#i really love sketching in green huh don’t i

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Don't Blame Me | John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!OC

Chapter 19: Crazier

Ao3 | Masterpost

John goes home.

General Tags: Fake Marriage, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Build, Canon-Typical Violence

Words: 1.4k

God, he missed her. Six weeks was too long, especially after everything. When he got her first text after getting back Gaz had to shake him back to reality.

“Are you going to respond or are you planning on leaving her on read already?” He didn’t want to say to either of them. Her simple ‘hi’ left him frozen in place. Having to leave her felt worse than pulling the knife out of his leg. 

He spent the train ride back to Glasgow sketching her out in his journal. He thumbed the torn edge of the previous page while he frowned at the paper. He couldn’t get her face right. He just kept drawing her mouth. A page full of her smile. 

He couldn’t stay long. He came up to see his Maw and drive his old shit box car back to London. He bought a new turtleneck sweater and lied about getting over bronchitis. He didn’t want her to worry. 

He sat in the kitchen while she made him tea. She still lived in the same flat he and his sister grew up in. She’d painted the walls green after their father died, she said she needed a change. He’d come down for the weekend to help. It’s how he learned he was shit at painting walls. He did always prefer graphite. 

“We missed you at Christmas. Shame work took you away.” She said, setting a mug down in front of him. He went to twist the ring around his finger but it was gone. Oh… he gave it to her before leaving. 

“I’m sorry, Maw. I promise next year I’ll be here.” She sat down across from him and squeezed his hand. 

“Don’t make promises, John. Easy to make, hard to keep. Trying is what matters. I know you tried to be here but you had to go out and save the world.”

“Not the world,” he chuckled. “Not this time.” 

She was right. He made a lot of promises, he could never keep any. Nina could say how she didn’t mind and was glad he was okay but he could still see her tied to that chair and sobbing. The nightmares came and went. He’d wake up fine, decide to roll over, and suddenly be reliving everything. He didn’t want to cry in front of his Maw. Not now. 

“John…are you okay?” She asked. 

“I met someone.” It was a futile attempt to change the subject, another thing he failed. Distract himself from thinking about her by talking about her. 

“Someone? Who are they?” She had lit up. His sister was about to have her second child but it never stopped either of them from asking when he’d pony up and bring home someone. 

“She’s real sweet. It’s early. Really early so you can’t meet her yet.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “She’s had a rough go of it and I just worry I’m not good enough for her. I don’t think I could give her everything she deserves.”

“Would you try?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a tryer, John. Your whole life you try. You don’t quit or back down, as much as I would have liked you to sometimes. I never felt good enough for your Dad and he told me the same. We both tried. If you’re going to try for her and she doesn’t appreciate that, her loss.” She shrugged and clapped her hands together. 

John took a sip of tea. She was right, again. She always was. He was always her boy. She didn’t always approve of the fights or the illegal attempts of enlisting but she always there by his side. 

“John, I want you to try to come to Christmas next year and I want you to try to bring this girl. It’s been long enough since you brought someone home.”

“I’ll try,” he nodded with a smile.

“I do have to ask, is she English?” 

“She is.” He nodded.

“Nobody’s perfect.” 

“Maw.” 

“I’m sure she’s lovely. I do have to call your sister, she owes me.”

“For what?” He furrowed his brow. 

“She said you were gonna bring home a man.” She smiled cheekily as she took a sip from her mug. 

“Maw!” He leaned back and looked at her incredulously. 

“I would have been fine either way. I’ll always support you, John. Man, woman, english…” She laughed. 

“Try to stop by again sooner rather than later.” She said, kissing his cheek as he gathered his coat. 

“I’ll try.” He hugged her. 

“You’re a sweet boy, John. You’ll always be my sweet boy.” She pinched his cheek. “What’s this English girl’s name?”

“Nina.” He smiled. 

“Bring her up with you whenever you feel it’s not early. I want to meet her.” John nodded and kissed her cheek. 

“Love you, Maw.”

“Stay safe, John.” He’d try. 

He drove back with a small pulling on the edges of his mouth. 

The next six weeks were dedicated to him trying. He started seeing a therapist, just to have someone to talk to. He cleaned up his flat, annoying his sister to no end about what girls like. He texted Nina every day to check in on her but avoided being overbearing. He needed to let her grow on her own. He spent his free time researching Kyrat. He did his best to remember what books she’d bought in New York so he could read them. He went to several different American-style grocery stores to find the snacks she liked. He tried to be better. He tried his best for her. 

“I feel like I should get her something for our date on Friday. Any ideas?” He and Gaz were walking around one of the busier shopping areas. Nina got back to London the day before. It took all his willpower and the fact that he didn’t know where Price lived to stop himself from seeing her. 

“Flowers? Chocolate?” Gaz suggested.

“Nah, I want it to special.” 

“Stuffed animal? Girls love stuffed animals. She got a favorite animal?” John stopped. He remembered them in the bathtub and how she asked about cows. 

“Yeah, she does.” 

It took three different stores but he found one. It was a golden brown with white horns and soft grey hooves. 

“A highland cow?” Gaz asked. “Bit on the nose, ain’t it?”

“She said she wanted to see one when I take her to Scotland. She likes them.” He said, pushing its hair out of its eyes. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“It’s cute.” Gaz took it from him and plopped it on his shoulder. “ It’s like a mini you.”

“Fuck off. Give it here.” Gaz dodged as he went to snatch the toy back.

“Too short and too slow, Soap.” 

They quietly chased each other around the store until an employee gave them a hard glare. John took the moment to snatch the cow back and buy it. 

“Should I tie a bow around its neck?” He asked as they left.

He didn’t really have nice clothes so he made do.  A greyish button-down, his newest jeans, and a dark brown jacket. He got her flowers as well. He wasn’t sure what kind so he got the biggest bouquet they had. He didn’t realize flowers cost that much. She was worth it though. 

Price sent him his address that morning. Pick her up at six, and have her home by eleven. He could do that. 

He checked himself over one last time in the rearview mirror. He might have overdone it with the cologne but his hair was looking nice and there wasn’t anything in his teeth. He’d cleaned his car the day before. Gaz sat and watched as he vacuumed up years' worth of crumbs. Went through a whole bottle of stain remover too. 

He pressed the buzzer by the front door.

“You’re not putting her on that bike, are you Mactavish?” Price asked through the speaker.

“No, Sir. I have a car.” He was buzzed in. 

Price was waiting at the door. 

“She’s just finishing up.” Price said, looking down at the flowers and stuffed cow with a raised eyebrow.

“How’s she doing?” John asked.

“Better.”

“Good.”

“What are your plans?” He had an eyebrow raised. 

“Curry, a walk, whatever she wants to do really.” He felt like a teenager again, trying not to incur the wrath of his date’s father.

“Is that John?” He heard Nina call from inside. She sounded excited. She pushed herself between Price and the door frame. She was grinning. “Hi.”

She was gorgeous. Her lips looked how remembered. He'd have to go back and fix her eyes though. 

“Hi, Nina.” He grinned back. 

Tag List: @yeyinde @queen-ilmaree @yearningforsappho @mykneeshurt @gogh-with-the-flow

LMK if you want to be added for this or any other fic 💗

#Don't Blame Me #john soap mactavish #John Soap Mactavish x oc #cod mw22 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2

[harveyhawkscripts]

[A4A] Rehabilitating the Community Garden with the Tech Nerd [Nerdy speaker] [Gardener listener] [Awkwardness and insecurity] [New friends]

Google Doc

Usage:

- Okay for monetization

- Please credit me as Harvey Hawk :)

- Tweaks, improv, and pronoun changes are okay! Just please do not rewrite the script completely

Key:

[SFX and Action]

(.) Short Pause

(...) Longer pause

(Voice inflection)

Word Count: 1020

Synopsis: The speaker, a lonely tech nerd, is asked to help rehabilitate the community garden. Enthusiastic about the opportunity to make a new friend, the speaker makes new inventions to help out the gardening process. Now, they are ready to show them off.

–

TECH NERD:

Hey! Hey, you! I'm here!

(.)

What do you mean, "what's all this?" It's my gardening supplies! This is an automatic weed puller. I invented it myself. Look, you just put this part over the weed, pull the lever, and poof! All gone. And THIS is Eco-friendly pest protection powder. Don’t worry, I researched it thoroughly. It’s perfectly safe.

I also took the liberty of sketching out a potential irrigation plan. Did you read that article I sent you on hydroponics?

(.)

Of course I'm well-prepared. I was... really surprised when you approached me about this project. I'm not – I mean, it's pretty clear I don't exactly have a green thumb. That, and I'm not used to being approached in general. Oh, I'm talking too much, aren't I? Sorry.

(.)

 It's... fine? Huh. Okay. I hope you don't mind if I talk more, then. I hardly get the chance to. I mean, I talk to my lizard and my drones, but that's not the same as talking to people. I'm not so good with people.

(.)

Oh! I almost forgot! La pièce de résistance!

Say hello to the Botanical Bot Model 1.

[Metallic Whir]

This part here holds the seeds. The legs crawl along the dirt like so, and this part lowers to till the land, then it drops seeds behind it as it goes. I attached a solar panel for power, naturally. 

 (.)

Yeah, I painted a face on it to make it look friendly. I know it's a little rough, but I made him - er, it from a fishbowl and spare parts. But check this out - it even doubles as a terrarium!

(.)

Thanks, I spent a lot of time on it. I have a bioactive terrarium at home for my lizard, so I used that as a jumping-off point. Speaking of bioactivity, did you read the article on bioenergy that I sent you? It’s complicated stuff, huh? 

(.)

That's okay! I'll explain it over lunch. I brought some summer veggie gazpacho and grilled cheese.

(.)

Sure, I cook all the time. It's just chemistry, y 'know. Oh, but you probably want to get started, huh? I assume we'll need to clear out all of this trash first.

(.)

As a matter of fact, I do have a gadget for litter. Hold on, it's in the truck. You're going to love this!

[Clunk]

Ta-da!

(.)

It's not-okay, technically it is a trash can with robot arms on wheels, but it's more than that! Here, Put these gloves on.

(.)

Of course it's safe! Now, I'll just drive the bot forward...

[Whir]

Yes, it is a Y Cube controller... Um. Do you play?

(.)

Really? We should play some time! Do you like the Marky Mongoose games?

(.)

Right. right. Stay on task. Heh. Okay, now reach out your hands.

(.)

That's right, you're controlling the arms! Now you can pick up any garbage, no matter how heavy or icky. Well, maybe nothing too heavy, but it's still pretty sturdy. Definitely safer, too. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the mood for a tetanus shot.

(.)

I know, right?! Technology is amazing.

(.)

(Flustered) Oh, you meant me? Thank you! I get it from my parents; they’re both in STEM. My dad is a chemist and my mom is an engineer. I've been a science junkie ever since I was a little kid. This kind of thing just comes naturally to me.

(.)

They're alright. Parents are parents, y 'know. 

(Hesitant) Sometimes I just... wonder if…well. My parents are really smart. Not to brag, they just are. They gave up a lot of opportunities to have me, too. Sometimes when I hear them talk about how much they could've done if they had chosen their careers over me. I'm sure they would've helped a lot of people.

(.)

That's why I study so hard. Don't get me wrong, I love learning, but... I have a responsibility, y' know? I want to do at least the good they would've done if they never had me.

(.)

How so? Seems rational to me.

(.)

That’s not – I mean, technically, that’s true; I don’t owe them anything. But… I still feel bad. 

(.)

No, no, it's fine, I just… Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry, I just dumped all that on you. Let's change the subject. When is everyone supposed to get here?

(.)

Huh? But I saw you invite at least six other people.

(.)

Guess they were busy, huh? But don't worry! We have the power of technology on our side! It definitely sped up the cleaning process, see? All the litter is gone!

(.)

Yeah, we make a good team. So, what's next? We should probably take care of all of these weeds. Let me get my weed-puller. I'll tell you all about my idea for a hydroponic vertical tomato stand. So, we'll need some old tires...

[TIME SKIP]

Phew, it's getting pretty late. We're going to run out of daylight soon. What do you think? Are you ready to pack it up and turn in?

(.)

We did make good progress, didn't we? Next weekend we can even start planting flowers. I'm partial to daffodils myself. We should plant milkweed to attract pollinators too. Ooh, I hope we get bees. They're so shy and cute!

(.)

Pfft, I am not cute! I'm a total dork.

(.)

Hey, do you have plans after this? There's this new Thai place I've been meaning to try out. Dinner is on me if you're down to go. I can give you a ride home afterwards. You took the bus here, right?

(.)

Great. Let's put everything in the shed and get going. I'm really craving some Khao Soi.

(.)

Ooh, that sounds good, too. Maybe I'll get that.

(.)

Really? I can try yours? Thanks! You're so generous, buddy.

(.)

Y'know, I've had more fun today than I've had in a while... I was a little nervous at first, but I'm glad I decided to take on this project with you.

(.)

I'm looking forward to next weekend, too. I think- I mean, that is to say, I really enjoy spending time with you. Thank you for this opportunity – to make a friend, I mean.

(.)

Alright, enough mushy junk. Let's go get dinner!

END

#writing #script #script writing #asmr scripts #asmr rp #platonic #a4a #asmr script

[usedtobeguest123]

Chapter 10 of La Traes is up! :)

"Café Matutino" or Morning Coffee

-----

“Did you sleep well, whisker face?” Mirabel cooed into the rat's furry neck.  “Hmm? Didja? Did— woah .” She halted in her path to her usual chair as she finally caught sight of the room. 

It was sandy. Crazy sandy. Sand, sand, and more sand; sand on the desk, sand in the bed…especially sand in the bed. It collected in little miniature dunes around the bedposts, flowing in a windswept path that meandered in lengthy, heaping piles back to Bruno’s hourglass arch and, finally, through his open vision door. The room looked more like an archaeological site than a bedroom. 

“Tío…” she said breathlessly. “What happened?”

“Waddayamean?” he asked absently, setting the tray down on his short little table and scratching at his hair, sending a shower of more sand down to the floor. He followed her eyes to the miniature desert that was his bedroom and chuckled nervously. “Oh, oh, that, heh. Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s nothing, nothing. Kinda hoped you wouldn’t notice…um, just sand! You know me, always with the sand, heheh…”

He picked up a broom that was leaning against his red chair and began to sweep jerkily at the mess. The various piles of sand around the room suggested that he’d already started working at it, but whatever this was, it was clearly not a one-broom job. 

Balancing Manolo up on her shoulder in one practiced motion, Mirabel turned on her heel and strode back out the door.

“Hey, where—?” she heard him call after her. 

A minute later, she returned with another broom, immediately putting it to work on the swirl of sand by the foot of his bed. She brushed the grains swiftly into the pile that lay at Bruno’s feet. Bruno was still standing right where she’d left him, holding the broom and watching her curiously. 

“So,” she said, pausing momentarily to set Manolo down in her green chair. His little nails were sharp; she didn’t know how Bruno tolerated them on his skin as he moved around all the time. She returned to her sweeping, glancing up at her tío with a raised eyebrow. “You going to tell me what happened here, or do I have to start guessing?”

He harrumphed at her, finally prompted into motion but not into speech. He quietly started adding sand to their growing pile. She pulled her mouth to the side in determination.

“...you got bored and decided to redecorate,” she tried. He gave her a look that aimed at annoyed but was clearly amused. 

“...you built the rats little wheelbarrows and they got really excited to use them?”

“Huh.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned thoughtfully, tilting his head as if he was tucking the idea away for later. “That actually…”

“ You… ” she interrupted before he could get too caught up in the wheelbarrow idea, “made Tía Pepa mad and she sent a windstorm into your room.”

Bruno reached out and knocked rapidly against the wooden frame of his bed. Knock, knock, knock…

“Don’t,” knock, knock, “even say that.” Knock on wood. 

“Come on, Tío, just tell me. Obviously something happened. Are you okay? Is your gift okay? Because if something is happening with the miracle again—”

“No, no, don’t get going down that road, now.” He waved his open hand frantically at her, cutting her off. He sighed and rubbed a tired hand down his face. Now that she looked…the dark circles under his eyes were even more noticeable today, the wrinkles framing his mouth deep and pronounced, sad parenthesis pulling his face into a weary frown. He looked even more exhausted than usual. And now that she thought about it, when was the last time she’d found him with paint smeared on his face from his latest project? When had he last shown her a sketch or a story or…anything he’d made? Lately, it seemed like all of those little things her tío loved had fallen to the wayside, though she hadn’t thought much of it until now.

“If you must know,” he huffed, leaning on his broom with both hands, “which I know you must because you are no better than your mother and you’ll sweet-talk your way into knowing anything once you set your mind to it… sigh… if you must know, it’s from having a-a vision. In my sleep. Happens sometimes, but it’s not a big deal, so, so, so don’t, don’t think it’s a big deal because it’s really not a big deal. J-just a bunch of sand a-and a bit of a headache, but nothing some of your coffee won’t clear up.” He smiled wearily at her and shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.” 

She stopped sweeping and frowned at him. “Happens to the best of…you prophets. Of the future. Just a normal old thing.”

“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ and swooshing the broom in time with the sound. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. After she continued to stare at him, he finally paused again and looked around the room, mouth tight and eyes bright with anxiety. “L-look, look let’s, uh, just, just leave all this for later, okay? I’ll clean it up after breakfast. We’re letting our coffee get cold.”

He reached out and snatched the broom from her hands before she could think to tighten her grip on it. He strode to his vision cave and sent the brooms clattering inside as if it were just a closet, shutting the door firmly behind him with a loud snap. He returned to the main room, this time sweeping her toward her chair with nudging flaps of his hands and muttering something that she could barely make out about waste of time and have to clean it again anyway. 

Mirabel reluctantly settled into her seat, joined almost immediately by Manolo, who wriggled into his usual spot in a ball in the center of her lap. She accepted her cup of coffee when Bruno offered it, watching carefully as he collapsed heavily into his own chair and took a long swig of from his cup. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. 

“Subject change,” he announced without opening his eyes. He took another sip. “Tell me what’s new with you, chispa.” Spark.

She purses her lips at him. “You’re not getting away that easy, you know.” 

He peeked at her from one barely open eye. “I know.” 

Mirabel blew out a breath, unwillingly setting aside the subject for now. She knew she would be much more successful rounding subtly back to it rather than grilling him directly. They both did. 

#encanto fanfic #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #la traes #my writing

[echosong971]

can’t sleep so have some doodles

#i really love sketching in green huh don’t i #also i simply think that them #cayde #cayde 6 #destiny cayde #hunter vanguard #echo #echo 3 #oc #the young wolf #the guardian #hearts and spades #63 #cayde and echo #cayde x oc #cayde x the young wolf #hunter #destiny hunter #exo #destiny exo #destiny #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny 2 the game #echosong971 #art #digital art #fanart #destiny art #cayde art

[harfanfare]

I saw this post and I was wondering if you write Malleus' too, is okay for you to make that?

How to win a heart of Malleus Draconia?

a/n: I started posting my writings here because I want to improve my English — so I technically wouldn't make this request. But! Someone on Wattpad (where I take requests) asked for the same thing, so I rolled up my sleeves and wrote this guide today in both languages. Enjoy~

1. Don't be afraid of him.

It is said that the first impression is the most important.

So when you first saw this guy walking through the corridor of Diasomnia, it was hard for you to get rid of that view from your head.

Illuminated both by the green magic flames set in the lobby, as well as by the moon, which eventually managed to break through the dark clouds and with a bright glow appear in the windows of the dormitory, he seemed... lonely and beautiful.

You shuddered as you took a step down the hallway and the dark-haired man turned to you. He measured you with his emerald eyes. And then you recognized him; all the conversations about the mysterious and fearsome Malleus Draconia flew through your head.

Everything told you to rush towards the hallway and run as far as possible, but a piece of you found it inappropriate. Or rather, no one would want to chase everyone away from themself... right?

When you realized you were looking at him for a while, you took a deep breath and nod slightly.

"Good evening, Draconia-san," you said quickly. After a while you added, "The moon is beautiful today, don't you think?”

 2. Smile a lot.

Today was a really wonderful day: the test was postponed, your favorite dish was given in the canteen, and for some reason, the last two lessons were canceled – your class had to make just a quick note about a topic and it took less than fifteen minutes.

"Something happened?" Malleus asked, seeing how almost in the jumps you walk past him. When you looked at him, he added, "You smile a lot.”

"I can stop smiling if you want," you made a sad face, but after a while, the corners of your mouth began to tremble uncontrollably and twisted up again. "Oops, I can’t. Today... it was such a good day... that I think I'm slowly using my life's happiness.”

"I didn't say that smiling is bad," he said. "You look so much better when you smile.”

"Oh," you sighed with apparent surprise. "Is it a compliment?"

"It’s rather a fact..?"

 3. From time to time visit him during club activities.

"Is this a class of the ‘Gargoyle research society club’?” with a deaf knock you opened the door. Malleus turned to you, making a break from browsing through the materials gathered in the library about the history of each of the gargoyles on the school grounds. And there were a lot of them.

"Yes," he replied briefly, getting up. "Do you need something, [Name]?"

"Not at all, my club don’t have a meeting today," you said, closing the door behind you.

You looked around: the room was as clean as ever, except for one desk, where were laid several huge volumes about statues in NRC.

“Are you here alone?” You said before you thought. You lowered your eyes to see Malleus nodding unconcerned slightly. You blinked several times trying to think of what else you could say. "This room... could be a secret base," that was the first thing that came to your mind. Malleus turned his head to one side, uncertain of your response.

“A secret base..? Why?”

"I have no idea," you admitted quickly. "But the very existence of a mysterious point is interesting, isn't it? Doing normal things, such as watching movies or just talking, seems more interesting in places like this,” After a moment of silence, you sighed. "You know what, this idea with the base is stupid”

"We can try," he replied with serious tone. You raised your eyes to see how he looked around the room. "But you'll just have to explain this idea to me in more detail. We can also tell Lilia, Silver and Sebek about it...” he smiled as if seeing your five together in his thoughts was a pleasure. "It will be surely... fun.”

 4. Get yourself a Tamagotchi.

"Look!" you spin a new key chain on your finger. You finally stopped and showed it to Malleus. "Now they are matching!”

A small electronic toy, in a dark green screen that, when it flashed, showed a virtual, pixelated animal. You were impressed with how good quality it was made, especially since you only gave the Shroud brothers a sketch of a toy that Malleus owned.

Your keychain was exactly the same, just a different color and with another pet.

Malleus pulled out his own device and put it on the table. He pressed one of the buttons and a small pet appeared on the keychain – a dragon.

"They can now be friends," you brought your toy closer to so-called Gao-Gao Dragon-kun.

"Do you think so?" He asked in a very surprised tone, but it sounded as if in a moment he were about to burst out with an inexplicably joyful and surprised laugh.

"Of course. Everyone needs a decent friend, no?”

 5. Gain the trust of Lilia, Silver and Sebek.

Lilia, one of Malleus' closest people. It is much more likely that you will meet him before Malleus. He will be very proud when he learns that Malleus has found a friend. If you become a taster of Lilia, in terms of his pastries, he will 100% like you, and at 20% you will leave the kitchen alive and well.

Silver, who has mastered the art of sleeping in any conditions. It's easy to get him into your plans, although with the craziest ones he will hesitate. Rather well-disposed towards everyone, he can cover for you when you are not in class— but he usually inadvertently falls asleep and both of you often have penal assignments after school.

Sebek, faithful to Malleus, if he doesn't like you, you won't have too many opportunities to stay by Malleus's side without a thunderous glances at you. He will recognize you if you will listen carefully to his monologues about his master and as a sign of your friendship, he will teach you by heart of all the titles and achievements of Malleus so far.

With this trio by your side, you can get a lot further than you might have imagined...

 6. Be a master in hide and seek.

You’d give your right arm that your breath was too loud.

You pressed your hands to your mouth as you crouched in the corner of the room.

From whose voices you already heard, you knew that Lilia had already found Sebek. This meant that you or Silver would still be helping cook dinner since Malleus didn’t come at the start of the game.

This may seem silly, but the ability to play classic games was one of the elements of the art of survival in Diasomnia.

It was thanks to games like ‘stone-paper-scissors’, hide and seek or tag that household chores fell on the shoulders of the losers. Lilia loved the idea, and there was always a proud smile on his lips when he saw his beloved children play together.

You heard the steps behind you and shivered.

Very slowly you turned around and looked up to see Malleus standing over you and wondering what you were doing, crouching in the darkest corner of the room.

Puns were also included in the survival pack.

Fearing that Lilia would hear your whisper, you put your finger on your mouth, asking him not to say a word. You put a begging eye into it – all but not cooking with Lilia. Not again.

Malleus nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation, although he smiled.

Really, no one would want Malleus to be an enemy.

Or at least in such a situation.

 7. Do not hesitate to ask him for help with learning.

"In theory, you should focus on the space around you," Malleus pulled a wand in front of him. It flashed, and almost at the same time, a thin but incredibly strong protective barrier was created around him. “Weaker spells can be reflected. In turn, the stronger ones are better to block”

You nodded understandingly.

Defensive magic was not something easy to understand. Most depended on the person against whom the counter spell was being prepared. And there are countless people who walk on this Earth and want to start fights.

"Unique spells block or avoid physically," he continued. You nodded at every subsequent sentence, slowly feeling like all the lessons are eventually gaining transparency. “Using unique magic against unique magic, the stronger will win, both will lead to explosions or completely reduce.

He looked at you when you wrote down the last sentence in your notebook.

"I sincerely hope that you will only need this information in class," he said with a sigh. "If you need help, call me. I will come. I promise.”

 8. Sometimes be persuaded to wear extravagant clothes.

"Do you really think it suits me?" you turned around, looking at yourself from every possible angle in the mirror.

You were going to the theater in a few classes to see some era-related play that you've been discussing now in history lessons. Everyone, respecting the reputation, actions and achievements of theatre, dressed in their best clothes.

Malleus stood next to you.

He was already wearing a black and white outfit with green accessories. They all worked so well together and fitted him like a glove that you were sure that the whole outfit was made especially for him.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything you put on today suited you very well.”

Once again, with critical eyesight, you looked at the outfit, face and hair, before you quickly turned off the lights in the room and closed the door behind you.

Then you smiled at Malleus.

"We can go now," you said. You made your way through the portal to the main NRC building. "And... thank you for your help.

"My pleasure," he said. Under no circumstances was it just a polite formula. He really loved looking at you.

 9. Invite him to your birthday/party.

"Another break from school soon, huh?" — you muttered, leaning against the railing.

You took a deep breath and let the fresh, pleasant air refresh you.

"Are you going to home, [Name]?" Malleus asked. Green lights were still flying around him, so you guessed he’d just appeared here.

"I haven't decided yet," you sighed. "It would be nice to go home, but the break won't be very long... Ah, that's right!” you straightened up and turned to him. "How about spending another break together? As soon as I can, I will contact my family... although I cannot promise anything.”

Though he did not show it, Malleus' heart beat a little faster.

Spend free time? With someone? With someone he likes?

"Of course," he sounded less calm than he thought. He wasn’t often invited anywhere, even for the things he should have been on, so there was a lot of excitement growing in his body. "I don't see anything against it.”

 10. From "The Great Malleus Draconia-sama" to "Love".

"Ah, The Great Malleus-sama!" you sighed theatrically, taking from him a box of chocolates with a joyful smile. You could promise that because of this dark-haired boy here, you slowly become pampered. "Thank you for your generosity!”

Malleus frowned.

"The Great Malleus-sama"..?” he pondered, putting his fingers to his chin. "Did Sebek told you again to call me with this title?"

"No," you laughed softly at his reaction. "I did it out of curiosity. Maybe I could call you some cute nickname, hmm?" you smiled mischievously.

"For example?"

"By adding ‘-chan’ to your name?” you turned on your phone and typed something related to the nicknames. You started reading suggestions and struggled to hold back from laughing. ” ’Sunshine’, ‘star’, ‘flower’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘love’...

"I like the last one," he said, and the invisible force stung you to the ground.

"Would you like me to call you like that? Out of curiosity or out of love?" You laughed, but your cheeks were all red with blushes.

He smiled sincerely at your reaction.

"Hmm, I wonder..?"

#i wonder too #malleus draconia #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst malleus x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #diasomnia x reader #twst malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #anonymous

[sugawara-sweetheart]

𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔞 (𝔪)

(n.) the overwhelming desire to kiss

Classmate!Bokuto x reader | 04/09

Warnings: thigh-riding, riding, muscle kink, mirror sex, size kink

Word count: 3.5k

part 5/12 of aphrodisia series

it’s in the reflection of the large full-length mirror leaning against the wall opposite your bed that you notice bokuto isn’t writing notes in his textbook but is actually flexing his bicep. he freezes when his round, gold eyes meet your narrowed slits, a cheeky grin stretching across his face as he flexes his arm once more. you swallow, ignoring the way his muscles and veins ripple, instead sighing as you rub at your forehead and twist towards him. 

“how do you like my muscles, y/n?” you try to remain stoic at the way he’s leering at you. 

“do you even know what muscles they are? or any of the bones?” it’s your turn to smile when a blush tinges his cheeks, making you chuckle as you push the textbook towards him. “come on, i’m trying to help you pass.”

bokuto pouts childishly at the open textbook, staring down at the coloured diagrams of male anatomy, red sketched muscles labelled alongside the green bones. 

“who says i need help passing? i can pass a simple anatomy quiz.” you almost want to laugh but it’s not like bokuto’s scoffing laugh- you want to cry from the utter pain of his situation. 

“the twenty-five percent mark on your last quiz says you need help, kou.” your remark makes him scowl, a deeper blush appearing on his cheeks and his long tufts of hair wilting slightly. 

“you don’t need to say that, y/n!” he cries with a heavy huff, pulling down on the skin of his left eye with his pink tongue sticking out as you roll your eyes in response. 

“do you want me to help you study or not?” you exhale at his cheeky grin as he raises a brow suggestively.

“you can help me with other things too.” he swallows at the fiery daggers you shoot at him, raising his large, veiny hands in defence. “okay, okay, let’s study. but y/n…” irritation trickles into your hot veins as you flare your nostrils as bokuto whines your name pleadingly. “i can’t study like this! i’m an- what’s it called- anaesthetic learner?” 

“do you mean kinesthetic?” bokuto pretends to ignore your words, shifting closer to you as he pushes the textbook aside. 

“that means i can’t learn like this! and if you’re going to be a good tutor, shouldn’t you adapt to my learning style? or else what am i paying you for?”

“you mean what akaashi-san pays me for.” you sigh, leaning back against the frame of your bed. 

but bokuto strangely enough had a point. no matter how many times you tried to just simply explain things to him or asked him to read over powerpoints, the information just never seemed to sink in. but what he was asking of you now...you slowly glanced over at bokuto, watching him absent-mindedly doodle over the corner of his notebook. he really didn’t enjoy studying like this but to teach him through an active process of /touch/? you swallow as your eyes rake over his body, taking in his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and chest that his t-shirt clings to, revealing every curve of his sculpted body and his thighs. the heat rises to your cheeks at the sight of his bulky thigh bulging from his shorts, the ridges and curves of his muscles all revealed. how good would they feel pressed against…

“y/n, like what you see?” you scoff, ignoring the way butterflies churn in your stomach. 

“don’t get a big head. but fine,” you exhale vehemently. “let me try teaching you another way.” bokuto smiles, sitting up expectantly as he tosses the notebook carelessly to the side. “i’m going to teach you the muscles first on your own body so hopefully it’ll come back to you in an exam.” he nods, listening diligently with his honey eyes locked onto you, making your heart pound a little faster as you shuffle closer to him. 

his body really is beautiful and up close you can see everything about bokuto that you don’t usually see sitting beside him in a lecture hall. you can see the light little freckles across his nose that usually aren’t visible and how long the lashes lining his golden orbs are and the curves of his pink lips, watching the saliva glisten off them when he darts out his tongue to lick at them. you almost choke, eyes widening as you suddenly become aware of bokuto intensely staring at you, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. 

“are you going to start any time soon, y/n? or were you going to keep-”

“right, this is your bicep.” you say loudly, ignoring the way your cheek burns. your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, blood rushing in your ears as you reach out a trembling hand towards his arm. bokuto looks so entertained, cocking his head to the side as you curse yourself- and him- internally. it was just his stupid body; you had enough times of tapping his arm or shoulder to wake him up when he was dozing off in class so why couldn’t you just do it again now?

you swallow as your fingertips graze his skin, his smooth muscle so warm as you trace your fingers over it. “this is your tricep. say it after me, kou.” 

“bicep. tricep.” you swallow, glancing away from the way your fingertips slide down the underside of his arm to meet his bulging tricep. a heavy stillness hangs in the room, the only sound seeming to be some heavy panting but you’re unsure if it’s from you or bokuto- after all, you can’t seem to meet his eyes. 

“this is the...pectoralis major.�� you swallow hard as your fingertips come to graze bokuto’s chest and you cringe inwardly at the way he tenses. your face is heating up horribly just by your fingertips lingering on his chiselled muscles, making irritation flicker in you. he’s wearing clothes, for god’s sake! you’re merely being a good tutor, nothing else so why are you so flustered?! 

“do you like my pectoralis major, y/n?” bokuto smirks. your eyes widen, pulling you out of your cringing thoughts as you quickly remove your hand. 

“what?” he chuckles. 

“you’re so flustered and you’re barely even touching me.” he teases, lifting his hand to rest the back of his cold fingers against your cheek. “see, you’re so hot and bothered and we’re not even doing anything.” you scowl, swatting his hand away and ready to bite back a remark but you’re suddenly distracted when bokuto starts to lift his t-shirt. 

“what are you doing?!” 

“trying to see how flustered i can make our resident prude y/n.” he cackles, making you splutter as he tugs his t-shirt off. you’re speechless, wanting to shout back that you’re not some innocent, sheepish prude but you can’t, not when bokuto’s bare chest and abs look so beautiful. he looks amazing with his muscles rippling all over his entire sculpted body that you cannot imagine anything except what it’d be like to be underneath him, raking your nails through his muscular back. 

“see,” bokuto continues to jeer. “you can’t even talk right now, that’s how flustered you are! you’re such a-” he falls silent the moment your hands come into contact with his shoulders, pushing him back on the floor onto his forearms. his gold eyes round as you straddle over him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders to elicit a wincing whine that makes your core clench. a smirk stretches across your face with the way bokuto’s staring at you, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence and redness flooding his face. 

“well, well,” you whisper as you lean towards his face, your hot breath ghosting over his jaw as you edged towards his ear. “who’s flustered now?” you can hear him gulp, making you smile more but you’re too far gone now, the initial embarrassment washed away by sheer boldness and the feeling of power to turn the tables, to reduce bokuto to a stuttering mess. you only go further, licking at his ear lobe before pressing soft kisses against his jaw, making him shudder underneath you. he moaned softly at the feeling, his eyes fluttering shut as you continued to pepper his jawline and neck with gentle, lingering kisses. 

“look at me.” bokuto looks up, blinking slowly like he’s dreaming. he swallows, his voice cracking when he speaks. 

“y-yeah?” you chuckle, slowly moving your hands from his shoulders to the hem of your top, making sure his rounded eyes followed your movement carefully. your heart was hammering but you loved this anyway, your core clenching as you witness him take a sharp intake of breath as he watched you slowly lift your top. the cold air meets your body with tingling sensation, your nipples beginning to pebble as you toss your top away, bokuto breaking the tensed silence with choked splutters. “y/n! what are you doing?”

“you thought i was a prude, huh?” you question as you shift off his waist. he shakes his head quickly. 

“no! come on, y/n- show me you’re not a prude! please?” he looks hopeful when you pull down your shorts, arousal overtaking you. he gasps at the sight of you revealing your bare cunt to him, his eyes glued to your dampening folds but it’s only momentary before you’re straddling his thigh, the two of you moaning at the feeling of your bare cunt pressing against his tensed thigh. “wait, aren’t you going to touch me?” he whines and it’s then that your eyes fall on the outline of his cock straining against his grey shorts; he’s painfully hard, the thought making you smile gleefully. 

“oh, of course not.” you roll your hips, pressing your wet cunt against bokuto’s hard thigh. pleasure shoots through you, making you moan loudly as you grasp his shoulders, aware of your pretty tits hanging directly before his face. “and you can’t touch me either?” you don’t care that bokuto scoffs, mouth falling open with shock as you continue to roll your hips against his thigh, little gasps and pants falling from your lips.

“what? why can’t i- ow!” he winces when you slap away his outstretched hand, a thrill shooting through you at the look of his pout before you bring to your fingers to gently grasp his chin, tilting his face to look at you. 

“if you manage to keep your hands off me till i cum, i’ll let fuck you my tight, wet cunt.” 

your words make bokuto jolt and he presses his palms to the floor, keeping himself sat up as you giggle. your moans get louder as you grind your hips faster, the sweet, euphoric pleasure running through you as your cunt drags along his thigh. the ridges of his muscles feel so good pressed against your swollen clit and puffy folds, it draws out such pretty moans and you’re dripping all over his leg, his skin glistening as he hisses. you know it must feel so good for him, to feel your wet cunny pressed against his tensed thigh. 

“y/n…” bokuto whines so needily but you drown him out with all your pretty moans, your eyes locked with his. you can feel your core clench at observing his orbs, darkened with such lustful desperation, dragging down to your bouncing chest and your pretty pussy that ruts against his thigh so wantonly. 

“fuck, do you like me using you like this, koutarou?” you tease, tracing your finger along the column of his neck and collarbone to feel him shiver. bokuto nods, swallowing and eyes fixated on you. you can see his nails scraping into the floor with utter need and it only fuels the fire in you more. 

bokuto’s whines are as loud as your moans when you start humping his thigh, your tits bouncing as you pant and whimper, the pleasure so much fierier with the pressure against your sopping pussy. 

“kou- koutarou!” bokuto looks so hungry, so needy when you slide your hands up to grope your tits, massaging them and rolling your swollen buds between your fingertips to make yourself moan louder with the pleasure, back arching. the coil in your stomach feels so much tighter as you rut against bokuto’s thigh so needily, drinking in the way he’s staring at you, his cock twitching against the tight restraints of fabric and his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. “i’m going to cum, koutarou!” 

the coil snaps and you’re cumming, the hot waves of ecstasy running through your veins as you cum all over bokuto’s thigh, grinding yourself against him through your high so messily with strings of moans rolling from you. you love that bokuto’s watching you so hungrily, whimpering with lust and his teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip, beads of red blood appear and his knuckles are white from how tightly he’s clenching his fist. 

“fuck, you look so hot” he suddenly cries, bucking his hips up desperately as you pant heavily, dizzy with the aftermath of your climax. “fuck, please, y/n, let me touch you- want to fuck you so bad-” you silence him by roughly grabbing him by his hair, gripping his long strands tight as you smash your lips against his, letting him moan into your mouth wantonly. his hands grip your hips, running along your sides before they grope your tits, the coarse skin of his fingers rubbing at your nipples to make you sigh into his mouth. 

“go on, kou.” you murmur against his lips, eliciting something between a whine and a wince as you tug at his hair. “fuck me then.” 

bokuto is rough, his strength underestimated as he pulls you off his thigh, a moan escaping you at his bruising grip. his leg is so sinfully wet with your release, your cum glistening in the light but it doesn’t bother bokuto as he yanks down his shorts, releasing his painfully hard cock. you can’t help your mouth watering at the sight of his cock slapping against his chiselled stomach when he looks so fucking good. the head of his cock is flushed with his arousal, veins prominent along his long, thick length- you’re almost certain your hand wouldn’t fit around it and despite the slick that runs down your thighs, you’re sure the stretch will burn. but in the moment your head is clouded with lust as all you can think of is how fucking hot bokuto looks, his head thrown back and chest heavily as he releases loud, deep moans, the muscles and veins of his arms rippling as he fists his cock. 

“i’m going to fuck you so good.” bokuto growls, grinning in a way that makes your spine run cold and your wetness soak you even more. “you’re gonna be screaming my name so loud your neighbours will know my name.” you gasp when he moves to you quickly, gripping your hair to push you forward on your hands and knees. you moan as you look up, met with your own reflection. you look so fucked out, pupils blown wide with lust and your lips red and swollen, skin glistening with sweat. 

“make me cum all over your cock, please, kou.” you whine and bokuto grins, leering at you in the reflection of the mirror as he slides the head of cock through your sensitive folds, causing you to twitch as you release a loud sigh. 

“oh trust me, i will- fuck, you look so good.” he gropes your ass, squeezing at the fat which makes you giggle as you cannot resist the urge to tease him. 

“kou, do you know what the muscle’s called?” bokuto hisses, gritting his teeth as he protrudes his cock through your folds, your amusement vanishing as you gasp, clawing at the carpet at the burn of the stretch. 

“gluten.” he chuckles but you can’t even laugh, not when he’s splitting you apart on his thick cock. your walls cling to his length, every vein and ridge of his cock pressing against your wet, sensitive walls. it burns and you’re being overloaded with stimulation, one of his hands snaking between your legs to rub at your clit as he pushes himself deeper into you whilst you can only moan so pathetically. 

“fuck, look at your tight, little hole struggling to take my cock.” bokuto laughs, making you whine as your mind is so clouded by that haze of pleasure you don’t even realise you’re convulsing around him, little cries escaping you. “fuck, are you coming already?” he’s just bottomed out, his hips snapping flush against your ass you moan out loudly, arms and legs quivering as he holds you up by your hips, watching the way your puffy pussy spasms around his length, creaming all over him once again. you look so sinful in the mirror, your body twitching and mouth hanging wide open for moans to spill from.

“so-so big, you’re so big!”

your pants make bokuto’s face split into a grin, his ego rising when he suddenly starts to fuck your sensitive cunt. you shriek loudly at the sudden pleasure and pain filling you with each thrust he delivers, his grunts as loud as your almost-sobbing cries. you’re watching the way you moan, the way he hisses, your tits bouncing with with each harsh slam into your sopping cunt. the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room but bokuto is lost in pleasure, his eyes glazed as he holds your hips with a bruising grip. 

“fuck, you’re so tight- your pussy feels so good!” he groans, rutting into you deeper as you choke, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix. you feel so full, so stretched out on his cock with the waves of pleasure rushing through you making your mind feel hazy and your ears pound, hot sweat coating over you. “you’re squeezing me so tight.” 

“koutarou, you make me feel so good! fucking me so good! please me cum, i want to cum! please!” you’re babbling with how good bokuto fucks you, watching his hips snap against your ass hard and fast in the mirror, your face unrecognisable with tears streaming down your cheeks and drool spilling so messily that bokuto just feels so proud of himself. flustered y/n now babbling and crying over how good his cock feels fucking her needy, sopping cunt. 

“fuck, i’ll make you cum. i’ll make you cum so well over my big cock, yeah?” bokuto grips your hair at the roots, pulling you off with a hiss escaping you as you’re pressed flush against his chest. it’s so hot, the clear view of your pretty tits bouncing with each thrust, his thick cock easily visible glistening with your slick every time he fucks in and out of your cunt. he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eyes locked with yours in the mirror. his hand wraps around your throat to squeeze slightly at your sides, moans escaping you both when you clench around him tighter. “look at that, y/n, look at me filling you up with my cock.” you watch in the reflection his other hand comes to press against your stomach, sighing as he feels the bulge of his length at the bottom of your stomach, pressing against your skin as you cry out from pleasure. 

“you’re so big, kou- fuck, i’m going to cum!” 

you tighten around bokuto, making it harder for him to thrust into you with the way your walls grip to him. moans fall from you, your eyes clenching shut and body shaking in his hold as all you can do is rub at your clit, pushing yourself neareer to your release. he ruts into you fast and hard, cock thrusting against your sweet spot. “fuck, koutarou!” you practically scream his name as you convulse around him, soaking him with your wetness which only makes him wilder, watching the way your cum drips down your thighs. bokuto growls, slamming his cock into you as you cry out from the sensitivity, just focused on pushing himself closer and closer to the edge of pleasure. it isn’t hard when your wet walls cling to him that his cock twitches and he cums, releasing into your sopping cunt and fucking it deep inside you, your name rolling off his tongue. 

bokuto pants as he slumps back against your bed frame, carefully holding you in his arms as you rest your head on his chest, his large cock still buried deep into your full pussy. you’re coming down from your high, the worries of fucking your own friend and classmate flooding your mind but it’s quelled when bokuto gently kisses the crown of your forehead, his hands gently rubbing your sides. 

“i like these study sessions, y/n. we should do them more.” you let out a laugh, body still feeling light from the euphoric high of your orgasms. 

“we barely even studied, kou.” he smiles down at you cheekily, eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“who says we’re studying the next time too?” maybe being bokuto’s tutor wouldn’t be so bad after all.

taglist:  @crushingonsuga @redflannel @nekomas-biggest-fangirl @euniche95 @heyhinata @strawhatshepard @karasu-hoes @kokenma @haikyuuhotline @chichibia @satendou​ @kaashi-is-bae​

to be added to the aphrodisia taglist, please send an ask to either myself or @super-noya​

#aphrodisia #bokuto #bokuto imagines #bokuto fic #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto college au #college!bokuto #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fics #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu college au #college!haikyuu #hq #hq imagines #hq fic #hq smut #hq x reader #hq college #college!hq #have some holy water <3

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin au #bts au #w: into the wilderness #UHH THATS THE FUCK RIGHT THATS WHAT I SAID !!!!!! #okay but also i havent felt as emotionally redeemed abt a climax scene in a long time #anyway i hope you all enjoy !! this is my baby so you BETTA TREAT IT THAT WAY

[ragingbookdragon]

You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Kyle Rayner x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I HAVEN'T HAD ANY WIFI ALL DAY BUT NOW I DO AND this is my new obsession and pair and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

Kyle had an easy morning routine: get up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, workout, shower, drink protein shake, and draw. It was simple and effective, and helped him maintain a sense of normalcy that he didn’t always have when he was up in space. He typically started out with sketching small things, mostly faces and limbs from memory, the occasional suit redesign, then he’d get into the bigger works, drawing comic panels and the commissions he had. And while Kyle loved to be up in space, to be a Green Lantern, drawing felt like coming home to him, like it was the natural state. That being said, he didn’t love being interrupted when he was in the middle of something important—it was bad for the groove.

***

As the second round of knocking sounded on his door, Kyle grunted and stood from his desk, padding through the hallway to his front door; he flicked the lock and pulled open the door, surprise etching across his face when he saw the eldest Wayne leaning against the door frame—rather cockily, Kyle added, because the soldier’s arm was propped on the frame, the other stuck in the side-pocket of his dark tactical bomber jacket.

“Good morning, Kyle,” he greeted with a smirk. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The Lantern blinked, shaking his head. “Uh, no, you’re not, (Y/N).” he looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Had some business to take care of for my dad, and since I was in the area, I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to get some lunch with me.”

Kyle took a moment to lean out the doorway slightly, looking down the stretched hallway. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Please, a magician never reveals his secrets,” he deflected coolly, gazing at Kyle. “What do you say? Wanna get some lunch? I know a really good sports bar that serves great food.”

He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Yeah. Let me go get dressed.”

The soldier merely winked in return and with fumbling hands, Kyle managed to shut the door before his cheeks burst into flames, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull together an outfit that would impress the man.

***

Kyle almost dropped to his knees when he saw the car parked outside his apartment building, and (Y/N) knew it too, because he chirped, “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

He nodded dumbly. “Is this a McLaren 720S?”

“Mhm.” He opened the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, looking through the passenger door. “Coming?”

“Am I ever,” Kyle breathed, climbing into the seat, immediately running his hands along the dashboard and seat. “I’m in love.”

“Wait till you hear her purr,” (Y/N) said, closing the doors, and pushing the ignition. The sports car roared to life and he grinned at the way Kyle’s face melted. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He put the car in drive and looked through the side mirror, then pulled out onto the street.

“Is this one of your dad’s cars?”

“Nah, I bought this for myself a couple months ago.” He pulled the sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them on. “This and an Audi TT.”

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Jesus, you billionaires live it up, don’t you?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Hey, I live life in the fast lane. Might as well drive in it too.” He pushed a button on the touch screen and music filtered through the speakers, and Kyle’s face pinched in confusion. “What?”

“This isn’t—James Blunt isn’t the music I figured you’d play.”

“What’d you think I’d be listening too? Rock?” he chuckled, turning the volume down a bit. “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to all kinds of rock music, but I figured you’d want something easy rather than head-bang your brains out rock.” (Y/N) stopped at a red light and glanced over. “You can look through the artists on my phone if you want.”

Kyle shook his head, relaxing into the seat as the melody flowed through him. “No, I like this artist.” The soldier merely smiled in return, pressing the gas pedal again, and Kyle suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of artist, I saw the canvas in your bedroom the other day. Do you draw?”

(Y/N) hummed. “Not like you. It’s more of a pastime than a lifestyle.”

“You’re good at it. You’re painting your family in their suits. Details and designs included.” The artist regarded him with impression. “That takes skill.”

“I’d like to think I just have a steady hand and a lot of patience for stressful tasks.” (Y/N) turned the wheel, coming up behind a line of cars. “It’s an easy way for me to relax and mentally run through past events.”

“Like what?” Kyle questioned curiously.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, but not in a loathing way, more of a thoughtful one. “Missions, conversations, things I could’ve done differently, things I will do differently.” He shrugged again. “Painting for me is just a time when I think about everything and nothing.”

“Well, you’re great at it, (Y/N).”

He snorted. “It’s just a bunch of paintings of my family and friends and military shit.”

Kyle blinked and leaned over. “Wait, is that painting in the den—”

“The one of the F-18 Super Hornet?”

“Yeah. You painted that?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. I got Hal Jordan to take me up in one a few years ago and decided to commemorate the trip.”

“Wow,” the Lantern breathed. “I stared at that canvas for at least an hour the first time I saw it. I was just so blown away by how amazing it was.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And to find out, you drew it and not some world-famous painter.”

“Hey, I could be world famous if I wanted.” (Y/N) shot back, turning onto a less busy backstreet. “I just choose to retain my talents for family and friends.”

“Because of your job?”

“That too.” He agreed. “My squad and I take careful precautions to avoid our faces being seen during any missions for the safety of our families.” His face turned as solemn as his voice. “We do what we do to make the world safer. To keep our families and friends safe. It’s imperative that we’re not seen.”

Kyle cocked a brow. “But you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But I’m not as…out as the rest of my siblings. You’d be able to recognize them from press photos, but me not so much.” (Y/N) pulled into a parking spot outside the bar. “People only recognize me when they see the name on the credit cards. And I prefer to keep it that way.” A goofy smile crossed his lips. “The high life isn’t for me.”

“Says the man that drives a 710 horsepower sports car.” Kyle shot back with a grin of his own and (Y/N) stuck his tongue out as he turned the car off and opened the doors.

“Okay, I’m not actively in the high life but that doesn’t mean I don’t like luxury.” He closed the car doors and opened the front door to the bar for Kyle. “After you.”

“Thank you.” He replied, and walked inside, only stopping to turn and ask, “Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?”

(Y/N) tipped his head to the side. “I’m down with both, but I like the bar more.”

“Bar it is,” Kyle said and slid into one of the chairs, (Y/N) the other, and an older man wandered over.

“Well, I’ll be damned, is that (Y/N) Wayne I see?”

He turned, expression morphing into joy as he reached out and shook the older man’s hand. “Jack, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you son. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know me, sir. Nothin’ changing but the weather.”

Jack snorted. “And the desert where you dig sand outta your ass.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Damn straight.” He looked at Kyle. “Kyle, I’d like you to meet Jack Dagher. He’s an old CO of mine.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“It’s all mine,” Jack replied. “It’s been a while since (Y/N) brought anybody here.”

At that, Kyle turned to the soldier who was busy looking anywhere but his face. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Sonovabitch doesn’t bring his dates here unless he really likes ‘em.”

(Y/N) coughed, glaring at the man. “Alright, we get it. Aren’t you supposed to be taking orders?”

Jack gave him a smug look in return. “What can I get you boys to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Kyle said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. What kind?”

(Y/N) snickered as Kyle flushed. “Uh, a Heineken.”

Jack sighed. “And he had such potential. (Y/N)?”

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri then water after.”

“Still ordering fruity drinks, huh?”

“Hey, they get you drunk faster than horse piss does, you old fart.” He shot back and the old man chuckled.

“Touché.” He slapped the bar. “I’ll bring those to you with an order of chili fries.”

“Thanks Jack,” (Y/N) smiled, watching the man walk off before turning to Kyle who was watching one of the baseball games. “You like sports?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I don’t not like them. I was never a sporty kid in school, but I like watching them.” He looked at the solider. “What were you like in school? Jock or prep?”

“Probably a bit of both,” he answered. “I played sports and had the highest grades.” Shrugging, he added, “And being a Wayne boosted me into the top tier of schools, so, there’s that. To be honest, I think all of us Wayne kids were and are a mixture of every stereotypical category.”

“I can see that,” Kyle laughed. “Especially with Jason and Dick.”

“Shit, I was talking about Timmy.” (Y/N) said. “That kid’s a grade A nerd.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

The two of them laughed and a woman placed their drinks in front of them, both giving their thanks as they took sips.

“Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”

“My muscles are one hundred percent real. Especially my abs. Which you’re allowed to feel on in envy if you want.”

Kyle snorted into his beer, wiping his mouth. “No!” a few more chuckles passed his lips as he wiped the bar. “Are you…you know…?”

“A Leo?” (Y/N) offered with a smile, but his eyes told Kyle he knew exactly what the Lantern was asking, and he said, “I like the liquor, but I don’t care what label it has on it.”

The other man smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But if you want the technical term, I am pansexual.” He regarded Kyle a moment. “You?”

“Bisexual.”

His lips pulled in an impressed fashion. “Pretty fly for a bi guy.”

Kyle gaped at him for a moment, then shoved (Y/N) in the side as he buried his face in his arms and laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Ah thank you,” he grinned. “I get it from my old man.”

“You,” he cut himself off with a cackle. “do not get that from him.”

“Look, you know the big man in the suit. You don’t know the complete goober we live with,” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling at the waitress who placed menus in front of them; he picked his up and flipped through it.

“What do you recommend?”

“Hmm…anything with bacon on it.” He showed the menu. “If you like salads, get the steak and blue cheese one, it’s fantastic. Or if you’re more into tacos, they’ve got these awesome shrimp carnitas with chili peppers.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed as he looked the menu over. “What are you gonna get?”

“My usual. Tomahawk steak with garlic butter and mashed potatoes.” (Y/N) groaned and rested his head back. “I haven’t had a good steak in months, and I can just taste it already.”

“So, you’re a meat and potatoes kind of man?”

He grinned, keeping his eyes closed. “Unlike the cup noodle and Hawaiian roll man beside me.”

“Ouch. Hit me where it hurts.”

“C’mon Kyle, hit me with your best shot.”

“Better watch it, (Y/N),” he grinned. “You might be the next notch in my pencil case.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

***

“Holy crap,” Kyle breathed, hands resting lightly on his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

(Y/N) moaned. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“Done?” their waitress laughed. “You haven’t even finished your desserts yet!”

“Oh God, don’t make me,” the Lantern whined. “I’ll explode.” He looked over. “(Y/N), take one for the team.”

“Pass,” he replied. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking at the rest of the cheesecake.”

The woman laughed. “I’ll wrap the leftovers for you boys.” She wandered off, leaving them alone, and a blaring ringtone filled the space between.

(Y/N) jumped a little, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I get this really quick?”

Kyle shook his head. “Go ahead.”

He slid his thumb along the bottom and rested the phone on the bar. “This is Wayne.”

Captain! Finally. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.

“I know,” he snorted. “I’ve been ignoring it.”

Yeah well, the longer you ignore me the slower it takes for the radar dish to get replaced.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) asked. “I thought you’d procured one.”

I did. Then the buyer told me I wasn’t registered for official military hardware.

He frowned. “That’s odd. You did contact Thomas, right?”

Yeah. Beady eyed looking motherfucker who serves on the George Washington, right?

“That’s him.” (Y/N) hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll call him later this evening and get it all sorted out, yeah?”

Sounds good. Hey, did you take that guy out yet? Your little brother won’t stop texting me about some twinkie you’re into.”

(Y/N) froze as he felt Kyle’s eyes drilling into the side of his head and he stuttered, “Uh, Nadeen, now’s not the best time.”

What do you mean best—oh…ohhhhhh. I, uh, I gotta go, Captain.

“Yep. Bye.” He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. “So…you catch the baseball game?”

“Which one of your brother’s thinks I’m a twink?” Kyle asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s Jason, isn’t it?” he grunted in his throat, deadpanning, “I can’t believe my best friend thinks I’m a twink.”

“It’s Dick, actually.” (Y/N) grinned, turning to face him and he reached over, pinching Kyle’s cheek. “It’s just ‘cause you’re so cute and perky.”

The Lantern merely glared at him, griping, “I’m not as strong as you, put I can punch pretty hard.”

“Ooo, those are fighting words,” he shot back with a smirk, letting Kyle go. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

“I feel like I’m talking to Hal.”

(Y/N) whined, all but collapsing onto Kyle who started snickering. “I’ve just been murdered.” He buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I was just compared to Highball. The world must be coming to an end.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby. You’re not dying.”

“I am!” he turned his head, gazing at Kyle. “You’ll have to carry me to safety.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did, but in more words.”

“Alright, now I’m talking to Guy.”

“THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE!”

***

He leaned against the door frame as Kyle unlocked his front door and pushed it open, turning to look at him. “I had a lot of fun today, (Y/N).” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Winking, he replied, “I’m glad you did. I’d like to do it again soon if you want.”

Kyle nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and (Y/N) smiled, patting the door frame. “Well, I’d better be heading out. Have to get home in time for dinner.” He paused, giving the man a warm look. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Kyle.”

He’d not gotten two feet from the door when Kyle’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” He turned and the Lantern leaned forward, pressing his lips to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will,” he murmured, watching Kyle wave and disappear into his apartment, the door shutting behind him.

#kyle rayner x reader imagine #kyle rayner x reader imagines #kyle rayner x reader #kyle rayner imagine #kyle rayner imagines #kyle rayner #green lantern x reader imagine #green lantern x reader imagines #green lantern x reader #green lantern imagine #green lantern imagines #batbro imagine #batbro imagines #batbro #batfamily x batbro imagine #batfamily x batbro imagines #batfamily x batbro #batfamily x batbrother #batbrother imagine #batbrother imagines #batbrother #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #lanternfamily x reader imagine #lanternfamily x reader imagines #lanternfamily x reader #lanternfamily imagine

[vash-the-trans-catboy]

Cake and Impersonating Your Enemies

Summary: Dukeceit fluff for Janus’ birthday

Taglist: @sanderdarksides @moons-the-nightmare @heirm @lost-in-thought-20 @1stressedanddepressed @xoaningout @lily-janus @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @thebittybonesaddict @just-a-little-anxious (ask if you want to be added)

Word count: 1269

Ao3

Janus pushes his face deeper into the pillow as the sun streams through his window. It is the worst day of the year, again. He can’t believe this day came so quickly back around. His birthday. Birthdays over at the light sides part of the mind are a sacred celebration. Patton and Roman always make sure every birthday is perfect. Unfortunately, Janus is not one of them. The light sides had forbidden Janus or Remus from celebrating their birthdays. They would hate for the dark sides to feel special, even just for one day.

Janus takes this very harshly. He plans on sleeping the entire day. Remus, on the other hand, does not give a shit what the light sides say.

“Sneky! Sneky! Sneky!” Remus tosses the covers off of his grumpy boyfriend. Janus grumbles under his breath while trying to hide behind his arm, “Wake up! Don’t you know what day it is?”

Janus glares at Remus, “You shouldn’t throw someone’s blanket off them. I could have been naked under there.”

“Like I haven’t seen that before.” Janus hisses and chucks a pillow at him, “Come up! Birthday celebration starts now. Fuck the light sides.” Remus pulls Janus off the bed into a hug.

“Fine.” Janus sighs in defeat. Maybe one birthday wouldn’t be that bad.

“We can do anything you want today.” Janus lights up at that.

“Anything, huh? Well then. I have a few ideas, that may or may not have to do with the light sides.” The gears in Janus’ mind start to plot how to get back at the light sides while having the best birthday possible.

“Tell me, snake boy!” Janus summons a whiteboard to write out his plan.

“We are going to make a cake.” Janus draws a small cake in pink and circles it. This doesn’t seem like the most evil of schemes at first glance, but it is more mischievous than it appears. The light and dark sides share a kitchen but the dark sides are forbidden from making anything for a celebration. Patton is very strict about this rule. There is only one way around this, “We need to impersonate two of the light sides to get into the kitchen. Today happens to be the day Roman is taking Patton to the Imagination as a thank you gift for something, I didn’t care to get all the details.”

The last part isn’t quite true. Janus knows exactly why Roman is taking Patton into the Imagination but he might as well save his dignity and pretend he didn’t learn that information. When Janus gets bored he has a bit of a habit of stalk-no, information gathering from the light sides. He can’t really be blamed, Remus is great company, but their side of the mind palace gets lonely.

“Here’s the plan: I will impersonate Patton and you will pretend to be your brother.” Janus adds a light blue and red stick figure next to a door label ‘Imagination’, “While I work on the shapeshifting and potions to look like Roman and Patton. I need you to steal a few things from them to perfect our appearances.”

“Yes! I love stealing stuff. Especially from Roman.” Right as Remus is about to sink out to Roman’s room, Janus stops him.

“Not so fast Dukey.” Remus whines that he wants to steal already, “At least let me explain what I need you to steal first. We are going to an exact copy of both of their regular day outfits. Along with Patton’s extra glasses and Roman’s spare crown.”

“I’m on it, Captain.” Remus salutes to Janus as he sinks out. While Janus waits for Remus to return, he creates small sketches on the whiteboard of little green Remus stealing from the light sides. Janus would never admit it out loud but he is a bit of an artist.

A few minutes later, Remus returns with the stolen items along with a few extra things to mess with Roman. He puts the glasses on Janus’ face and laughs.

“Do I look that bad?” Janus asks self-consciously.

“You look like a nerd, Sneky.” They both break out into hysterical laughter, “Now time for committing crimes!”

“Oh eager, are we?” Janus lightly makes fun of Remus as he transforms into the dad-like side. His scales are replaced with freckles and his dark black greasy hair is replaced with fluffy brown curly hair.

“Yellow does not suit Patton at all.” Remus tosses Janus the clothes he stole from Patton’s wardrobe, “Only hot people can pull off the yellow.” Janus’ cheeks flush a ruby red.

“Here drink this.” Janus hands Remus a bubbling potion swirling with red and gold. Without hesitating Remus chugs it down as if it is a shot.

“I feel funny.” Remus tetters back and forth, falling into Janus’ arms. The white streak in his disappears turning into auburn brown hair. He shrinks an inch and his mustache disappears. Janus helps Remus back to his feet, “I’m good now. I thought for a second you were trying to poison me, snake boy.” Janus chuckles before heading off to his bedroom to get changed.

As Remus is putting Roman’s crown on his head, Janus comes stumbling out of his room in full Patton attire, “Why does he have such bad eyesight?” Janus takes Remus’ hand for balance as he sinks them into the kitchen.

They gather the ingredients, occasionally ‘accidentally’ bumping into each other. Janus claims it was the lack of sight from the glasses but Remus knows that isn’t true.

Flour is over the floor, sugar dusts the counters, and every single cabinet is open. Janus pulls the cake out of the oven and sets it on the cooling rack.

“Now for the best part….. decorating!” Janus smiles as he pulls out frosting and mini chocolate chips. He coats the base of the cake in vanilla frosting, letting Remus do the honors of placing the topping on it. He turns around to be surprised as Remus places the treats on the cake. He excepts something disturbing from the amount of laughter coming from Remus but the picture in chocolate chips is simply obscene, “I love it, Remus. Just like you.”

“There is some frosting left. And ya know there is only one thing to do with leftover frosting.” Remus takes a scoop of frosting and smears it Janus’ lips, “Wait! Don’t lick it off.” Janus gives his boyfriend a confused look, but quickly understands why. As Remus leans in to kiss the frosting off of his lips, they both hear a small hurt gasp coming from the bottom of the steps.

Light footsteps attempt to storm angrily over to the two of them, “Ro-Roman?” Virgil’s voice breaks, “You’re you’re cheating on me?”

“Oh shit,” Remus mumbles under his breath to Janus.

Virgil holds back his tears as he goes to rip Patton off his boyfriend. He stops short once Roman is facing him, “Why do you have a mustache? Roman doesn’t have a mustache.” Virgil shoves Remus into Janus and runs back up the stairs screaming for Logan.

Janus grabs the cake with one hand and Remus with the other, “Well this seems like a good sign to head home.” He sinks out with Remus before Virgil or Logan can come back.

Back in the dark side dining room, Janus cuts them both a piece of cake, “Thank you for a great birthday. I forgot how good they could be.”

“Anything for my scaly boyfriend.” Remus pulls Janus closer by his collar, whispering, “May I?” Janus eagerly nods before closing the gap and kissing Remus.

#happy birthday janus! #janus sanders #remus sanders #ts janus #dukeceit #romantic dukeceit #ts dukeceit #ts remus #ts fic #thegayemo writing

[rostovs-lover]

dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library. 

                            ───☮︎───

     Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

      It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

      It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

      Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

      Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

      The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

      Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

      “Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

      “Bearington?”

      Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

      “A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

      He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

      “Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

      He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

      “A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

      Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

      “That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

      His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

      You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

      “Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

      “Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

      “What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

      As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

      “Charlie!” Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

      You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

      He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

      The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

      The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

      You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

      “Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

      “Do you want me to guess?”

      You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

      “Are you gonna tell me?”

      “Should I?”

      “Obviously, I told you my name.”

      You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

      “Pretty,”

      Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

      Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

      “You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

      You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

      “Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

      “So you just chose to ignore it?”

      He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

      You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

      “Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

      You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

      “Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

      “You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

      “Maybe I want your ear,”

      You paused, “You… what?”

      Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

      “I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

      Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

      You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

      “Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

      You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

      Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

      You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

      Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

      “Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

      He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

      You grinned, “I might,”

      “I’m begging,”

      “Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

      Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

          “Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

      Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

      “Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

      Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

      “You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

      “Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

      “You better be,”

      Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

      Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

      “Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

      Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

      “Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

      “If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

      “Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

      Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

      Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

      Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

      “He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

      Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

      “Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

      He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

      He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

      Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

      Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

      “Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

      Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

      “It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

      “Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

      Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

      Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

 ( @interwebseriesfan24 )

#dead poets society #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton imagine #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society imagine #its the way this tried to crash my computer #also peep the new format #dedicated to everyone who said theyd read if i posted dps #enjoy! #dps #lennie writes

[cherienymphe]

Unrequited (Thor x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, side of Loki x reader, reader has it bad for Loki

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics​ }

summary: you, a servant, are in love with Loki, your prince. He’s never noticed, and while that’s unfortunate for you, it is much to Thor’s delight because he has noticed. And he can’t stand it.

~

You stood along the wall with the rest of the servants, waiting as patiently as ever. The other girls beside you had been fidgeting for a while, Ingrid huffing for the fifth time in minutes, and you supposed that you couldn’t blame them. The feast had commenced hours ago, and it seemed as if an end was nowhere in sight. You, however, were more than happy to wait.

A familiar hand lifted into the air, long fingers snapping to beckon you over. Without hesitation, you answered the dark-haired prince’s call, feet hurrying to take you to him. You knew what he wanted as soon as he lifted his goblet, and you were extra careful in pouring him more wine. You’d hate to spill any on him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he absentmindedly said, the words falling so easily from his lips.

You’d heard them probably a thousand times, and just like before, you always asked:

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

And just like always, he said:

“No, that will be all.”

You kept your smile in place as he waved you away, heart sinking as you turned to join the rest of the servants on the wall. Your fingers scraped along the pitcher in your hands, and you let your eyes fall to the ground as a particularly loud laugh climbed out of the king’s throat. You cringed at the grating noise, lip trembling as you forced your beating heart to still.

Your eyes finally rose again, landing on the prince, and your heart clenched in your chest. His dark hair shone as it brushed along his broad shoulders, long fingers dancing along the rim of his goblet. He stood out amongst the rest of the rowdy guests, his quiet disposition a stark contrast in the rowdy room. He was always quiet though.

That’s what you loved about him.

Prince Loki didn’t care to be the center of attention…just like you. He spent his time reading and writing. Occasionally, you’d walked in on him drawing a sketch or two. On most days, he was subdued, preferring to observe those around him. You noticed that he took his time when talking with people, seeming to really mull over his responses before voicing them. He was such a breath of fresh air from-.

Your thoughts were cut short by that laugh again, and you winced. King Thor bellowed, completely tickled by something Hogun had whispered to him. You straightened and glanced away from him with a small sigh.

You had no ill feelings towards the king…none of consequence anyway. Everything about him just seemed to overwhelm you. He was too loud or too big or too abrasive. He was just too much. For as long as you’d known him, he was loud and demanding and a bit spoiled. Not to mention impulsive. He and Loki were so different that you often found yourself wondering how the two could even be related.

Fortunately for you, it seemed that Loki had finally grown tired of the antics, waving you along as he stood. You set the pitcher down and rushed to follow him, trailing behind him like a pet would. Sometimes you thought that you should feel embarrassed at how completely devoted to him you were, but you couldn’t find it in yourself too.

The prince was beautiful, and not just because he was a god, but because he was Loki. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his pink lips had never once formed to say anything to hurt you, the opposite in fact. His voice could soothe even the crankiest of children. Prince Loki had never been anything but kind to you, even allowing you to borrow his books.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

You knew it was silly. He was a prince, a god, the highest caliber of royalty there was, and you… You were a servant. He would never look at you the way you looked at him, but you knew that his brother had a reputation for pulling servants into his chambers through all hours of the night. Heat settled into the pit of your stomach as you thought of Loki doing the same to you.

It became clear early on though that he was not like that. At first, you thought that it had just been you, and disappointment and sorrow had eaten away at you for weeks, but you soon realized that no one was warming his bed. You hoped that one day that would change. Even if that was all the prince wanted from you, you’d happily give it to him.

You’d do anything to please him.

“Draw me a bath,” he tiredly murmured just as you closed his chamber door behind you.

“Of course.”

You breezed past him, and through his bedroom, making your way into the bath. Loki didn’t like his bath water too hot, and you waded your hand through it many times to make sure it was just right. You added some soaps to it, grabbing the bowl of flower petals you’d placed beside the tub this morning. You were seated on it, tossing them across the water just as he made his way inside. You set it down, hurrying to help him undress.

“Thor was more energetic than usual tonight,” he said, sighing as he eased into the warm water. “How do you always manage to get it perfect?”

That last part was said so softly that you wondered if you’d imagined it, and you knew that it must have been said more to himself, not meant for you. You smiled anyway.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my prince?” you genuinely wondered, resting your arms and chin on the large bath.

His head was leaned back, eyes closed as he soaked. A small smirk danced along his lips, and you eyed it.

“As well as to be expected, I suppose. I’ll never understand why Thor demands my attendance to such trivial gatherings. Nothing more than a self-congratulatory circle jerk,” he sneered.

You swallowed a laugh at his crude language.

“Pardon my wording,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

You were already moving as you asked the question, but his soft ‘please’ warmed your heart. Your fingers were gentle in combing through his locks, massaging his scalp. A low moan rumbled deep in his throat, and you ran your eyes over him as he relaxed under your ministrations.

When you were done, you cupped some water in your hands a few times before letting it run over his hair. You swallowed when he began to rise, and as much as you didn’t want to, you looked away.

“I’ll go turn back your bed,” you told him as you turned around to give him some privacy.

As you pulled his sheets and covers back, you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over the cool material. You wondered how comfortable they were, how cool they’d feel against your skin. How cool they would feel while the prince had his way with you…

You snatched your hand back like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You swallowed down your wanton thoughts as Loki exited, fully dressed for bed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

Your voice was soft as you asked the same question you did every night, hoping against hope that he’d finally say what you wanted to hear. That he’d ask you to stay, ask you to share his bed, ask you to please him…

He threw you a smile, so small it was barely there, but you knew him so well that you could easily spot the subtle change in expression.

“That will be all. You’re dismissed,” he told you.

With a shaky nod, you turned and left. The minute you were in the corridor, you pressed your back to his chamber door, tears in your eyes. The desire that coursed through you should have terrified you, but it only fueled the hope in your heart. You had to hope that he at least desired you half as much as you did him.

When you finally got your legs to move down the hall, you passed the king’s wing. A feminine giggle echoed down the hall, and you turned your head just in time to see his chamber doors slamming shut, the tail end of a flowy dress nearly getting caught.

You blinked, lips parting as your shoulders sagged.

Your fingers ghosted over the beauty products before you, brows furrowed in confusion. You knew that it was wrong of you to sneak into Ingrid’s room, but you were desperate. You only wanted to borrow a few things that she wouldn’t even notice were gone. She had so much.

You bit your lip, wondering if this was even the right thing to do. What if he laughed at you, thinking you silly for this? What if he didn’t take you seriously after this? What if he thought less of you? What if you were only making a fool of yourself? With a sigh, you dropped Ingrid’s rouge just as her door opened.

There was a frown on her striking features as soon as her eyes landed on you. It was late in the night, and her hair was perfectly mussed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You had suspicions that she was the one you saw going into the king’s chamber earlier.

“Never pegged you for a thief, Y/N,” she chuckled, closing her door.

“I wasn’t stealing…only borrowing,” you replied unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” she brushed you off, nearing you to see what you had.

She took it and turned it over, a small smirk gracing her lips.

“…and…just who are you trying to get all prettied up for?”

Your mouth opened and closed, words failing you as you pondered over whether or not you should tell her the truth. Deep down, maybe a part of you wanted to get caught. Maybe you wanted to ask for her help? You doubted that she’d help you without the truth though.

“Don’t tell me… You’re trying to gain the king’s favor…?”

Her voice was colder, eyes hardening as yours widened.

“The-the king?” you exclaimed, eyebrows rising.

She scoffed, running her eyes over you.

“I already have to fight for his attention with just about every other woman in this kingdom. I’d hate to have to put you in your place because you got way in over your head-.”

“No, no, heavens no,” you said, frowning in disgust. “I am not trying to seduce the king.”

The thought made your stomach turn. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on you as you slowly rose to your feet.

“Well, then who? Because a girl like you doesn’t go rifling through other people’s things just to seduce no one,” she argued.

“Well, trust me, it is not king Thor. He’s all yours. He’s not exactly my taste…”

Her frown deepened.

“Who is?”

A soft sigh escaped you, and again, you wondered if you should be truthful or not. Ingrid would probably press you for details, and you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself further by admitting you were hopelessly in love with prince Loki. Your eyes reluctantly met hers again, and her face evened out as her eyes lit up.

“The prince,” she whispered, a genuine smile on her face, a light scoff escaping her. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet… I am. You were right. The king isn’t your taste.”

You swallowed.

“Can you…help me?”

“You sweet summer child,” she tsk’d. “You do understand that while the prince is definitely no Thor, he is still a man. There’s a very high chance that he’ll only want one thing from you.”

You rubbed your arm, gently shaking your head.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just…want him.”

She let out a long exhale, eyes softening as she eyed you.

“I see. How…cute, but I’ll help you.”

She grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

“You wait on him hand and foot. I always thought you were just being a dutiful servant, maybe even a bit of a pushover, but now it all makes sense.”

“You don’t have to tell me how silly I am,” you mumbled.

“I’m not,” she chuckled, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your head. “I’m commending you.”

You were sure the confusion was clear on your face.

“The prince has seen how wonderful a servant you are. I’m willing to bet that he has never had one complaint about you. He thinks you’re perfect, and now you will show him that you have even more to offer.”

Her smile grew, and so did your nerves.

The night was spent with Ingrid teaching you everything she knew. How to walk, how to smile, how to speak. You hadn’t realized that seducing required so much work, and you suddenly realized that it was going to take more than you thought to get what you wanted.

When morning came, she helped you dress, whispering words of encouragement to you. She assured you that you could do this, could have him right where you had wanted him for years, and with her guidance, you left to go down to the kitchens to gather his breakfast.

You breezed into the prince’s chambers like you did every morning. You walked through his receiving room and laid out his breakfast before making your way to the large windows on the far-left side of his room. You pulled the drapes aside, letting the sunlight in just as a groan sounded from behind you.

“Is it morning already?”

His voice was always husky in the morning, deep and groggy from sleep.

“Yes, my prince. Do not forget that the king requested you join him this morning for a meeting regarding the-.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he sighed. “Heaven forbid Thor tend to his duties as a king should without me by his side to guide him.”

When finished, you turned to help him out of bed. All of his movements halted as you neared, and you avoided his eye as you went to turn the cover back. You could feel his eyes on you, and your body grew warm under his scrutiny.

Ingrid had lent you one of her dresses. It was the typical cream garment that all of the servants donned, but the neckline sat lower, showing off a tasteful eyeful of cleavage. Where your regular dress had loosely flowed around you like water, this one hugged you, accentuating your curves.

You were startled when Loki’s hand found your wrist, stopping you. You finally looked at him, brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stared at you, a small frown on his own face. Your arm trembled at the feel of his hand on you, and he noticed, quickly letting you go. Much to your disappointment…

“Thank you, Y/N, but I can take it from here,” he quietly told you.

You nodded, backing away.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

For the first time, his reply did not come quickly. There was a brief pause, hesitation that had never been there before, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“…no.”

Your heart sank, and you nodded, turning away.

As usual, the king was the last to arrive, everyone else having long taken their seats. Loki had been one of the first to arrive, and you had happily served him water while he waited. Thor strolled into the hall like there wasn’t a care in the world, taking his time in sliding into his seat before beckoning one of the servants over.

Your eyes did what they do best and fell on the prince. Other than his perusal this morning, nothing had changed. For a moment there, you had thought that he finally saw you as you saw him, but whatever you thought you saw was gone just as quick as it had come.

Did he hate the look of the dress? Your face? You had applied rouge to your cheeks and lips, keeping your hair simple. Ingrid had assured you that you looked ‘good enough to eat’, and yet… Your shoulders sagged as a stifling sadness fell over you.

What if it wasn’t a matter of getting him to notice you? What if he already did and simply…did not feel the same way? The thought of Loki never returning your affections because you did not appeal to him made your heart hurt, and you blinked back tears just as the prince beckoned you over for more water.

As you refilled his glass, you felt the odd sensation of being watched. Against your better judgement, you glanced over only for your gaze to connect with that of the king’s. You quickly looked away, topping off Loki’s drink just as the blond spoke.

“Brother, you do not think to introduce your servant to her king?”

You frowned in confusion, and so did the prince as you both looked to Thor. His blue eyes were on you still as a secretive smile graced his lips. You tilted your head at him.

“As many years as Y/N has served me now, you’ve never thought to formally introduce yourself,” Loki told him, frown deepening.

A spark of recognition flitted through the king’s eyes as he gazed at you, and a chuckle left him.

“That would explain why she’s looking as if I’d asked her why the sky is green,” he jested.

As he pointed that out, you worked to even out your face. You nodded at him before dismissively turning to Loki.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Stay close though. I have a feeling Thor will drag this meeting far beyond what’s necessary,” he complained.

You nodded at him, eyes lingering as you hovered for a moment before your feet reluctantly moved you back to the wall. Loki offered his input throughout the meeting, but it seemed that the king never liked whatever the prince had to say. You could see him growing more taut by the minute, and you longed to place your hands on his shoulders, easing his tension.

You wondered if this was all you’d ever be to him. A servant. The possibility of that seemed to be growing by the minute, and you started to feel so silly for thinking you could ever be anything more. You considered being bolder, possibly even just confessing to him, but you didn’t want to think about the humiliation if he rejected you.

Or worse.

What if he was so affronted that he dismissed you for good? You couldn’t truly imagine such a thing happening, but your mind was running wild with the possibilities. When you came back to the scene before you, Loki was rising, voice clipped.

He was angry, you realized, and you frowned. You took a small step forward as you eyed him, hating the way his face was twisted. He seemed to be scolding his brother, and when you looked to the king, you found his blue gaze already on you. Your frown deepened, and you hurriedly looked away just as Loki pulled away from the table, waving you along.

Without a second glance to the king, you hurried to follow him. He was grumbling to himself when you caught up to him, running a hand through his hair.

“What is my purpose of being there if he isn’t going to listen to a word I say?” he wondered.

“My prince, you know that your brother has always done what he wants to do,” you softly told him.

He slowed to a stop, shoulders heaving as he sighed. You reached for him before thinking better of it, pulling your hand back.

“You are right, but it does not mean I have to like it.”

You hated to see him so bothered, and you stepped closer.

“Would you like something to eat from the…?”

You swallowed the rest of your words as heavy footsteps approached, and you both turned to watch as the king neared. You took a few steps back to stand behind the prince, quietly acknowledging Thor. Your eyes landed on Loki again as his frown deepened at the sight of his brother.

“Loki, the meeting was far from over, and there is still much for us to discuss,” Thor boomed, a frown of his own covering his features.

The dark-haired man heaved a sigh.

“I’d hardly call it a discussion, brother if you aren’t actually listening to a word I say,” he complained.

Thor opened his mouth to say something when his eyes caught yours. He appeared to think better of it, blue eyes quickly running over you just as Loki turned to look at you as well. You frowned at the king’s perusal.

“Fetch something from the kitchens for us, and then bring it to my chambers,” he softly ordered, rolling his eyes.

You bit back a smile at his evident irritation with the king before nodding.

“Right away, my prince.”

As you walked past the king, you felt something catch along the fabric of your dress. You turned with a slight frown, but both the king and the prince were already walking away. You blinked, writing it off as you made your way to the kitchens.

It took you no time to put a platter together, grabbing some ale. When you returned to the prince’s chambers, he and Thor appeared to be locked in a stalemate. You set the tray down between them, filling their goblets as they glared at each other. You felt a bit awkward, so you touched Loki’s shoulder.

“My prince…”

He blinked, finally looking away from Thor before reaching for the platter with an angry huff.

“Thank you, Lady Y/N,” Thor said.

You sent him a quick smile in return, barely sparing him a glance before turning your attention back to Loki. His green eyes found yours, and they softened.

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Thor and I have much to discuss indeed it seems,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, and you could feel the king’s gaze searing into the side of your face.

“If you’re sure. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

He shook his head, and reluctantly, you stepped away. With a quiet sigh, you left his chambers without a farewell to the king.

The days that followed were…odd, to say the least. The king seemed to be around Loki a lot more, and by default, that meant he was around you more as well. You didn’t know how to feel about it, but you didn’t think you liked it. Not only was his presence upsetting the prince more than usual, and therefore upsetting you, but the king tended to stare a lot.

Having always been strictly a servant for the prince, you hardly interacted with Thor, but the few times that you did, you didn’t remember this being a part of his behavior. His ever-watchful eye unnerved you, and you soon started to wonder if he knew how you felt about the prince. You prayed not, because he didn’t strike you as the type to keep it to himself.

Unable to hold your tongue regarding his hard to ignore presence, you brought it up to the prince one night.

“It’s all rather tedious,” he sighed. “It’s nothing that I believe truly requires my input. That’s excluding his grand idea of me finding a wife.”

Your chin had been resting on the tub, fingers running along the smooth surface, when he spoke. You froze, feeling as if someone had taken a knife to you as you slowly lifted your gaze, eyes landing on him. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, the perfect picture of relaxation, a contrast to you at the moment.

“…what?”

Your voice was small, but the worry must have been evident, nonetheless. Loki chuckled.

“Do not fret,” he told you, finally opening his eyes. “No strange woman will be coming here to demand things of you anytime soon. I’m merely humoring him. Although, I will admit that he does seem to be rather persistent upon the idea.”

He moved to rise, and you looked away.

“It’s preposterous if you ask me. He suggests I began looking for a wife when he has yet to find a queen?”

You didn’t laugh along with him, knowing that the king had a rather annoying habit of getting whatever he wanted. The rest of the night was spent in silence as you helped Loki prepare for bed. If he noticed your strange behavior, then he did not comment on it, and for that you were grateful.

After quickly leaving his chambers, you found yourself amongst the rose bushes in the garden. Your shoulders shook as tears kissed your eyes, chest clenching at the thought of the prince binding himself to someone else forever.

A part of you had always known that this day would come, but you had never wanted to acknowledge it. You had hoped that something would happen before then. Of course, how could you expect that to come true when all you did was stare after him like some lovesick fool? A tear skipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away just as you heard footsteps.

You thought nothing of it, knowing that many people ventured into the gardens throughout all hours of the day. However, when the footsteps stopped behind you, you had no choice but to turn. Surprise and confusion filled you as your eyes landed on none other than the king. Unlike before, you couldn’t get away with ignoring his presence.

“My king,” you greeted, standing.

You worked to school your features as he looked over you, a crooked smile on his lips.

“It is rather late for you to be frolicking about all by your lonesome, is it not?”

You frowned at his tone but brushed it off.

“I just wanted some solace and fresh air to think,” you told him.

He hummed, and you moved to leave.

“Goodnight, my king.”

He stopped you, and you looked to him with a small frown.

“It is late and dark. Allow me to walk you back to your chambers,” he offered.

You shook your head.

“I appreciate the offer, my king, but there’s no need. I’ve walked these dark halls alone many times before,” you replied.

You went to step around him, but again, he was there. You swallowed down your annoyance, biting your cheek.

“I’d feel much better if you allowed me to. I’d rest easy knowing you made it back safe.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you nodded, choosing to pick your battles with the almighty Thor. He rested his hand on your back as he walked you out of the garden, and you stepped out of his reach. The walk back to your room was filled with silence, but you were not bothered. Your mind was too crowded with thoughts of Loki.

He said that he was only entertaining Thor, having no intentions of taking a wife anytime soon, but that could easily change. The king had a way of getting what he wanted one way or another, and for some reason, he wished for his brother to be married. Your frown deepened.

“I’m sorry for my odd behavior at the meeting the other day. You did not look as I was used to seeing you,” the king said after a while with a small chuckle.

“It’s quite alright,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence before he spoke again.

“I do hope everything is alright. You appeared rather upset in the gardens…”

You shook your head, somewhat annoyed at his uncharacteristic behavior. You had never known Thor to be so observant of another unless it affected him. The only time you’d notice him pay so much attention to a woman was when…

Your lips parted, and you looked away as realization hit you. Your eyes slowly looked to him, and you found his attentive gaze already on you. You pursed your lips, annoyance filling you.

“If it appeared that way then I apologize. It wasn’t my intention. I merely have a lot on my mind,” you told him, voice clipped.

“Such as?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Your tone left no room for questioning, and you heard him huff. Relief filled you when your door came into view, and you bowed to him with a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking away. You felt him grab your arm, gently, but it still startled you, nonetheless.

You looked to him with wide eyes, brows furrowed. He stepped closer, and if it weren’t for his hold, you would have stepped back. His gaze was intense, sparkling with something you had seen all too often, and disgust filled you.

“If my brother is mistreating you in any way, you are always more than welcome to serve me instead,” he quietly said, voice thick.

Your frown deepened, and you pulled your arm away before stepping back, watching as his face fell.

“Why would the prince be mistreating me? He has never been anything but good to me.”

He cleared his throat.

“I just worry that your behavior might have something to do with him-.”

“As kind as that is, it is not necessary. As I said, I merely had a lot on my mind. The prince could never put me into a foul mood. Goodnight, my king.”

You swiftly entered your room before he could reply, and you placed your ear to the door. He seemed to stand there for a while before finally leaving with a huff. You only sighed in relief when he was gone, quickly ridding yourself of your dress.

You quickly slipped into one of the night shifts Ingrid had lent you, feeling naked in the flimsy fabric. You felt like you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t allow the king to get his way and have Loki married. The night air felt even cooler as you stepped out of your room.

You felt scandalous, but so many of the other women had done what you were currently doing a thousand times before. There was no need to feel ashamed or weird about it. Still, if anyone caught you, you’d have to come up with something.

The walk to the prince’s wing felt long. It wasn’t late enough for him to be asleep, that much you knew. He usually had his nose buried in a book at this time. You slowed when you got to his door, heart surprisingly steady in your chest. With a deep breath, you smoothed the fabric before knocking on his door. You could hear his footsteps approaching, but with a frown, you realized that his weren’t the only ones you heard.

You looked over your shoulder just in time to see the king approach, his wide eyes taking you in. Your own widened just as the door opened behind you, and you felt your body grow cold at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Y/N?”

You spun around, facing Loki as confusion filled his features. He ran his eyes over you, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths just before he finally noticed his brother.

“Thor. What is the meaning of this?”

Your mind whirled, and you blinked.

“I…believe that I must have been sleepwalking, my prince. I’m so sorry-.”

“Nonsense. Here, the nights are colder these days,” he said, taking off the robe he was wearing before covering your shoulders with it. “What are you doing here, Thor?”

You too wanted to know the answer to that, and it was hard to keep the irritated frown from your face as you looked to him. His own eyes were on you, and you knew then that he saw through your lie. He cleared his throat.

“I came to discuss something with you, brother,” he said.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, surely it can wait until the morning. I must walk Y/N back to her chambers to ensure she makes it to bed safely,” he told him.

You smiled at him at him as he pushed you along.

“Thank you,” you told him.

You caught the frown on the king’s face, but you ignored it as Loki rested his hand on your arm.

“You’ve never been known to sleepwalk before,” the prince murmured.

“I know. Well, at least not that I know of. I’m not sure what happened,” you lied.

“Anything could have happened. You could have fallen down the stairs, or one of the unscrupulous characters who roam these halls could have happened upon you.”

You sent him an appreciative smile. His hand was warm on your arm, and you inhaled, breathing in the comforting scent of him. You basked in his presence, but all too soon, you reached your door. You took off his robe, handing it back to him, but when he grabbed it, you didn’t let go.

A frown was on his face as you tugged on the fabric, pulling him closer. You blinked at him, smile widening as hope filled your eyes, unable to miss the way he ran his eyes over you.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

His eyes widened, face falling as you made your intentions clear. Realization bled into his gaze.

“You were not sleepwalking…were you?”

Reluctantly, you shook your head. He heaved a sigh, and your face fell.

“Y/N…you are my servant. A good one. I cannot use my authority to-.”

“Why not? The king does it all the time-.”

“I am not Thor! I refuse to be,” he said, and your lips trembled. “I will not take advantage of you.”

You grabbed his shirt, pushing yourself against him. You watched his throat bob, a look in his eyes that you had always prayed to see.

“I want you to,” you quietly said, hurrying to continue when you noticed that he was about to protest. “My prince, I would do anything for you. I would give you anything you asked of me.”

He exhaled, and it was shaky, and you smiled. He hesitantly leaned in, and your nose brushed against his. He whispered your name so softly, the sound going straight to your heart…and stomach.

He kissed you, and you moaned against his lips. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and one of his hands pressed into the wall, the other going to your waist. Your heart soared, and you felt like you were floating as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Take me,” you breathed into his mouth.

He froze, and you could have cried. Your heart sank as he pulled away, his chest heaving, and lips swollen and red. He smoothed down the fabric of your night dress.

“I…am giving you the day off tomorrow,” he murmured, and you frowned.

“What?”

Panic filled you, but he hurried to ease it.

“Do not fret. I merely have much to think about and…I cannot do so properly when you tempt me so.”

Embarrassment filled you, and you looked away as a deep chuckle escaped him.

“Things are starting to make sense, and I’m realizing that you have been tempting me for days,” he whispered.

“I would do it again,” you said, kissing him.

He hummed into the kiss before pulling away and opening your door. He gently pushed you inside, green eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before.

“Sleep well for I shall not abandon you.”

You smiled at him, biting your lip as he turned to leave.

“Loki…”

He paused at the use of his name, looking over his shoulder. You sighed, lashes fluttering.

“I love you.”

He blinked at your confession, lips parting. He took a step towards you and kissed you one last time. You watched him walk away, and when you closed your door, you slid down to the floor, the happiest you’d ever been.

Your happiness only increased the next morning when you noticed a folded slip of parchment that had been slid underneath your door. When you opened it, Loki’s handwriting greeted you, and your eyes widened as they skimmed over each line.

He wanted to meet you tonight in the master chamber of the abandoned wing. You briefly wondered why there, but his next few words informed you that Thor’s presence had been rather persistent lately, something you too had noticed, and he did not wish to be interrupted.

You spent your entire day off in a daze, wondering what tonight would entail. You remembered everything that Ingrid had told you, even some of the things that had made you squirm, and there was a very high chance that you would be doing those things tonight.

When the night finally came, you felt your nerves increase like no other. It was late, and the corridors were empty, bare feet walking on the cool floor. You wore nothing underneath the robe, body bare and clean from your bath earlier. You weren’t afraid. You trusted the prince more than you trusted anyone else in the world.

The room was empty when you entered it, but light was cast onto your features from the candles placed around the room. The bed was made, but you wasted no time in turning it back, robe slipping from you, a whisper of fabric in the quiet room. It fell to your feet, and you slid into the bed, pulling the sheet to your chest as you waited for Loki.

You didn’t wait long, and you sat up when you heard footsteps approaching. A soft smile danced along your lips, excitement filling you as Loki approached. You watched as the handle turned, but when the door creaked open, it was not his form that filled the entryway.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a frown taking over as confusion and fear and anger filled you. Thor’s eyes met yours, and you felt your breath pick up, chest heaving as he shut the door behind him. Your lips were parted, at a loss for words as you fought to voice your thoughts.

“Well…this is a first,” his deep voice hummed. “A woman has never been disappointed to see me before.”

“…wh-what? What is the meaning of this? Where is Loki?”

He did not answer you right away, and your frozen frame finally moved as he took a step forward. You hurried off of the bed, clutching the sheet to you as you reached for your robe.

“I see the way you watch him. Such devotion in your eyes,” he murmured, almost in awe. “What man would not envy such loyalty from a woman such as yourself?”

You froze again, jaw clenching and fingers tightening as the truth hit you.

“You tricked me,” you quietly spat, glaring at him.

You didn’t bother to school your tone, king or no king. You were disgusted with him. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his features, and your anger grew.

“How else was I to get you alone? Your eyes only ever see my brother,” he said.

“So you take it upon yourself to use deception to get me alone with you? Because that’s the only way I’d ever do so.”

His own jaw ticked, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You practically fall on your face to get away from me, but him you throw yourself at like a common whore,” he sneered, finally exposing himself.

You surmised that he saw you and the prince last night, and your stomach turned. You took no offense to his statement for it was true. You’d do anything for Loki.

“It’s okay for women to act that way as long as its for you,” you said. “I would do anything for the prince…and you can’t stand it.”

You shook your head at him, watching his face twist into anger.

“You’re like a child,” you said in disbelief. “You get anything and anyone you want, and still, you know no satisfaction.”

“You will watch how you speak to me,” he ordered, taking another step forward.

“You have tricked me! And for what? Because I want your brother and not you? You’re despicable,” you threw at him.

“One more word of disrespect, and I shall have your tongue,” he threatened.

“The prince would never allow such a thing to happen,” you smugly replied.

He straightened, and he knew it was true. You threw the robe around you, only allowing the sheet to fall once it was secured.

“You do not spare me a glance,” he finally said. “It is as if I am not there.”

You snorted.

“What does it matter? I have always shown you the proper respect, my king, but you are angered because I’d rather fall at the prince’s feet than yours? There are lines of women in this kingdom ready to do your bidding. Leave Loki and I be,” you snapped, flurrying past him.

He stopped you, and you sharply inhaled.

“Surely you could be just as happy giving me what you so desire to give him.”

You frowned, offended. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Thor was hurt by your rejection. You shook your head at him, disbelief coloring your tone.

“You do not understand. I love the prince.”

You watched his fall, lips pressing together as he registered your confession.

“My loyalty and devotion to him is because of my love for him. I am in love with Loki. Do you get it now?”

He took a step back, letting go of you as he blinked, realizing that this was no matter of fleeting lust.

“That look that you envy so much is love, not desire. It angers you so because you have never known it,” you told him.

He glared at you, and you returned the look. You watched as he picked at a piece of lint on your robe, lip curling over his teeth.

“Then I will simply have to make you love me as well.”

He yanked you towards him, and you yelped, kicking at him. He pressed his mouth to yours, forcing a kiss on your lips, and you pushed your hands against his chest. He tore at the robe that covered you, and fear gripped you, a scream bubbling in your throat, but he swallowed it down.

You had always thought that Thor was too much, a list of things falling under the vague statement, and too strong was quickly added to it. He had you naked before him in no time, and you bounced against the bed as he threw you onto it. He fell over you, hands pinning your wrists down as he took his fill of you, eyes tracing every curve of your body.

“There is a part of me that regrets taking you away from my brother, especially like this, but the part of me that wants you all for myself already won.”

He kissed you again, and you only started to cry when you felt him moving to release himself. You had been prepared to ruin your reputation for the prince, risking the fate of marrying a second son or marrying no one at all. You loved him, but you would never risk such a thing for the king. Yet here he was, taking that choice away from you.

You screamed for Loki, desperate and afraid, but Thor’s lips covered yours once more, swallowing your cries. His beard tickled your skin, and his blond locks brushed over your face. You could feel the tip of him brush against you, and you trembled beneath him. He ignored your cries and your please, pushing into you so swiftly that the pain didn’t even register until moments later.

You yelped into his mouth, and he moaned into yours, trembling at the feel of you wrapped around him. Tears spilled from your eyes, anger and sadness paralyzing you. The king was in heaven…while you were in hell.

“Loki,” you sadly murmured, chest hurting at the thought of never being with him.

This angered Thor, and he snarled just before pulling his hips back and snapping them against you. You gasped in pain, nails digging into his arms as more tears ran down your face. His lips kissed at your cheek and neck as he thrust into you, low moans leaving him.

You turned your head away, anger increasing at the extent of Thor’s selfish nature. You hit at him, slapping his shoulders and face, curses flying from your lips. He quickly grew tired of your antics and grabbed your wrists, slamming them down beside your head. You sobbed in frustration.

His heavy breathing filled your ears as he slammed into you, every thrust making your heart clench in pain. You struggled to get your arms out of his harsh hold, but he only tightened them. You knew they would be sore in the morning.

Against your will, your core grew slick under his ministrations, the sound of his assault reaching your ears, making you cringe. He tried to kiss you, but you kept moving your head, refusing to give him what he wanted.

“You shall grow to love me as well,” he murmured.

You shook your head, and he pressed his lips to your jaw, groaning against your skin.

“I wish for you to show me the same devotion that you give to my brother.”

His thrusts grew slow, gradually pushing into your slick walls until you were forced to feel every vein and ridge of him. He moaned, a low sound from deep within his throat. You felt him shudder, and you did as well as warmth filled you, his cum slowly leaking out around his cock. He softened, but barely so, and fresh tears spilled.

He forced another kiss on you, grinding his hips into yours as he fucked his cum into you, the wet sound reaching your ears.

“I can give you the world too,” he groaned into your mouth. “I shall not rest until you look at me like you look at him.”

~

tags: @mcudarklibrary​ @darkficreposter​ @xoxabs88xox​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @hurricanerin​

#dark thor #dark thor x reader #dark fic #dark!thor x reader #dark!thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #marvel fanfiction

[gummygowon]

finger paint | choi san

word count: 1.3k 

genre: fluff

established relationship!

warnings: san just makes a sex joke but that’s it 

request: hello hello could i request san with an artist!reader? like they're dating but he's also her muse and she paints him and hfjsjfjd pure fluff ig? also congrats on 100!! deserved

a/n: thank you!! <3 i hope you enjoy! ps. thank you for helping me with literally everything lol

“choi san!” you scolded your boyfriend as he kept moving wayyy too much for you to sketch his body.

“i’m sorry, i can’t help it. but you gave me something really boring to do.” san apologized as he motioned towards the english textbook you gave him. 

you sighed in annoyance thinking of other ways to occupy your boyfriend enough for him to stay still since you current art project was to capture someone in the act of doing something. so of course, you choose to paint san since it was another excuse for you to marvel at your boyfriend plus you got to spend even more time with him and get your schoolwork done. it was a three birds one stone type thing you know?

at first, you asked him to dance for you. letting him freestyle to whatever song was playing. if i’m being honest, you spent the first five minutes just watching san dance. you were absolutely entranced by the way he moved his body so effortlessly and smoothly. 

san had caught on to your staring and teased you for it. “are you gonna start drawing or are you just gonna keep your mouth open? because i’ll give you a reason to keep it open.”

your immediate reaction was to throw whatever was in your reach at him. your weapon of choice was an eraser that hit him square in the forehead. 

“ouch.” he pouted as he rubbed the targeted spot.

“that’s on you.” you defended as you picked up the eraser he threw back at you, your cheeks a pretty pink. “can you get back to dancing now please?”

“you sure? because i-”

“san!” you shouted at him as you pointed your pencil at him threateningly. 

“ok! ok!” he said immediately as he jogged back to his phone to hit play again.

as the music went on, the more you realized it was hard to capture a single dance move. you were getting frustrated each time you had to erase your page. 

“baby, is it okay if you can do something else?” you shyly asked him, feeling bad that he has to switch activities for you.

“sure, of course. what do you have in mind?” he asked you as he lowered the music.

this is how you were left with a twitchy san, who wouldn’t sit still while you tried to sketch him. he always changed his position every few minutes or so claiming that he couldn’t get comfortable. finally, you got tired of san changing positions which led to you slightly snapping at him.

but then a bright idea popped into your head.

there was an art sale at your local target which resulted in you buying some mediocre art supplies for your art students that you had lessons with during the week. you rushed into your storage closet, digging around bins and bags looking for the five-color finger paint set that you never used.

“where did you go?” your boyfriend asked as you returned with a palette and the bottles of paint in your arms. 

“i had to get something.” you answered as you sat back down on the floor, cracking open the paint, secretly praying that they weren’t dry and chunky. fortunately, your prayers were heard and the paint squeezed out the bottles with ease. 

“what’s that for?” san asked pointing to the paint bottle in your hand as he crouched down, “i thought you weren’t done with the sketch?”

“i’m not.” you handed the palette to him, “this is for you.”

“but where am i supposed to paint?” he asked you as he dipped a finger into one of the blobs of paint. 

“good question.” you replied back, motioning for him to sit. you didn’t have any spare canvases to use since you were already on a tight budget plus regular printer paper would just bleed through. you thought carefully about what other surfaces san could use to paint. a white board could work or maybe a-

“what the hell-” you shouted as you felt something touch your knee. you looked down to see san slowly removing his finger from your body, a glob of blue paint still stuck on his finger where a half drawn smiley face was left on your knee.

“i’m sorry.” san replied quickly as he removed his finger and went to go wipe it off. 

“wait.” you pushed his hand away from your leg. if you didn’t have any surfaces for him to paint on, then why don’t you become one? the paint was washable since it was made to be on skin plus you aren’t wasting any more art supplies. 

bingo

“you can keep painting-”

“on your legs?” san interrupted, giving you an odd look. 

“yeah, they’re fingerpaints it’s okay.” you smiled at him before picking up your sketchbook again. 

the pink haired boy shrugged his shoulders and picked up the palette of paint before returning your body. the first thing he did was finish his smiley face on your knee. then he started to dragging his finger around your calf after quietly asking you for to raise your legs, which created a long green line that wrapped around the bottom part of your leg. next, san used his middle finger to dip it into a pretty red color to make a flower right on top of the green line and then he dipped his pinky into some yellow to create the middle of the flower. after alternating between colors and fingers, san had managed to create a pretty vine that had a different colored flower every few inches. he also threw in a few small bees around the plant. 

before continuing to paint the other leg, san had stolen a glance at you. he felt a smile form on his face as he watched your hands glide against the paper smoothly and skillfully with your bottom lip tucked underneath the top one. sunlight falling on you, making your skin glow. san could feel his heartbeat quicken, the longer he stared. he never imagined being able to date someone as lovely and amazing as you. someone who was able to love him but also be his best friend. someone who he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life. 

you could feel your boyfriend’s gaze on you which slowly made you look up from your sketchbook, “what?” is there something on my face?”

“huh? oh no.” san answered as he watched you perked your head up, making eye contact with him. he could feel his heartbeat even faster when your face broke into smile. fuck. he really was in love. 

“what is it?” you asked, a laugh escaping your mouth as you looked at your flustered boyfriend.

“nothing, i just love you.” he replied, gaining some composure. 

now it was your turn to get flustered. you could feel heat rush to your cheeks for the twentieth time today. damn, the things this boy did to you. dating san was full of surprises, cute cuddly moments turning into heated ones. but the biggest one to you was the thought of spending your futures together. he was your only partner that your mind really brought up about spending the rest of your life with someone you love so much. now it was a clearer answer. 

yes, you would spend the rest of you life with choi san. your best friend, boyfriend, and muse. the person who would have your back for life, no matter what. 

“do i not get a ‘i love you’ back?” san pouted with his fingers still covered in paint. 

“yeah.” you teased him, an annoying smile plastered on your face as you dipped a finger into the paint. it was quite obvious that you loved the pink haired boy back but you wanted to mess with him after he wouldn’t sit still. 

“whyyy? that’s not-”

you cut him off by poking his cheek with the finger covered in a bright blue.

“hey!” he shouted at you before reaching to grab a leg but you got up so quickly and sprinted away from his touch. “come back here! i want my ‘i love you’ !”

#choi san #choi san oneshots #choi san imagines #choi san fluff #choi san fluff imagines #choi san fluff oneshots #ateez choi san #choi san oneshot #ateez oneshot #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez fluff imagine #ateez fluff oneshots #ateez fluff oneshot #ateez oneshots #ateez imagines #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop imagine #kpop oneshot #kpop fluff #request

[illyaana]

Cursive Ink - Yamaguchi Tadashi

Collab: Pain Tolerance by @haikyutiehoe

Thanks for making this collab, hun! the idea of pierced and/or tatted anime characters got me squealing~! Do check out the other works involved in the collab in the link up there~

Tags: Yamaguchi's POV, Angst, Fluff, Yamaguchi x Tattoo Artist! Reader, Binaural

Synopsis: Love never really goes the way we plan it to be - and Yamaguchi was no exception. His failed confession to his former best friend left him heartbroken. However, his decision to go to a tattoo parlour may have been the best (and craziest) choice he's ever made in his life. (I also believe Yamaguchi is pansexual, so don't get so confused XD)

Word Count: 2552

A bit of context: In Japanese, 'Yama' means mountain, 'Tsuki' means the Moon

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“Yamaguchi, no,” Tsukishima said, pulling his hand away from my hand.

“Why are you lying to yourself? I know you feel the same way, Tsuki - don’t lie to yourself.”

“I don’t, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima said, eyes turning cold, “I am not gay - I am a straight, heterosexual male. I love women and women only.”

Lies.

You are lying to me.

You are in love with me.

You are already mine, Tsuki - just wake up and see it.

I know you can.

what was that kiss under the tree when we were kids?” I whispered, not wanting my voice to break, “If you never loved me, why kiss me, Tsuki?”

“We both agreed that it was a mistake, didn’t we?” The blonde male said, anger rising, “We both agreed - not just me.”

I said yes - I know I did.

That doesn’t mean I meant it.

You know me, Tsuki - I’ll agree to everything you’ll say.

Why aren’t you realising it?

I’ve waited for so many years for you to ask me out, but you never did.

I’m here, right in front of you, asking you to be mine - just say yes.

I don’t want to wait anymore - it’s too painful.

“I lied, okay?!” I scream, “I loved you ever since we were kids, Tsuki. I want to be the one you come back to when you leave, the only one you kiss, the only one you hug, the only one you dream about - I want to be that to you. Is that so hard to believe?!”

I hugged myself, not wanting to break down anymore.

That small hug was the only thing stopping me from letting all hell break loose.

I had kept this in ever since I knew Tsuki - ever since he saw him in that park.

I knew everything about the tall male. The way he smiles, the way he hides his anger when he wants to be respectful, his secret love for dinosaurs, his soft side, his small quirks - I knew it all like the back of his hand.

I knew what he needed to be the middle blocker’s lover, and I was willing to sacrifice myself to be the best thing for Tsuki.

One thing was clear in my head; Tsuki felt the exact same way.

“Yamaguchi, I’m sorry. I don’t love you the way you want me to,” Tsukishima said, kneeling beside the green-haired male.

“I don’t believe that.”

I forced his lips on Tsukishima’s.

I closed my eyes, trying to memorise how the lines of his soft and pale lips felt on his - how it softly caressed my lips without even responding to the intimate kiss I was trying to initiate.

I felt Tsukishima trying to push me away, but I didn’t let go of the male’s collar.

He already took my first kiss - what is the difference if I took another?

The second our lips left each other’s, Tsukishima punched my nose.

Blood dripped from my nose, but I couldn’t care less.

“Don’t you fucking call me Tsuki ever again, dumbass. Better yet, don’t call me.”

My last day of high school ended with blood and tears, but the pain in my heart from losing my best friend hurt more.

⁜

⁜

⁜

I stared at the stars, lying down in the little treehouse we made as kids in my backyard.

I tried to cry it all out, but I couldn’t.

I feel cheated by you, Tsukishima Kei.

You made me make you my everything.

My voice was tuned to calm you down.

My hands we moulded to keep you warm.

My life was made to keep you safe, but you don’t need me to be you.

But I do - I need you to be me.

One-sided crushes are the worst form of love, aren’t they?

You give it all for that one person - to please and cherish them.

They just think it’s just a form of showing how strong your friendship is, but you want more.

You are the only one who wants more.

You are the one crying at night about how you wished they were by your side.

You are the one craving for their touch.

You want them, but they don’t want you.

I don’t care about you bruising my face, Tsukishima-san.

I care about you fucking me up like this.

I will no longer wait for your messages.

I will no longer look at your tweets and be the only one giving reactions.

I will erase you from my narrative, Tsukishima-san.

You can wonder about how much you’ve hurt me when I have reached somewhere you can’t even touch me.

⁜

⁜

⁜

“You are absolutely sure about this, right?” Hinata said, worry laced in his words.

I open the doors to the tattoo parlour and I was instantly mesmerized. The walls were filled with such intricate designs - sizes ranging from as small as a finger to as big as my whole body. The smell of fresh ink slowly hit me, reminding me of my schooling years.

“I am sure, Hinata. I was planning to do this ever since I was small, either way. I just wished it was under better circumstances,” I reply, eyes locked on all the flower motifs.

I always wanted a tattoo - it didn’t matter how big or small it was. I always thought of how beautiful the idea was - to have something permanently inked on your skin to remind you of who you were. Flowers drew with such hidden meaning, curved lines speaking words of poetry, ideas brought into life - tattoos are an artist’s masterpiece meant to paint on my skin as a canvas.

“Do you want me to stay? I don’t mind waiting here with you - “

“Weren’t you supposed to meet up with Kageyama later today?” I remind him, chuckling.

“That man is late for everything. I think he can handle me coming late for once.”

“I’m seriously okay, Hinata! Go get ready, I’ll send a picture when it’s done,” I say as I push him out of the shop.

“Okay, okay - make sure to send me that picture!” He said as he ran out of the shop.

Why follow me if you’re itching to leave?

“That friend of yours has really bright orange hair - is it dyed or natural?” I hear someone say.

Holy shit, you’re hot.

“Oh - uh- um- It’s natural,” I say, forming some space between us.

Holy shit, you’re hot.

You tied half of your hair in a small bun, showing me the small, intricate designs on your neck. Flowers decorated your soft skin, moving down under your shirt’s sleeve. Small golden piercings decorated your ears. They were encrusted with gems of various colours that shifted under the soft lighting gracing your skin.

You looked so beautiful I couldn’t stop staring.

“So, do you have an appointment?” You asked, breaking my train of thought.

“N- no.”

Stop stuttering, Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“First time, huh?” you smiled, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. The pain is different for everyone, but I think you can handle it.”

“T-Thanks.”

God, stop stuttering.

“God, you’re cute,” you laughed while looking at my frazzled face, “Don’t worry, my dearest client - you’re in capable hands. Come - let’s discuss your design, shall we?”

You grabbed my wrist and brought me to your corner, leaving me blushed mess.

Cute.

They called me cute.

I’m breathing, right?

Okay, I’m breathing.

As we were walking, I got to see the back of your neck - more specifically, a part of your tattoo.

It was a blossoming rose - a huge one. It had vines that grew from it, encircling your whole neck, moving down your shirt and reaching the tips of your fingers. Smaller roses grew from it, branching even smaller vines surrounded by leaves.

I wanted to know the story behind that tattoo. It looked so beautiful yet so dark. The thorns that came from certain vines alarmed me, but I kept my thoughts to myself. My attention was brought to your piercings - more specifically, the design of the encrusted jewels. They were flowers, as well. In the middle of each jewel held a line of gold that branched out, just like the vines of your tattoo.

“Oh, you’re looking at my tattoo and piercings, aren’t you?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Is it okay if I am?” I ask, worried.

You laughed.

“Of course it’s fine. Who would get a tattoo and not prepare for all the staring? Not going to lie, here - these piercings and that tattoo help me fuel my ego. After all, everyone’s staring at them,” you joke, playing with your hair.

You sit on your chair, pointing at the one opposite you.

“What are you waiting for? Sit.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

“So, you want some small vines surrounding a moon, right?” You ask as you brought out your tablet.

“Yeah, on my middle finger.”

I had enough of his little orders - I’ll twist his words into something much more meaningful. If the Moon isn’t willing to dance with the mountains, let the vines make the Moon feel the mountain’s pain from its rejection.

“That sounds really pretty,” you say, smiling at me, “Give me a minute - I’ll do a rough sketch and you can tell me if it’s to your liking.”

You took out the tablet’s pen tool and began to sketch. I eyed your eyes as you continued to sketch what would be my tattoo.

Thanks to the light from the tablet, I could see a part of another tattoo hidden under your shirt.

It was multiple birds flying across your collarbones, but there was one bird that moved to your neck. It was a smaller bird - much, much smaller. However, its wings were bigger - bigger than the other birds’.

“My family isn’t very appreciative of my more artistic side,” you began, knowing I wanted to know the story behind it.

“I love art - all types of art. Writing, drawing, painting - I loved how you could make a whole new world just with a few lines. My family…” you paused, “As much as they loved me, they couldn’t see a world where I could make a living from it. They tried to throw away this side of me, but the more they pushed it away, the more I needed it.”

You raised your tablet, showing me your sketch.

I loved it.

It was a crescent moon, wrapped in vines. Vines grew both upwards and below, accompanied by stars. Small buds were growing from the ends of the vines, leaves surrounding them.

I don’t know how you did it, but you captured all I felt about him in a few minutes - it astounded me.

“I took a few creative liberties, but-”

“It’s amazing - don’t change it.”

You’re amazing.

You smiled, getting off your chair.

“Head to that room,” you pointed to the smaller room right beside us, “I’ll get all the tools ready.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

“You ready?” you said, placing the pen right above my middle finger.

Why did I choose my middle finger for my first tattoo? It’s literally right on a bone, it’s going to hurt like hell.

“I guess…” I whisper.

“It won’t be that painful - trust me. People overexaggerate,” you say, trying to calm me down.

People weren’t overexaggerating - it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

I bit my lip, holding back the scream on the end of my lips.

“Hold on,” you said, removing the pen.

You soon came back with candy and began to unwrap it.

“Open your mouth, my liege.”

After chuckling, I opened my mouth and you plopped the sweet in my mouth.

Ooh, mango.

“Focus on the sweet, okay?” You said, patting my back.

It felt less painful, surprisingly. Focusing on the sweet rolling in my mouth helped reduce the pain significantly.

I raised my head slightly so that I could see your intense focus on my finger. You were biting on your lower lip as you slowly moved the pen on my finger, following the temporary tattoo you made earlier as a guide. You were annoyed by a strand of your hair that refused to stay behind on your ear - your anger-filled expression said it all.

Using my other hand, I pushed it behind your ear to help you focus.

A soft thank you came from you as you continued.

Blood rushed to my cheeks the minute those words left your lips.

So cute.

“You didn’t finish your story…” I asked, trying to end the awkward silence.

“It was that interesting to you?” you smiled.

You’re interesting, Y/N.

I nod.

“I asked them if I could draw again. I didn’t want to lose that skill I finetuned all my life - it felt so wrong. They thought I’d never succeed in life if I focused on ‘these useless hobbies’ and shouted at me. I remember crying for hours, but they didn’t care,” you say as you turn off the pen, wiping the tip.

“I began to spend more hours in school just so that I could scribble and draw. They’d never know what I did there - all the drawings I did, all the stories I wrote, all the songs I sang. I am not like my parents. I strayed from the thought of ‘art is useless’- I am the bird moving away from the flock,” you said, turning your chair towards me.

“Why did they hate art? It’s something that makes you happy - If it’s something you like, you should do it,” I said, slightly pissed.

Thank God they didn’t listen to them.

“Best part - they have paintings all over the house,” you snickered.

You sighed, stretching your arms in the process.

“I don’t really care about their opinion about it, anyway. I’m no longer under their wing - I’m my own person. I get money by doing the thing I love, and that’s so fulfilling. The only thing they’re paying for right now is my college education - that’s it,” you said as you pressed a wet cloth to my new tattoo.

“Wait - we’re the same age?”

“Yeah, we are,” you smiled.

“I expected you to be way older,” I say, embarrassed.

“I am utterly offended, sir,” you say, feigning sadness.

“Come on!” I say, laughing.

“I am expecting a tip,” you say, walking towards the door.

You’re amazing, Y/N. I just wish I met you earlier…

⁜

⁜

⁜

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Yamaguchi Tadashi,” you say, closing the cash register in front of you.

“And I you, my friend.”

I walk to the door, gripping on the door handle.

I want you in my life, Y/N. Even if we spent just a few hours together, you’ve made me so happy. If you are open to the idea, I want to be friends with you - and who knows? We might become something…

I walk back to the cashier.

“Oh, did I forget something?” You ask, worried.

“No, no…”

Come on, say it.

“Hey, wanna exchange numbers? I wanna hang out with you - of course, only if you want to,” you say smiling.

Holy shit.

“Yes, please.”

You held back your laugh the minute you saw my face.

How many times have I made you laugh just by you looking at my face?

“Here’s my number,” you passed me your card, “Message me so that I get your number, too!”

“Okay!” I smile.

Holy shit. I did it.

“See you again, ‘guchi.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

#Illyaana | Haikyu!! #Illyaana | Yamaguchi Tadashi #Illyaana | Binaural #hihqnetwork #angelwalker's virtues #haikyuu yamaguchi #yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #tadashi x reader #tadashi fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu writing #haikyu!! imagine #haikyu!! #haikyu x reader #haikyuu! #ハイキュー！！ #ハイキュー！ #haikyu!! to the top

[espressokiri]

I Love You Either Way

Izuku Midoriya x GN! Reader

For @brandmeyelena : reader loves midoriya very much and confessed, midoriya was flustered and decided to accept it (reader was ecstatic), however he has no feelings for reader at all. He doesn’t know how to break up with reader so he just lets it be.

Warnings: Angst, One sided love, Heartbreak, Death.

Genre: Angst.

(Y/n) was sorted out to be an outcast in middle school because of their interest in the quirkless boy in class. Ridicule did nothing to prevent them from getting to know the boy, intrigued in his interest in heroes and longing to be enrolled in U.A.

They were quick to defend the freckled boy when Bakugou targeted him on certain days, gazing in affection when he would go on a muttering tangent, unaware of his thoughts being said out loud. (Y/n) fell in love with the way Midoriya would not be afraid to show his vulnerability and emotions, to show them his passions and drawings of analysis. Midoriya on the other hand was in awe of gaining such a friend. 

F r i e n d.

Oh how he wished he knew the inner feelings of the one he called friend. It was not until they confessed that left him in a stuttering, red-faced daze that he realized there was hidden meaning behind (Y/n)’s gestures. Being the most observant boy meant nothing when he was dense about feelings. 

The hand brushes while walking to and from school, the small gifts he would find in his backpack from them, the lingering hugs that seem to be longer than usual.

“Izuku, I’ve admired you for a long time. Please accept my feelings!” (Y/n) was not shy while confessing, they stared Midoriya in the eyes with such passion that the male could not refuse in the state of shock he was put in. 

It did not seem to be a bad idea at the time, a relationship was forged on the foundation of friendship and they were friends already with similar interests. Midoriya brushed it off and thought he harboured the same feelings, not aware of why and how a relationship actually begins. 

(Y/n) on the other hand couldn't be happier, they seemed to glow around Midoriya and felt that they were on cloud nine on the daily. Bakugou glowered at them in class, huffing at how disgusting their relationship was.

Midoriya had dedicated a book to (Y/n) filled with sketches of them, some pages for the purpose of analyzing their quirk, other pages filled with mundane sketches of them on their adventurous dates. (Y/n) found a second home with Inko Midoriya who adored them, happy that her son was finally himself without the fear of him being bullied. 

It was when they first shared a kiss that Midoriya had come to terms with his feelings. He did not carry the same emotions for (Y/n) as they did. He felt like he would disappoint them so he kept himself quiet, wondering if they would lose feelings for him if he carried on as friends instead.

The time for U.A. came around, (Y/n) was not aware of Midoriya training with All Might. They only knew he was physically training with a ‘personal’ trainer of his. During the training period, they would make sure to cater to Midoriya’s needs, keep him hydrated and help him with homework and studies as he would fall asleep in class muttering to himself most of the time. 

Betrayal was evident during the quirk evaluation test when Midoriya seemed to showcase his quirk. He looked nervous facing both Bakugou, who was voicing his anger, and (Y/n) who had a look of disappointment hidden in their eyes. They avoided Midoriya that day, watching from afar as he happily conversed with Iida and Uraraka. 

It wasn’t until Bakugou grabbed (Y/n) by the front of their uniform and yelled at them with one hand exploding with his quirk for an explanation that Midoriya came in-between and pulled (Y/n) away. They didn’t seem to want to put up a fight with either male and allowed themselves to be dragged around. 

Midoriya ‘explained’ that he was an apparent late bloomer and thats why he was training for months, to control his quirk. (Y/n) was apprehensive but accepted his apology after he stated he didn’t tell them because he wanted to surprise them.

-

“I love you.” 

The USJ attack had (Y/n) tremble with uncertainty of their future, they said those three words to Midoriya when he woke up from being taken care of by Recovery Girl.

Midoriya just nodded his head and looked away.

(Y/n) thought nothing of it until Ochako ran to him once they reentered the class, he seemed to brighten up at the sight of her and (Y/n)’s face soured.

This event kept replaying in their mind as the days progressed. The texts became dry, the reply time took hours, calls weren’t picked up as quick as they were before. (Y/n) could feel the distance between them but they didn’t want to give up, no, they held too much emotion for the boy. 

Bakugou took note of all the differences between the two from the sidelines, despite his dislike for the pair, he felt pity for (Y/n). Scoffing at them as (Y/n) still tried to hold their relationship together by a thread. He felt anger towards Midoriya for not manning up and revealing his true feelings, instead dragging (Y/n) along with him. 

“Hey dumbass.” Bakugou huffed and (Y/n) looked up at him from their position beside Midoriya. Uraraka, Iida, and Midoriya looked at Bakugou with wide eyes wondering why he sauntered his way to their lunch table. 

“Hm?”

Bakugou yanks (Y/n) from the table and drags them out of the cafeteria, ignoring the protests from Midoriya and (Y/n). 

“What the hell Bakugou!” 

“Shut up dumbass! I’m sick of you pining after the nerd when we all know he does not feel the same.” Bakugou crossed his arms across his chest and glowered at them.

(Y/n) was void of emotion, they knew he was right but they didn’t care. They would be together, they’ve been through so much together. They love him, they’ll make him love them.

“We love each other.” (Y/n) said before turning to walk back to the cafeteria. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” Bakugou yelled after them, “If I do then at least I’ll know I’ve loved!” (Y/n) yelled back.

Their grip on his hands became stronger, the kiss on cheek before a task was a must, they’d try to converse with him about their future, joking about how they’d be the coolest pro-hero couple.

(Y/n) was losing themselves as they saw Midoriya remove himself from their approach. (Y/n) knew it was only a matter of time before he would end up saving Uraraka before them. They held no bitterness towards the girl, they’re aware that she’s just as innocent as she looks. If Midoriya wanted them to back off then he would have said something by now, he hasn’t said anything so he must still have feelings for them, right?

Perhaps they did hold the same passion as the girl they came across during the attack in the training camp. Toga was it? Either way, Toga had realized (Y/n)’s feelings for Midoriya as she chattered on about a green haired boy she came across. Maybe they should have accepted the offer to join her in gaining his feelings back for her by following her into the warp gate, maybe he would have come after them. 

(Y/n) was aware that they were losing interest in becoming a hero after all the attacks from the league, they didn’t seem that bad. They were beings who were outcasted and betrayed themselves. (Y/n) did not know what was right or wrong anymore. Everyone in class had noticed their change in behaviour, the dead look in their eyes as they lost all the light in them that once glowed bright. 

Midoriya, they’d do it for Midoriya.

-

Blood.

There was so much blood. (Y/n) took the hit for him. The burning sensation where they got impaled from Chisaki’s quirk was beginning to numb. How stupid of them to act all heroic for a boy who didn’t even mutter those three words that (Y/n) seemed to tell him everyday. 

They were only fifteen. Fifteen and feeling the bittersweet embrace of death. Midoriya was hovering above them, tears spilling over and dripping onto (Y/n). He was finally giving them the attention they craved for the past year at U.A.

Midoriya pressed his hands against the wound, (Y/n) whimpering in pain at the pressure. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry (Y/n). We can fix this, keep your eyes open okay? I’ll go defeat Chisaki and it’ll all be okay.”

(Y/n) shakily grabbed his face with their bloody one, “tell me you love me and I’ll forgive you.” Tears gathered at their eyes as they begged in their mind for him to put them at ease.

Midoriya was frantic, he didn’t want to lie. He was aware of the rift between them, he should have been straightforward with his feelings from day one. Perhaps if he did, they wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

“Even if you don’t feel the same, please. Just this once.” Their voice cracked and sobs racked their body. Their hand slid from his face to grip onto his hero suit.

“I love you! I love you, please hold on for me!” Midoriya gripped them tightly in his embrace, his own sobs breaking through. “I should have been more honest with you, I’m sorry!”

“It was my fault for not giving up on you, I knew how you felt but I couldn’t let you go.” (Y/n) smiled a broken smile, relishing in his embrace during their final moments.

“Tell Bakugou he was right, I did get myself killed huh?” (Y/n) dryly laughed.

Midoriya felt a wave of cold through his veins. Bakugou knew? Did he really say that to them?

His anxiety grew worse as (Y/n) began to feel like dead weight, their eyes glazing over and breathing shallow. “(Y/n)? (Y/n)!” He screamed as he gripped them tightly. 

(Y/n) was there with him through his lowest time, watching him grow into a hero in training when he had lost all hope. They were there when he felt frustrated with himself during training and offered him a shoulder when he felt like he had nowhere to go. He didn’t feel like a hero as he held them in his arms. A hero would have been upfront about everything, he failed them. He failed (Y/n). Now he’s going to have to live with knowing he was the reason they spilt blood.

#boku no hero academia #midoriya imagine #izuku midoriya #deku #deku x reader #bnha imagines #bnha angst #mha x y/n #mha imagines #mha angst #bnha #mha #deku angst #bnha x reader

[gamebunny-advance]

Grab Bag Doodle Dump

It’s been a while since one of these, huh? Well, I just haven’t had anything that substantial to post. I’ve done a lot of revisiting old sketch ideas like superfan!AU, but they’re about on par as the first sketches I posted of them, so I didn’t see the point in posting them. But now I finally feel like I have enough garbage to throw into a grab bag, so here ya go.

Notes under the cut~

1-3) More Vtubesona ideas. I dunno if they really have a “theme.” If I do become a vtuber, then I’d like to keep some motifs from GAB (my bunny mascot thing) without making them a bunny because bunny themed vtubers are a dime a dozen. I haven’t incorporated them into my sketches yet, but I have thought of going for a light nudibranch theme (aka, the sea bunnies). It’s an idea, but I dunno what to do with it. For now, I’m just worried about adding the GAB’s “lucky charms” buttons somewhere in the design. The first one is my favorite so far.

4-5) NSR x Animal Crossing: Initial Sketches. I dunno how I feel about Tati’s beak. On the one hand, it’s inaccurate, but on the other, it looks so plain when I keep it all gray. I already had to give up her earrings because birds don’t have earlobes, so I need some other pop of color around the head area.

Just for fun, these are the ideas for the other characters I’ve had so far:

Mayday: Either bird or squirrel. A bird because they sing, and it would tie back to Tati being an eagle as Mayday tries to follow in her footsteps. A squirrel just because I think it suits her.

Zuke: A horse. “I’m a little zonkey! Hee-haw! Hee-haw!”

DK West: A bull. Should be obvious.

DJSS: A bear. It’s the biggest animal with the roundest head. Ursa Major is also a pretty famous constellation, so I think it works with the space theme.

Yinu + Mother: Kitten + Tiger. I imagine Yinu as being Katie’s size, so not the big cats, but the little kittens. I guess Father would be the regular cat. Or maybe I’ll switch Mayday and Tati’s bird themeing with Yinu and Mother’s cats since Yinu also has birdcage imagery in her original boss fight, but if I’m gonna go that far, then I might as well bring back lion!Kliff too. Yeah, maybe I’ll go with that instead, so bird!Yinu and eagle!Mother.

1010 + Neon J.: Undecided. I want them all to be the same animal, but I don’t know what animal would accommodate J’s screen the best.I’ve considered deer, rabbits, ducks, and dogs, but I really don’t know what I want to do for them. Maybe in a turn of irony, they’re the only humans? I dunno.

Eve: Giraffe or Ostrich: They got long necks. That’s my only justification.

NPC Lighting round! It’s not all of them, just the ones I’ve thought about Figure out the justification yourself: sheep!Zam, penguin!Gigi, rabbit!Zed, duck!Yiruk, mouse!Mia.

Sadly, I don’t have anything for Sayu. She’s technically already half animal so... yeah.

6) “I miss my wife Tails.” I started on this, but gave up on it. Maybe I’ll come back to it.

7) Octobots. It took me till Cephalobot showed up and I loved him to realize that I’m interested in a lot of characters that are associated with both robots and octopi. I mean, 3 isn’t that many, but it’s more than I thought would exist. Well, I’m the only one that associates Green/E.G. with octopi, but it still counts.

8) More detailed(?) GW. I originally sketched this for Blacktober since my human!GW is black (Tabuu too!). Actually, if I were to design more human!Flats, they would probably all be black except the ones that aren’t silhouettes like Climber. Even then, I’d probably just make them light-skinned.

#gbunny draws #OCs #it's me #vtubesona #animal crossing #nsr #kliff #tatiana #cephalobot #mr game and watch #nintendo #i'm so mad #my computer crashed when i was making this post #so i had to rewrite everything #just when i was at the end too >m<

[munsnz]

I’m Not A Princess — Cedric Diggory

Warnings: None!

Summary: You’re a 6th year ravenclaw who lives in the books and studies of Hogwarts. As you pushed yourself to strive for the best for your pureblood famil, you catch someone’s eye, someone who you thought never watched you.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader

Note: I no longer write for Harry Potter,, I’m sorry :(

Lydineo Radio: Lovers Do — The Brummies

Masterlist — Requests open !

A mess. That’s what you considered yourself as. As a 6th year Ravenclaw, you seem to have a messy life as a pure blood as well. Your parents set high expectations for you and so you never got anytime to hang out with your best friends, Fred and George Weasley, the pranksters of the school. You three were such an unlikely trio in the school, but clicked so well. It was a wintery day in Hogwarts, a typical day at the library while everyone went to enjoy their Hogsmade weekend. You picked up your herbology and potions books, you walked to the entrance and saw that the library was closed due to a few bookcases being blown up. You knew who did that for a fact.

“Looks like the Miss Know-It-All missed out on her session huh?” A pair of familiar voices called behind you. Fred and George, your best friends since third year.

Hitting both of them with the books, you nudged them, “Stop this! I have to study and my parents-“

You were shushed by George’s finger being placed on your chapped lips, ”Oh come on! You’re the only gal in our year who doesn’t have a Yule ball date!”

Hearing that made your stomach drop, you forgot. Your mom had bought you a pretty silky rose-gold dress to wear, you hadn’t thought much of the event since you were caught up on finishing extra credit work. Realizing, you quickly grabbed George’s hand and asked, “Will you come with me?”

”No luck princess, I’ve got a date,” He shoved your cold hands away.

”I’m not a Princess, George,” You pushed his shoulder.You turned to Fred, but before you said anything he answered for you.

“Sorry love, I’m bringing Angelina,” Fred pat your back, giving a smile, “Maybe Diggory would be your next pick?”

You scoffed at the words at the thought of Cedric Diggory, the most popular Hufflepuff. He was also a Triwizard Competitor, he could never go with someone so..... different like you. You shook your head, “Please, Cedric is so out of my league. You two were my lowest standards.”

”Ouch!” They both synchronized and playfully place their hands onto their chest, signaling that they were “hurt” by your words. You waved goodbye and headed back to the common room where it was your home. As you walked over there, you realized that you were so different and disconnected to the social community at Hogwarts. No one hardly knew you or what you were although you were a pure blood witch with a high intellect. Tears filled up in your E/C colored eyes, dripping one by one, holding your books tighter you sat down in the courtyard full of bumbling first years. They all turned to you and were somewhat feared you. You gave a comforting smile and began your study process.

After half an hour later, you noticed a group of girls as in Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecome, and another girl whom you didn’t know that were cheering her on while they walked towards a group of boys. You had thought Cho Chang was going to the Yule Ball along with Cedric. I mean, she had everything, popularity, friends, the looks, and the smarts. Maybe you have been asked out by two guys, but turned them down due to your lack of studying for assignments. Seeing them talk, made you feel left out. You had been friends with Cho, ever since first year. But when she slowly grew into popularity, she seemed to may have ditched you, leaving you alone by yourself until you met Fred and George.

As you stated at the group, you haven’t noticed that the group of guys pointing at you and laughed. Seeing them laugh at you, made you get up from the bench and flipped them off to run away. You heard the faint voice of Cedric Diggory calling behind you.

”Come on, leave the poor girl alone.”

”Ooh does Diggory like her?”

”Haha, imagine??? Wow look at his standards go down!”

Those words hurt like a buttcheek on a stick (Jkjk), it made you feel extremely insecure and charge towards the hallways to find an empty place. Hearing footsteps behind you, made you run faster. The person behind you caught up at tugged on your thick robes, almost making you fall.

You met your eyes with a chocolatey brown pair. Cedric Diggory, THE Cedric Diggory was looking for you. Avoiding to overthink, you snapped out of your thoughts and looked at your shoes.”What do you need? And for your information, I’m not doing anyone’s homework at the moment.”

”Oh, I didn’t come to ask that,” He let go of your robes that were tangled between his fingers, “I’m sorry about my friends, they just think life is about popularity, and looks.”

Did he pity you? Was he trying to make you feel bad? The thoughts were rambled in your head and you shuffled a few feet away from him. “You pity me don’t you? You just feel bad for me because I can’t be like any other girl in the entire school.”

”What? Of course not,” His voice was gentle yet firm, it sounded like a sweet melody. The words that tumbled out of his mouth were like pretty notes being played. As you wondered, he held out a notebook, full of your drawings. Your drawings. Oh no, you were screwed. He smiled, “I didn’t take a peak.”

”Thanks I appreciate it,” You shivered and snatched the book out of his hands. You flipped through the pages to check if everything’s okay.

“Yeah, anytime.”

There was an awkward silence between the two of you. The sound of the students speaking rang in the empty hallways where you were. The crisp wind blew through your brittle hair, it seemed like the world stopped for the two of you. You breathed and just gave him a small grin. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

A weird instinct came to you to open your sketchbook again to look at your drawings, the papers full of sketches and drawings of people, book, scenery were presented below your eyes. As you skimmed through it, you found a green piece of paper with a strange lettering on top of the drawing of Fred and George.

Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me? - C.D.

Watching the note in your hands, you were shocked and read it about twenty times. You have never talked to him, only once because Cho asked you to tell Cedric something about her reciprocating crush on him. You turned back to see him giving a sheepish smile directed to you.

”I thought you asked Cho,” You began from afar, telling him to walk next to you.

Soon, he catches up to you, he proceeded to talk, “I never asked her and slightly persuaded me to. So I decided to bring someone like you. You’re really intelligent from what I’ve seen and have such a humble personality coming from a pureblood. I really liked you but never got to talk to you.”

Those compliments you were getting made you a tad nervous, you have never heard someone talk to you like that. It made you feel special, welcomed, and warmed. Smiling, you glanced up at him, “Wow, thanks. And sure I’d love to go.”

“Spectacular! Can’t wait to see the Princess awaken in you,” He joked, fixing his scarf being wrapped around his neck.

”I’m no Princess Diggory,” You went upstairs to the Ravenclaw Portrait entrance.

”You will be and you are already,” He smiled as you pat his shoulder to leave.

”Thanks Ced,” You smiled and went inside to your common room. As no one was anywhere beyond your sight, you began to squeal and jump up and down. You didn’t believe it and ran to your room, now maybe these last years of your studies at Hogwarts weren’t going to be so bad after all

#Harry Potter #Cedric Diggory #Harry Potter oneshot #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Fred Weasley #George Weasley #Weasley Twins #Hogwarts #Cedric Diggory oneshot #Draco Malfoy #Snape #the mauraders #cedric x y/n #Cedric x you #Cedric Diggory x reader #Love #Hedric #Romione #Drarry