#it could be bc i had caffeine this morning and its still fucking with my. brain

[gaystardykeco]

need to sleep but the Dread is consuming me

#i just feel like smth bad is going to happen tonight. but also i feel like this p often on random nights where nothing bad happens so. #it could be bc i had caffeine this morning and its still fucking with my. brain #or more likely its bc im back on the overnight call list for work starting tonight and continuing the rest of the time i have this job #being able to not be on it while i was on vacation was so nice like i could actually sleep #still couldnt sleep through the night but at least when i did wake up it didnt take me an hour to fall back to sleep #generally when i feel this much dread on a night i can get work calls its bc theres going to be a call sometime between 3 and 6am that nigh #hopefully there wont be but ik this dread and anxietys gonna fuck up my sleep regardless so whatever #i dont really want to move to nyc but if i get this job offer i think i just need to bc this job is fucking me up so bad #if it wasnt for this fucking on call thing itd be tolerable but i just can't handle the on call thing #the fear that ill get a call and not know how to solve the problem and have to call my boss or coworker to help is killing me #ik its stupid but i have really bad anxiety around waking ppl up and asking ppl for help and calling ppl so #perfect combination to make me Suffer ig #and i did try talking to my boss about it and told him it was the reason i was unhappy on the team #and he essentially said i just need to be better at my job so we get less calls and that being on call is essential and unavoidable #if i dont get the nyc job i might need to just quit anyway which i know is pathetic but i just cant handle this on top of the other things #like i cant have no friends and a useless therapist and meds that dont work and no sense of self and a million other things #and then on top of that a job that makes it so i cant even sleep which is the one thing ive always been okay at and not had problems with #i know its so silly and i know i need to be grateful this job pays me well and shut up #i just am so miserable and i need to be able to sleep like i need that one thing please #sorry for being ridiculous and insane i know its stupid to be this upset over this #sorry dkdkjd sorry about all this i genuinely cant believe anyone still follows me when i post this bullshit #hopefully its fairly easy to ignore and everyones just not expanding the tags so im just screaming into the void #cant tell if i really want no one to see this or if im putting it all here all the time so i can pretend someone is reading it and cares #idk im just so tired and so sad and so scared all the fucking time and i think i just dont want to always be alone in it idk #and i know my problems arent real or serious or bad but unfortunately im pathetic and spoiled and theyre destroying me anyway

[svltzmans]

for worse or for better - h.m.

a/n: good morning! another banger request from ??? anon lets all thank them for their contributions to my blog 😭 this is the last fic in my request box so if any of y'all have something in mind you want me to write now is the perfect time to send it in <3

warnings: kinda angsty??? but then fluffy so its fine <3, mentions of periods, unnecessary cursing bc i am a sailor

y/n knew when she woke up that her day wasn't going to go well.

the squeezing pains in her abdomen had already started, and she wasn't having it. not even a little.

messily making her bed and getting dressed, she realizes that even the most mundane of tasks are stressing her out.

much to her dismay, she still had to go to class. and wickery practice, and to study group, and...

ugh.

more than anything else, y/n just wants to stay in bed. maybe shed a few tears and order a pizza. but that is a complete pipe dream.

"y/n! hi!"

it's lizzie, and she's in an annoyingly good mood.

"hey," y/n manages, her mood shining through in her tone.

lizzie feigns a frown. "someone didn't sleep well, huh?"

"i slept fucking fine, if you must know," y/n sneered, becoming irritated by lizzie's ever present charm.

"jeez, y/n. i'm gonna walk away now."

and she does, and y/n immediately feels bad. she knows she's pretty irritable on her period, but she thought she'd be able to control it.

but as it turns out, she's not in as much control as she thought.

y/n takes her usual seat in potions class, usually right next to her girlfriend, hope.

except hope's not there when class starts, and y/n is irritated. the one person that makes her feel better decided not to show up.

she sighs, resting her chin in her arms. she knew class would feel extra long without hope next to her, cracking jokes and sharing the doodles she draws instead of focusing and taking notes.

an hour finally goes by after what feels like three, and y/n is exhausted. she knows she has to go to wickery practice or face the wrath of penelope park.

does she care about that? not much, but she forces herself to change into a t-shirt and gym shorts and make her way to the field. she's sure hope will come eventually, considering that wickery is much more fun than potions class.

the team has already started practicing when y/n arrives, and she decides to just jump in.

making a few decent passes, she thinks her day might just be turning around. still with no sight of hope, y/n's disappointment grows in the pit of her stomach.

she forgets about her misfortune momentarily when she spots lizzie, preparing for the next play. she makes her way over, feeling unnerved that the blonde is still angry about earlier.

"lizzi-"

"y/n, don't apologize. i have a period too."

"how did you...?"

"i just know. that's the only time you ever act like that. well, that and when you haven't had caffeine in a couple of days."

"you know me a little too well. now, give me the ball."

toward the end of practice, y/n sits down on the bench, sipping some water. she scans the field for hope, thinking she might have missed her, but she's nowhere to be found.

it's not exactly unlike hope to miss class, and maybe even an occasional wickery practice, but y/n is getting frustrated. she hasn't seen her girlfriend all day, and hope hadn't made any effort to see her.

as if her thoughts could be read, hope plops down next to her, in her wickery uniform.

"what'd i miss?," she asks, placing a gentle kiss on y/n's cheek as she settles.

"uh, well, where do i start? potions, almost all of wickery practice... where have you been all day?"

"dr. saltzman needed me, we had to go-"

"well why didn't you tell me, hope? i've been worried about you. you can't just disappear all day. you didn't even put in any effort to let me know that i wouldn't see you at all today."

with that, y/n stands and starts walking away. she knows she needs to be alone before she starts saying worse things she doesn't mean.

hope is left completely blindsided by y/n's reaction to her presence. y/n never gets frustrated in that way, especially not with her. she figures something must be bothering her, and without much consideration at all, she comes to a conclusion.

after coming down from her anger high, y/n is consumed with guilt from the way she treated both hope and lizzie. she at least had attempted to apologize to lizzie, even though lizzie had practically done all the work for her.

she decided that she couldn't face hope, not like this. she is almost ashamed of the way her eyes are puffy from the tears that had streamed (and are still slightly streaming) down her flushed face.

just as y/n starts to prepare to sleep, there's a quiet knock on the door.

"y/n? it's me, are you in there?"

it's hope, and y/n decides that she has to talk to her eventually.

"yeah, i'm here," she mutters, voice still weak from crying.

hope creaks open the door, shutting it gently behind her, and sits at the foot of y/n's bed.

"are you okay?"

"totally fine."

"it looks like you've been crying."

"nope. just... allergies."

a silence falls between them, with a worried look on hope's face as y/n avoids her gaze.

"y/n..."

before hope can even start her sentence, tears are welling in y/n's eyes. she crossed her fingers that hope wouldn't notice, but soon the few tears turned into a small stream.

hope moves closer, wrapping her arms tightly around y/n's torso. "oh, baby... it's okay. you're okay," she whispers, gently scratching the back of y/n's head.

"hope... i am so sorry, i don't know what got into m-"

"shh, hey, it's okay. i understand. i get a period too, you know."

"lizzie said the same thing! like exactly!"

y/n can't help but laugh, and hope soon joins her.

"c'mon, let's get some rest, yeah?"

"only if you'll stay tonight."

"y/n, if you think i'm going anywhere, you have lost your damn mind. but, i think i need to borrow some of your pajamas..."

"say less."

before she knows it, y/n is dead asleep, hope's arm draped lightly over her girlfriend.

hope pulls her closer, planting a light kiss on her forehead.

"sleep tight, don't let penelope park bite," she whispers, giggling quietly to herself.

#hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson #wlw #legacies #legacies x reader #the originals x reader #hope mikaelson x fem reader

[winderlylandchime]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well and that your trip is good and fun. But holy shit, i hope you and your partner manage to stay covid free! I’m sending some healing thoughts to your SIL since covid absolutely sucks!

Also a few things i do have to say because you need to know (most of them i was told to tell you guys): we went to the doctor yesterday and he was proudly wearing his new shirt. Everyone found it hilarious and accurate portrayal of him/his year. And then he told the whole office (2 doctors and 3 nurses) that he is now famous on the internet because i told bunch of people about him watching the show. And the doctor who is in charge of his case (the guy who did the surgery lol), looked at me, pointed at him and slowly went ‘you made him other people’s problem?’ And my brother proudly said ‘Yes, she did! *realized what was said* heeeeey, i can be quite a delight, just ask the people on the no porn site’ (yes, that is how he told them about tumblr). And my brother wanted me to let you all know that his cast has to stay on for another week, so he is very sad about that BUT the big news that he immediately looked at me (in the office in front of them btw) and went ‘you gotta tell my new homies about this’ was that in two weeks he has his final check up with his surgeon bc he wants to do all tests one last time and then if all is good which they believe will be, he can officially go home and back to his whatever tf normal life is for him. So looks like I’m losing my two roommates soon. Shit will be boring ngl.

Then the other more important thing! My brother had your blog opened on his tag, but i guess he went to check out the rest of the blog because he walked in this morning and went ‘did you fucking know that they write stories?! About Brian and Blondie? WHAT IS THIS? AND THERES SO MANY FUCKING COOL GIFS TOO. LIKE SHIT TON OF THEM! I saw one where Gale was talking in that interview about Prom and Blondie from that panel and then there were gifs from the episode and behind the scenes with it! That had to take for fucking ever! Do people just make them all the time? See? when *puts out one hand* Fandom and *puts out the other hand* love, come together *puts his hands together* beautiful things come to life.’

So he is currently going through your ao3/bookmarks but i did tell him to read your other fics before the new one.. Btw he didn’t move from the couch for a few hours after he discovered it. His favorites so far are: we didn’t know we could reach the stars (he thought that one was a very accurate portrayal of what Brian and Justin would be like if the writers didnt ruin it), clothes mean nothing until someone lives in them (he really enjoyed that one btw. He especially thought the ‘not the first boy to jerk off to thoughts of Brian in this bed’ was clever as fuck and literally went ‘ooohhh shit’ when he read it)

and Youre like a tattoo (he gasped when he realized the plot and went ‘ITS REVERSED!’). And when he finally made it to your new fic he fucking lost it (he had a tiny report on it)

I did show him your replies from previous messages and here’s the message from the guy himself (read this as if youre listening to a very caffeinated person pacing up and down, for accurate pov): I was a breath of fresh air for them? Fucking hell, so this fandom is in like a hibernation, huh? I’m fucked, aren’t I? Well anyway, thank you stranger for very sweet words. I fuck with this person! I think we’d be friends. I FUCKING LOVE LITTLE EDIE! Me and (his best friends name) always quote the ‘It was quite the scandal actually. It was in all the magazines at the time’ in Jinx’s voice whenever some random shit is asked. Them and their spouse sound like they’re fucking fun to be around. Wait you gotta tell them I read the stories they wrote, i’m still reading other people’s shit, i have a lot to catch up to. But that one that isn’t done yet is fucking brilliant. I mean they all are but I read that one twice! I had to watch the reunion episode from season 3 because it made me all nostalgic when they got back together. It’s exactly how I’d like the show to be. Its nice to read and go mhm thats my bri bri, unlike in the show where it was not my bri but an imposter. I also very much fuck with older Brian who has a beard and glasses. Because he looked pretty as fuck in that little comic con video. I’m excited to see how they end it and i really really hope that they had fun writing these stories because i had a lot of fun reading them. Anyway, tell them, they’re fucking cool, their stories are fucking dope, i also really liked that one about them sharing their clothes AND THE ONE WHERE BLONDIE WAS THE SUGAR DADDY! I fucking told you that will happen..i was just wrong as to where. And im glad to see that the *lifts his cast* ally, is catching on.

PS, we both got all ‘awwww’ and a little emotional ngl, when we read your response how you’ve been thinking of us while writing. And just so you know we spent all day today discussing your fics (when he got to the cliffhanger, he went ‘i am once again being teased just like with the love confession’) and some other fics from other creators that he read and enjoyed. The man is in awe. Every time he’d read a new chapter/fic he goes ‘this is the best thing ive read’ over and over.

Hello hello hello dear sweet anon and brother anon!

Thank you for your well wishes. My SIL tested negative this morning so we are officially in the clear (and can abandon our masks). I think we did a good job being responsible within the circumstances. Luckily, my SIL’s symptoms never got bad and the cold I arrived with (was it a cold or an intense allergic reaction to cleaning my apartment and kicking up all that dust?) never evolved into anything more unpleasant.

I love that we’re not the people on the “no porn site.” And we do all think he’s delightful. I’m glad he’s recovering well and can soon live independently from you but I imagine life will be a lot quieter and less chaotic without him and feline BriBri.

Yes! Gifs allow us to relive every moment of the series, draw parallels etc. Let’s give a hand to @sophsun1 who is basically carrying the fandom on her back with her beautiful gifs.

I am absolutely floored by his reaction to my fics. Thank you so much for passing along the kind words he had. I’m glad he like the 5+1 clothes sharing fic (I have such a soft spot for it), and We Didn’t Know We Could Reach the Stars is such an overlooked fic (I forget I wrote it!). AND of course Tattoo was my beloved fic this year.

The fandom isn’t in hibernation so much as it is small and basically zero new content has been released in eons and so it is a small fandom with nowhere near the works produced that large currently or recently active fandoms have (tbh those fandoms intimidate me - I will read GO fic but joining a discord or writing fic in there? so scary!).

“It was quite the scandal really…” is the other quote I say to my spouse on hair wash / hair turban days! I like to think we *are* fun to be around. Especially if quote RPDR S5 is your idea of fun. Then we’re a blast!

I do have fun writing fics. I bitch and moan and complain, but I love writing them and getting to put them out into the world. I’m even more excited to write and post the last chapter of Fireflies now that I know your brother has read it. And I’m delighted to hear that he thinks I kept his beloved BriBri in character (if we ignore WTF happened to his character in S5).

I’m honestly a little bit emotional from your PS. I write fics because I love to write them but hearing that you’re sitting around discussing them? I love writing them but I do want an audience (otherwise I wouldn’t publish them) and there are fics out there that I feel that way about (written by other people) so for my fics to be that to someone… just, I need a moment and a tissue.

*makes fist* ally

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

[nudibranchpropaganda]

Talk about your OCs!!!!!!!!!!

i desperately wanted to respond to this immediately but i had a physiology exam this morning :(( have my post exam sleep deprived caffeine induced ramblings mwah <3

there's 3 of them rn and i love them all to pieces i have gone into wayyyyyy too much detail under the read more

so there's my demon baby who currently has no name. legit just The Demon in my brain. they started as a reader insert but i genuinely fell in love with them and am probs gonna keep adding to that au for a while (keep an eye out if u liked it)

Personally i see them as genderfluid - they can shape shift at will, but tend to lean towards mma/wrestler builds (1000000% can and will fuck u standing up) and charcoal grey skin (to blend in w the smog that fills their home skies).

physical characteristics? definitely has bat wings. love thin, membranous, and slightly translucent wings. they generally have claws and sharp teeth, a tail cause its fun to whip around and provides a nice counterweight + extra arm to grab things. they change the style of their horns like some ppl change their hair colour, a personal fav are ones either like a ram's or greater kudus's, but honestly if u like a different kind they've probably worn them for a bit for sure. tall and broad no matter what. this bastard is BIG and will use it to their advantage.

they feed off emotions, there's a whole taste menu thing i could get into, but generally they feed on fear cause its most readily available. their fav is happiness. just pure joy. tastes like bubbly sunshine and keeps them satiated for weeks. they can also amplify emotions, but can't create them if they aren't already there. summoned in the stereotypical way: fire, blood, latin chant (soap was just fuckin around for a laugh). no aversion to generic holy items, they aren't evil just another species. bright light will fuck them up tho cause they are nocturnal and have "evolved" for life in the darker hours.

can be mean. can be very very mean. knows where to hit to make it hurt, will absolutely be a little cruel on occasion when hurt by something. can also be very very warm, reading emotions makes it easy for them to give ppl what they need. generally is pretty sweet though, kinda like a creme brulee - brittle hard outside that you gotta crack to get to the soft sweet inside.

when i wanna get into their headspace i listen to maneater by the blue eyed blondes, gimme by she keeps bees (thnx for the rec on that one), keep it down by migrant motel, and i like the way you die boy by black honey. the pintrest board that i dump all the vibes in

the last one is still sorta in the work shopping phase. they're a cod oc, early to mid 30s again. i know their call sign is Jaws bc they tore someones throat out with their teeth when they got pinned down during a mission. they're head hunted by laswell after the 141 is a known force for their recon and undercover work. they get pretty close to gaz and soap, but struggle initially to break into the group cause the boys are such a well oiled machine at this point and don't really want to disrupt the status quo.

there's also the protag of my other cod fic (once again i have yet to name her). she's bi, in her mid 30s, and moved out to the edge of the forest after her last long term relationship ended (have yet to decide whether it was divorce or death). she's definitely a recluse, has a little bit of a hobby farm garden going (hugelkultur ftw), and grew up on stories about how the woods used to eat people (nova scotian; apalachian for sure).

BAD relationship w/her mother. they dont speak anymore. kind enough to her neighbours, but everyone kinda thinks shes a little strange, a little offputting (same girl). big on enjoying the little moments with the people she loves, sitting on the porch and drinking tea together kinda life.

she's honestly super special to me and i love her so much. abandoned and cranky but forced to confront that physical manifestation of grief and rage inside her when she gets attacked in the home she used to share w/her wife. and then soap? just kinda working his way into her life and very quickly getting close to her and being kind and gentle and reaching out a hand for her? idk if that was how it came out but that was what i was going for :)

anyways i listened to black hole by Griff on repeat when writing that fic, also kiss with a fist by florence and the machine. alrighty aphrodite by peach pit, lost without by shane guerrette, ghosts and monsters by saint chaos, and west virginia by the builders and the butchers were some more songs that made the writing playlist for her. pintrest board if ur interested :)

they had some trouble with their last unit too, butting heads with a shitty CO/team mate (tbd). this 100% made it into their rap sheet and gave them a bit of a rep as a trouble maker, they chose to lean into it a bit though and cause some problems on purpose for assholes. they are pretty standoffish at the start, can take a while to warm up to people. not super chatty, but enjoys spending time w/friends and will just chill and listen. loyal to a fault, but not to many ppl (eventually the 141, las, a few old team mates).

they aren't close with their family, parents passed in a car accident while they were on deployment and their sister feels like they abandoned her for the military (give an oc a happy backstory challenge has been failed). playing around with the idea of them faking their death and leaving their old team behind to go undercover at one point (the angst of being recognized by someone who thought they were dead and accidentally burning that bridge tho)

disco! in the panic room by bug hunter, hey child by the x ambassadors, choke by i dont know how but they found me, bury me face down by grandson, aint lookin by the wild feathers if i end up writing them w/one of the 141. a pintrest boards 4 u to browse :)

wow that got really long, thanks for sticking with it!! im sure i'll start posting a little more about all of them as i flesh them out, once i get through the paper and presentation i have for a couple of my classes next week im gonna have wayyyyy more time to write and explore them :))))))))

#snail i love u #i am holding ur face in my hands and covering u in kisses right now #foreheads pressed together like a kitty bonking those they love #the sea slug speaks

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2   ||   chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage. 

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

||||||||||||||||||||||||

“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

 You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing. 

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more. 

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit. 

 On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him. 

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound. 

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide. 

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

 You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more. 

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you. 

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.” 

 Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control. 

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way. 

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him. 

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

 Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him. 

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink. 

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

 Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked. 

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right? 

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.) 

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)  

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?” 

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

 The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly. 

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye. 

Wonder what’s happening?

 Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks. 

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity. 

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety. 

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists. 

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been. 

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around. 

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day. 

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.  

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head. 

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind. 

The view was still nice. 

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow. 

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop. 

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

 Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled. 

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable. 

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet. 

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?” 

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state. 

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky. 

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

 It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind. 

 “I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.” 

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars. 

 Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold. 

 You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

 “Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.” 

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him. 

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light. 

“You’re... not?” 

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

  Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

  Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die. 

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

 Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved. 

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks. 

He’s around because he wants to be. 

But not because you’re special to him. 

 His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you. 

 You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably  eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

 You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

 Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

 “Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes. 

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats. 

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it. 

 On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion. 

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything. 

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

 (The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

 Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

#salem writes #hawks x reader #mha hawks #bnha hawks #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #reader insert #mha x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x y/n #lavender latte #bnha x reader

[aiiwa]

hewwooooo i recently just found your blog and i had to gobble up every single content here bc u write so well 😭😭😭 congrats for 500!!! deserve!!! and deserve more!!! for fmk (if you're still doing them) um, what about kenma, kuroo, and akaashi? don't forget to stay safe! i hopr your days are always as lovely as you are mwa

ahhh you’re so sweet 🥺🥺🥺 thank you so much baby 💖 thank you for being the first to give me kenma hsdkdkkd i love him sm

FUCK - kozume kenma. y’all have no idea how much i love him.

when kenma had suggested you join him once a week for one of his streams, it was a bit of a surprise. you were by no means a gamer, only knowing the mere basics, but kenma had told you it was his fans who asked him to have you join in. they would see you randomly pop up while he was playing; bringing him snacks, giving him a kiss goodnight, or even clowning kenma for having a mini rage at a rare loss.

you had agreed, there was nothing better than spending time with your boyfriend doing something he loves - yet you were ignorant to the glint in his golden eyes as you smiled sweetly at him, and left to get ready. if only you knew kenma’s true intentions, then you could’ve been prepared for your current situation.

sitting in his lap now, the camera was focused on your expression, while his thick cock was buried balls deep inside your drooling cunny. you were all breathy moans, with his chin resting on your shoulder and muttering the filthiest things in your ear as you tried to talk to his followers as normally as possible. and when he rutted into you, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“haaa~ k-kenma...please.” you whine, throwing your head back. you can hear the comment section notifications popping up, but kenma leans forward, mumbling a hasty excuse before ending the stream.

“you really couldn’t wait a bit longer, y/n?” at his question, you shake your head, crying out as his fingers circle your swollen clit. “hmm, guess i won this game then. now i want my prize, want you to cum all over me.”

MARRY - akaashi keiji. who wouldn’t want to marry him. fun fact - before iwa, i was all about akaashi hngggg.

out of the many things you loved about your husband, his dedication was something you came to admire greatly. it was all clear through his love for you, the way he cared for his friends, and his drive to succeed in his career. but his work ethic meant many caffeine filled late nights with early morning starts to repeat the cycle.

and it really became more obvious the past month. the bags under his eyes were more prominent, less time was spent in bed with you, and almost every other day he was running to the store to restock on coffee. so you decided to stage an intervention on a day you both had off, though akaashi was busying himself in his study.

“keiji, honey.” you called, entering the room, hot cup of chamomile tea in your hand. he was hunched over some paper work, but straightened up as you approached him. “i made you some tea.”

“thank you, love.” when you made no move to leave, he only stared up at you questioningly.

“why don’t you come and rest with me for a while.” as he opens his mouth, most likely to decline, you cut him off. “it wasn’t a suggestion, keiji. come with me.”

leading the way to your living room, you plop yourself down on the comfort of your sofa, patting your thigh and inviting your husband to rest on you. a soft, tired smile graces his pretty mouth, as he stretches out on top of you, sliding his torso between your legs, and smushing his cheek to your chest. it’s so peaceful and quiet, that only a few minutes later do you hear his light, muffled snores.

running your fingers through his curls, you cluck your tongue, cuddling him closer to you. “married a crazy workaholic...tch, next time you’re tired you better sleep, before i drag you to bed and never let you go.”

KISS - kuroo tetsurou. i have like three more fmk’s for kuroo hehe, so he can have a kith. a chaotic one lmao.

coming across of box of free kittens outside your apartment complex, there was absolutely no way you could turn away from the golden eyes peaking up at you. its fluffy, ink coloured fur almost akin to kuroo’s hair, had you reaching in and bringing the kitty back home.

your boyfriend couldn’t even say anything to protest suddenly having a pet, not with the way your eyes shone as you held the kitten in your arms like a baby. and it was definitely treated as such; months of your cooing and cuddling, had turned into a year. the male cat adored you, lived for your attention, but he despised kuroo. most likely because he had named the kitty, ‘bill nya the science cat,’ even though not once had the cat ever responded to such a name.

but the two main males in your life were at a constant war for your attention. the day before your cat had wrapped himself around your shoulders as you lounged out on the couch, hissing when kuroo had tried to steal you away, before licking at your cheek and glaring at the man.

and today it was kuroo wrapped around you, toned arm hooked underneath your head. you were just trying to watch your show, when you felt his tongue lick a clean stripe across your cheek. shooting your hand up to wipe at your cheek, your glare was unnoticed as he was set in an intense stare off with the black kitty; winning as your cat huffed, and ran off to hide away.

“was that necessary?” your answer came in the proud smirk kuroo was wearing. “stop fighting with my baby.”

“oh so he’s your baby?”

“tetsu-”

leaning down, his pink tongue darted out to lick the pout of your bottom lip, before he fully presses against you for a kiss. it starts to become heated, hands roaming freely, and just as you’re about to wrap your legs around his waist - your cat appears out of nowhere, leaping onto kuroo’s back and biting at the back of his head. kuroo yells out as they tumble to the floor; and all you can do is laugh, before moving to break them apart. the two of them really were your babies.

FMK CLOSED.

#💖 nona hits 500 #anonnie❣️ #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu smut #kenma x reader #akaashi x reader #kuroo x reader

[secret-ssociety]

Behind the scenes

Pairing(s): Aaron Tveit x Reader, Les Mis (2012) cast x Reader

Warnings: This is just fluff. Like one curse

Summary: It is never intended for Enjolras and Eponine to fall in love in the original story, but a lot of things can happen when the cameras are turned off

A/N: I know everyone is waiting for more of the Let Me Down series but I have wanted to do this for a long time bc I am utterly in love with this man and I've always said I don't want to just write Peter Parker's stuff. Might make this several parts, who knows, I like things with parts.

masterlist

requests are open!!

For the first time in the whole day, silence fell upon the set of Les Mis, being only vaguely interrupted by the quiet chatter of everyone else who, unlike you, still had energy to talk. It's not like it was your fault, though, you had no idea of how much running around implied to play Eponine.

Huddled in a quiet corner of what had been built to be the Café Musain, you pushed your knees against your chest and hid your face between them, hoping to catch some rest before Tom decided he wanted to do a scene again. Was it maybe two in the morning? Three? You didn't even know anymore, you weren't allowed to carry a watch around your wrist and your phone was charging in your trailer, but the last time you had checked it was midnight and that had been a few hours ago.

Doing a movie, you had come to learn in your first few days of filming, was quite different from putting up a show. Interacting with your surroundings, going over scenes and even directing your eyes to a certain place while saying your lines was a world away from your common place on stage. You'd had to repress a loud squeak on your first day on set when you saw just how real everything looked, and when you started to try on your garments... you might as well have been a street urchin on Paris, 1832.

A small finger touched your shoulder timidly, waking you up from your fragile sleep and making you lift your head from its place. Your eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the light and you even had to squint a little to recognize Daniel standing next to you, looking just as tired, but with a small flame of caffeine dancing in the back of his eyes. Who the fuck gave the kid coffee? You wondered.

"How long do you think they'll keep us here?" he asked sitting next to you. From all your cast mates, Daniel was probably the first one you had grown fond of, but then again, so had everyone.

"Maybe not much longer, unless they want us to be here at noon tomorrow," you answered raising an eyebrow. Being the youngest person on the whole set, you could tell he was trying to hold his own like the adults, drinking coffee and doing his best to stay awake.

The problem with that, you knew, was that caffeine reacted differently on kids and adults: when an adult drinks coffee, it gives them energy for a long period of time, the caffeine is distributed in order to serve the body for good while. When a child drinks coffee, on the other hand, the caffeine gives them a rush of adrenaline that gets them jumping up and down and running circles around the adults, very much like Daniel was doing a while ago, thus burning all the energy they had acquired as fast as they had engorged it.

"You want to rest for a minute?" you asked him, stretching your legs so that he could rest his head on them. He shook his head tiredly, but didn't put up a fight when you grabbed his shoulder and started to lay him down.

Softly, you caressed his hair, while carefully trying to undo the tangles the dirt had made onto his hair to give him that street gamine I-live-in-the-elephant-of-the-Bastille look. In a matter of seconds, he was fully asleep, snoring quietly against the fabric of your skirt.

You heard some of the boys approaching, laughing loudly with cups of steaming coffee on their hands, and were quick to lift your finger up to your lips, to let them know of the resting boy that would be quickly awaken by their laughs. They apologized in whispers, handed you the cup they had brought for you and sat around you.

"Helena is trying to convince them to let us go to the hotel," Alistair commented, although he didn't look tired at all, more like he was amused by everyone else's exhaustion.

You sighed in relief against the cup, which was held close to your lips, making the steam hit your face in a warmth that made you aware of how cold your nose was. Only one gulp of the bitter liquid was enough to warm the blood flowing through your veins and take you back to life, you could open your eyes properly and the first the landed on was one of the most distinctive of your cast mates: Aaron Tveit.

Was there something special about him that made you think of his full name instead of just the first? Yeah, everything. He was the embodiment of the Enjolras Victor Hugo had wrote, the one that had been nicknamed Apollo by his friends. Maybe it was the way he held himself, somehow taller than everyone else, with that revolutionary fire in his eyes and walking around the set like he was actually going to get the people to build a barricade.

Wherever he happened to exist, you couldn't help but feel the presence of an olden god amongst mortals, the time go slower and light to travel in a bliss. There was just something so ethereal about him...

"He's talent, isn't he?" Alistair commented, having followed the direction of your eyes. "Among other things," Eddie joked, perhaps having caught on on the repressed smitten nature of your gaze. Stubbornly, you rolled your eyes.

As if saved by the bell, your director announced that everyone was allowed to go and get some rest, under the condition that you had to be back the next day before lunch. You were so tired, you almost forgot you were on your costume, being remembered by Eddie when you walked straight to the exit.

Up until that day, you had followed you stylist's skincare routine religiously every day after finishing filming, but once you found yourself in your sweatpants and Alistair's sweater, you simply poured water in your face and wiped all the makeup away with a paper towel.

Outside of your trailer, you found at least half of the Amis waiting for you to go grab some pizza while forming a wall to shield a newly caffeinated Daniel from your accusatory eyes. "I just left my cup unattended for a second!" George said quickly. You didn't know if you should laugh or yell at them, but you decided you were too tired to do either, so you simply took his hands and walk with the boys to the minivans the studio had hired for your transportation.

Eating pizza after having barely washed the makeup off of your face and only having a few hours to sleep after? You knew you were going to break out, but that was a tomorrow's problem.

Perhaps it was the magic that gravitated around Aaron that made you look back to see him, walking several feet behind the lot of you and clearly immersed on his thoughts. What you did next wasn't exactly a conscious decision, but it felt as natural as if it were.

"Hey, Tveit," you smiled, stopping before him. He looked surprised for a second, since he hadn't heard you approach him, but then smiled softly at you.

"Hello, Y/L/N," he said back, looking at you with those piercing eyes of him.

"We're going to grab a bite, wanna come?" You asked with a bright smile, one so cute that made it hard for him to say no.

"I don't know, it's late..." he said with half a smile.

"Did you know that pizza wasn't invented until the late half of the 18th century," you said, persistently, making him raise an eyebrow at the random fact, "that means all of our characters died without having ever eaten pizza. Shouldn't we, in order to honor them, do the things they never got to do?"

Aaron tried as hard as he could to fight back a smile at your argument. He had heard from the other guys about your occurrences and funny yet charming way with words, but he still hadn't had a chance to delight himself with it all too much. Maybe you were both too busy, maybe he wasn't as good as he liked to think to break the ice and Alistair had beat him to it.

He was practically convinced already, but still you added, "come on, Enjolras is still going to be here tomorrow morning... er, today a little less morning." You corrected checking the time on your wrist watch.

He was tired and not really hungry, but sill he nodded and followed you to the exit, where the rest of your friends cheered upon his joining.

Thankfully, the place Fra Fee knew was not too far away from the hotel, because none of you would have managed to walk too much after the day you'd had. Pulling a couple of tables together with the help of a waitress who pretended not to be a little starstruck, all of you sat down and ordered. You personally tried to ignore the way Eddie gave you his sit so that you would end up sat next to Aaron.

After ordering three large pizzas and some lemonade, and having grudgingly remembered that you couldn't order a beer or anything of the sort, you resumed your chattery. You soon found that, while you weren't the only theatre actress on the room, you were the only one who had never been on a film before. Still, that didn't mean your previous work had gone unnoticed.

"I was really excited to meet Y/N," Eddie commented on Daniel's side, "because I went to see her in The Phantom of The Opera, in London and I was" he made the gesture of his head blowing up, making you laugh.

"Yes, I knew I had seen you somewhere! You're Christine Daaé!" George exclaimed, interrupting the bite he was about to give to his pizza.

"Didn't you say on the first table reading that your dream role is Esmeralda, from the Hunchback?" Aaron perked up, making you blush a little.

"Esmeralda, Christine and Eponine," Alistair numbered, only giving you time to nod, "are you planning on becoming the Holy Trinity of French Theater?"

"I'll be able to say the Holy Trinity of French Theater died in my arms!"

You almost spilled your lemonade at the exclamation, unable to contain your laughs, very much like everyone else on the table. You didn't mean for your face to be as red as it was in that moment, but you couldn't help it when everyone seemed to be so interested in your past work. Despite attention being your line of work, you didn't know how to handle it that good.

It was when Daniel's adrenaline burnt off, as you had predicted, and he was found too tiresd to even keep his head up that you came back to the hotel, with the quiet company of Aaron, who had also offered to take the young boy back to his room. You were both in silence, though it was not an awkward one, it just wasn't necessary to talk to enjoy the other's company.

"We're getting a cow," he said suddenly, when you were approaching the entrance of the hotel.

"What?" You asked with a confused smile.

"We're getting a cow, on the set, tomorrow," he clarified grinning, "she will be there for the scenes of the barricade."

"Why would a cow be on a barricade?" You questioned with a laugh, opening the door for Aaron, since he was carrying Daniel, and receiving a little thank you in return. "Not that I'm complaining."

He laughed in return and followed you to the elevator, making sure neither the young boy nor the jacket he had put over him fell from his embrace. The cow thing had just been to start conversation and be able to ask what he really wanted to know, although he was a little pumped up about the cow.

"Do you want to do what Alistair said?" He asked curiously, "About being the Holy Trinity of French Theater, it is."

"I had never thought about it that way, but it sounds quite nice," you answer thoughtfully. "Though, I believe I would have to play Eponine on a stage, rather than a set to really earn that title."

"You're not liking movie making so far?" He asked somewhat amused, specially when you whipped your head to look at him with wide eyes.

"No! That's not what I mean," you talked so fast you nearly stumbled through your words, but the kindness on his eyes made you sigh and calm down. "This has been amazing so far and I would never underestimate the huge effort it takes to make one of these. I mean, I've only been doing this for a couple days and I'm already beyond exhaustion. And yet it has been wonderful, the set and the preparation and just seeing all the work it implies is... unbelievable."

You knocked three time on the door, to see Daniel's mother not two seconds later. Aaron had been worried that maybe she would be concerned and even a little mad at how late her son was coming back, but you had been texting her throughout the extra hours of shooting and to let her know you were going to take him to eat something before coming back to the hotel.

She kindly thanked you both, took Daniel (who was still sound sleep) on her arms and gave Aaron his jacket back, to then close the door. Without saying much, he walked you to your own room, prompting you to continue.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah! So filming a movie is... I'm running out of adjectives, but it's really great," he chuckled slightly, "but I don't think it can top the feeling of being on the theater," you sighed dreamily.

"On stage, there is no take two, the things you're doing can only be done once. There's..." your tongue ran through your lips, an action Aaron found almost mesmerizing, as you tried to find the words to describe the thing you loved the most in the world. "There's this feeling, when the show is about to start, the lights dim, the overture starts and you get goosebumps and you heart starts thumping at the moment you come on stage, there's something about that moment being unrepeatable and having the eyes of the crowd on you, the adrenaline is just... is like the identity line that divides the actor from their character disappears and in that moment you're not quite them, but you're not you, you're just..." you let out a breath at the inability to find the word and, for a moment, you worried you might have bored him with your rambling, but he had that bliss over his face, the one only a theatre actor knows and has, that told you he knew exactly what you're talking about.

The next morning, back on set and with your costumes again covering your backs, Aaron found himself so hypnotized by the sight of you rehearsing with Amanda his tea got cold and was utterly scared when Eddie's palm fell onto his back, dragging him out of his day dream.

"Is this the part when the Phantom is stalking Christine?" George asked jokingly, making Aaron roll his eyes.

For someone who made so much fun of him for becoming Enjolras, he had certainly developed Grantaire's mocking nature.

"She's really talented," the blonde man answered nonchalantly, drinking from his tea and making a face when he found out the drink was cold.

"I see," Eddie said handing him his tea, "are you seeing our dear Y/N under a new light?"

Was he? It would be a lie to say he didn't come back to his room with you occupying every single one of his thoughts, his heart fluttering who had managed to put his passion for theatre in words. Had his hands always became a little shaky around you? Yes. But today it was even worse.

Today, your voice giving life to Eponine's thoughts and emotions could make his cheeks blush or bring tears to his eyes in a matter of a second. Today, you walked around with a strange light over you, one that didn't allow him to look away while, at the same time, reprehended him for staring. Today, you were more than an artist, an actress. You were something more than human.

"Nonsense," he replied stubbornly, "I have always known how talented she is."

Before he could get a sarcastic comment or a snide yet friendly remark, the three men's chatter was interrupted by the two previously mentioned ladies rehearsing The Robbery, one of the scenes you planned on filming that day.

"It's the police! Disappear! Run for it!" Your strong soprano voice cut all chattery in one swift motion. "It's Javert!"

He probably held his breath for as long as you held the note. Once you opened your eyes, you seemed a little embarrassed at all the eyes on you, but Aaron didn't understand just what did you have to be embarrassed about.

Eddie shook his shoulder, "breathe, mate!"

#aaron tveit #aaron tveit x reader #aaron tveit imagine #les mis #les miserables #les mis 2012 #eddie redmayne #enjolras #eponine #les mis imagine #musical theatre #enjolras imagine #enjolras x reader #enjolras x eponine #fra fee #samantha barks #actors #fanfiction #les mis fanfic #aaron tevit fanfiction #theatre actress #reader #please read my stuff #writers work really hard #and then it flops #and its not fair

[lihikainanea]

can you please write smth where tiger's having a rough migraine but she wont tell bill bc she knew he'd drop work and would be at home in a snap of fingers if she told him smth, and then when he comes home he finds her in her room with all her blinds shut and doors closed to not let the light come through bc it makes her head ache more and its hurting so much already that she had thrown up a couple of times and he's worried and upset that she didnt call him but then takes care of her?

oh goddddd nani babes this is so sweet. As a fellow migraine sufferer, god I feel junk punched by this one.

I don’t know about any of you, sometimes I can feel a migraine come on from a day or two before--something will just feel off, I’ll get a nosebleed, or I have one of those “haha I’m so stressed god it’s a miracle I haven’t gotten a migraine yet” moments and then the next day--BAM. Flattened. Sometimes too, though, they just come out of nowhere. I’ll be fine, and then my vision will skew, my stomach will turn, and I know I have about a 5-10 minute window before I’m in some serious pain.

I get all the symptoms, too. Nausea. Extreme sensitivity to light. Blurred vision, or total blackout vision. Splitting pain. If I’m lucky, it only lasts a day. I’ve had some bad ones that last a long ass time and it’s awful.

So like, look--maybe tiger feels one coming on. Maybe Bill is on set--he’s in town, just on set for 16 hours every day--and tiger has been working like the boss bitch she is. But one morning at work--she feels it. That drilling sensation above her left eye--it’s a headache for now, but the minute the vision in her eye goes wonky she knows what she’s in store for. She quickly packs her shit, pops a few really strong Tylenol in an effort to fight it off (sometimes it works), and she heads home. She has a routine, one that works half the time--some strong Tylenol, a whole bottle of gatorade, and ten minutes later--two espressos. Hydration and caffeine can sometime nip it in the bud, if she’s lucky.

She’s not so lucky this time. She gets these, usually with the change of seasons or the barometric pressure being all off. She half contemplates calling Bill, but when she squints her eyes enough to see the time she realizes that he’s only been on set for two hours, and probably hasn’t even made it out of the make up chair yet. This shoot is a short one and every hour counts, and she can’t ruin his day.

Instead she stumbles to try and get her stuff ready for the long haul--cold compresses, warm compresses, her bottle of pain meds, some water. She barely makes it to bed.

And that’s exactly where she proceeds to stay for the next 14 hours.

The poor bean, it’s awful. The pain is so bad at one point that she dry heaves. And even if she wants to call Bill now, there’s no fucking way she can even function long enough to do that. She can barely speak. She’s just curled up in bed, in complete darkness, trying to relax and not tense up, whimpering in pain.

Bill wraps around midnight--he calls her, but it goes to voicemail. He thinks maybe she might be asleep, but something doesn’t sit right because she hasn’t texted him all day--and when she goes to bed, she always tells him goodnight. It’s a sweet sentiment, but also a warning that his lanky ass better not make too much noise when he comes home, lest he wake her up. He shakes off a feeling of malaise, and heads home.

But the hairs on his neck stand on end when he pulls up and every single one of the lights inside are off. He can’t explain it, but his Little Human alert is dinging furiously and he doesn’t know why. Taking the steps two and three at a time, he swings open the door and calls out to her.

But like, listen--the door whipping open and shutting harshly after, Bill’s loud voice calling for her? Fuck man, that’s torture when you have a migraine. And all he hears is her whimper, her choking sob, and he knows right away. And while he wants to be angry, his first instinct is just...concern. Care. He heads to the bedroom immediately, trying to walk as softly as he can.

“Oh kid,” he whispers lowly. He approaches slowly, crouching on her side of the bed and putting a soothing hand on her. She’s scrunched up so small, tensed in a tiny ball, in way too much pain.

“Billy,” she croaks out, and it’s half sob, half relief, half whimper of pain.

“It’s okay tiger, I’m here,” he whispers, “I got you.”

He’s trying not to talk too much because even a whisper is too loud, and tiger is just kind of full on crying now which is no doubt causing her even more pain.

“Hush,” he soothes, “I’ll be right back.”

There are a few things that help ease some of the pain, but more often than not, she just has to let it pass on its own. He gets some room temperature water and a straw, to help her swallow some more meds. He gets some new cold compresses, and heats up her warm ones. Granny made a ginger tea, a home remedy, that used to help with tiger’s symptoms--so he makes a mug of that.

He makes his way back to the room, puts the straw to her lips for a sip. When she’s done he just gently pushes two pain pills between her lips, giving her the straw back so she can swallow.

He doesn’t want to move her just yet--he will eventually, but he’ll let the pain meds kick in a tad first. Instead he just gently--oh, so gently--replaces the warm compress on her neck, places a new cool one on her forehead. She flinches at that one, and he apologizes softly.

She can’t sit up and sip the tea, and he purposely popped a few ice cubes in so it wouldn’t scald him. But then he just real gently dips two fingers in, and holds them to her mouth. She sucks the tea off of them that way--and he keeps doing it. Just getting a bit of liquid on his fingers and holding them to her mouth so she could wrap her lips around.

His other hand is on her somewhere--her thigh, her side. He wants to weave it through her hair but he can’t touch her head when she’s like this, even the softest head scritchies would still cause her too much pain. When she’s halfway done her tea, he starts on the second part of what usually helps her--just holding her tight, giving her something else to focus on, and pressing on a few pressure points that she taught him.

“I’m gonna move you kid,” he whispers. and she stirs a little. he climbs onto the bed as gently as he can, gathering her in his arms as he sits with his back to the headboard. She lets out an agonized whine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “It’ll feel better in a second.”

He scoots her up onto him a bit more, cradles her head to his chest. He pats gently at her stomach with one hand, using his other one to pinch hard between her forefinger and her thumb. He alternates between pressing down hard on it, and rubbing slow circles.

It helps, but nothing but time will make it completely go away.

I’ll bet he falls asleep like that, doesn't he? Because pain is an exhausting thing, and after so many hours of it, tiger’s body just kind of shuts down and knocks itself out--and miraculously, she falls asleep. He hears her breaths evening out, feels some of the tension leaving her, and he too kind of sags in relief. He doesn’t dare move once she drifts off, not wanting to wake her. He knows how painful these are for her, and he’s going to have a long talk with her tomorrow about how she should have called him. How he doesn’t ever want her to be in pain like this, for that long, alone again. 

But for that night, he drifts off real soon after she does. Propped up against the headboard like that, her all curled up in his arms.

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #soft bill

[imperialstark]

i’ll never make it alone

a/n: part 2 to oh! darling, although it’s not necessary to read that fic in order to read this one. already posted on ao3, just felt like posting it here too bc i crave validation

summary: Tony and Steve bond over a sleepless night.

rating: T, just for a few swears and mental health

warning(s): mainly hints of characters exhibiting PTSD and panic attacks, but hopefully nothing too triggering

The tower was too quiet. Steve never thought he’d miss the roar of train cars passing through Brooklyn or hearing the daily hustle and bustle of the city. New York had been the city that never slept, even in Steve’s day. 

Sleeping through the war had been easier than sleeping in the tower, he decided, staring up at the stark white ceiling from the comfort of his bed. Trains to tanks. Hustle and bustle to screams and moans. The war had taught him to fear the quiet moments. There had been no respites or breaks for them, and if things were going too well, it was only going to go to shit later. It had been a fact of life then, and Steve believed in it now. 

Goosebumps sprouted like weeds on his arms as the air conditioning kicked on. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but ever since coming out of the ice, he had a hard time staying warm. Steve wasn’t anemic by any means, and yet, even the slightest breeze could set him off. 

“Hey, JARVIS?” he asked, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” came a smooth, distinctly British voice, which, according to Tony, was not in the ceiling. 

“Could you turn the air off in my room? Please?”

The AI sounded puzzled. “Are you sure, sir? It’s quite warm out.” 

“Please,” Steve repeated. His stomach twisted into a knot. What if JARVIS said no? How would he be able to explain anything to a being who had never known real life and the anguish that came with it?

“...As you wish, sir.”

The air went off with one swift whoosh. 

Steve inhaled and closed his eyes. A super-soldier could survive off of less sleep than the average human, but that didn’t mean he liked being sleep-deprived. But the air had already worked its magic. When Steve closed his eyes, all he saw was black water glinting like glass in the sun; An icy abyss calling his name. Cold crept into his lungs, frost coated his skin, and there was that familiar burn only ice could give you, engulfing his blood—

His eyes shot open. The beat of his heart echoed in his ears, sounding too close and too loud. Sleep was going to be a long way off. Throwing his blankets back, Steve sat up and sighed. 

“Just one night,” he said to no one in particular. “I just want one night.”

“If you’d like, Captain,” JARVIS said, startling Steve. He didn’t know that the AI could speak unprompted. “Sir is currently in the communal kitchen if you want company.” 

“Sir?” His brows furrowed. “Stark?” His panic momentarily forgotten, Steve slid out of bed completely, not really sure where he was going. A session in the gym with one of Stark’s super-soldier grade punching bags sounded swell, but if Stark was in the kitchen, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to seek him out and talk about...something. 

He and the tower’s resident genius were on their way to becoming friends. Maybe. Possibly. They were close to becoming whatever came before friends. Most of Steve’s friends hadn’t insulted him and offered him a place to sleep free of charge in the same breath. But Tony Stark was a genius; maybe being eccentric was a requirement. 

“What’s he doing up at—“Steve glanced at the clock, “two in the morning?” 

“Sir believes that sleep, and I quote, is ‘for the weak.’” 

Steve snorted, his mouth turning into an unwitting smile. Eccentric, indeed. 

Mind made up, Steve made his way to the kitchen, a blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders. The air was still going full blast outside of his room. Steve gritted his teeth and pulled the blanket tighter around him. “I’m never running out of shields,” he thought.

The elevator ride to the communal kitchen was over all too quickly, and Steve was greeted to the sight of Tony fluttering from counter to counter. Oddly enough, Tony didn’t look out of place in the kitchen, despite having heard many, many horror stories of his past attempts at cooking. 

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said in greeting, hovering on the edge of the threshold. 

Tony paused mid-flurry and gave him the smallest of smiles. There was something fragile about it that had the edge of broken glass. 

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said, nodding at him. “Nice blanket.”

The blanket had been a gag gift, courtesy of Natasha, of course, of Steve in his full USO regalia. 

“I had it custom made,” she had said with a smirk, which for Natasha, might as well have been her beaming with pride.

“Thanks,” Steve said, and the conversation died just as soon as it had begun.

Tony started to fidget in place, the silence growing unbearable. Despite living together for three months now, awkwardness still clouded their interactions outside of the battlefield. 

“Um,” Steve began. “What are you doing up?” 

A shadow passed over Tony’s face, but as quickly as it had appeared, Tony broke out into a grin, and it was gone. “Innovation doesn’t have a curfew, Rogers. Don’t tell me a sketch has never kept you up?”

Steve blinked. “You know that I draw?”

“Of course I do,” Tony said, resuming his motions around the kitchen. “You leave your sketchbooks all over the tower.” 

His cheeks burned. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to inconvenience you.” 

“Please, you? Inconvenience me? You’re talking to the king of inconveniences. Besides,” Tony shrugged as he measured out a few tablespoons of what looked like fresh ground coffee. “You’re good.” 

“Thanks,” he said. He was getting all kinds of compliments tonight. “I was in art school before…”

“Everything,” Tony finished.

“Everything,” Steve agreed. 

A silence fell over them again. Tony dumped the coffee grounds into a silver Moka pot and set it on the stove.

“You know why I’m up,” Tony said, leaning back against the counter. “But what about you? What’s keeping you awake?” 

Steve weighed his options. He could tell Tony the truth, tell him that his brain was fucked, tell him how he couldn’t stand the cold without picturing himself plunging to his death.

Or, he could lie. 

“It’s too quiet,” he blurted out. “The tower,” he gestured around them. “It’s...quiet.” That was close enough to the truth, at least. 

Tony, thankfully, didn’t laugh at him. “I thought soundproofing the walls would be a good idea. Don’t know too many people who enjoy city life for the noise.” 

“I grew up by the tracks,” Steve found himself saying. “It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but it was one of the only places that would rent out to the Irish.” 

That was one of the strangest parts of the future. In Steve’s time, the Irish, along with the Italians and the Jewish had been second-class citizens. A step of above people of color, in the eyes of bigots, but only just. All of them had been an afterthought in the collective consciousness of WASP America. 

“I knew that,” Tony said, his voice going low. The Moka pot bubbled away on the stovetop, the rich smell of coffee, hitting Steve’s nose. 

“You seem to know an awful lot about me,” Steve said. 

“Your buddy, Howard, thought tales about his old war pals were appropriate bedtime stories for a child.” 

Steve frowned. A bitter note had seeped into their conversation that always occurred whenever Howard was brought up in Tony’s presence. Steve may have known the man during the war, but that didn’t mean he was the same man who Tony had called “Father”. During the war, Howard had always been loud. Flashy. The most conspicuous person in the room. 

“That man wouldn’t know the meaning of subtlety if it whacked him over the head with a frying pan,” he remembered Peggy saying, her crimson lips pursed in distaste as Howard chatted up an SSR secretary.

“Why a frying pan?” Steve had mused. 

“They’re sturdy, for one,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “And quite hard to miss.” 

Steve remembered the secretary had slapped Howard upside his head after one too many risqué remarks. In hindsight, Peggy was right, not that Steve ever doubted her. A frying pan would have been just as, if not more, sufficient.

That man had apparently settled down and raised a child who was staring at him with something dark and dangerous pooling in his eyes. Steve would have to tread carefully. 

“As smart as he was, he didn’t have much sense, did he?” he said with all the caution of someone approaching a stray animal.

Tony’s posture lost some of its rigidity. “No. He didn’t.”

Silence again. If someone asked him, he couldn’t tell them why, but at that moment, Steve wanted to hear what Tony had to say. About anything. About everything. 

“Stop lurking in the shadows like a creep,” Tony said. “Unless you’re trying to do a Fury impersonation, then by all means continue. You’re missing the eyepatch, though.”

Steve huffed, but even he couldn’t hide his amusement. The thought of Fury sitting in the dark with a fuzzy blanket draped over him instead of his usual leather duster made for a decidedly less intimidating picture. And if Tony was joking around, then the danger of mentioning Howard had passed. Steve entered the kitchen completely and took a seat at the island right across from where Tony stood. 

“You’re drinking coffee at two in the morning?” he said, arching a brow as Tony took the now whistling Moka pot off the burner. 

“Not coffee,” Tony corrected. “Marocchino,” he said, placing a can of cocoa powder onto the counter. 

“Still has caffeine,” Steve said, mainly because Tony was so easy to rile up. 

“‘Still has caffeine’,” Tony mocked, his voice going up a pitch. “That’s what you sound like. Don’t you chastise me, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “My apologies,” he said. “Must be an important project.”

“All of my projects are important,” Tony said. He pulled a glass out from under the island, paused as if he were pondering something, then pulled out a second glass. 

Steve drank in every sure movement of Tony’s as he dusted both glasses in cocoa powder, and carefully poured the steaming espresso and milk into each cup. He sprinkled more cocoa over the top of each glass with a flourish before pushing one towards Steve. 

“Drink up, Cap.”

Steve gingerly grabbed the cup and blew at the steam. 

Tony held his glass in front of him. “Toast?”

“What are we toasting?” 

“To sleepless nights,” Tony said, sounding perhaps more serious than Steve had ever heard him. “And the things that keep us up.” 

As Tony looked at him with those dark eyes of his, his glass aloft, he realized this wasn’t Tony Stark, CEO. Tony Stark, son of a legend. Not even Tony Stark, Avenger. This was Tony Stark without a mask.

“To sleepless nights,” Steve echoed. Their glasses met with the lightest of clinks. Steve’s fingers brushed against Tony’s as he pulled his drink away. It was nothing, really. Barely a glance. And yet a light jolt zipped through his fingertips and left him feeling unsettled. 

If Tony had also been shocked, he made no mention of it, instead downing his espresso with gusto. Steve watched the bob of Tony’s throat, feeling hot beneath the collar. The coffee was already getting to him, and he hadn’t even taken a sip yet. 

Steve took his espresso like a shot. The coffee surged through him, driving away the cold that had settled into his bones. The cocoa was sweet and creamy on his tongue. Of course, Tony wouldn’t waste money on the cheap imitation stuff made with powdered milk. 

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Tony asked, his eyes twinkling. 

Steve burst out laughing, maybe the first genuine laugh he’d managed since coming out of the ice. At that moment, ice and the cold were the furthest things from his mind. 

“Even better,” he said, perhaps too earnestly, but that was between him and God. “I wouldn’t mind a refill.” 

Tony’s answering smile was blinding. His eyes were all crinkled in the corners, the way they did whenever Tony was truly happy. Not that Steve spent a lot of time memorizing Tony’s smiles. 

The tension from earlier had (hopefully) disappeared for good. 

“He should always smile like that,” Steve thought. Tony’s smile could drive a blizzard away. 

They sat there for the rest of the night until the sun crept over the horizon, flooding the kitchen with light and something warm and golden had curled in Steve’s chest.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu #stony fic #stony fanfic #my fic #my writing #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So��� Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. ���Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?  

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera...  Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btsguild #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts crack #bts fluff #kim namjoon #namjoon scenarios #namjoon imagines #namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #bangtan #bts fanfic #UGHHGJDHGJ im so slow at writing... its the depretion #hopefully this is good.... maybe who knows #IM GONNA EAT A GRILLED CHEESE NOW

[peachymhaechan]

“Trust me, it isn’t just for the camera.”

Genre: fluff, babey !! nothin like a good ol idol au, am I rite, laid ease??

Warnings: bad words (like everything else I've written ever lol)

Pairing: Taeyong X female idol reader

A/N: junior year is almost over, thank god. I am so tired. writing this was such a good break from studying for my ap exams and cramming for finals. thank u, Taeyong. also, im working on something for the superhuman comeback, stay tuned, yall :)

you had been a model for sm for a few years now

well within your first year you had gained so much popularity that you became the company’s most hired model and had received a nickname from your employers and fans

you were their Golden Girl (hhhhhffk listen,,, we been knew I ain’t creative), and everyone was dying to work with their Golden Girl

most notable for your bubbly personality and striking looks, every employer was fascinated by your ability to pull off any look 

very similar is lee Taeyong, another artist signed to your company

with his stark beauty, it was no understatement to say that you would not have minded working with someone as pretty as him

so, when your manager told you about an upcoming project where you’d be working with Taeyong and a few of the other nct boys you were #sh00k to say the least

“wait..... WHAT?!” was all you could say in response to your manager telling you the good news

“Yeah, I know. I know how long you’ve wanted to work with him. Well, get ready. For this photoshoot they need you to have bubblegum pink hair, and.....” 

for the next few days, you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was about to happen

yeah, you guys were signed to the same company but that doesn't mean you saw him all the time

you had only seen him once, and that was when you had just become a trainee and were walking through the halls to try and find the recording studio on the third floor

you accidentally went into the dance studio and found yourself interrupting a dance practice for nct u

“Sorry, I have to find someone in the recording studio, where-” 

“You’re fine, don't worry about it! If you go out this hallway, make the next left turn and it should be the second door on the right,” Taeyong said, giving you a small smile 

that was the ONLY interaction you had with him, but boy even when covered in sweat was he gorgeous

and you got to WORK WITH THAT 

the day finally came where you got to work with him yayayay

you woke up at 4 am after having only 1 hour of sleep, thriving

you got up and took a quick shower, did your skincare routine, and changed into comfy clothes for the day

on your way to meeting your manager you grabbed a few coffees for the staff as a thank you for the opportunity

you met your manager at the company building and it started to hit that 

//ohmygod this is really about to happen//

your manager tried her best to calm your nerves but damn, you were not having any of that

scrolling through Instagram, you anxiously awaited the company van that would take you to the photoshoot set

when it pulled up after about twenty minutes of waiting, you and your crew piled in and then you heard your manager tell the driver to hold the van for a few more minutes, seeing as Taeyong and his people were running a little behind

that only made your heart beat even faster

hgjaonfnwnw anxious from waiting, you just wanted to get it over with and rip it off like a bandaid

five minutes later, you saw three people walking over to the van

one of which was wearing sweats, sneakers, a hoodie, and a mask

you automatically recognized who that was despite the baggy clothing and half hidden face

oh fuck oh shit

one of the other two men talked to your manager, who had gotten out to speak to taeyong’s manager and the other person there

Taeyong climbed into the van and made eye contact with you in the back row, spotting the empty seat beside you

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, nodding to the spot right next to you

you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and your throat started getting closed up from nerves

so all you could do was shake your head no

he sat down and gave you a small smile, then started yawning and stretching out his arms

you had one extra coffee left from earlier and you figured it’d be a great ice breaker maybe 

“I have an extra coffee from a coffee run I went on earlier, do you want it? It’s not super hot or anything, but its still a little warm, and its caffeine,” you said and his eyes immediately lit up

“Oh, yes please!!” 

you grabbed the last cup from the drink carrier and gave it to him, and he thanked you right away

“How did you have enough time to go on a coffee run this morning?” Taeyong asked in shock

“I got up at four and am running on one hour of sleep,” you explained, not even trying to seem like you have it together

that's what its like being a hot mess, babey !!1

“That’s not good, you need to get more sleep. Were you out late last night with your schedule or something?” 

concerned mom? yes

“I was out until about eleven pm, yeah, but in all honesty... I couldn’t sleep because I was very nervous to meet you.” 

bro you need to get some sleep and get your filter back in place

bc when you get no sleep?? a bitch has NO filter whatsoever

Taeyong was genuinely surprised that you were nervous to meet him

“Really?? You were nervous to meet me?? Why, am I really that scary or something??” 

“Its not that you’re scary, exactly, but... I have wanted to work with you for a very long time, and it still hasn’t fully set in that this is my reality.” 

he nodded after you spoke, and it seemed to both impress and confuse him

no matter how popular him and his group got, he never got used to having people look up to him

and to hear it from someone as successful as you, someone he has constantly seen in the media for so long?? mind boggling

it kind of made him nervous tbh

before he could reply, the managers and everyone piled in and the van started moving to the photoshoot set

as soon as you guys left the company building, your head leaned onto the window and you passed tf out

when you woke up, Taeyong was tapping you on the shoulder and telling you that yall got to the set finally

taeyong’s face greeting you when you woke up? shocking, but not an unwelcome sight

“Alright, we need to get you guys into hair and makeup, then we will send you both over to wardrobe and they'll make any last minute touchups and then you can get to work. Sound good?” your manager told you two, and when you both nodded, she immediately directed you to the makeup studio

your artists were very excited to work with you, which made everything much more pleasant

“The feel we are going for with this shoot will perfectly fit your aesthetic and your features, I’m so excited!!” and “You’re naturally this pretty? And after only one hour of sleep? Oh my god, my under eye bags are permanent and it looks like you don’t have any at all!” or the occasional “I wish I could be as stunning as you without even trying...” 

it sounded like Taeyong was going through the same thing, as you could hear some of the other makeup artists gushing about his sharp features

“Wow, your eyes are so beautiful!” and “Your smile is stunning!” and “I wish I was half as pretty as you are!” 

you could tell it made him a bit uncomfortable because he sat there with a :} face 

(unrelated but: that face looks like the grinch lowkey, ok sorry for interrupting lol, back to the fic)

you two made eye contact in the mirror and you could practically read his mind

I want this to stop, they’re making me uncomfortable, oh my god. 

to which your eyes said, Same here, and I am used to dealing with this on a daily basis.  

luckily, they finished putting shadows and liner on your eyelids, and then they sent you to the hair department

for hair, they teased and curled your hair, giving you a tired and just woken up look

well, a styled just woken up kind of look

Taeyong came in halfway through your hair and all they had to do for him was throw some gel in his and make it a little messy and he was good to go

by the time you made it to wardrobe Taeyong was already on set and getting individual pictures for the concept

they threw you in clothes, and by clothes you mean a men’s oversized white button up, short shorts, and a bright red bra

and before you could even leave to head to the set, they made sure that the first few buttons were undone on the shirt

to say you felt a lil bit exposed and cold was an understatement

the second he saw you, Taeyong had a glint in his eye and he couldn't stop staring at you

naturally, that made you blush and get really self conscious

?? wot

“Hello, I am your photographer for the day. This shoot is supposed to be sort of a couple, romantic fashion shoot, so I hope you two know each other very well and are comfortable with being close to one another. Do you two have any issues with that?”  

you both looked at each other, 

and then lee Taeyong, 

while staring dead in your eyes, 

said

“No, sounds perfect!” 

bitch

what the fuck was that supposed to mean ?! 

“sounds perfect” uhhhhhhhhhhh lemme get a mcfuckin explanation 

he gave you a small smile before you managed to get out, “No issues here.” 

that only made him smile more

njsdncvcaehcfabcafcb bitch!! you were whipped for him already

“Great! Let’s get started, then. Y/N, I will have you stand over here, and...” 

let’s just say that the photographer had you two start with basic stuff, like you two standing next to one another with Taeyong putting his hand on your shoulder and things like that

it quickly escalated though, and he had you doing things like laying your legs across his lap and running your hands through his hair

“Sorry if this is a little too intimate for you,” you whispered into his ear during another shot, where you were draped over his sitting form and your hand caressed his cheek

“Don’t apologize, it’s not. If anything, I’m a little flustered to have someone as pretty as you staring at me the way you are, Y/N, even if it is just for the camera,” he told you, shifting so that you were turned with your back to the camera and chest flush to his, your hands delicately placed on his upper arms, his hand resting on your lower back and you staring up at him

faintly you could hear the photographer say,  “THIS IS IT, THIS IS THE ONE!”

“Trust me, it isn’t just for the camera,” you mumbled, not able to filter yourself due to sleep deprivation

you thought he didn’t hear you, but then a smirk formed on his face and you knew you #fucked up

the end of the shoot was arriving, and there were a few more pictures the photographer had in mind, but he wanted to let you guys do your own thing and see where it ended up

“You guys can do what you want for these next few pictures, just do what feels naturally and I’ll angle it well.” very encouraging, right

making use of the pieces of furniture on the set, you decided to lay on the bright red couch and Taeyong looked down at you from behind it

“I couldn’t hear what you said earlier, can you say it again please?” he asked, trying to fish a confession out of you

Oh, Mr. Lee Taeyong, it won’t be that easy. 

“Hmmm, what do you mean?” you asked, purposefully trying to be as close to him as you could, so you sat on your hips to the side more and pulled him down so your hand rested on his cheek and your face was //right there, you could feel his breath on your lips//

(the photographer would have fainted there if he could get away with technical time theft while on the job)

taeyong’s breath hitched and a blush crept onto his cheeks and you knew you got him

ladies and gentlemen.... we got ‘im

even still, he tried to get it out of you

“Well, I thought I heard you say something under your breath before the photographer spoke to us,” he coyly explained, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap

at that point it became a game of who could get the other to blush more

and lemme just say, mama didn’t raise no lil bitch, so you were NOT about to lose

grabbing both sides of his face in your small hands, you leaned in and whispered, “I hope it’s okay that I’m going to kiss you now.” 

his eyes went wide, and then he said, “MORE than okay.” 

and the next thing you know, your lips were planted on his and the photographer was sobbing genuine tears

“THIS IS PEAK PROFESSIONALISM, OH MY GOD, IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE WORKED WITH MODELS AS GOOD AS YOU TWO, OH MY, THIS IS THE SHOT THAT WILL MAKE IT BIG, I’M-” 

of course his enthusiasm made you start giggling, and you could feel Taeyong smiling into the kiss

when you two broke apart you leaned your forehead on his and stared into his eyes

“I think we both know what I said earlier,” you told him, throwing your arms around his neck

“Good, because I hope we are both on the same page,” he said, smirking slightly

“And that is?” 

and all he did in response was kiss you again, but this time not smiling from the photographer’ s goofy remarks

the photographer gave the okay after he got that shot and told you two that he wish he’d gotten to work with you sooner

the ironic thing here is that you and Taeyong wished the same thing

you headed back to the dressing rooms, hand in hand, getting stares from the staff but not caring much

or at all, really

#bad bitch club: RISE

“I hope you know that as soon as those pictures get released, people will assume we are dating, right?” you said, wiping the makeup off and combing through your hair

you quickly ducked into changing room, throwing on the clothes you were wearing when you arrived

you heard him chuckle from the other little makeshift room

you exited your changing room and found him waiting for you

“Why let them assume when we could tell them the truth ourselves?” 

and somehow, despite the crazy hectic schedules you both had, 

and all the crazy ups and downs of being in the public spotlight,

a few months later, when the magazine finally hit the shelves and the cover image was you two kissing each other and looking like the happiest couple in the world,

when you got invited to an interview to discuss the inspiration for the images and the experience of working with each other, 

you two walked in hand in hand, smiling brightly and looking like your average couple that was in love

and when asked if you two were dating, 

you replied, “Yes, and it has been the best few months of my life so far.” 

:) uwu

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct 2018 #taeyong #lee taeyong #idol au #kpop idol #kpop scenarios #kpop aus #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct blog #imma keep it real w u chief #after seeing nct in newark #Taeyong has biased wrecked me so much dude #he is so beautiful #I would take a bullet for that man tbh

[winnipegpatty]

to all the boys i’ve loved before [part i] | s.m.

part ii. part iii.

a/n: hey its your local idiot who accidentally deletes her own writing. i changed the gif bc don’t even try and tell me that doesn’t look like a high school noah centineo esc shawn mendes. 

It was the last dinner as a family before Ari would be going to college. Of course she’d chosen the absolute farthest place she could have picked: England. To celebrate, Dad was making Mom’s famous tamales. Well, he would at least try.

“I hate when he makes tamales” Sofia whined. “He always messes up the masa and it’s all crumbly and dry.”

She was eleven, and she was definitely the drama queen of the family.

“It’s sweet,” Ari cooed as she led Sofia down the stairs, “And no matter how it tastes, you take a big bite and say mmmm just like Mom’s, okay?”  

Sofia rolled her eyes, but nodded in agreement anyway.

Just as the three of them reached the stairs, Josh stepped into the entryway, heading straight for Ari. With a quick kiss, he greeted his girlfriend, before hollering out to their dad in the kitchen. I stayed on the stairs, in the background, as I usually did when Josh was around these days.

“Sof,” Josh greeted her younger sister with a high five.

And finally, me.

Stepping off the stairs, I met him halfway. He high fived me as we all moved into the dining room where Dad was setting the table. Ari went back into the kitchen to get everyone’s drinks fixed up.

“I can’t believe we aren’t going to see Ari until Thanksgiving,” Sofia spoke to the table.

“Well, it’s actually going to be Christmas. England is too far to come home just for Thanksgiving,” their dad answered.

“Christmas?” Sofia asked, looking towards Ari as if she might have a secret trip home planned.

“Look on the bright side,” their dad responded, “Ari won’t be here to hog the car so, Y/N can practice her driving.”

Dad took that moment, to pass out the tamales to each plate, and Sofia noticeably grimaced before covering it with a smile.

“I forgot I had to drive with Y/N now.”

“Feel free to take the bus,” I responded with a roll of my eyes.

“You know if you’re ever in a bind, I can always help out,” Josh offered. He was perfect like that, always offering to help wherever he could. “I’m not disappearing; I still live right next door.”

“Orrrrrr, I could drive. And if we ever get pulled over, we’ll just switch places real fast,” Sofia spoke with exaggerated movements as if reenacting the scenario in her mind.

“Excellent idea, sweets,” their dad chuckled.

Ari returned with drinks in tow, handing one to each person, “What are we talking about?”

“Just how bad of a driver Y/N is.”

“And airplanes,” Josh piped in.

Ari looked at him oddly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah just, ya know...how you weren’t going to be able to come home for Thanksgiving. Which, brings me to this…” Josh dramatically pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolding it to show Ari. “I thought I’d bring some home to you. I’m coming to England.”

It was a plane ticket.

“Hey, look at Josh steppin up!” Dad cheered from the head of the table.

But Ari didn’t look pleased. In fact, she looked on the verge of irate. “You already bought this?”

Josh stuttered over a few words for a moment before standing up. The tension in the air was palpable, and with just the greatest timing Sof truly has ever had she took a bite of her tamale and said, “Mmmmm, just like Mom’s.”

I guess I should tell you about Josh. For the last two years he’s been Ari’s boyfriend. But before Ari even cared that he existed, he was my first boyfriend. Space between the words boy who was a friend. I could tell him anything. We just really understood one another. He was my best friend. We didn’t exactly stop being friend when Ari and Josh got together, things just became….different. They didn’t want me to feel left out. So they invited me everywhere. Like...everywhere. Even on dates. They tried to make it as normal as possible (for a third wheel, I guess), but it just wasn’t the same. It’s not like I wanted to date Josh or anything. I’m happy for Ari. She deserves an amazing guy like Josh. And so I wrote him a letter, and I wasn’t going to send him the letter or anything. It was just for me. So I could understand all these crazy feelings. But I guess really, it was also about how sometimes I imagine what it would be like if I’d realized how I felt about him sooner. If I could have been the girlfriend instead of Ari.

My letters are my most secret possesion, for no one to see but me. There are five total. Kenny from camp, Shawn from seventh grade, Lucas from homecoming, Jake from Model UN, and….Josh. I write the letters when I have a crush so intense that I can’t even think straight. When I don’t know what to say.

Ari would say I’m being dramatic, but I think drama can be fun. Just as long as no one knows about it.

Ari and Josh broke up that night. Before mom died, she told Ari to never go to college with a boyfriend. And the next morning, she left for England. And that was the end of Ari and Josh.

Ari always said that when something is no longer useful, you either donate it, recycle it, or throw it away. I always knew she felt that way about objects, but I didn’t know she thought about people like that too. I didn’t know it was possible.

_____

It was first day of junior year. Ari was in England. I’d actually cleaned my room last night which has never happened before. And I was driving Sof to school for the first time. It all felt so wrong.

Walking down the halls as a junior in high school, I was almost at the top. I passed Josh, which felt both weird and more natural than it had in the past two years. But as I turned too look at him as I walked away, he looked sad.

Walking backwards wasn’t my strong suit though because moments later I walked right into a person.

“Ow. Excuse you!”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, Gen.” I answered as I moved away from the girl who was basically the devil incarnate. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh, it’s you.” Gen sneered.

Gen...Genevieve. We used to be best friends, but post middle school for reasons having to do with her popularity, and my lack thereof. We are no decidedly, not.

At least school was the same.

“Cute boots,” Gen spoke as she eyes my boots with clear distaste.

“Thanks, they’re vintage,” I did my best to smile.

“And they’re amazing! Not everyone can rock the, but Y/N can really pull them off.”

Christine...Chris. Gen’s cousin. My best friend. My only friend really.

And then walked in the devil’s boyfriend. Shawn.

“Hey babe,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Gen’s stomach, and kissed her lightly on the temple.

“Hiiii.” Gen said sweetly.

“How’re you doing?”

“Oh I’m good, how are you?” She cooed back, clearly enamored by Shawn.

Shawn, you remember him. From seventh grade. From the letter. That’s this Shawn. Gen’s Shawn. Seventh grade, my first real boy girl party, and well, everyone knew that Shawn and Gen, who at the time was still my bestie, only liked each other. And it was at the first long awaited boy girl party that I had my friend kiss….with Shawn. It was only a spin the bottle kiss, but it was a kiss.

“I was just complementing Y/N on her adorable boots,” Gen said to Shawn, “Come on, there are more important people to talk to.”

Gen waltzed away from the them leaving Chris, me, and Shawn to stare uncomfortably after her.

“She just stopped drinking caffeine for a, uh, diet, I think.” Shawn mumbled as he tugged on a few of his shorter curls. “She’s just going through withdrawls.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t just have a chemical imbalance?” I retorted.

“Right,” Shawn said as he turned and walked away.

____

Lunch came around, and everything was wrong again. Ari was my go to lunch date. And now I was alone, yet again.

I ended up on the bleachers, next to Josh. Which wasn’t awkward at all.

“I gotta ask,” Josh asked quietly as I sat next to him. “Did she tell you? You guys talk about everything, and I just….”

“She didn’t tell me about this,” I shook my head.

“Well, we’re still cool, right?”

“Yes, we’re cool.”

We ate lunch then, in complete silence. And before you say anything about it, I know what you’re thinking. We really were cool. However I felt about him, I would never do that to Ari.

____

“This cafeteria is soooooo much bigger than at the elementary school,” Sof squealed. “And everyone wanted to sit by me, oh my god it was just so cool.”

“Yeah, I can totally relate,” I mumbled as we both got into the car.

One more drive and we’d be home free. One day of driving down….hundreds more to go. I waited for Sofia to buckle up, before I began to pull out.

“Woah, hey.” I heard a voice that sounded shockingly like Shawn Mendes.

Sofia laughed, “You really are going to get us killed.”

I shut my eyes closed, hoping maybe Shawn would forget about almost just getting hit by a car. But the tap on my car window said otherwise. I rolled down the window. Honestly, running him over may have been less painful, at least for me.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I sounded mortified even to myself.

“How ya doing?” Shawn asked with a smile on his face. He was bent down so he was at eye level with me (which made everything a million times worse because his eyes were fucking gorgeous and I was going to fucking die).

“Good.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“You know people usually check behind them before they reverse? You know...to avoid killing others. It’s a thing we do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just not, completely comfortable with the mirrors in this car yet.” I stuttered.

Sofia laughed from her seat, and really I would have liked to have run her over with my car.

“Yeah, clearly. You think you’re going to be able to make it out of the parking lot...or?”

“No, no we’ll be just fine. So you should just go, yeah, we’re fine.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He pointed at Sofia in the car, “Hey uh, you’re in charge.”

Shawn walked away, and I rolled up my window as Sofia said, “Who was that?”

“That was Shawn Mendes.”

We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes before Sofia said, “So, are we gonna go home?”

“Yeah, of course. We’re just going to wait for all the cars to leave first.”

____

“You know, Y/N, if you had a boyfriend, maybe you wouldn’t have to drive at all cus he would take us places” Sofia spoke as they were both sat lounging on the couch watching an episode of Stranger Things on Netflix.

I turned to look at Sofia, “If that’s what it takes, I think you’re stuck with me for a while. Sorry Sof.”

“I don’t know, what about that guy you almost killed?”

“He’s dating Gen.”

“So?”

She really was too young to understand these things apparently. Shawn Mendes was taken. A couple like Shawn and Gen don’t just break up. They’re together for at least the entirety of high school. They’re the It Couple. They’re the ones that go on to get married and become high school sweethearts. People like Shawn Mendes don’t leave girls like Gen for other girls like me.

“You know, it’s not just that.” Sofia shifted on the couch to lean against me. “Don’t you find it kind of odd that we’re at home on a Friday night, watching tv again?”

“No?”

Sofia sighed, clearly frustrated with me. “Y/N, I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, but I’m eleven. And I cancelled plans to be here tonight, and well you’re sixteen. And you never have plans.”

“That is way harsh.”

“The truth hurts, Y/N.”

____

Running the mile would most likely be the death of me. Chris, God bless that girl, was keeping pace with me despite the fact that she could have easily passed me by now. Only two more laps were left, or was it three? I was honestly just banking on Chris knowing or the coach to stop us at the right time. This could quite possibly be the third year in a row that I failed to make the time for the mile, but I wasn’t about to start practicing for this or anything.

“Hey!” I heard a voice from behind me.

I looked over at Chris to see if she was talking to me, but she just shrugged her shoulders at me.

“Hey! Y/N,” I slowed down, looking behind me.

It was Shawn. Shawn Mendes.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked.

“Um, me?” I asked, still slowly jogging alongside Chris and with Shawn trailing behind.

“Hey, SM, I heard my cousin dumped you for a college freshman, that true?”

“Uh, I heard you have horns, that true, Chris?”

“Yep, they’re red and shiny.”

Finally they came to a stop. I was definitely failing the mile. “I need to talk to you, Y/N. Uh, alone,” Shawn eyed Chris.

She hummed, slowly backing away, “Well, if you need me, I’ll uh, yeah.” She ran away and gestured in the direction she was running.

“Listen, I wanted to say that I’m flattered, and I appreciate it. But it’s just never gonna happen.”

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

Clueless was a pretty good word for this moment.

“Look, from what I remember of that kiss it was hot, for it being in seventh grade, and I think it’s really cool that you think my eyes like sparkle or something.”

And it was in that moment that you saw it. The letter. Yes, the letter. The letter that you’d written to Shawn, never to be given to Shawn. The letter professing your all consuming seventh grade sized love for the boy that had been dating your best friend’s cousin for months. This could not be happening. How did he get that letter? Who sent him that letter? Did the others have letters too? Shawn was still talking, saying something about how he and Gen were just so fresh, he couldn’t start anything else. But I wasn’t listening, I looked over his shoulder and saw what was quite possibly my worst nightmare.

Josh.

Josh, who was headed towards me and Shawn, holding a eerily similar looking letter in his hand. He looked just as confused as I currently felt, and I did the first thing that I could think of to stop the oncoming questions Josh most definitely had. I kissed Shawn.

Yeah, I know. Not my smartest idea. Not my proudest moment. But I did it, I practically threw myself into Shawn’s arms, and kissed him. And not the seventh grade kind of peck kiss we’d had prior. But a real kiss. Like a, I need to make Josh think I’m in love with Shawn Mendes right now so that he won’t think I’m in love with him kind of kiss.

And just as I pulled away, Shawn looked equally as confused as Josh had before. Before Josh could say anything, I ran past them, back towards the main building. I think I heard Josh call after me as I ran past him, but I definitely did not stop to look back. And that’s how I evaded the two most uncomfortable moments of my life. Or so I thought.

Heading straight for the girls restroom, I locked myself in the nearest stall. Quite literally falling to the ground in a fit of panic. But without even a few seconds of privacy, the door opened.

“Hey, Y/N, you in there?”

“No.”

What the fuck. Why would I actually say no?

And then, another letter, this one addressed to Lucas, was being slipped under the stall door.

“Look, I just saw you run in here, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Lucas said from the other side of the stall door. “I thought you might want that back.” He meant the letter, “It seemed a little personal.”

“Lucas, I wrote this years ago,” I said as I finally made my way out of the stall. It looked like this wasn’t a conversation I could get out of.

“Freshman homecoming, right? I had a lot of fun that night too,” Lucas looked at me. He had kind eyes. “But I thought I should tell you, I’m gay. You know that right?”

“Yeah!” I said overly excited, “Of course, I totally knew that.”

I definitely did not know that.

“Okay.”

____

The letters are out. They’re out. There’s nothing I can do about it. Silver lining. Kenny’s letter was addressed to the dorms at camp, so he’ll at least never know about my crush.

“You really oughta relax,” you heard Josh’s familiar voice in your head. Great, hallucinations. So I was officially insane. Maybe I sent the letters out myself and didn’t even remember. “I know you love me.”

“Loved. Past tense. You’re Ari’s.”

“Dear Josh, I lie awake at night. And sometimes I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through your hair. What it would be like to lie and stargaze with y--”

“Shut up! You’re not real.”

From your window, you could see Josh approaching your front door. Awesome.

“I’m more real to you than he is,” the Josh in your head responded.

Not even seconds later I heard dad calling for you from downstairs, “Josh is here!”

Time to face the music, I guess.

Orrr, I could always climb out the window. Which seemed infinitely like the better choice than having to tell your sister’s ex boyfriend that you used to love him. Yeah, I’m definitely going out the window. Stepping out of the window seemed easy, until I tripped and fell. I rolled down the small roof, and yep, right onto the fucking grass. But whatever, it’s fine. That’s the price I pay for avoidance I guess. I grabbed my bike from the front porch and hightailed it to the diner across town.

I sat in peace, drinking an amazing strawberry milkshake, until Shawn came in and sat down. Right. Next. To. Me.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Would it be possible to ignore him?

He ordered a chocolate shake and waited for you to say something.

“Whatcha doing here?” I decided on casual avoidance. Pretend like the elephant didn’t exist and it would disappear, right?

“I’m just here to take down a delicious chocolate shake, eh?”

“Cool, cool.”

“Actually, I stopped at your house and your sister said you’d probably be here.”

I was going to kill Sofia.

“Look, I just wanna be super clear. I’m flattered, for real, I am. But like, Gen and I just broke up.”

“Are you trying to reject me right now,” I asked with disinterest.

“Well, yeah. Cus it didn’t really seem like it...got through to ya, the first time, back there, at school?”

“Shawn Mendes, I’m not trying to date you.”

“Okay, like I hear you, but you’re not really acting like that.”

“Listen, here’s the situation. I don’t actually like you. I just kissed you, so it looked like I liked you so that someone else wouldn’t think I liked him.”

Yes, great, tell him all the details. It’s not like the situation was embarrassing enough as it is.

“Oh okay, who’s that?”

“What?”

“You gotta tell me who the guy is, or I’m just really not gonna believe you.”

“No,” I shook my head furiously. No way was he getting that out of me.

“Okay well, then I’ll just tell the rest of the school that you wrote me a love letter.”

“Um, no okay, no. It’s uh, Josh Sanderson?”

“Wait, doesn’t he date your sister?”

“Well, he dated my sister. Like past tense. And he also got a letter, so you can see how awkward and complicated that whole situation could get. And thus why I needed to kiss you.”

Shawn held his hand up as if to tell me to stop, “Wait woah, you sent more than one letter?”

I shook my head.

“Wow, you really think you’re special and then you find out she wrote letters to two guys.” Shawn depressingly sipped from his chocolate shake.

“Uh, yeah. There were actually five letters.”

“You sent five love letters. Damn, Y/N, you’re a player. Who else?”

“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

Shawn mumbled a bit, “Maybe.”

“Okay, Lucas James.”

“But he’s...gay.”

“You don’t know that,” I tried to play it cool.

“Everyone knows that.”

I DID NOT KNOW THAT. Why was I the only person who didn’t know that Lucas was gay? Was I really that blind?

“Who else?”

“Someone from camp and someone from the fifth grade. Are we good here?”

“Uh, uh yeah.” I got up to leave before Shawn’s hand touched my wrist, “Wait wait, let me take you home?”

“So...what are you gonna tell Josh?” Shawn asked as his Jeep pulled up to the front of my house.

“I guess the truth.”

“But what is the truth? Do you like him...do you not?”

“It’s not your problem, Shawn.” You smiled as you hopped out of the Jeep, grabbing your bike from the back.

“Hold up, Y/N,” Shawn called as he ran up beside you. “What if you didn’t tell him?”

“What?”

“What if...we let people...think we were together? And like..not just Sanderson, but everyone?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Well Gen went nuts when she heard that you kissed me. And if she thinks we’re a thing, she’ll want to get back together.”

“Oh, so you wanna use me as your pawn?”

“Well,” Shawn rolled his neck a little, “technically you already used me as yours.”

You were decidingly going to ignore that comment. You headed closer to the front door, kicking the stand on your bike and letting it go.

“Look, you don’t have to give me an answer now, just maybe think about it?”

“Bye Shawn,” I threw over my shoulder, ignoring his last statement completely.

Fake dating Shawn Mendes, yeah fucking right. Like that would ever happen.

#shawn mendes fic #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes #imagine #shawn #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fluff #friends to lovers #i guess kind of #my writing

[e1ana]

leisure writing :)

recently by brain has been all AHHHHHHDHHBSGDVJHS BCHJNNH and its really negatively impacted my writing, especially for my fics :( 

i’ve decided to go on a short hiatus for them for a bit to let my brain catch up. i’ve just been writing random stuff and letting it go in a n y direction to give my brain  break and i think??? this might??? be the best?????? decision ive ever made????? my brain just feels so un-fried. its awesome. 

so far it seems to be taking the shape of a YoI fic? idk. I just finished the show for the second time and i absolutely love it! I guess by brain’s been wired on Yuri!!! for a bit now so i’m not surprised at the direction its headed.

i’m still letting it go in any direction though, and i’m not sure if im going to put it up in a03 (i might if i decide i like it, but im not working on it with the intent of uploading it.)

so yeah. here’s the first bit of that. i though i’d upload it on here just bc i can and idk what else to do with it. hope you enjoy :) rating is teen bc of some cursing but thats it

(korkad means stupid in swedish)

Rain.

It wasn’t a loud sound - just the gentle pitter-patter of it against a window can paint a room in a quiet, soothing blanket of white noise. Viktor Nikiforov buries himself further in his comforter. Mid April drizzles really were something else. 

Begrudgingly, VIktor pulls himself from his bed. He looks out of his beside window to find a sunset that perfectly matched with the serene morning rain. 

He yawns and stretches, a soft grumble coming from his lips. He stands up and walks to his kitchen. Every morning is practically the same - wake up, debate going back to sleep, brush teeth/expensive and extensive skincare, eat, and go straight to the rink. Getting up at 7 am might sound overkill, but the lax speed of Viktor’s early morning routine needs extra breathing room.

He drags a hand full of some kind of sweet smelling lotion down his face, massaging it in with the melting pot of other creams and serums. The concoction is thick on his face, though not totally unpleasant. Viktor feels a bit more invigorated now, the cold water startling him up. Nevertheless, he starts the coffee machine. He swings his legs as he sits atop the counter and scrolls through his instagram. A sharp pinch on the cheek startled him from his trance.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter, korkad. Nobody wants to cook on your ass juice.”

Ah, the overlooked step to the routine - cope with an insufferable roomate at ‘too early’ am.

“Good morning, Chris. I hope you slept well.”

Maybe insufferable wasn’t the right word for Chris normally, but his unrivalled snark and Viktor’s early morning sluggishness were not a fantastic mix. Chris grabs him by the sweatshirt and nearly yanks him off of the marble tabletop. He makes a show of wiping the area where Viktors butt once was. Finally, the sweet sound of gurgling and spluttering signifies the end of the coffee maker’s cycle. 

Viktor pours in a fairly reasonable amount of sweetened cream, the dark brown going caramel colored and scented. He takes a long gulp, downing half the mug in one go. He looks up at Chris, who is now leaning against counter one on arm and glaring. He offers a smile at the glowering man.

“Okay, now you can be a sassy bitch.”

Chris rolls up the towel and flicks it at Viktor’s butt, drawing an undignified squeak from the slightly shorter man. He snorts a laugh, but thankfully gives Viktor his space for the rest of the morning. 

He finishes the rest of his coffee quickly, the caffeine already buzzing through his brain. He checks his watch - nearly time to leave. He packs a few protein bars and water bottles along with his sweets and shirt. He calls out to Chris before grabbing his keys and locking the door. 

He pulls his sweatshirt hood a little tighter around his face, slipping into his freezing cold car. He clicked on the heat, despising how long it took for the damn thing to heat up. 

The drive to the rink was slow today. He wasn’t in any rush, and the slow rain hitting the metal roof of his car made for a nice serenade. He watched the outside pass by slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly. 

When he pulled up to the rink, he noticed two things. One, it was bustling with activity. Usually, the place looked practically deserted at nine in the morning. The swarms of people and clicking cameras were an odd sight. 

Two, a man stands outside of the rink, wringing his wrists. He bites his lips and looks impossibly nervous. He blinks a couple of times before waving his hands frantically at one of the reporters. Viktor can’t help but laugh out loud in the solitude of his car. He pulls into the driveway, eyeing the dark haired man the whole time.

He’s vaguely familiar - Viktor’s sure he’s seen those blue framed glasses sitting on some side bench at some competition somewhere. He isn’t unattractive either. His black hair and brown eyes contrast with the pale skin of his babyish face. It gives him a look of purity. It’s a nice look. Admittedly, it’s aided by the ample blush on his cheeks and the way he rocks from foot to foot nervously. It’s a very cute habit, Viktor’s always thought.

Victor steps out of his car. Maybe he slams his car door a little louder than normal to make some of the reporters turn their heads, maybe he doesn’t. Regardless, they’re hounding on him in seconds, asking about this jump and that score. He answers all of their questions with a blinding smile, hoping that his glance towards the man goes unnoticed. Well, rather, where the man was. The glass door swings violently and Viktor catches his bag disappearing around a corner.

It takes longer than Viktor would've liked to get rid of the reporters and slip into the rink. His tight routine is now skewed fifteen minutes late. He stretches quickly and laces up his skates as quickly as possible to increase his time on the ice. 

He approaches the entrance gate, one foot already on the ice when something whirrs by him. His gaze is captured by none other than the man who was stood outside. 

Immediately, Viktor becomes enraptured with him. All he's doing is skating around the perimeter of the rink. Somehow, though, the swinging strides of his legs and the way his arms lift ever so slightly from the elbows when he glides paint him in the picture of grace. Viktor can’t help but stare as he completes another circle. Finally, when the man passes him a third time, he turns to look at Viktor. The grey haired man’s cheeks heat up under his unsettled gaze.

“Do you need some-”

Red creeps up the neck of the other man, his eyes widening when he realized who he’s talking to. He spins back around and pushes off even faster than before. 

Viktor steps onto the ice, heart pounding. Fuck. Fuuuck. He internally moans at the increasing awkwardness in the air. Damn his annoying fame and prestige! Here he was, embarrassing himself in front of someone he vaguely remembered who could potentially be important and was definitely attractive. Embarrassing himself just by existing. 

Whatever. He flicks his ankle out, starting a slow circle around the rink. If an onlooker glaneed over, it might look like the other man was chasing him. Though it was practically the other way around, Viktor considered. 

Eventually, Viktor felt warm enough to do some actual exercises. A few combination spins, a few brackets. Nothing obscene. He starts his program once he feels his joints ease into the jumps. 

The feeling isn't the same as the first time he did the program. Victory - it was the theme of his piece. Clearly, it’d gotten him where he wanted the first few times. The thrill of first place was incredible. It inspired him so much, the feeling of winning pushing forth his every movement. It had felt so overwhelmingly good. Now, after his fifth medal, the program didn’t mean much. His publicist had pushed him to do the same program every year, if not with a few major improvements each time.

Regardless of how many new spins or complicated jumps he added, the piece was tired. He was bored of this. There was simply no other way to put it. Even as he landed the perfectly executed triple axle that had been worked into his program, Viktor felt his heart sag.

He ran through the program a few more times, each with decreasing vigor. He didn’t even notice the man skate by him (albeit with a wide berth) and exit the rink. Drenched in sweat and disappointment, Viktor literally laid down on the ice. Maybe it wasn’t the most professional move in the book, but the freezing cold felt good on his hot skin. He hummed and got back to his feet, skating one last cool down lap before exiting and sliding on his blade covers.

He took a cold shower. Unusual, but the weight of the day didn't seem like it could just be melted away. He closed his eyes, letting the freezing water run down his body. It soothes is aching muscles and bones. Technically, the hot alternative would be better at melting away the lactic acid in his muscles. He could have a long soak in the tub when he got home, though - the temporary relief of cold water was more than satisfactory for now. 

He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. The cool air inside of the building almost felt warm in contrast to Viktor’s cold skin. He pulled on a new shirt and pants.

Viktor was surprised to see the other man slinging his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t appear to see the higher ranking skater, ad he sidled to the door without a second glance. Before he stepped out, though, he turned and froze. 

“I… uh…” he paused and looked up, searching for the right words. “I wanted to thank you for earlier. You know. With the reporters. So, uh. Thanks.”

Before Viktor could pipe back with a cheery ‘no problem’ or ‘the pleasure's all mine, tell me your name and let me take you for a drink in my very expensive sports car,’ the man was gone. Viktor followed suit as fast as he could, but there was no catching the man now. Gone, forever.

#e1ana's fic #my writing #ah my brain #yoi fanfic #victuuri #viktor and chris are besties and flirt ode #and thats on period #original concept #yuri on ice #ok im done tagging now >:)

[lavenderlattaes]

loving you. | park jimin

⇒ summary/plot: It’s been three years since you left that night, three years since you last saw him and three years since you last spoke to each other. And on that very day that your heart decides to start missing him again, you see him smiling and laughing with a girl that is most definitely not you.

⇒ [ post-breakup! au ]

⇒ pairing: park jimin x reader

⇒ word count: 3.5k words

⇒ genre: fluff, angst

⇒ warnings: swear words

note: hellooo! im a weird person that likes angst then wants a happy ending sksks. Parts that are italicized are flashbacks! Ignore mistakes bc im a bit of a blind bat and enjoy!    ＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／ ♡

[

Loving You   ❝I saw him the other day. His arms around another girl, his eyes when met with mine—were slow in their recognition.

I wonder if he remembers what I once told him.

I will love you forever.

He had smiled at me sadly before giving his reply.

But I am so afraid you may one day stop.

Now all these years later, I am the one who is afraid. Because I love him, I still do. I haven’t stopped. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I ever will. ❞   -Lang Leav   ]

You stare up at your ceiling, your thoughts drifting to him at half past 2 in the morning. Even then, he’s always been on your mind. You don’t think there was ever a time when he wasn’t filling up your thoughts. His name was Park Jimin and he was your first, and most likely last love.

You saw him yesterday, that’s what was keeping you up at night.

He had his arms around another girl, someone new, someone else who was making him smile, someone else who was kissing him, loving him, someone else who wasn’t you.

You remember every single detail of your short encounter yesterday.

You were leaving the café you both used to go to, Jimin’s favorite drink in your hand. You were particularly missing him that very day, when Namjoon decided to post a photo of you with them on Twitter. You had just crossed the street when you looked up and saw him walking with a girl in tow. You stopped in your tracks, not knowing what to do. Jimin was looking down at his phone but he looked up just when you were about to turn the other way and pretend you didn’t see him. He stopped walking too, and the girl he was with looked at him, confused.

“Chim? What’s wrong?” She asked, and her eyes followed Jimin’s until they landed on you.

Chim. You used to call him that too. He especially loved it when you called him that instead of Jimin. You gripped on the cup a bit tighter as you both look at each other. Your heart broke when Jimin broke eye contact slowly and looked at his girl.

He flashed her a sweet smile, the smile that used to make you all giggly inside. “It’s nothing, love. She just looks a bit familiar.” Jimin replied and laced his fingers with hers as they started walking again.

“In what way?” You heard her ask as they brushed past you, Jimin’s shoulder bumping with yours had caused you to close your eyes and let a few tears fall.

“She looks like an old friend.” Jimin replied and when you turned around to look at them for one last time, you locked eyes with Jimin again, a swirling mess of emotions swimming in his eyes. You looked down, your vision slightly blurred due to the tears filling up in your eyes.

“I, Y/L/N Y/N promise to love you, Park Jimin, today, tomorrow, and until the day we are forced to be apart. I will love you forever, and that will never change. Nothing will ever change my love for you and that’s the only promise I know for sure I will keep until I breathe my last.” You look up at the beautiful, precious man smiling down at you, his arms around your waist pulling you even closer.

“But what if you stop loving me? I’m scared of that,” he whispers, his tone teasing but because you knew him so well, you could hear the fear he’s trying to hide from you.

You cup his face in your hands, stand on your tiptoes and press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. He smiles and kisses you back ever so gently, before you break apart for air. You caress his soft cheeks, causing him to giggle, his eyes disappearing from smiling so much. “That won’t ever happen, baby. And I promise you that.”

You’ve never broken that promise. You haven’t, and you won’t ever will. A soft ding from your bedside breaks you from your train of thoughts and you wipe the few stray tears that you didn’t realize were falling before turning over to grab your phone.

You squint, your eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness of your phone screen even though it was already at its lowest. You sit up once you read that it’s a text from Hoseok. You were closest to him and he was the one that introduced you to the boys, and of course, Jimin.

Hobi [2:43 am]: hey, how are you doing? It’s been a while.

You [2:43 am]: hey, hob. I’m okay, I guess. Why’d you text me at this hour? You should be getting some rest.

Hobi [2:44 am]: jimin told us he saw you yesterday, are you really okay?

You scoff at his text, but you also can’t help the tears from falling, a few of it dropping onto your phone. He told them he saw you, but he told his girlfriend that you just ‘looked like an old friend’? It would’ve been better if he hadn’t said anything to the boys. Your phone rings and you look down to see that Hoseok was already calling you. You clear your throat and wipe your tears away as you answer the call.

“Hey, you didn’t have to call you know,” You greet, pressing the phone to your ear.

“I know, but you left me on read and didn’t reply immediately. Also, I’m tired of typing so calling you would be easier.” Hoseok replies and you chuckle. You definitely missed him.

“So, will you tell me how you’re really feeling?” Hoseok says after a short moment of silence and you bite your lip.

“I saw Jimin, he saw me. I saw him with his arms wrapped around another girl, and he saw me with a cup of his favorite drink although I doubt he knows that it was his favorite drink that I had ordered because on that damn day, I was missing him so fucking much but I doubt that he also knows that I miss him.” You reply, the words spilling out of your mouth as fast as the tears slipped down your cheeks.

You can hear Hobi sighing on the other end you allow yourself to let your best friend know that you’ve been crying.

“Oh, Y/N. I wish I could be there to hold you, I’m so sorry.” He apologizes, and you shake your head but then remember he can’t see you.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Hobi. It’s my fault that all of this is happening, it’s okay.” You reply shakily.

“I’m supposed to protect you, remember? I’m supposed to kick Jimin’s ass for hurting you like this, because that’s what I promised you. I’m supposed to turn your frowns upside down and I’m supposed to be your sunshine. Overall, I failed at being your best friend. I resign from my post, Y/N.” Hoseok says, his voice sounding defeated, but it manages to make you giggle. You can almost see him pouting, folding his arms in front of him like a little child.

“You’re being overdramatic, Jung Hoseok. You’re the best best friend anyone could ever ask for and I’m not allowing you to ‘resign from your post’, okay?” You smile softly, putting emphasis on your words.

“Okay, okay, if you say so, Y/N.” Hobi replies, laughing, and you nod your head at that. You both enjoy the few short moments of silence before you break it with a question you’ve been dying to ask ever since.

“Hobi? How is he doing? Is he eating enough? Is he getting enough rest?” You hear Hobi sigh on the other end and you know that he knows what your words truly mean. You may not have said them out loud but the words you’re trying to get across are all the same. I still love him. I still love him even though it’s been three years since we broke up.

“He’s doing okay, Y/N. Yes, and I suppose so. He’s hardly around these days, he sleeps over at his girlfriend’s house.” It pains Hoseok to tell you the truth because it will hurt you a lot, but he also knows it would hurt you more if he tried to keep the truth from you.

Hoseok’s words pierce through your heart but there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. Jimin chose someone else to love, now. He chose to stop loving you and you can’t ever blame him for wanting to find happiness, even if that happiness meant you would be out of the picture.

You’ll continue to love him anyway because you know deep down your love for him won’t ever stop.

After a few more exchange of words between you and Hoseok, you hang up with him ending the call saying, “you should try seeing new people”, while you replied with “I will,” even though you know you won’t ever do that.

You place your phone back on your bedside table and your eyes land on your polaroids with Jimin strung across the wall. You valued your polaroid film so much, so you only took photos with it when the occasion was really special and significant. Your eyes scan the photos and you see the photo you took with him when you both confessed your feelings for the other, which was over six years ago. Your eyes then land on the polaroid of when you both went out for your first date. There were so many significant moments in your relationship with Jimin that it was making you cry.

You knew that there was no one else for you but Jimin, and you know that people will surely laugh at you for that and say that you’re only saying that because you’re young, and naïve when it comes to love.

If there’s one thing you’re certain of, it’s that you will love Jimin forever, even if he loves someone else. Even if it hurts you, even if it kills you, as dramatic as that may be, Park Jimin will be the only man you’ll ever love.

There’s a knock on your door and you look up from the book you were reading to look at the door. You couldn’t sleep after Hoseok called a few hours ago, so you opted for three mugs of coffee and a nice hot shower to help you relax a bit.

You weren’t expecting anyone today, so you only stare at the door, thinking that the amount of caffeine you drank was beginning to play tricks on your hearing, although it doesn’t seem possible. Another series of knocks come, and you jump up, realizing that you weren’t hearing things and there really was someone at your door.

You make your way to the door slowly, wracking your brain for any possible reason for the knocking on your door. Maybe you ordered something online and forgot about it? Maybe an old friend decided to send you mail? Maybe your neighbors needed something from you?

Your fingers twist the doorknob and you open the door. “Hey, what’s—” you stop short once you look up at the person standing outside your door.

Jimin.

He’s looking at you with an unreadable expression and if you didn’t know him any better, you wouldn’t notice the way his lips trembled slightly. But you did, and that was enough to make your heart race.

“Jimin—”

“Y/N—”

You both speak at the same time and if it weren’t for the tension in the air you both would’ve been laughing. You look away from him and bite on your lower lip as Jimin looks up and licks his lips.

“Can… can we talk?” Jimin asks quietly, and your eyes lock on his eyes again. And you’re surprised because you can see the pain and desperation in his eyes which weren’t there before. You nod gently and open the door wider for him. He takes his shoes off and he’s surprised to see that his slippers are still there. He puts them on anyway, and you close the door behind him. Just as you’re about to walk to the kitchen to fix something for the both of you, his warm hand latches onto your wrist, halting your actions.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you remember that night from three years ago like it was only yesterday.

“Don’t put this all on me, Y/N! You knew what you were getting into when you dated me!” Jimin shouts.

“Don’t remind me about that, Jimin! I know about that, I don’t need you to nag me about that because I know, I know, I know!” You shout back and Jimin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“Then why are you complaining? Why are you being so selfish about all of this, you know how much my work means to me!” Jimin asks angrily and you glare at him.

“Is it too much to ask for my boyfriend to come home to me every once in a while? You’re hardly home these days, Jimin. I’m always worried about you!” You shout. You haven’t called him Chim the whole night and that was a bad thing. You always called him Chim and the fact that you kept on calling him Jimin was already a forewarning.

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Y/N. If you’re always worried about me then stop worrying about me!” Jimin shouts and that causes your heart to shatter. Would you ever stop worrying about him? You know you won’t, but his words hurt, and you’re hurt.

“Maybe I will then!” You shout, and brush past him, immediately regretting the words from ever leaving your lips. Jimin seems to think the same thing too, because his hand latches onto your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait, Y/N, no. Please, don’t go. I didn’t mean it, please, baby.” Jimin cries out and the tears fall down your cheeks like a waterfall. You want nothing more than to turn around, forget everything and run into his arms but you were hurt, and your pride was getting in the way.

“Jimin, let me go.” You manage to choke out, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He pulls you back and you crash into his arms, as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. You’re both crying, and you know you won’t last much longer if you stay for another minute wrapped in his familiar embrace. You reluctantly remove his arms around you, your tears dropping onto his arms.

“No, please don’t leave me, baby. I’m sorry.” Jimin pleads, holding onto your hand as you step away from him. He holds onto it like his life depended on it, kissing it repeatedly. You shake your head and you fight the urge to turn back around because you know you’ll break.

“Let me go, Jimin.” You shake your hand off and he lets go of it reluctantly as you open the door and walk out the door, Jimin pleading after you. You hear him collapse to the floor as you close the door shut behind you.

“I love you, Y/N. And I’m sorry.”

Those were Jimin’s last words to you and that was the last time you ever saw him again.

“Y/N.” You turn around and Jimin’s eyes widen when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. He pulls you into his embrace and you break down completely. He wraps his arms tightly around you and you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Jimin, I-I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things, I shouldn’t have left the way I did, I shouldn’t have hurt you at all,” You cry into his shirt, your tears soaking his black shirt and your voice coming out in shaky sobs.

He shushes you, rubbing his arms up and down your back as his own tears fall down and drop onto your hair. “I’m so sorry, too, Y/N. I should’ve fought for you, I shouldn’t have let you go like that.” He replies, and you hug him tighter.

You both stay in that position, Jimin whispering words of comfort in your ear as he rocks the both of you back and forth. You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent as you bury your head deeper in his chest.

After a few more minutes you pull away and wipe the tears from your eyes, a sigh leaving your lips. You look up at Jimin and see him looking at you already.

“What is it?” You ask and Jimin steps forward and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks heat up at his actions and you look down.

“I broke up with her yesterday.” Jimin whispers causing you to look up at him.

A newfound hope fills you and you clear your throat. “Chim?” You whisper softly, and you can see the effect it has on Jimin when you call him that, because he reaches out to hold your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together.

“Yeah?” He breathes out and you breathe shakily. “Do you remember what I told you all those years ago?” You ask, and he just looks into your eyes, not sure about what you meant.

“I, Y/L/N Y/N promise to love you, Park Jimin, today, tomorrow, and until the day we are forced to be apart. I will love you forever, and that will never change. Nothing will ever change my love for you and that’s the only promise I know for sure I will keep until I breathe my last.” You repeat your words from five years ago, your eyes not leaving Jimin’s.

Jimin’s eyes widen, remembering the exact moment; it was his favorite memory with you and also the scariest. It was on your one-year anniversary.

“But what if you stop loving me? I’m scared of that,” Jimin repeats his words and marvels in the beautiful smile that makes its way onto your face because he remembers.

“That won’t ever happen, baby. And I promise you that.” You reply, and you let go of his hand to cup his cheeks as he smiles at you as well.

“I’ve kept my promise, Chim. I always have.” You whisper softly, and that’s all it takes for Jimin to dip down and press his lips to yours in a longing kiss. Jimin wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you closer to him and you stand on your tiptoes. You run your hands through his hair and you smile because you missed the way his soft hair felt in your hands. His hands rub on your sides gently causing you to giggle and break from the kiss.

“Chim! It tickles,” You tell him, and he smiles so brightly, his eyes start to disappear like always. He pulls you closer because you stepped back slightly, and you smile at him being clingy again. You missed it so much. He kisses your forehead and you close your eyes, smiling.

“I know, I just missed hearing your laugh. It’s my favorite thing ever.” He says, and he rubs his nose against yours lovingly as you bite on your bottom lip.

“Really? So you don’t like my kisses?” You tease, stepping away from him and he whines, pulling you back to crash his lips to yours again. You smile into the kiss and pull away right after kissing back, Jimin’s pout making an appearance at your actions. You giggle, and smile at him as he smiles back. He steps closer to you and you stay rooted in your spot, watching his every move.

“I love everything about you, Y/N.” Jimin states and his words make your heart melt into a puddle. He holds your hands up to his face and kisses each one of your fingers, and he kisses your knuckles as well. Your face heats up at his actions, even though Jimin has always been like this— romantic. Skinship was a constant between you two but it’s been so long since Jimin has held you like this, it was like falling in love with him all over again.

“And I love everything about you too, Jimin.” You reply and step into his arms. He buries his face in your neck and starts leaving little kisses there. You giggle as you wrap your arms around him, kissing the top of his head.

“I missed you so much, Y/L/N Y/N,” Jimin sighs happily and you hug him tighter.

“I missed you too, Park Jimin. So much.” You reply and close your eyes, a smile on your lips.

I love him, I still do. I haven’t stopped. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I ever will.

⇒ let me know what you think or hmu with anything under the sun here!

#bts imagines #bts one shot #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin imagine #jimin one shot #jimin reaction #jimin scenario #jimin drabble #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin #park jimin #bts #bts jimin #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #nise writes

[the-chattering-tower]

🎂🍪☕

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

Ooooh tough one

one would def have to be some v smartly phrased wish that fixes the big big wold problems like capitalism and global warming and oppression of ppl and all that

another to like. make teleportation devices a Thing and widespread and accessible so i can Finally visit my long distance friends without having to worry about money and flights and setting foot in the literal hell that is the US. the universe is cruel for not letting me hug my friends every day and i’m Done with it

if it’s a genie, i’ll set them free with wish no3 bc come on i have manners and also like. a heart. if not, i’d like to keep it for later bc who knows that i’ll really really need a magic wish for in the near or far future. if i can’t do that then idk?? maybe something like a Lot of money so i can make sure my family is financially secure now and forever and so are my friends and so that i could slap hundreds of dollars down for every gofundme and emergency fundraising and respectable charity i see

🍪- cookie dough or cookies?

i’m not really a cookie dough kinda person?? more of a “everything dough and batter even if it annoys my sister (everything i do ever annoys her anyway)” but that too only just to the extent of licking the bowl clean

so cookies. esp if it’s gingerbread (tho gingerbread cookie dough is also reeeeally tasty...................)

☕- coffee or tea?

both, mostly, but coffee wins. with lots of sugar and milk tho, idk how ppl can tolerate espressos, they just taste like sadness

(i’m shit at flavouring my tea anyway and my sister has probably disowned me for it at this point tbh, and also coffee as a flavour in things is also v v good so. coffee)

the cool thing about coffee is that caffeine just. doesnt really affect me?? so i dont get jittery from it or have to worry about not sleeping if i drink it late or Needing it in the morning, i just drink it for the joy of it. unless its what was the equivalent of probably like. four strong as shit freshly-ground-and-brewed espressos in half a day in which case it will knock me the Fuck out and i won’t even realise why (to be fair it was combined with a super intensive four-day course on something i’m not even good at but still. i didn’t realise it’d Do Things To Me??)

#thank you!!!!!!! <3 #not fr #ask games #i drank so much coffee bc the place i took the course at has the Best fuckin coffee machine #so i had two mugs of v v good coffee with lots of milk and sugar for two days #before my mum chimed in and said hey maybe you shouldnt do that #from one caffeine immune person to another #goooood i was barely awake by the end of that course #and i dont even remember shit from it #arctic-rising #ask

[4lix]

restless nights; lee minho

[listening to] .... babybaby; suran 

Hi bubs, may I request a college au with Minho where the reader works at the coffee shop on campus (saving money because college is expensive af) and Minho having no sleep needs coffee, bus is awakened by the beauty of the reader?

can you do coffee shop minho but he’s like, totally not coffee shop material haha like he’s a dancer or something and school isn’t his thing and hes just really flirty?? if that makes sense????? thank you!!!! <3 

okay so these two were a bit similar

so me and my third eye decided to combine them 

bc coffee au x college au WITH MINHO? bitch its an experience 

so basically as the struggling college student you are who is living off of ramen noodles and the potato chips you found in the back of your cabinet last semester, you decided to get a job

but lets get real who the hell wants to work 

luckily the sweet old lady who owns the cafe down the block from your campus recently decided to go 24 hours

which meant more shifts available 

and meant you could maybe eat something besides ramen noodles and god was that a blessing. 

luckily you had afternoon classes, so working the night shift wasn’t an issue, plus it was only ever just you and a few customers, so the shift was quiet, peaceful, and you could get extra studying in when customers weren’t bothering you. 

for months working there it was peaceful, almost too peaceful, on the verge of being mind-numbingly boring

the only people who ever came in were miserable college students and old men who played bingo in the back 

until a week before finals, a boy who looked like he hasn’t slept in a billion years came stumbling inside, making all types of noise and heavy rap music blasting through his headphones, ruining the previously peaceful atmosphere

he doesn’t look like the type of boy to be in a coffee shop

he had this rugged look about him, hair an absolute mess and shoved inside of a beanie messily, his clothing a bit oversized and hanging off his body, and an adidas duffel bag alongside his backpack hanging off his shoulders 

probably an athlete of some sort 

he was your only customer you had all night 

the boy clearly lacked sleep, after he threw all his shit on a random table in the corner of the cafe, he stumbled over towards the counter eyes lazily meeting yours

as cliche as it is, the moment his eyes landed on your face, it’s like a surge of energy ran through his body 

he immediately straightened his figure, clearing his throat before trying to smile nicely, his previously pale face warming up to a shade of pretty pink

“h-hi..” he mutters nervously, and you greet him nicely with what you’ve been trained to say to everyone that walks in.

“hello! what can i get for you tonight? we’re doing a promotion for our night owls, free refills on all lattes after midnight!” you say with a bright smile and you swear you see him melt right then and there before he shakes his head and lets out of small laugh

“honestly, i don’t even really like coffee.” he admits and you turn your head in a bit of confusion

“so what exactly are you doing at a coffee shop?” you ask amusedly, and the boy with eye bags deeper than oceans looks up to meet eyes with you and maybe it was you melted that this time

he was... cute, dare you say the cutest boy you’ve ever seen, although you know most people wouldn’t consider this look he was sporting to be too attractive... i mean the boy had a hole in his shirt and his hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days

“well there’s one thing i hate more than coffee.” he says simply, taking off his beanie briefly and running his fingers through his hair 

and just fuck it killed you 

“it’s getting kicked off the dance team because i’m failing organic chemistry. also now that i’m here, a pretty face like yours is definitely a reason to stick around” he says with a wink. 

god where the hell did this boy come from 

it was ass o clock and he clearly hadn’t slept in what looked like days but the flirtatious parts of his brain were working harder than the u.s marines.  

you stammered on your next words, cheeks dusting a slight pink, “u-uh-””

“i just need something that will wake me up, i have a quiz at noon tomorrow and i haven’t studied at all, whip me up something real good yeah?”

in with that he drops a bill on the table, saying a quick keep the change babe before he winks one last time, turns around and heads back to his seat

well its safe to say your kidney imploded 

why was he so ridiculously attractive? 

you couldn’t even move for a few moments after he walked away, and you swore you heard chuckles coming from his corner of the cafe, the little shit was amused by it all wasn’t he?

shaking your head, you start queueing up an order for your favorite latte on the menu with the most amount of caffeine possible. the boy looked dead, he’d need lots of it.

how exactly were you going to even give the boy his damn drink

even pushing the buttons for placing his order had your face burning red 

nonetheless you make the drink to the best of your ability, never bothering to care about measurements but fuck when its a customer that beautiful? suddenly you love your job, call you the world’s finest barista. 

while the coffee brewed, you couldn’t help but gaze dazedly at the boy across the room. 

he came here to study but it looked like he was already knocked out cold, head resting in his arms, his face completely exposed and you just abashedly admired his charms and beauty from afar. 

when the drink was finally done, you almost didn’t want to move his figure, but if the mountain of papers next to his body was anything to go by, he needed to be up and working.

you nudge him slightly, “white chocolate mocha with five shots of espresso.” you state simply, proud of yourself for not stuttering

his eyes slowly open, falling onto you and the cup in your hands 

he smiles kindly at you, thanking you before taking the drink out of your hands 

“let me know if you like it, if there’s any changes you want made I can fix it no problem!” thank goodness for all the training and practice you’ve had saying your directed lines, if it wasn’t for the training you’d probably be stumbling over every syllable. 

he takes a sip, and instantly his eyes widen.

“woah, i don’t even like coffee, but this is fucking amazing.” he compliments and you smile at him gratefully before taking your leave back behind the counter

the rest of the night is slow, just the sound of the boy typing away at his computer and the occasional turn of a page as you try to cram through reading a literature essay. 

“ahem”

you look up, it’s the boy again, a mischiveous smile on his face 

“could i get that refill?” he asks but there’s a lilt to his voice, something that makes you feel like he’s onto something, but you just nod regardless, turning around and whipping it up for him

he takes it thankfully and winks again

you go back to your essay 

fifteen minutes pass, and you hear footsteps walking towards the front counter again

“refill?” he says with a grin and you tilt your head slightly, “i just gave you one?” 

“i already finished it, it’s free refills after midnight right?” 

“well yeah but-”

“okay so i’d like a refill on my white chocolate mocha latte with five shots of espresso.” he says with a stupid grin and you find yourself getting slightly annoyed with the boy and his antics but nonetheless you turn around and prepare another drink for him

this goes on for another hour

you’ve made him like eight drinks

and god knows how he hasn’t exploded from all the liquid in his system

it isn’t until 4am, just an hour before your shift ends that the boy finally rises out of his seat, nine drinks later, stretching 

he begins packing up his stuff and you can’t tell if you’re relieved or kind of upset that he’s leaving. 

he stops by the counter one last time before he goes, sliding a paper your way 

“y’know i ordered all those drinks in hopes that you’d write your number down on one of them, but, seems like you didn’t get my drama reference.” that dumb smirk is back on his face and your face is burning up again, a laugh slipping past your lips

“instead of abusing me at work like this, you could’ve just asked for my number, you know that right? i went through like a pound of coffee beans and a carton of creamer because of you.” 

“and to think every cup was delicious to the last drop... you need a raise, really.” he slides a piece of paper toward you, “text me and maybe i can make you coffee next time?”

“you dont even like coffee, do you even know how to make it?” 

“i’ll learn.” 

“just for me? wow what a charmer you are.” 

“i get that a lot.” he winks 

“is your eye okay? you’ve winked like fifty times tonight.” you tease

“technically it’s morning.”

“technically you’re irritating.” 

he chuckles at your sassiness.

“you’re cute. ... y/n?” he reads your nametag 

“hate to say it but you’re kind of cute too.....” you hesitate for a moment, realizing you dont know his name

“minho, lee minho, i gotta get going, but text me, or else i’m coming back here tomorrow and i’m gonna order a hundred cups this time.” 

“i’m going to ban you from ever coming back to this cafe.”

“you’d never.”

“what makes you so sure of that?”

“well, if you did, who would you stare at all night if i wasn’t here?” for fucks sake he winks again and even makes a kissy face before throwing his backpack over his shoulder

“text me!” is all he shouts before leaving and you cup your face trying to calm the heat in your cheeks

you do text him, in fact you talk for hours, but he still decides to come to bother you for another night and it seemingly never ends as minho becomes a regular at the cafe.

you aren’t complaining though, the night shift isn’t so lonely with him here. 

let’s talk! („ᵕᴗᵕ„) [cc] https://curiouscat.me/chansmaid

[twitter] https://twitter.com/9lovelys

#minho #lee minho #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee minho requests #lee know #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know requests #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios