say "Get over it, Ushijima Wakatoshi", and he'd leave, go to his room, throw himself at the materace and scream into the pillow, until he ran out of breath. Or go to the garden and spike the ball so hard his hand was all bruised the next morning. The more red it was, the less his heart weighed inside his chest.

And so, he'd stop crying to his mother. He got over it. He never understood most of the emotions he was experiencing, but whenever he was feeling funny, that means, other than normally, doesn't matter if it was in a good or bad way, he'd just go and spike, until it was time to go to bed, until his hand was all red and swollen again.

That was of course, until he got a letter, offering him a scholarship for Shiratorizawa Academy Junior High School, a place where he was planning on going anyway, but still, the letter brought up a newfound confidence within him.

He thought he was just going there to become a better player, nothing more, but all of that disappeared on the first day on the new school year. All the first years were standing in a row, listening to the teacher, when suddenly, he felt someone poking him with his elbow. He turned away, suprised, only to see a redheaded boy, with big, huge, he'd even say, eyes, looking at him with a wide grin across his lips.

"I saw you talking to Washijou-sensei before, are you on a volleyball scholarship as well?" he asked.

"Yes." Ushijima replied quietly, looking nervously at the teacher, scared of being caught while talking.

"Cool! You seem really cool, everyone else around seemed boring" the boy laughed loudly, causing Ushijima to look at him, frightened, his eyes wide open. "Oh my, relax, Mr Mature, he's not paying attention to what he's saying, either. Look. Teach! Can I go home?" he added so loudly, even raising his hand, that Ushijma felt the need to catch that hand and put his other one over his lips, so he'd stop talking. But to his suprise, the teacher truly didn't care. "See, Mr Mature?"

"My name is not Mr Mature" he complained, crossing his eyes at his chest.

"What is it then? My name's Tendou Satori, I'm your new friend! I'm assuming you don't have so many of them, do you now, Mr Mature?"

"I'm Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori. No, I do not need any friends, I spend most of my time practicing, anyway."

"You do? Oh my, your life must be so sad! It's settled then, you need a friend, 'Toshi. And never call me Tendou Satori again, that's how my father does it, and I hate it."

"Noted, Tendou" Ushijima nodded, feeling something drilling through his stomach, as if he ate something bad. He wanted to smile, but didn't know why, and that scared him. Maybe it was the nickname? Wasn't it weird for that boy to shorten his first name like that two minutes after meeting him? Maybe it was. Okay, the unusual feeling must've been shame then. He immediately looked away, focusing back at what the teacher was saying.

Truth be told, Tendou was scared to say all of that. It was in fact him who had no friends and needed one, and he didn't even know why, but one look into the other thirteen-year-old's eyes was more than enough for him to feel safe, and secure, at the same time causing him to feel kind of nervous, as if...

...someone was drilling through his stomach.

And since them, him, and the first year setter, Semi Eita, would be the only people Ushijima would ever talk to. He felt some weird sort of pride whenever he'd notice Tendou looking at his spike with dreamy eyes, or telling him straight up he admired him. He never knew how to react, so he'd just ignore him, but deep down, it made him feel like on that first day again.

Something drilled through his stomach.

He'd even share a room with Tendou in the dormitory. At first it was weird, at least that's what Tendou said, because they'd never talk, due to Ushijima's tight sleeping schedule, but that stage was over after their very first practice match.

The opponent was Kiitagawa Daichi Junior High School, and their setter was a first year as well.

Ushijima was lying on his bottom bunk, eyes staring blankly into Tendou's materace above him.

"Toshi, are you obsessed with the guy, or something?" the redhead sighed, turning off the light.

"With who, Oikawa-san?"

"Yeah, unless I missed someone else who you were talking about all evening?"

"I'm not obsessed. I just don't understand how someone so talented joined such a weak school." Ushijima explained. Tendou knew it was geniuine. One of the few things he learned about his friend was that he truly didn't understand some mechanisms of poeple's psyche, not even mentioning the whole concept of friendship. And it was damn, bland obvious that Oikawa-san went there for his friend, the wing spiker.

"Seijoh isn't a weak school, Toshi"

"But Shiratorizawa is better. He should've come to Shiratorizawa."

Now, Tendou didn't know why, but that sort of hurted him. He had Semi at Shiratorizawa, Semi wasn't nearly as good as Oikawa, but he was theirs. He had HIM here, his never failing blocker, why would he want anything else?

He suddenly wished he was a setter, so he could be the one thing Wakatoshi needed.

"Maybe, maybe not. It's his life, not yours, Toshi"

And that was the first one of the countless times Ushijima Wakatoshi had broken Tendou Satori's fragile heart.

Nevertheless, he dangled his arm from the top bunk, so Wakatoshi would notice it.

"What're you doing?"

"Inviting you over"

"We live in the same room"

"Inviting you to my bunk" he explained, realizing he forgot how clueless Ushijima can get. The other boy eventually climbed the ladder and sat beside him.

"It's already time to sleep, Tendou" he said, but was cut off by skinny, light hands embracing him. He was shaken, not knowing how to react. "W-what are you doing?"

"You seemed upset. If your friend is upset, you hug them" Tendou whispered, his cheek pressed against Wakatoshi's.

After that, the bigger boy was silent for a long while, not moving at all, so Tendou asked if he was okay.

"I've just— Nobody has hugged me in a very, very long time" he explained, noticing the weird feeling in his gut increased, making him almost nauseated.

Tendou pulled back suddenly.

"Really? That's really sad, Wakatoshi. Was it weird, though?" his big eyes were glossy, and the moon shining outside the window was reflecting in them. Ushijima noticed that his eyes were really pretty like that, the hazel colour contrasting with the grey moon he'd see in the glossy coat on them.

"Yes." he responded, and Tendou felt that gut feeling turn into something more painful, until the boy added "Could you do it again?"

"Of course" he smiled, sitting closer to Wakatoshi and wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. He pressed his face into the little dump between the boy's shoulder and neck, inhaling the slight scent of the washing liquid used to wash his pijamas.

"Should I?" he started to ask awkwardly, so Satori cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah you should" he mumbled into his skin, and soon after felt the strong arms wrap themseves around his thin waist.

Wakatoshi's heart started to race at once, him not knowing the reason. He felt complete, holding someone like that. Or did he feel complete holding TENDOU like that? That riddle was impossible for his brain to solve, so he let it slight, enjoying the funny warm feeling in his chest. Was this how having friends felt? Maybe it wasn't so bad.

They'd sit there like that, both not knowing whether it was weird, or comforting, or both, or neither, but they didn't pull back.

"We should really sleep" Tendou finally said, but got no response, so he slowly broke off the embrace, noticing how Ushijima's head started to fall without the support of his shoulders. "Oh, unless you're already sleeping" he laughed quietly "I guess you'd be all grumpy if I woke you up now. Nighty night then, Toshi" he whispered, putting the boy's body in his sheets, and climbing down to lay in his friend's bunk instead.

The weird drilling stopped, he thought. He only felt warmth flooding his heart right then.

It never happened again, though.

three years later

Even someone as dense as Wakatoshi Ushijima would get used to a person after living with them for three whole years. It was now the last days of Junior High, and him and Tendou already signed the papers to attend Shiratorizawa Academy's High School after summer break, leaving their signatures on the "continue living with your roommate" as well.

Wakatoshi was coming back to their said room after evening practice, tired as ever, his legs barely working.

"Ushijima-kun, are you and Tendou playing cards with us today?" he heard Semi at the other end of the hall.

"I'll ask him, but if he was too sick to go to practice, then I'm not sure if he'll be willing to do that, Semi" he explained, and went inside his room after noticing the other boy nod. "Tendou, Semi is asking—" he stopped when he heard sobs coming from the top bunk. "Tendou?"

Then the sobs stopped. Ushijima's drilling feeling came back stronger as ever, when he noticed Tendou's delicate face looking at him from above, his eyes red and puffy, and cheeks wet, but damn, he thought, why does he suddenly look so different?

He didn't know what it was, but it was as if he was reading an interesting novel and he didn't want to look away from it even for a second, not to miss any detail of the story. It was the same exact feeling.

"Wakatoshi" he stated, rolling back closer to the wall, so he wouldn't have to face his friend.

"Did something happen to you, Tendou?" Wakatoshi asked. He knew that Tendou wasn't really the person to cry very often, he always lifted up other people's spirits with his never ending happiness and weird sense of humour.

"No" the boy mumbled, but turned around when he felt movement on the ladder leading to his bed. "What're you doing?" he asked, freaked out.

"I'm coming over to see you" he stated "Because you're upset, and friends need a hug when they're upset"

"How do you know I'm upset?"

"Please, Satori, I might be clueless, as you often describe it, but I'm not dumb"

That made him laugh, and although Ushijima didn't know why, it somehow made him happy.

He then proceeded to hug his best friend, feeling his entire body shake, as he held his waist, and his shirt becoming more wet every passing second.

"Why are you crying?" he asked so straightforwardly and honestly, it almost pissed Tendou off.

"Well, Ushijima, seems like the only thing k-keeping me in this country is f-fading away" he mumbled, holding onto the material of Wakatoshi's sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you say something uncomfortable, but I don't seem to understand" he was feeling very uneasy admitting that, but the drilling feeling in his stomach wasn't going away, and he felt it in his gut that he had to do SOMETHING about Tendou's mood, because it was making him feel bad as well. He didn't know how, but these were the facts.

He laughed again.

"See, Toshi, you've met my little sister. She's tiny, she's cute, and she adores chocolate. Those are the three ways to describe her the best. She's the apple of my eye, and well, she has me wrapped around her finger, I'd do anything to make her happy."

A string of jealousy was tying itself around Ushijima's heart. He never had that, and he suddenly wished someone would talk about him like that, too. He'd never admit it, but he couldn't help that feeling.

"But the fourth way to describe her, well, she's also... terribly ill, Wakatoshi. For a year now she can't eat any candy, her beloved chocolate included, due to her condition, and I hate how depressed that makes her, but today, today my mom has informed me it got worse. I— no, I don't want to keep talking, I'm sorry" he said, pulling away from his friend, but he catched his arm before he could do that.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Satori. Altough, I don't think I know what to say."

I wish I were you, he thought, then I would know exactly how to cheer you up. And I hate seeing you like this.

"Is there anything we could do to help?"

Satori lifted his eyes, suddenly lighting up. Did he just use the word we?

"I wish" he responded, shaking his head "But they moved her to an intensive care hospital in Tokyo, without letting me talk to her first. Besides, she's sleeping constantly."

"That's actually rude of your parents"

"No, no it's not, she needed to be taken there right away, or else her life would be on the line. I might be a selfish person, Wakatoshi, but I'm not letting it affect my precious cinnamon roll in any way"

"Cinnamon roll?" he asked, visibly confused, making Tendou giggle again.

"It's how you call a person you love, who is too precious for this fucked up world that we're living in" he explained.

"Oh, okay" he nodded, then sitting silently for a while. "Tendou? How would you like it if we went out to grab chocolate ice-cream? You love them, as well, right?"

Satori's eyes lit up even more.

"How on earth did you remember that? Also, it's past bedtime, we can't do that" he complained.

"I pay attention to details. And wasn't that you who told me that rules have to be broken sometimes?" Wakatoshi grinned, almost making Tendou loose it.

"I might actually scream right now"

"No don't, it will give us away, are you stupid, Tendou?" Ushijima responded, completely serious.

Tendou bursted out laughing.

"I love how dumb you are, Toshi" he said, not even paying attention to his words.

I love watching you laugh, the other boy thought, but didn't say it.

His mother always told him to go away when he told her he loved her. He didn't want Tendou to go away as well.

They sneaked out that night, it was obviously only to go to the nearest convinience store, which was just outside the campus, but still, it made Ushijima super nervous, and Tendou, on the other hand, was amused.

They sat beside the store, their backs against the wall, eating chocolate ice cream, despite it being winter, and the temperature below zero, they were freezing in only their hoodies, but the magic of the moment somehow prevented them from going back to their room.

"What did you mean when you said she is the only thing that keeps you in this country?" Ushijima asked, out of the blue.

Tendou was too suprised to respond, at first.

"Well, I plan on leaving Japan some day, I'd like to study abroad, maybe in France, and do something romantic for a living, you know? Maybe I'll meet an actress and have a fling, maybe not, that doesn't concern me at all, but I'll have a little flat just in the right distance from the city centre in Paris, I'll be living upstairs from some kind of an alcoholic, or another addict, and I'll sit by my window every evening, watching the moon rise, shouting at the kids in love on the street to piss off and go home already" he laughed.

This made Ushijima really sad, and he didn't know why. Of course Tendou had plans, what was he assuming before he heard that? That he was some kind of a sidekick designed just for him, that was going to stay by his side forever?

Don't tell him you're sad, don't do it, he's going to be angry, just like mom, he's going to flip out, and curse at you, and leave you, and you'll be alone again.

Never once in the past three years had Ushijima wanted to spike a ball so bad, not even once. Talking to Tendou was becoming his new copying mechanism, but there he was, all alone with his emotions, impossible to understand. He decided to clench his fist as hard as he could, so he wouldn't burst out complaining about how he doesn't want Tendou to leave.

Little did he know, it was percisely what Satori needed to hear right then.

"How do you know you're going to be living upstairs from an alcoholic?" he only asked, making Tendou shake his head in disbelief.

"Oh, Ushi, hearing you say dumb shit like that really makes me hope you'll be looking at the same moon as me every evening" he whispered, just loudly enough for the boy to hear it. His heart rate went up, and somehow his sadness started to fade away.

Only then did he realize how hard he was pinching his nails into his skin, so he eventually let go, sighing with relief.

"I will" he added, just as silently, and stared into the starry sky.

Altough I wish we'd be looking at it together, they both thought.

**

Tendou was jumping in excitement, beside Ushijima, when the third years stood around them, ready to declare who the next captain was going to be.

"I'm going to break off the tradition by doing this" said the ruling captain, thus resigning from his position "But your next captain will be starting his second year, not third."

A gasp of suprise went through the crowd, but everybody anticipated it.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi. I hereby resign from my position, leaving the team in your hands. Lead them to Shiratorizawa's next big victory, please" he said, bowing slightly. Ushijima bowed as well.

"Thank you, captain. I'll do my best" he said bluntly, making the older boy sigh, kinda like he was regretting his decision already. A couple of moments have passed, and the graduates left, truly leaving Ushijima in charge.

"Alright, Ushijima-kun, here are the first years promoted to your first squad." Washijou-sensei pointed to group of nervous looking kids. He took a list from his pocket and started reading the surnames out loud.

"Oh my, Toshi, do you remember when he did that with us?" Satori whispered energically right beside his ear.

"Why wouldn't I?"

He noticed a boy staring at him from the Junior High practice. He had black haired, cut into an interesting hairstyle, and a jelous look in his eyes. He intrigued him, and Tendou noticed that, puting, because my oh my, how dared his Wakatoshi not pay attention to his side commentary.

"Shirabu Kenjiro" the coach said, and a shy looking boy stepped out of the crowd, bowing slightly at Ushijima.

"What position do you play in, Shirabu?" Wakatoshi asked, and Tendou knew he ment it to be gentle, but it came out so harsh, the kid looked even more scared.

"Setter" the boy responded. Both Tendou and Ushijima glanced over at Semi, who was obviously pouting.

"Poor Semi-Semi" the redhead laughed, but shutted up after he got poked with an elbow.

"Welcome to Shiratorizawa Academy Team then, Shirabu" the newly elected captain responded, and the blond boy nodded frantically, walking over to them.

"Kawanishi Taichi" Washijou continued.

"Middle blocker, captain" the boy managed to say before Wakatoshi. He was obviously suprised by that, and Tendou had the time of his life laughing at him. That was until the taller boy glanced over at him and said:

"Well, I guess Tendou-san will be happy to guide you through it, Kawanishi"

"How formal, Captain Ushijima" the redhead pouted, looking away from him, and then looking back upon hearing Ushi chuckle.

Was he... satisfied, about making him loose his words?

That little bastard really grew up since they'd first met.

"I look forward to working with you for the next two years. I know you're great at volleyball, if Sensei says so, then I guess the only thing I can say to you is, give it your best. That's what this school is all about"

"That's the least inspiring speach I've ever heard in my entire life" Tendou laughed, but Ushijima didn't seem to care.

Later that evening he informed him that his friend at Seijoh texted him that Oikawa was also elected captain.

"Great, I'd elect him, too" Ushijima only responded.

Tendou didn't need to know anything else to understand what was happening in his brain by then. You wish he'd be your setter instead of their captain, I know. You wish you had the people skills he has, and my comment about your speech will now keep you awake for half the night. Because, no matter what I do, you feel like you lack that in your life. And I'll never be able to get it for you. Nor the skill, nor Oikawa Tooru, nor could I be the setter you wish you'd have. All I can do is be your friend, I guess, but is that enough for me? What if I want to be more, Wakatoshi?

"Never change, you adorable little dumbass" he only whispered, still scrolling through his phone.

"Why would I?" Ushijima responded, much to Tendou's suprise. Was the whisper louder than anticipated?

He failed to answer that question, because when he glanced over at Ushijima, he was getting ready to go shower, and was right in the middle of taking of his shirt. His back muscles were all worked up, and Tendou came to a sudden realization, which caused him to cover his mouth with one hand and stare at the ceiling.

"So?"

I'm so attracted to you.

"Nothing, it just slipped"

**

"Oh my god, Shirabu, you're finding context where there's literally no context. They're just best friends! Ushijima is the embodiment of straight! He's as straight as a ruler!" Semi whispered to the younger setter, who was staring at him as if he wanted to kill him.

"Are you blind, Semi? No, truly, do you need glasses? I'm geniuenly asking, cause there might be something seriously wrong with your eyes if you can't even see something as OBVIOUS as this! Look at Tendou, just look! He looks at Ushijima-san like he's his entire world!" Shirabu pointed to the redhead older blocker, but Eita just shook his head, violently grasping the younger boy's hand and pulling it back down.

"You're obvious Shirabu, stop or Tendou will hear you. And speak respectfully about him, his your senpai" he added, scolding the setter. He enjoyed doing that, it made him feel a little bit more important, after having his authority undermined by Washijou-sensei promoting Shirabu to the first squad.

"Is any of you going to start tossing to the spikers, or did you come to practice to chat?" they heard a deep voice behind them, their eyes going wide as they turned around slowly to face their captain.

"Um—" Semi tried to explain himself, but Shirabu beat him to it, bowing to Wakatoshi.

"We're sorry captain, we're on it"

Ushijima looked at him with slight suprise, although, if Semi didn't know him for five years, he wouldn't have guessed it was suprise.

"I was just asking" he said, his voice as steady and still as normally, and Eita almost found it funny, how Shirabu couldn't seem to get the hang of understanding Ushijima's emotions.

The kid just ran towards the net, and Semi followed him, not wanting to loose to the little first year again. They started tossing to various spikers, and something ached inside of Semi's chest when he noticed Wakatoshi jumping to hit Shirabu's toss, then nodding to him, letting him know it was a good one. It had been some time then since the last practice Ushijima spiked one of his tosses.

"Alright, this is getting boring" The captain said, going over to his water bottle. "Let's have a match, three on three" he suggested, noticing the team already forming a row in front of him. "Shirabu, Semi, choose your teams"

The boys started to choose, with one condition, that Ushijima and Tendou cannot be on one team, since the other one wouldn't get a single point that way. Satori ended up being with Shirabu and Leon, and Ushijima with Semi and  Yunohama. It was all going really well, the match was pretty intense, considering there were to awesome spikers playing in each of the teams.

"One step ahead of you, Toshi!" Tendou laughed, falling to his knees after succesfully blocking Ushijima.

"Are you okay, though?" the boy asked, noticing how Satori was holding his delicate wrists, biting his lower lip.

"Every day when I get to block you is a day when I'm a thousand times more than okay" he only said, getting back up. Wakatoshi noticed that his friend was in a really great mood that day, smiling constantly, making fun of everyone around him, jumping in excitement every now and then. It was kind of cute.

"Damn, Tendou, besides seeming like one, you really are a monster at blocking, as well" Leon said, not really minding his words, walking over to drink some water. Tendou's eyes widened, looking at the boy with disgust, shock not letting him utter a word. He glanced over at Wakatoshi, who didn't seem to mind the comment. Everyone around was kind of concerned, but not really, reserved from the situation.

Tendou stopped counting which broken heart that was, but well, the number was increasing.

"Well then, Leon" he said bitterly "I guess you're lucky you're not the hero, because then you'd be facing me, instead of hiding behind my back all the time" his hands quivered, and a shiver ran down his spine, as he began walking out of the gym.

"Tendou?" Ushijima shouted after him, visibly confused, but Tendou didn't care enough to stop. What was he thinking, that he'd defend him? That clueless little brain child didn't even understand how much was wrong with that comment, using the nickname his opponents would give Tendou for years, as a form of, he didn't even know, praise? Surely Leon didn't mean it, but still, he didn't care. It hurted him, more than it should, and he already felt the shocked looks on his back.

He acted like a drama queen, but so what.

"I'm gonna grab some bandages from the infirmary, Ushijima. My fingers hurt" he said coldly, and using his surname, which he didn't do very often.  

Wakatoshi was staring at the door Tendou shutted behind him, the team standing silently around him.

"Should I go with him, captain?" Shirabu asked, but he shook his head "no" in response.

"He'll be fine on his own. Keep practicing"

Ushijima really wanted to believe that, but he noticed the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and was concerned himself. He couldn't seem to focus for the rest of practice, which was unusual for him.

"Is Tendou-san coming back?" they kept asking him, and it pissed him off more every time, but he'd only spike harder, the rest of the team shocked as the ball bouncing back from the floor and going towards the stands with insane speed. Nobody even tried to recieve them, because they all cherished their fingers  and arms to much to injure them like that.

It wasn't Tendou that Wakatoshi was angry at, it wasn't Leon, even, it was himself. The first one of many times his reserved nature seemed to be his enemy, not friend. He failed to help Tendou, and he understood his fault, which made it a thousand times worse.

After the practice had ended, Satori wasn't in their room.

"Tendou? Are you there?" Wakatoshi asked, but even after checking the top bunk, there was no place in the tiny room left for his friend to hide in. He checked the bathroom, but still, no sign of the redhead. He checked the infirmary, he checked every opened classroom, the gym, every locker room, bathroom, but he was nowhere to be found.

He knocked on Semi's door.

"Ushi? What's up?" the boy asked, suprised, if Ushijima wanted something he could've asked literally fifteen minutes earlier, after practice.

"Is Tendou with you?" he heard, his team captain's voice shaking just a little bit, his hands clenched in fists.

"No, I'm afraid not. Isn't he in your room?"

Well, if I'm asking, then he surely fucking isn't, you idiot.

"No."

"Well, call him then" Semi stated, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed at chest.

He nodded and did just that, three times, in fact, but there was no response.

"Wait up" Eita said, disappearing into his room, and coming back, wearing his Shiratorizawa hoodie "Let's search up together, we'll find him sooner"

Wakatoshi agreed, secretly appreciating the help. He didn't go back for his hoodie, there was no time for that, so he just left in his T-shirt.

"Alright, where  could he go?" Semi asked, when they left Shiratorizawa's gates. Ushijima had no idea at first, Miyagi wasn't such a small city, and Tendou, with his personality, could even be out of town by now. He could go to Tokyo to see his sister, Wakatoshi thought, but he remembered they had a test the next morning, and Tendou was a foreign languages ace among their year, so he definitely wouldn't miss it.

No, don't think what you'd do. Satori has different priorities than you.

"Honestly, anywhere." he responded. Eita was shocked Wakatoshi used such an unofficial figure of speech, but he didn't complain, his teammmate was stressed, after all.

"Aight, let's split up then. You'll go to all his favorite places, and I'll check everywhere near the school. But keep your phone ring at high volume, so we wouldn't miss each other's calls.

Ushijima nodded and left. Where could he want to go, alone, in the dark? Only after a couple of minutes of walking had he felt his hands hurt, and noticed the bloody marks on the inside of his hands. He was really stressed. Then, a sudden memory hit him, of Tendou leading him to the cliffs, just next to the forest in Miyagi, to take a walk when he was stressing about their first national championship. He started running there, landscape around him blending into one mix, as he was speeding past the bridge, the houses, bus stops, stores, and eventually the trees. He only stopped once he felt railings forbidding people to jump into the wavy sea below. He looked around him.

"Tendou?" he shouted, but there was no response. He started walking around, looking behind every tree, and at every bench.

"Satori, come on, if you're there, then come out already. Let's go home" he sighed, his worriness building up. Then he remembered, his friend didn't like to sit where everyone else used to, he like to jump over the fence and sit on one of the rocks, often teasing him he was going to fall.

The drilling feeling in his stomach seemed not to let him straighten up, and he had to force his insides to stay still, while ha quickly glanced at the sea and rocks below him, but, to his relief, there was no sight of Tendou there, as well.

He decided to check somewhere else, and raced out of the forest. He was so caught up in searching, his mind was already going to the darkest scenarios, and he didn't even noticed when he bumped into someone.  

"Ushiwaka-chan?" he heard a soft, yet prideful voice in front of him, and shook his head before seeing Tooru Oikawa, in the flash.

"Oikawa." he responded "What're you doing here? I don't have time for whatever salty comment you have up your sleeve right now." Upon hearing that, the brown haired boy's eyebrows rose in suprise.

"Well, Ushiwaka, I live here. Can't I enter my house in peace? Plus, I don't have any. Are you looking for Mr Redhead?" he asked, a concerned look in his eyes. Ushijima was honestly shocked. Why would he care? He hated them both.

Oh, right, they were near Seijoh. It was possible for Oikawa to live here. Wakatoshi noticed AobaJohsai's captain didn't look so good himself, but he was not the one to listen to his problems. He had his own problem he needed to solve right away.

"Yes, and I'm afraid I don't have a second to waste."

"Well, he was on my bus stop. I only asked because it seemed unusual for any of you to be here. He was heading for the city centre."

City centre? Now, thanks to his worst enemy, Wakatoshi had an idea of where Tendou was, and he was stupid not to think of that earlier.

"Thanks, Oikawa" he said, staring blankly at the bus stop, around three hundred metres down the street.

"No problem, I guess. Say hi to him from me, he's the only one of you idiots that I don't hate" he said, closing the fence gate behind him, and walking towards his house's door, not even looking at him anymore.

"Alright" Ushijima responded, only half listening to what Tooru was saying.

As he was waiting for the same bus Tendou was, only a couple of minutes earlier, he still tried to get in touch with him.

Wakatoshi Ushijima, 20:44

Please, Tendou, respond

Wakatoshi Ushijima 20:46

I'm sorry for what Leon had said. Come back so we can talk.

There was no sign from the other boy, the text weren't even on delievered, only on sent.

He was so up in his thoughts, he barely noticed it was already his stop to get off on. He raced to the shop he had in mind, and noticed the lady behind the counter already cleaning the place up. He still had half an hour before they'd close.

He entered, and the small bell above the door rang. The lady looked up, and smiled gently at a possible new customer.

Wakatoshi looked around him, but to his suprise, Tendou wasn't there. He walked up to the counter.

"Hello, sir, what can I get you today?" the lady said, smiling politely.

"Hello, was a boy, around my height, with red hair here before me?" he asked directly, and she blinked at the sincerity of his request.

"I'm afraid not, I haven't seen anyone like that." she answered apologetically.

At that point, Ushijima honestly felt like crying. How, how on earth wasn't he anywhere? Where did he go? Did he really know him that little?

He noticed Tendou's favorite cookies still on the counter. They were, of course, the chocolate ones, with spots of white chocolate.

"Can I have ten of these?" he sighed, pointing to the sweets. The lady nodded, handed the bag over to the boy, and received the money.

"Goodnight, miss" he said upon leaving, and she smiled again, waving at him.

How could she be smiling? How could anyone possibly be smiling, when Tendou was missing? And on top of that, it was partly Ushijima's fault?

He felt dizzy from all the emotions hiding behind his bland face. There was no one around, and he decided to walk back to Shiratorizawa, instead of taking a bus. He called Tendou again, and even left a voicemail.

"Tendou Satori. Wherever you are, please, come back, you're making us all worried. You can't just—" and at that, he ended the call, noticing his voice break, for the first time in forever. "You can't just leave like that and not say anything, you idiot" he whispered to himself, feeling a gulp in his throat.

He leaned against the shop's wall, hitting it with his fist. It hurted slightly, but didn't help.

"Tendou!" he screamed "Are you there?" he waited a good minute, wanting a response desperately, but nobody showed up.

His phone rang, it was Semi.

"Found him yet?"

"No"

"He's not here, either. We need to head back though, Ushi, or we'll get detention" Semi stated, and Ushijima was honestly pissed at how laid back he sounded. But he knew the setter was right. "Do you want to report his missing to the principal's office?" he then asked.

Right. Right, this was a serious issue. On one hand, if they reported it, the principal could start an official search, and Tendou would be home in no time, but on the other, they'd probably expell him, and that couldn't happen. Ushijima wouldn't let it.

"No." he only said, and hang up.

It was a long walk back to Shiratorizawa, and Wakatoshi hated every second of it. He was coming back to an empty room, with no Tendou in it, without any clue about where he could be now, wether he was safe or not, anything.

He didn't even try to sneak through so the cameras wouldn't catch him. He didn't care if he'd get detention or not. That wasn't important at all.

He slided his card through the lock of his door, and was welcomed by the cold room, which would be just right since he didn't have the time to turn on the radiator.

"Tendou...?" he whispered, somehow hoping he'd be there, even though he had eyes on his entry card, still laying on the table, since Wakatoshi was the one to lock the door before practice.

He noticed all of Satori's stuff still there. His phone, with no battery, his wallet, his ID, everything. Like he vanished.

Too tired to even take his clothes of, he climbed to the top bunk, and buried his face in Tendou's pillow, inhaling what was left of the boy's scent. He couldn't fall asleep at all, even though he was too tired to lift his eyelids. How could he sleep in a situation like this?

He realized, he wouldn't be so worried if it was Semi, or Leon, or Shirabu, or anyone else. Of course he'd be concerned, of course he'd search for them, he was their captain and cared for them all, but it wouldn't cause such a pain in his gut. It wouldn't make him want to rip his heart out so he'd stop feeling so painfully lonely and worried.

But they were all his friends, as well. Why was it different with Tendou? Was it because he was his roommate?  Maybe, but something was telling him that wasn't the case. The drilling feeling became more and more impossible to ignore as he kept thinking about what he was feeling towards Tendou.

A warm feeling flooded his senses when he thought about his smile, and he instantly got worried when he remembered he was missing. What did that mean?

A new riddle for him to remain unsolved for years to come.

He somehow got through the night without sleeping even for a blink, until it was almost six, hence, the hour he'd get up, when he heard a knock on the door. It was still a night hour at Shiratorizawa's campus and no students were allowed to leave their rooms, so he was very suprised, but mumbled a tired "Coming" and struggled to get out of bed.

He walked up to the door, and opened it, only to see Tendou, his hoodie a bit dirty, and hair in a mess, but a grin on his face.

"Morning, Toshi" he chuckled, upon seeing the truly shocked expression on his best friend's face.

He wanted to get inside, but Ushijima didn't allow it, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug. Satori could barely breathe, but managed to keep laughing.

"What's up, big guy? Why're you suddenly so emotional?" he asked, much to they boy's suprise. He stayed silent. That was weird for Tendou. No matter how angry he could be, he'd never ignore a direct question, because he didn't get the concept of a rhetorical one. That was a lesson Satori learned the hard way a couple of years earlier. "Wakatoshi? You there?"

Still no answer?

That's weird.

"You idiot" he heard a slight whisper, almost inaudiable. "You fucking idiot"

That was officially the first time ever for Tendou to hear Ushijima use a swear word.

He suddenly felt something dropping on his neck. Was he... nah, Ushijima Wakatoshi would never cry.

But as his entire body began to tremble, it was painfully obvious that he was, in fact, crying.

"Hey, hey" Tendou said in a calming way, moving one step into the room, to close the door behind him. "Are you crying?"

Oh shit, Ushijima realized, he was. Was Tendou going to be mad now? Was he going to think less of him? Was he going to consider him weak and leave? Again?

"No" he added loudly, turning away, and walking deeper into the room, wiping his cheeks.

"Sure" Satori said, a wide smile on his lips. Did he really make Ushijima loose his composure? Well, that was a first.

"Where were you?" he asked, none of his previous emotions present anymore.

"Places"

"Satori Tendou!" he shouted slightly, and Tendou flinched at the sound of his full name.

"Alright, shush, it's still the middle of the night for some people. I was on the train station. I wanted to go to Tokyo to see my sister, but I forgot my wallet, and then I didn't want to come back, because you would be mad at me, everyone would consider me a drama queen, and I'd probably get detention for coming in late." he epxlained carefully, minding his every word, as he made Ushijima seat beside him on his bed.

He knew he hadn't calm down, he was still shaken, but for some silly reason he decided to keep it all in, even though him and Tendou knew each other for five whole years, and shouldn't have to be so careful around each other. It was crazy how he was closer to Wakatoshi than anyone on this world, and still, he still couldn't be the one person that would get him to completely open up.

He knew it was a rare and possibly the only occassion he had cried in front of someone, even if it was for thirty seconds, and even if he denied it all a moment later, still, it was great. It was an improvement Tendou hoped for all those years, although there was so much more he had to learn about his friend to understand him completely. It was never a hard thing for him to do, understand people's motives, but with this man, with him everything was suddenly so difficult and different.

He was angry with himself for disappearing like that, he didn't think about how much it would affect Ushijima, even though he claimed to know him the best.

"Why would you go there?" Wakatoshi asked silently.

"Well, I needed a reminder that I'm not really as scary and dangerous as people perceive me. And she's such a little angel, if she loves me, then I must be a nice person, right? If I got someone so innocent and good to love me, then how could I be bad? It's selfish, I know, but it seemed like a good idea at the time" he stared at the sheets between them, concentrating solely on their white colour, nothing else.

"I could've told you the same" he mumbled "If only you'd wait, I would tell you the same. I know I'm nothing like your little sister, but I still consider you the best person I've met. The best part of my life." he said, standing up, like it was nothing, and grabbing a change of clothes. He went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, turning on the shower, so Tendou wouldn't hear him sigh out loud. He looked once more at the bloody trail on his hands, and noticed his shoulders were tense all this time, and now he could let it go, all at once.

He felt more tired than he ever did before.

Tendou sat on his bed for a good five minutes, tears silently flowing down his face, his mind unable to comprehend what just happened. It was more than he ever hoped for. It was hard to get an "I like you" from Ushijima, and saying that? It shocked him up to his very core.

It was almost time to get to class, and Wakatoshi still hadn't came out of the bathroom, so Tendou decided he'd check on him. He wouldn't respond to him calling his name, so, with his eyes obviously shut, he entered the room. Still, no response. He opened them one by one, relieved to find out the boy was fully dressed in his school uniform, but... asleep.

"Oh my, Toshi, how am I supposed to get you to bed now?" he laughed. Wow, he really did affect Ushijima.

It made him happy, somehow.

**

"Oh hell no" Wakatoshi heard Tendou whisper behind his back, and looked in the same direction as the redhead. There was a huge ski lift in front of them, but Ushijima didn't understand the suprise. It was a skiing trip, they had skis in their hands, were dressed in skiing uniforms from head to toes, what was there to be suprised about?

"Scared yet, Tendou?" Semi ran in between them, a glorious smile on his lips. He was a great skier, they all knew it, and he was so, so ready to prove it.

"What? Of course not" the boy laughed it off, his hands secretly trembling inside his gloves.

He looked over at Wakatoshi, who, on the other hand, seemed perfectly prepared as well. Looking damn well in that all black uniform, with his long ass skis over his shoulder, and a confident look on his face.

"I thought it was supposed to be you know, like that flying couches, or T-bars? Not this capsules, looking like space ships" he said. He knew what that ment. If the lift had capsules that could close, it was supposed to go higher than the other ones whe mentioned.

"Are you kidding? These are the best!" Shirabu shouted, an excited smile colouring his cheeks.

"Aww, look at the kid, so eager and excited!" Semi laughed, messing up Shirabu's hair. He glared at him deadly, his good mood all going away.

"I'm going to strangle you one of these days"

"I'm looking forward to you reaching my neck"

Shirabu looked like an angry chihuahua when angry, so it was difficult to be on his side without laughing. But Tendou's smile was all washed away as he was forced to put his skis inside the pocket on the side of the capsule and get inside. He was now sitting there with his three friends, two metres above the ground already, when some dumbass got his skis in the wrong way, and the lift stopped, making the capsule tilt from side to side, making him even more nervous.

"Tendou, you're pale" Ushijima noted, and Satori looked at him with hatred.

"No shit, Sherlock" he responded, still not wanting to admit his obvious fear of heights.

"Are you okay, Tendou-senpai?" Shirabu mocked in a high, teenage girl voice, calling him that on purpose, to annoy him even more.

"I'm fine" he only said, grasping onto the material of his jacket and closing his eyes shut, so he wouldn't see how high above the ground he actually was.

But about half the way up, he was already feeling as if he was to throw up any second.

"Tendou, I'm concerned, you're whiter than the snow" Ushijima stated, making the others laugh even louder, as Tendou glanced at them with despise.

"Screw you, Toshi" he said, managing to keep the leftovers of his confidence, because he was still inside something, that kept him from falling down.

It all changed when they got out, and he noticed the big, white slope in front of him, and how steep it was, going almost straight down, at least in his eyes.

"Wakatoshi, do I really have to get down? Can't I wait for you all here?" he finally asked, adjusting his skis unwillingly.

"What?" he said, looking at him curiously.

"I don't feel like sliding down, that's all" he explained faintly, and after a while of silence, he noticed Ushijima... laughing.

He full on laughed, his eyes almost disappearing with how high his cheeks lifted up, he held onto his own stomach, bent over in half, and laughing his ass off.

"What on earth are you doing?" Tendou was confused, seeing a view like this for the first time in his life. But Toshi wouldn't stop there, he almost fell over while laughing, seeming not to be able to catch his breath.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi, stop this right now! Stop making fun of me!" Satori tried to demand, but his own lip corners started to lift up subconsciously.

"I— I'm sorry, S-Satori, but your voice is so h-high-pitched right now, it-s i-impossible to take you s-seriously" the boy finally responded, "You sound like a l-little g-girl!"

Tendou chuckled as well, but it was mostly from suprise and shock Wakatoshi's excitement caused on him.

He looked very pretty while laughing, that's all he could focus on.

"Come on" Ushijima finally said, when he gathered himself up, still giggling like a four-year-old, and suddenly took Satori's hand, and began sliding down the hill.

"What the heck are you doing? Stop! I don't want to die, I'm going to fall!" he yelled, but the boy just kept laughing, ordering around to change his course every now and then, so they wouldn't fall on each other. Almost half the way he let go of his hand and began skiing even faster.

"Catch me if you can, Tendou!" he yelled, to the redhead's suprise. Why was he suddenly acting like a kid? He didn't know, but he also didn't mind. "If you can get to the bottom first, I'm buying you hot chocolate!"

"Oh, big man, you don't know what you just got upon yourself!" he yelled back, speeding as much as he could. None of his fears mattered, now that hot chocolate was on the table.

This sort of competition would last all day, and Tendou ended up loosing every single time, but the last time before going back to the hotel, he managed to outrun Ushijima. He was pretty sure the spiker let him do that, but he didn't care. He got down, unhooked his skis and jumped around in excitement, when Ushijima came down as well.

"My hot chocolate, Toshi! You owe me hot chocolate!" he shouted, all eager to go buy it right now.

To his suprise, Wakatoshi laughed again. It wasn't a crazy laugh like the one in the morning, but a slight giggle, as if he just saw something adorable.

"You skied down, Tendou! And didn't complain about the height of the mountain even once" he explained, smiling widely. And suddenly, Satori realized.

He did all those bets just for him to enjoy himself more and forget about his fears. He felt heat coming to his eyes, so he started blinking rapidly.

"I got a snowflake in my eye" he explained, and after a moment added "Well, I sure did, didn't I?"

"Yeah! And you were great, so I guess that means I do owe you your hot chocolate" he said, messing with Tendou's hair.

What on earth was going on? Was he on drugs?

"Everyone! Come on, let's go get chocolate before Sensei comes down!" the captain ordered, and the team followed him enthusiastically.

**

"Alright, this settles things for the next year's team. If anyone has any questions fee—"

Ushijima interrupted assistent coach with his hand gesture.

"Sir, if I may" he asked, his voice already steady and prepared for the speech he was about to give.

"Sure."

"Kawanishi. After Tendou leaves this world—"

"Oh my, Wakatoshi, don't make it sound like I'm about to die, or something!" Satori shouted, the other third years laughing in unison, looking at their captain's clueless expression.

"— You'll become the cornerstone for blocking. Have more confidence in yourself. Also, strenghten your serves." he said, in a demanding tone, but not very different from how he was communicating normally.

"Y-yes, sir!" the second year middle blocker yelled, stressed as he could be. Tendou laughed, noticing how tense he was. Oh god, how was this team going to manage without them?

"Shirabu!"

"Yes?"

"The structure of this team will from now on depend on you. We don't have any weak spikers, make sure you draw out everyone's potential."

"Yes."

"Umeda"

"Is he really going to say something questionably inspiring to every single one of them?" Semi whispered, and Tendou nodded.

"I'm afraid so, Semi-Semi"

"Stop calling me that already! Also, Tendou, I have a thing I need to ask you while Ushijima isn't listening"

Ushijima was in fact, listening.

"Shoot it" Tendou stated, lifting one eyebrow in curiousity.

"When're you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?" he laughed "That his speeches are making them scared? No, that would break his heart, Semi-Semi, have a little compassion within you"

"You know what!" he hissed, staring angrily right into the redhead's eyes.

Of course Tendou knew what. He chuckled, smiling condesendingly at his friend and setter.

"Wasn't that you, Semi-Semi, who said he's straighter than a ruler? The answer is never in a million years, not until pigs fly, and the world's end is upon us. If these conditions are all met, I'll consider it" after saying that he focused his eyes on the ceiling, not wanting to look back at Eita.

"Oh, come on! I watch you two acting like an old married couple for six whole years and I get nothing of it? You need to tell him!"

"Yeah, I kinda have to agree with Semi on this one" Leon said, raising his hand as if he was asking the teacher  a question.

"What? You too?! Geez, do you have a shipping club or something? Don't you have your own lives to take care of?" he laughed nervously, hands already unfocused and tangling together his fingers behind his back to calm down.

"Do it or I will!" Semi threathened, and Tendou glanced him up and down with a deadly flame in his eyes.

"No you won't" he only hissed, his teeth clenched, and eyebrows frowning, looking down at the setter he was suddenly so intimidating, he really dropped the subject.

Tell me what? Ushijima thought, but had to focus on his speech.

"...Goshiki" he finally said, the first year looking at him as if he was about to pass out.

"Y-yes captain?" he mumbled faintly, and Wakatoshi grinned ever so slightly, that no one actually noticed, no one besides Goshiki.

"I'm counting on you."

Tears appeared in the young boy's eyes, as he yelled "Yes, Sir!" and then "Thank you very much!"

Tendou decided to go over to the emotional kid, and patted him slightly on the back.

"There, there, don't cry, how are you going to lead the team like that?"

The kid looked back up at him, with a thankful smile on his lips. Semi and the others couldn't shake the feeling that these two really do match each other perfectly. Wakatoshi builds everyone up with his officially sounding speeches, and Satori cheers them up if they need it. One is reserved, the other overly excited and emotional. One doesn't speak, the other won't shut up for a second.

One is oblivious, the other had been in love for the past six years and knows damn well that drilling feeling inside his stomach is never, ever going away. And he wishes it would, he wishes so hard.

Ushijima smiled gently as he watched Tendou laugh over the bent over boy.

"Alright" he decided to break the tention "I guess we still have that hundred serves to do"

He could really use some serious spiking right then and there,  the feelings inside him wanting to erupt like a volcano of emotions.

"You're really going to do that?" Tendou looked at him with exhaustion and shock in his eyes.

Ushijima laughed.

"I was joking"

"You were WHAT?" the team yelled, and then broke down into laughter.

And so their story went on, through the last months of high school, graduation, and then college. Well, for Tendou it was college, for Ushijima it was playing in Japan's National Youth Team, for players under the age of nineteen.

The fact they couldn't possibly get through the challenges of life without each other was clearly visible when they rented an apartament in Tokyo together and had the best time continuing being roommates, like they did for the last six years. They'd visit their old highschool once or twice, but mostly it was being out of the house for most of the day, coming home in the evening, and watching some crappy show, eventually falling asleep.

Ushijima always brought Tendou with him on his morning runs, much to the latter's disamusement. Tendou, on the other hand, would often explain the concepts he'd learn, but Ushijima, although he was an intelligent person, would mostly just nod and pretend to understand.

They were happy like that. No problems in sight, no worries, no sorrows. None of them mentioned the thing Wakatoshi overheard that day after loosing their match to Karasuno, and Tendou was very content not telling him anything.

Of course a string of jealousy would tie around his heart every time he opened the mail to find like a thousand fan letters all for his roomie, but he knew it wasn't like Ushijima was falling in love. He wasn't even sure if he was familiar with the concept.

Later on everyone assumed that it was the young player who left his best friend first, because of his ongoing career and invitations to other teams, but that actually wasn't true.

"Hey, Toshi, you there?" he heard Tendou's quiet voice on the other side of his door.

"Yeah" he mumbled, face buried deep in his pillow.

The door opened, and the redhead appeared in them, but when Ushijima finally looked at him, something seemed off. He appeared smaller, and thinner than usual, but the volleyball player explained that to himself with his exhaustion.

"I have an important issue I have to discuss with you." he said, and Wakatoshi lifted himself up to a sitting position, eyes hardly managing to stay open and focus on the boy's figure.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing the big envelope in his best friend's hands.

The boy sighed, looking through the big window, like he was searching for something in Tokyo's late night landscape.

"Remember when we were still kids, and you took me out to chocolate ice-cream after Ichika-chan's condition got worse for the first time?" he asked, his eyes upsent, mind already somewhere else.

"I do, why?"

"Well, we talked about our future then, remember? When I said that I'd most likely move to Paris, and live above an alcoholic, and shout at teenagers outside my unit?"

"I remember, but you already chose college here in Tokyo, didn't you?"

"Yeah I did, but... they offered me a scholarship in Paris. I'd study arts where arts have their origins, Toshi"

That fell upon Ushijima Wakatoshi like a rock, hitting him on the head, making him dizzy. The drilling feeling in his stomach increased, making him grip the material on his shirt that was there.

Was Tendou leaving him?

He did it all right, he closed off from the entire world, just so his emotions wouldn't bother anybody, he took care of him, he tried so hard not to tell him about that weird feeling he felt towards him ever since they met, he did it all. And still, he couldn't seem to be able to stop yet another person he... loved, from leaving him.

How could he? After he made him dependent on him through all these years, how could he just...?

But after all, what did Wakatoshi expect? He couldn't keep him in a cage forever, Tendou was someone with a free spirit, and it would do him more harm than good to keep him by Ushijima's side.

"But, Toshi, I'll tell them to go to hell, I really will" he noticed Tendou crying silently by the window, looking directly into his eyes "Once you tell me that one thing I need to hear to stay"

Ushijima's eyes lit up.

What did Tendou want to hear?

"And that is?" he whispered, not even blinking so he wouldn't miss any single move of Tendou's face, when he snorted sarcastically, and shook his head, looking at the ceiling.

"Of course you don't even know. Doesn't matter, Wakatoshi, I got my answer" he said, leaving the room, but the taller boy ran up to him and grabbed him by the wrist.

"Wait, let me think, please. I'm not good with emotions, you know that" he begged, and Tendou looked at him with his teary eyes, his look tearing Ushijima's heart apart, cold as ice. He finally nodded, and leaned against the doorframe.

What could he possibly want to hear? Was it about that weird gut feeling he had?

No, that couldn't be it. Nobody would like to hear about his feelings. No one never.

But truly, what else could it be?

"Are you asking if I want you to stay?"

"No, you heard me the first time."

Wakatoshi started to move backwards, until he stumbled upon his bed and sat on it, eyes fixed on the floor, head down, visibly concerned. It was heartbreaking for Tendou to see him like this, but his whole life was on the line. He'd give it all away for one second with his best friend, but he knew that would fuck him up for good if the feeling wasn't mutual. If Wakatoshi could ever leave HIM just like Tendou couldn't bring himself to.

The boy's breathing started to get short, as he struggled to get the right words. Tendou pitied him. For some reason, for some mistreating he experienced years ago, he wouldn't seem to ever let himself go, and he was bottling up everything he should be able to let go easily. He never though he'd seen it go this far, but here he was, watching Wakatoshi rip the hair out of his head, struggling and trying to say what he so needed to hear.

"I'll help you out, Wakatoshi. Since it's life or death for me, stay or leave, I guess I don't have to hide it anymore" he took a deep breath "Ever since that moment when you said let's break the rules and go get ice-cream, I was astonished by you. Here you were, the first person ever to bend their limits for my sake, and it moved me to the point I though I somehow developed a crush on you, my roommate, my teammate, my best friend. My very straight best friend." after that part, he wanted to see some kind of reaction, but got none, so he sighed and continued "But I knew it would eventually go away, because I was just shocked by the fact someone actually cared for me, in his really weird and odd kind of way. But it didn't. In fact, it only grew, every day, hour and minute, it stopped being a crush and started to be love. I was madly, and I mean it when I say it, madly in love with you, through half  of middle school and all high school. I knew I couldn't tell you, I knew it was pointless, and impossible to work out, but still, I couldn't help it. It became a part of who I was. And so it went on, and on, and on, until it was time to leave school, and Semi tried to get me to confess it. It didn't work out, I was too much of a coward, comfortable with having you just as his best friend. But after a year of living with you, out of my own wish, not the decision of the principal's office, I can clearly see that I can't live like that. I can't live without you, but for that I also need myself. I need back control over my life. So tell me, Wakatoshi, tell me that one magical thing I need, or I'll vanish right this second"

"Satori, you're making this too hard of a choice!"

"It shouldn't be a choice at all, Ushi! I'm already half convinced I should leave by what you're saying"

Come on, Ushijima, he wants the one thing you already know. It's not that hard. Just say it.

"I—" oh god, it was hard "I, uhm, I..."

His heart pounded like crazy, his head hurted, and he was dizzy from stress. Damn it, let it go, or you'll loose the one thing you care about!

"I... I'm really trying, Satori"

"That's not it" he only said, trying to leave once again.

"No wait! Wait, forgive me, please, don't go yet." he shouted.

"Okay, okay shush, the whole block will hear you with that tone" Tendou said calmly, putting both his hands over his friend's shoulders.

He was close to being histeric. All it took was three words. And yet he was too weak to say them. He could work his best, he could put all effort in making himself the best, the strongest, the undefeatable Ushijima Wakatoshi, and yet still, he wasn't strong enough. He wasn't enough.

Tears started rolling down his face, without him even realizing that.

"I— Fuck! Fucking hell, Fuck!" he screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but these three special words still couldn't seem to get out of his throat.

He noticed Tendou crying, as well.

"After seven years of staying by your side at all times, all I want is to be able to make you love me back. But I am really powerless, nothing has changed, has it? I couldn't be better than Oikawa, I couldn't give you what you wanted, I couldn't be a girl, for you to want me, and now, no matter how hard I try, I won't ever be able to just... make you love me back"

"That's not it!" Ushijima yelled "That's not it, I wouldn't like you to be anything else rather than yourself!"

"Then say it. Please, Toshi, I'm tired, it shouldn't be this hard. But I know you're an earnest person, if you say it, I'll blindly believe you." he sighed. He really did look tired, how come Ushijima hadn't noticed earlier? How his undereyes were all dark, how the vains in his eyes were visible, how thin and pale he was...

I love you.

I love you!

I love you so damn much it hurts me to know it!

"I— really hate myself right now" he said in a tired voice "I— uhm, I... "

His lips trembled, his whole body ached, everything was suddenly so blurry.

"Satori, you're my best—"

"Oh, my fucking god!" Tendou screamed "And to believe I actually hoped and believed you'll finally, finally fucking love me! Of course I am your best friend, you idiot, you never had any more than me! I know I matter! I know you care! But that's not enough, Ushijima, that's just not enough!" Tears flooded Tendou's eyes as he finally stormed off out of the room, and grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet on his way out.

"Wait! Wait, that's not what I was trying to say and you know it!" Wakatoshi shouted at him, but he didn't listen anymore.

The redheaded boy smiled, bittersweetly, while chocking on his own tears at his best and only true friend,  for what he considered to be the last time ever.

"It was a pleasure being your friend and teammate, Ushijima" he said and closed the door behind him.

That was the last time ever that Wakatoshi Ushijima broke his heart. But damn, it was going to last a whole lifetime.

**

Every day, for eighteen months the volleyball player would message his friend. At first it was a whole paragraph about how much of a mistake he made, but then it was just his name. It became a habit, everyday before work he'd just text him "Satori" and hope for the best, but the best never came.

He finished his career in Japan Youth National Team, and signed a contract with the polish one, Orzeł Warszawa. He left with nothing to even say goodbye to, even glad he was moving to the other side of the world, because everything in Tokyo was just a walking emobiement of the regret and hate he felt towards himself.

His new teammates were nice, they were very talkative and friendly, and their fans were so, so open and supportive, it was truly suprising. He even started learning the language, but it was a hard thing to do, considering it was one of the hardest on the planet.

"Wakatoshi!" he heard someone yell at his back, with that annoying little accent over "toshi" the polish used to say every time.  

"What?" he asked, turning around to see Daniel, his setter.

"Come, we have a thing to discuss with you"

Ushijima was tired, and didn't want to talk to anyone, but there he was, following the guy into their locker room, which he left like five minutes earlier.

"What's up?" he asked, noticing everyone, even the two girls managing them, standing around and looking at him and Daniel.

"Wakatoshi, before our coach got you to join us, he did a whole lot of research. You were simply the best there was, and percisely what we needed. But we're professionals, just like you, and we know that what you're showing us right now is nothing even remotely related to your best. So, the question remains: what's up? Are you homesick? Do you not like us?" Daniel asked, and Ushijima felt his heart go up to his throat. Oh god, he didn't know it affected them all like that.

"It's not that, no, I'm so sorry for letting you all down..." he started, but got cut off.

"Hey, man, stop apologizing! We just want to find a solution." said the one he got along with the best, Artur.

"It's just... my mind is kind of not cooperating with me these days. My motivation sort of... left me."

"Oh god, guys, I figured it out!" the girl, Kasia, as they all referred to her after Ushijima stated that her full name "Katarzyna" was too difficult for him to pronounce. "Heartbreak!" she yelled as if she'd just now discovered America for the second time.

But much to Ushijima's suprise, they all agreed on that, and soon he had a million arms leaning over him.

"Alright, let me introduce you to a copying mechanism we have against hearbreaks. We don't do this very often, because it's bad for the muscles, but this is an emergency situation. We call it wódka i karaoke. You'll love it."

Soon after he found himself in a karaoke bar, doubting every single life choice he ever made.

"Wakatoshi! We've seen you drink before, but this, this you haven't tried yet." Artur said, putting a huge bottle on the table.

"And what's that?" he asked.

"That, my friend, that's Żubrówka, it's an alcohol, and it'll get it all out of you"  he explained, and put the glasses on the table, pouring everyone one, and then bringing glasses with coke. "Drink it all at once, and then drink the other thing, so it doesn't burn so much in your throat.

Ushijima did as they told him, but didn't feel the need to drink the coke.

"It's not burning at all" he said, almost disappointed, which resulted in them all laughing.

"Alright then, let's have another round!"

Turns out their heads were much stronger than his, because they seemed completely fine after four rounds like that, and Ushijima's head was already going in circles.

"So, Wakatoshi, who's the unfamous girl we're talking about?"  Julia, the other manager, asked, nudging him with her elbow.

"It's a boy" he said, then covering his lips with his hand, not realizing he'd actually say what he meant. "How many percents that thing has?"

"Oh, fourty, I guess?" Artur said, giggling. The number itself made him dizzy.

"A boy, huh?" she asked "Cool, any name?"

"You want it how we say it or how you say it?"

"Normally?"

"So how you say it, alright" he sighed and said "His name is Satori Tendou. He's a wonderful person and I treated him the wrong way, and now he's never coming back"

Well, that came out darker than he anticipated. The fact that it CAME OUT was already a huge suprise.

"Oh, don't say that, Wakatoshi, I'm sure you can win his heart back" she patted his shoulder "In fact! I have a great idea! You'll sing a song, it's a karaoke bar after all!"

"Are you crazy, or are you dumb, the last time I sang it was at my teammate's birthday party in highschool" he declined, shaking his head no.

But it only took him two more rounds to eventually say yes. He complained about not knowing the lyrics, and they sure as hell were complicated to sing, but Julia told him not to worry, that he'll listen first, and then she'll translate him the whole song and teach him the chorus, so he can only sing that.

They were listening to his teammates go all goofy, while singing very old polish songs.

"Okay, what does that mean, and why does it sound so funny?" he asked sincerely.

"Well, it's a song called 'A wszystko to, bo ciebie kocham', and it means 'And all of this, because I love you'. The lyrics are actually pretty cute, he sings that he'll do it all out of love for the girl, and he doesn't know how to live without her, he could even kill himself for her, but the problem is, the song is very cheesy and well, kind of embarassing to sing. I'll record them, so I can send it to the groupchat in the morning" she laughed, and he joined along, noticing how weird they did really sound.

"Alright, and what do we sing?" he asked, looking through the sheet of available songs "And does it HAVE to be in polish?"

"Yes, yes it does, because it's going to be funny, and you're going to forget your sorrows for a bit, before we solve them!" she smiled widely at him, and he couldn't help but return the grin, moved by how far they were willing to go to get his personal life in order. "Alright, but first, tell me about what you did wrong, so I can choose. They're all old, I can't believe Artur picked this bar, but who cares, old songs can be romantic as well. So?"

"Oh, I'd rather not..." he said "I'm not good with things like that" But noticing Kasia's puppy eyes, he sighed and decided to go for it, the alcohol making it all seem easy. "Well, he was my best friend, and only friend, to be exact, for seven whole years before he told me he was moving to Paris, for a scholarship, like he wanted to for a long time. But he said he'd throw it all away, if only I told him what he needed to hear."

"That you loved him?" she asked, and she glanced at her, shocked.

"How did you know?!"

"It was kind of obvious, to be honest. And I'm guessing you didn't do that?"

"Yeah"

"Why?" she put her elbow on the table, and stared right into Ushijima's eyes, making him uncomfortable, but also convincing him to keep talking.

"I wanted to, but I just couldn't. I know it sounds dumb..."

"Oh, believe me, I know how that feels like. Both sides of the story, actually. Well, I'm sure he does have a reason to not want to see you again, but too bad, cause he's gonna. Alright, your song will be.... 'Stacja Warszawa'!" she shouted, excited that she found a perfect song.

"Does it mean Station: Warsaw?" he asked, and she nodded, giving him a thumbs up about his polish getting better.

"Good, you're a really quick learner there, Toshi!"

He froze upon hearing the nickname, but she didn't notice.

"Alright, so you're going to be singing this part" she explained, marking it on the lyrics. "Overall, the song is about how lonely Warsaw seems for the guy without his love, and how everything that is wrong with this city would suddenly be better if only she were there. And you're parts meaaaan... the first one is 'Everything would be so different, if you were here, I know, not so difficult and strange, if only you were here, I know.' The second one is 'If love means anything, it must give us a sign, maybe sometime you'll see it, and tell me that...' and the rest isn't your part cause I feel like you'd have a hard time propouncing it.

"That's actually... pretty accurate" he whispered, amazed by the text.

Then she proceeded to teach him the lyrics.

He was feeling insecure and embarassed, about to sing, which he totally didn't like, and sing in a language he barely even knew, but the alcohol did it's job, and he didn't care as much. It was honestly a nice feeling, to be able to let it all go at once, but he was trying not to do that, because that would've flooded him all, and he'd become a big, pathethic mess.

And that's when he realized. He couldn't say these easy, three words, because he was afraid, that if he'd let his guard down this much, it would all come out, all these emotions he'd been holding, and he was worried how that would feel. It was so sudden and logical, he was left there in shock, and payed only half of his attention to what Julia was explaining.

He went on the stage, somehow, reassured by the fact that almost all of the guests that night was the team, and he wouldn't embarass himself in front of any strangers.

The song was nice to listen to, but the performance of polish volleyball players, well, not so much. He wasn't one to talk with his vocal abilities, but well.

It was soon his part, and he took the microphone shyly, wrapping both his hands around it, and sang quietly:

"Wszystko byłoby inne gdybyś tu był, ja wiem, nie tak trudne i dziwne, gdybyś tu był, ja wiem" the fact that he didn't fully understand made it less awkward to say, that was shocking.

Then the music's volume went up, and he sang more confidently:

"Jeśli miłość coś znaczy to musi dać znak, kiedyś też to zobaczysz, powiesz mi tak"

Even to himself, he sounded like a half dead pig, and his polish was terrible, considering it had a lot of consonants in one place, and not one consonant and one vocal syllables, like in Japanese.

It truly did feel amazing to finally say something like that, and he didn't know which factor made it so easy: the percents in the alcohol he just drank, or his poor understanding of the lyrics, but he started smiling.

"That was so, so good!" Kasia shouted once Artur, Daniel, and Ushijima, of course, left the stage. "I got that on your camera, Toshi!" she shook the device to prove it. "And I'm posting it right now! Tell me, does this almost-boyfriend of yours have an instagram account?"

"He does, why?" he asked, not fully aware of his sorroundings by then, not realizing she was in fact, not joking, but really posting his singing on instagram, on his official, verified account, and tagged Tendou in it.

After that, it was three or four songs before they left. The guys have all went home, and he was left with Julia and the other girl, Kasia, on the cold streets of Warsaw in the middle of the night.

"So, he took off to Paris, huh?" the first girl started the conversation.

"Mhm"

"You know, while we're talking about songs, there's another one I like. It's highly sexist and not quite adequate for modern times, but once you understand it was written in the eighties, it's actually kind of logical, and beautiful."

"How do the lyrics go, then?" he asked, too drunk to be reserved.

"Well, the quote I'm talking about in polish is 'Bo męska rzecz - być daleko', and it means it's men's thing to be far away. She then says the only thing you can do is wait, and hope, the tears in your eyes will turn into happy tears at once. The title means that you can still see the white sail in the distance, and it's about the sail of the ship they boy is on, leaving her, and she's not sure when he'll come back. But what's most important is to hope that he eventually will." she said in a dreamy voice.

"You're right, that is sexist"

"Look at our dear Toshi, standing up for women" they both laughed. "But it does make sense, doesn't it?"

"I can see why it you consider it reassuring. I do hope to see him walking out of a plane to see me at some point, even though he hadn't said a word to me in a year and a half"

"He will. If all you said was true, it's true love. And love finds a way."

"Julia?"

"Yeah, Toshi?"

"How do you say I love you in polish?" he asked, his eyes glossy, she almost saw the reflection of the moon in them.

"Kocham cię" she said quietly. "Kocham meaning I love, and cię meaning you"

"It sounds nice. Kocham cię" he said, and all three of them laughed at how dumb that sounded in his mouth, all blurred together and not at all sounding like the nice and earnest expression Julia said before. But nevertheless, he was smiling widely. "I said it" he whispered, a hot feeling flooding his chest.

"Congratulations, Mr Closed Off, you really did"

Wakatoshi looked at the moon. Was Tendou looking at it right now as well? Was he still wishing for them to be looking at it together?

**

The next morning, Ushijima woke up in his rented apartament, noticing it was still so early, considering he didn't have practice that day, and wondered what on earth woke him up.

His head hurted like hell, and he felt like throwing up. Then, he heard the thing that woke him up again. It was the doorbell.

"Idę!" he yelled, meaning 'I'm coming' in polish. It was actually one of the first phrases he learned, because his neighbours and mailman were all confused when he used to say it in english, or worse, japanese.

He needed to support himself by holding onto the wall, because the dizzyness became unbearable. He promised himself never to drink with his team again. He turned the key in his lock, and opened the door.

He thought for a second he was still asleep, when he saw who was ringing his doorbell at this ungodly hour. He looked differently, his hair was styled differently, and his style changed, but for sure it was him.

No, he must've mistaken someone for him. Maybe it was some kind of a new neighbour with dyed hair, and he was still drunk? Or maybe too dizzy to notice the details? Or his imagination was playing tricks on him?

Only then had he realized he was staring bluntly at the person for almost a minute now.

"Toshi?" he heard a familiar voice say.

So it was him. How did he get here? When did he get here? Why did he get here?

All the dizzyness, and more importantly, the weird drilling feeling inside his stomach disappeared at once, and he truly saw, Tendou Satori in the flash, standing in front of him.

"Tendou, Kocham cię" he said suddenly, not wanting to wait with it any longer, since it was him. He then proceeded to hug him as tightly as he never did before, inhaling the scent, the aura, it all.

"What?" Tendou laughed, as vibrantly as freely as Ushijima remembered it. The one thing he'd never forget was Tendou's laugh, even if it were fifty years, not one and a half.

"That means I love you in polish" he explained.

"Oh. But you're my best—"

"Shut it!" he shouted, way too loud for the early hour.

"I'm kidding, relax" Satori smiled widely. "In that cause, Kocham cię, too"

the end